I am not endorsing everything (or every picture) that this campaign puts out. As a Christian I believe that ultimately I must find my identity in Christ and look to Him to define me. But I AM agreeing that this is a serious issue that needs to be addresses in our culture.
Post this video on your facebook or blog or twitter and share the message with others. Let’s reclaim the definition of beauty.
I posted last week about our chevre mushroom pizza
and wanted to follow up since we made pizza again today for lunch. This time I snapped a couple pictures with my phone so I could upload them. I rarely make a recipe unless I see a picture of it (I know that other people feel similarly). My goal is to get better about taking pictures of what I bake/cook. This will probably be easier in a couple weeks when my new phone gets in. For now, I’m working with a very limiting camera phone and my own very limiting creativity.
More information on the dough: This week I made the dough on Saturday night and put it into an oiled zip-lock bag which was then put into the refrigerator (this step takes the place of letting it rise the first time). This morning before we left for Church, I pulled the dough out of the fridge and transferred it from the zip-lock to a mixing bowl. The bowl was then covered and the dough rose while we were gone. It worked out well because when we got home from Church, lunch was already halfway prepared. 🙂
We’re trying to set a pattern of being ready to host guests after Church. Of course, we just moved here and we’re just getting to know people at our Church, but we’d like to have our home/meal prepared so that we could invite people over after Church if the opportunity arises. It creates an interesting challenge for me to find a meal that could easily be “expanded” if we had guests and need to stretch the food. But at the same time, we don’t want to be wasteful and prepare food that will go uneaten. This is where the pizza dough came in!
Since it was just Caleb and I only used about 2/3 of the dough that was prepared for our pizza (we really could have used 1/2 of it). The remaining dough was put back into the zip-lock and I plan on using it to make breadsticks later this week. That way nothing was wasted and we’ll have homemade breadsticks without the hassle of making them right before dinner. I’ll probably pair the breadsticks with homemade soup or salad (depending on the weather).
From the pictures it clear that we did one side white bread and one side with a marinara sauce. I whipped up the sauce when we got home because we didn’t have any pizza sauce on hand.
Before the oven
Ready to eat!
Disclaimer: You might not understand this post. I’m not asking you to. 🙂
“Talk to me,” he says.
The words don’t come.
But the tears do.
My heart and my bathtub are full. There are words I wish to say. And yet, I can’t.
He takes my hand. And the tears come again, for a new reason. This man, this husband of mine is infinitely patient and kind. In the words of another, “he is more patient with me than I am with myself.”
I retreat again into my journal and my books and my Bible. He stays near, but gives me the space to simply be. I look over. He sits at the kitchen table with his Bible open, seemingly unaware that I’m watching him. My eyes go back to my papers. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him glance up to check on me. We sit silently. Each of us half-engaged in our books; each pretending that we don’t realize the other one watching. It’s a delusional game.
The gulf between us seems oh-so-wide. It’s not anger or frustration. We didn’t get into a fight. We’re just learning what it means to co-exist. And learning that God is working on that other person so we need to step back and let Him work. That’s hard.
I bridge our emotional-Grand-Canyon by taking the few steps from the couch to the kitchen table. He looks up with bright eyes, hoping that I’ll have words to explain.
As he wraps his arms around me, the tears come again.
I cry because I hurt. I cry because I am loved and yet so undeserving of it. I cry because I’m aware of my shortcomings and how un-Jesus-like I am. I cry because this-thing-called-‘marriage’ is smoothing out all my rough edges and I know that I still have so much further to go. I cry because this world is not my home. And I am so very ready for the world that is my home.
He loves me. Of this am sure.
And I’m pretty crazy about him too. 😉