the beef in the kitchen

"Wait, I thought I just served you a hamburger. You're a vegetarian?"

Que conversation clarifying that I am only sort-of-kind-of a vegetarian. A flexitarian if you will.

Today one of the church ladies took one look at my potluck plate and said, "Are you a vegetarian?"

With one eye on my assortment of salads and another on my deviled egg she continued, "Because my daughter is one and I can tell."

It's quite the conversation-starter, this decision that isn't really a decision. And it garners all kinds of reactions from folks when they see what I'm eating (or not eating as the case may be) and then respond with tales of their own preferences and relationships with meat.

I grew up eating meat in a household where meat was never the central aspect of a meal. We ate a lot of fruits and vegetables and non-meat dishes.

At some point when I was pretty young I decided I didn't like lunch meat. I actually have no memory of ever eating it so I'm not sure how that went down or what caused me to cross it off the list of edible foods. So I got used to making a vegetarian option when faced with yet another make-your-own-lunch-meat-sandwich event or picnic. Lettuce and tomato sandwiches, anyone?

I watched my sister become a vegetarian who ate seafood (a pescetarian).

I moved away to Texas, land of barbeque, tacos and grilling. I ate in the cafeteria my first two years, not paying too much attention to whether I was consuming meat or not. I had little concept of protein and the many ways you can get it.

I watched my sister start eating meat again. I moved into an apartment and began cooking for myself for the first time.

I started eating a little less meat simply because meat is more expensive.

Then, I started running consistently. I started researching nutrition and recipes and ways of eating that were healthier than some of the pre-packaged foods I had relied on.

I discovered and fell in love with hummus. I started cooking lentils. I started thinking about protein and vegetables and fruits and what I was putting in my body.

The amount of meat I was eating dropped a lot. Quite honestly, I didn't really miss it. I still cooked chicken every once and awhile. If I really wanted ground beef or sausage, I made it. But suddenly a package of chicken breasts and a small package of ground meat could last me 6-8 weeks.

My meat eating was dying out. I considered becoming a vegetarian, but was hesitant to relinquish the occasional consumption of bacon.

Then I received the news that I would be moving to Mongolia. A quick Internet search and a conversation with a professor steeled me with the knowledge that I was not about to enter a vegetable-friendly environment.

Mutton. Horse. Beef. Some rare pieces of chicken.

Meat was the meal for a year and a half. Meat with an occasional side of flour.

There were days that I came home from work so desperate for something green and not coated in oil that I would beg Holli to let us just please cook a plate of vegetables for dinner.

No, being a vegetarian wasn't an option there. (Although I do know a Mongolian who is a vegan which blows my mind- I still have no idea what she ate most of the time).

I came to Omaha and didn't make any hard or fast rules about being a vegetarian or not.

My body led the way and just sort of chose for me. Call it a meat detox or just preference, but I have more or less stopped eating meat in any organized or consistent fashion.

I still eat it, just infrequently. It's been six months and I still haven't managed to eat the 3 chicken breasts and one package of ground beef I purchased and put in my freezer.

Instead I've been hoarding cans of chickpeas and black beans, making my own hummus and experimenting with various vegetarian and vegan recipes.

When meat is served to me, I eat it. When I crave meat, I'll usually eat it.

But less meat feels right to me and my body in this season. I am training for a half-marathon and have not felt at all lacking in protein or fuel.

My relationship with eating meat has been a process of learning about nutrition, discovering my own understanding of how to balance hospitality with personal choice and of figuring out how to listen to my body.

Most of all, the lack of beef in my kitchen has taught me the joy of embracing simplicity in my cooking, eating and food.

I'd like another serving of that, please.

eggplant stuffed with cheese and covered with tomatoes

the misery and faith of job

a month or two ago, I began the process of reading through the book of Job. T suggested it and so we did it together, reading a chapter each day. I had read Job before and even pondered it in relation to missions thanks to some other blog thoughts written by missionaries with greater insight than me.

but I had never sat down with Job and read it day in and day out for 42-some days.

my prayer journal from those days are filled with verses and reflections, scribbles of where Job and his friends met my own thoughts and challenged me.

it's been almost a month since I finished reading Job and yet I have still found myself tossing and turning over the verses, picking them up again to reflect and examine and toss them back.

the thing that surprised me the most about returning to Job was that his words pointed out flaws in my own understanding of God. Job, the proverbial man who kept his faith, made it clear to me that contrary to Sunday School teaching, he wrestled and struggled and cried out and had a lot of angry conversations with his friends.

And he did it because he knew God to be faithful.

Period. End of Story. There is No Other Option.

Job believed that God was faithful. And so when faced with immeasurable loss and despair and general horrible-ness, he sat on that ground and he fought- internally, verbally (with his many friends who thought they had it figured out) and physically (lots of sackcloth wearing).

I, in my many and frequent moments of fear and doubt and holy-crapola-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life, am unconvinced that I can hope and dream of good things. And that is not simply a crack in my self-identity or self-esteem- that is a crack in my theology and my understanding of God.

Job dared to believe that God was faithful and would grant him good things. He dared to look at the rubble of his life and declare that God was God- our Maker and our Provider- and that He would be Job's sustenance.

Job looked at all that was bad, all that had been stricken, all that was wounded, all that was broken and still he had hope in who God is.

His friends wanted to argue theology, to explain why things fell apart at the seams and Job just kept saying, "Yes, I may want to die right now. Yes, I may wish I had never been born. Yes, I may be mourning like I have never mourned before. But that doesn't change the fact that God is faithful."

After all of the death, destruction and anguish that falls upon him:

"At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship" -Job 1:20

The beauty of Job to me is that while he got 500 steps ahead of me by responding to devastating loss with worshipping our Lord, he also is honest about those losses and the pain they have caused him. He does not glibly talk about how faithful God must be and how he feels no hurt because God will provide.

He looks at this pain, names it and then claims the fact that he is going to cling to the hope of what he knows to be true- God's faithfulness. And that that clinging is going to be enough for him in the midst of all else. He is not pretending to be superman. He is clinging for his life and he's owning it.

"Then I would still have this consolation- my joy in unrelenting pain- that I had not denied the words of the Holy One. What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What prospects, that I should be patient?"-Job 6:10-11

Faced with the words of his friends, which vary from condemnation to misunderstanding to just plain mean, Job brings it back to what it's really about for himself. He doesn't let his friends' agendas muddle what he sees this season of his life to be- a time of introspection, grieving and trying to reconcile his understanding of God with what's happening to him.

His friend Bildad:

"He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy."- Job 8:21

Job:

"Indeed, I know that this is true. But how can a mortal be righteous before God?" -Job 9:2

He had every reason to throw down his beliefs and pick up the mantle of bitterness and a cynical theology of believing that God is out to punish, destroy and harm. Yet he looks at all that has happened in his life and he sees the power of who God is and he chooses to believe that that power is beyond his comprehension, that his understanding of God's faithfulness must be held in the context of knowing we understand only a whisper of what awaits.

"And these are but the outer fringe of his works; how faint the whisper we hear of him! Who then can understand the thunder of his power?" - Job 26:14

But perhaps my very favorite part of Job comes in chapter 38. After chapters of Job wondering and questioning and claiming faithfulness in spite of what everyone else is shouting at him, this happens:

"Then the Lord answered Job out of the storm. He said:" - Job 38:1

The storm is not over. The storm is still going on and on and on. He's got friends who want to debate God's faithfulness until they've used up all of the words in the universe.

But God answers him out of the storm. And he gives him two chapters worth of examples of his power and might and wisdom.

Job dared to believe in a God who is faithful even when his life looked a lot more like ruins than castles.

Job dared to believe in a God who provides when he had nothing.

Job dared to believe in faithfulness even when everyone around him told him how foolish and ridiculous he was being.

Job dared to be honest about his pain and the struggles he had reconciling his experiences with his theology.

And God answered him out of the storm.

Job revealed to me the fault lines of my own concepts of faithfulness.

Perhaps thinking we understand is more of a risk than choosing to know we don't.

Perhaps hopes and dreams are less about who we believe ourselves to be and more about who we believe God to be.

And perhaps fears reveal less about ourselves and more about how we understand God.

here's to Job. The man who wept the tears of loss and clung to the corners of hope and knew they went together.

a thursday

lots to write about, but for today i'll stick with today.

morning meeting with community folks interested and excited about starting community gardens in the neighborhoods that we are passionate about.

exclaiming over pumpkins growing from vines winding their way across a side of a hill next to the church.

chatting in the sun about where and how we can work together.

the future a possibility of finding more places to spread tomatoes and eggplants and cabbages the side of my head.

***

an afternoon walk of non-100 degree weather guided by boarded up houses and street corners.

the destination a former strip club where we gathered on the sidewalk to talk about what it's becoming.

the becoming a process of resources and neighbors and churches and people coming together to build something new out of the old.

a demolished inside with no windows, few lights and lots of debris.

someday a place of windows, art classes and safe spaces.

collaboration is good for a thursday.

the simple things

sometimes going places is less about the going and more about the cracks in between the going.

mountains over denver from a window seat. mountains, that if we want to be honest, made me cry. because I really miss mountains.

quiet parks with fountains, trees, a farmer's market and cheap, delicious indian food.

a lack of humidity, blue skies and sunshine.

giant zucchinis and fruit booths that made me wish I lived in California.

orange trees.

strawberries. oh holy strawberries.

rivers and trains.

old Sacramento.

comfy hotel beds, take-out sushi and a wonderful morning run.

the in-betweens are my favorite part of all.