Dave taught our family night last evening on...what else...service. It occured to me that I should point out something vital to my children: serving our family, friends, community and world is not about helping "those less fortunate", its about community. Its about being human. Because I know that anyone we do anything for this year, were the tables turned, would be doing the same for us. Because I know that one day it WILL be us...whether its death, disease, loss of job...the list is endless...one day it will be our turn to accept all the service that will be rendered to us. Its as simple as that. No one goes through this human life alone...no one can. We are constantly, inevitably dependent on each other. Its not about "haves" and "have nots", its about the on-going cycle of life that alternately moves us through moments of despair and helplessness to moments of compassion and ability to help. We lift where we stand. We give what we can. Knowing that when the next painful moment comes our way, someone will be there to stand by us.
My sister posted this on Martin Luther King Day of Service, and I think in doing so she said all of this a lot better than I am:
http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2539741
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Dinner for Seven
This week's opportunity came with a phone call. I was calling a friend of mine to see if I could borrow a treasure chest for a lesson I was teaching. I asked how she was doing and what she was up to. The reply: "I'm just sitting at the hospital with my Dad." Wait, what?
So a lengthy conversation later, I told her dinner was on its way to her house the next day (the family was already set up with pizza that night). The next day everyone pitched in. My husband and oldest son made the blondies for dessert. My daughters did the salad. I made my favorite comfort food: a simmer-all-day recipe for pasta sauce that came to me via a friend who served a mission in Italy. A mama from Rome had shared it with him, and its become a hallmark feel-better food in our family. Its oh oh so so so easy (if you are going to be around to let it simmer all day) and one of the best things to eat after a cold or disappointing day.
Mama's Red Sauce:
2-32 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves (or more, depending on taste) of garlic, pressed or chopped
1/4 c. shredded carrot (I just grate a handful of carrots and call it good)
2 32 oz. cans of crushed tomato
Heat a dutch oven over medium heat. Add olive oil. Add garlic and carrots, saute until soft. Add the cans of crushed tomato, stir, and let simmer for 3 hours or so.
This covers a pound of pasta nicely. You can simply mix pasta and sauce together, top with parmesan and serve. Or you can serve it like the Mama from Italy did: Layer 1/2 pasta and sauce in a large 9x13 pan. Top with 1/2 lb. cheese (mozzarella or other mild italian variety) and cover with white sauce (recipe below). Top with remaining pasta and sauce and another 1/2 lb. cheese.
White Sauce:
1/4 c. butter
2-3 heaping tbsp flour
2 c. milk
1/2 tsp salt
Melt butter over medium low. Add flour and stir well. Add milk slowly and stir over medium low until thick and bubbly. Remove from heat and add 1/4 tsp nutmeg.
I only add the white sauce once in a blue moon because, well, it has 1/4 c. of butter in it. But when we do....ohhhh, it is so good!
We all brought the dinner over, even the three year old (who was very happy to carry the salad). The kids were proud of their hard work. We got to visit with our friends for a little. Friends, food, and thinking about someone else: that combination makes any day a good one. Even when you get home and the dinner you had cooking in the oven for yourself has turned to jerky. Oh well. We ate it and smiled...even the picky kids!
So a lengthy conversation later, I told her dinner was on its way to her house the next day (the family was already set up with pizza that night). The next day everyone pitched in. My husband and oldest son made the blondies for dessert. My daughters did the salad. I made my favorite comfort food: a simmer-all-day recipe for pasta sauce that came to me via a friend who served a mission in Italy. A mama from Rome had shared it with him, and its become a hallmark feel-better food in our family. Its oh oh so so so easy (if you are going to be around to let it simmer all day) and one of the best things to eat after a cold or disappointing day.
Mama's Red Sauce:
2-32 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves (or more, depending on taste) of garlic, pressed or chopped
1/4 c. shredded carrot (I just grate a handful of carrots and call it good)
2 32 oz. cans of crushed tomato
Heat a dutch oven over medium heat. Add olive oil. Add garlic and carrots, saute until soft. Add the cans of crushed tomato, stir, and let simmer for 3 hours or so.
This covers a pound of pasta nicely. You can simply mix pasta and sauce together, top with parmesan and serve. Or you can serve it like the Mama from Italy did: Layer 1/2 pasta and sauce in a large 9x13 pan. Top with 1/2 lb. cheese (mozzarella or other mild italian variety) and cover with white sauce (recipe below). Top with remaining pasta and sauce and another 1/2 lb. cheese.
White Sauce:
1/4 c. butter
2-3 heaping tbsp flour
2 c. milk
1/2 tsp salt
Melt butter over medium low. Add flour and stir well. Add milk slowly and stir over medium low until thick and bubbly. Remove from heat and add 1/4 tsp nutmeg.
I only add the white sauce once in a blue moon because, well, it has 1/4 c. of butter in it. But when we do....ohhhh, it is so good!
We all brought the dinner over, even the three year old (who was very happy to carry the salad). The kids were proud of their hard work. We got to visit with our friends for a little. Friends, food, and thinking about someone else: that combination makes any day a good one. Even when you get home and the dinner you had cooking in the oven for yourself has turned to jerky. Oh well. We ate it and smiled...even the picky kids!
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Christmas Lights and Chuck Norris Jokes
So the first project is done. It was a relatively simple one. It involved rousting the troops out of bed at the untoward hour of 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning. There were more than a few grumblings and just a little begging and pleading for "Five more minutes, Mom!" but on the whole they were pretty happy to get up.
We piled in our van and headed north toward the Mesa Temple. Our mission: to help remove some of the thousands of Christmas lights that had adorned the grounds of the Mesa Temple for the holiday season. We love the lights; I don't think we've missed seeing them once for all of the eleven years we have lived here. So it really was a long overdue opportunity for us to help. We packed every coat, hat, scarf and mitten we could find. While we were driving there, Dave tapped the outdoor temperature reading on the van (34 degrees...which is like ten below for a group of Arizona residents) and shook his head. "Don't tell the kids," he sagely advised.
This is what I love about any kind of service: whatever frustration, hesitation, or trepidation you feel at the outset, it cannot compare to the pure happiness that fills you when you put aside whatever else you would rather be doing and engage in something that adds something, however small, positive to the world around you. Whatever grumblings existed in that early morning drive to Mesa dissolved little by little with every strand of lights we untangled. This was such a small and simple thing, but its amazing what wonderful opportunities come out of such simple acts.
Something I have already noticed about this project is that it has me thinking more about others and less about myself. Even in small ways. It also makes me pay attention to all of the service I already do; and is done for me in turn. Service is really an expression of love. It is living love.
On the way home, Dave and our oldest son swapped Chuck Norris jokes, and our six year old sang Elvis. The car was filled with laughter. Really? Because we took down some Christmas lights? No, it had to be just a little more than that.
We piled in our van and headed north toward the Mesa Temple. Our mission: to help remove some of the thousands of Christmas lights that had adorned the grounds of the Mesa Temple for the holiday season. We love the lights; I don't think we've missed seeing them once for all of the eleven years we have lived here. So it really was a long overdue opportunity for us to help. We packed every coat, hat, scarf and mitten we could find. While we were driving there, Dave tapped the outdoor temperature reading on the van (34 degrees...which is like ten below for a group of Arizona residents) and shook his head. "Don't tell the kids," he sagely advised.
This is what I love about any kind of service: whatever frustration, hesitation, or trepidation you feel at the outset, it cannot compare to the pure happiness that fills you when you put aside whatever else you would rather be doing and engage in something that adds something, however small, positive to the world around you. Whatever grumblings existed in that early morning drive to Mesa dissolved little by little with every strand of lights we untangled. This was such a small and simple thing, but its amazing what wonderful opportunities come out of such simple acts.
Something I have already noticed about this project is that it has me thinking more about others and less about myself. Even in small ways. It also makes me pay attention to all of the service I already do; and is done for me in turn. Service is really an expression of love. It is living love.
On the way home, Dave and our oldest son swapped Chuck Norris jokes, and our six year old sang Elvis. The car was filled with laughter. Really? Because we took down some Christmas lights? No, it had to be just a little more than that.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Definitions
I love dictionaries.
Where else do you find words like "uranographer" or "multifarious" or "stickleback"?
If I want to really understand a word, I have to go to the dictionary first. Dictionaries understand that words have flavors. They put Baskin Robbins to shame. Every word has its own collection of nuances.
Take the word "service".
My dictionary lists twenty plus meanings for the word "service". It can be a noun, an adjective, or even a verb. Some of us might think of military "service". Some of us might think of "a set of articles for a particular use, such as a dinner service." Maybe you are thinking of a religious gathering or rite, or tennis, or of a liturgy (if you are thinking that, you must be really smart). But the kind of service I am talking about is found in definition number 2: "performance of labor for the benefit of another."
This is a blog about spending a year involving my family in that kind of service. Service as in "conduct contributing to the advantage of another". Service meaning "an act of helpful activity; help; aid."
I have asked myself many times since this little idea wriggled into my head: Why? Why are you doing this? Like everyone else, extra time for another thing to do isn't exactly thick on the ground. And quite honestly, like everyone else, I already do a lot of service. So does my husband. So do my children. But I guess what I realized is that we aren't usually doing it together. Is it a necessary distinction, after all? Well, I guess I'm going to find out. I want to see what happens when we plan, experience, and review it all together.
In the end, I realized the reason why I want to do this comes down to definition #20: "Nautical. tarred spun yarn or other small stuff for covering the exterior of a rope." Why would you want to cover rope with tarred, spun yarn? Admittedly, I am not a nautical expert, but I can't help but think it is to protect the rope. So that's why I'm doing it.
Not because I want to protect rope. I have a teenage son. I have a daughter who is just about a teenager, and two more little children who one day will be.
I watch them grow and I realize the things they want most from me are not cell phones or video games. They don't need fancy vacations, the latest clothing, or even their very own bedroom. They want to experience what it means to be human. They want to explore the depths of the human heart and soul. They want to see another human being face to face, eye to eye, and they want to understand and be understood.
If they can do this, I can't help but think that some of life's nastier squalls might be made easier to bear. Not that they could ever bypass those storms, but at least they will have a life line, sealed and protected, to hold on to.
Where else do you find words like "uranographer" or "multifarious" or "stickleback"?
If I want to really understand a word, I have to go to the dictionary first. Dictionaries understand that words have flavors. They put Baskin Robbins to shame. Every word has its own collection of nuances.
Take the word "service".
My dictionary lists twenty plus meanings for the word "service". It can be a noun, an adjective, or even a verb. Some of us might think of military "service". Some of us might think of "a set of articles for a particular use, such as a dinner service." Maybe you are thinking of a religious gathering or rite, or tennis, or of a liturgy (if you are thinking that, you must be really smart). But the kind of service I am talking about is found in definition number 2: "performance of labor for the benefit of another."
This is a blog about spending a year involving my family in that kind of service. Service as in "conduct contributing to the advantage of another". Service meaning "an act of helpful activity; help; aid."
I have asked myself many times since this little idea wriggled into my head: Why? Why are you doing this? Like everyone else, extra time for another thing to do isn't exactly thick on the ground. And quite honestly, like everyone else, I already do a lot of service. So does my husband. So do my children. But I guess what I realized is that we aren't usually doing it together. Is it a necessary distinction, after all? Well, I guess I'm going to find out. I want to see what happens when we plan, experience, and review it all together.
In the end, I realized the reason why I want to do this comes down to definition #20: "Nautical. tarred spun yarn or other small stuff for covering the exterior of a rope." Why would you want to cover rope with tarred, spun yarn? Admittedly, I am not a nautical expert, but I can't help but think it is to protect the rope. So that's why I'm doing it.
Not because I want to protect rope. I have a teenage son. I have a daughter who is just about a teenager, and two more little children who one day will be.
I watch them grow and I realize the things they want most from me are not cell phones or video games. They don't need fancy vacations, the latest clothing, or even their very own bedroom. They want to experience what it means to be human. They want to explore the depths of the human heart and soul. They want to see another human being face to face, eye to eye, and they want to understand and be understood.
If they can do this, I can't help but think that some of life's nastier squalls might be made easier to bear. Not that they could ever bypass those storms, but at least they will have a life line, sealed and protected, to hold on to.
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