Oh, June.

Stand up straight.
Chew slowly.
Breathe deeply.

Those three phrases are stacked like bullet points on the torn yellow sheet of tablet paper pinned to my bedroom board. Two prickly pins hold the sheet in place, as if it a sudden gust of wind would knock it down. Looking back, I’m not sure why I chose two pins, when just one is perfectly sufficient. It’s as if I needed to physically affirm the importance of these words. They needn't slip from my mind anytime soon. They are here to stay.

In reviewing my previous blog posts, I recognize that it’s been more than a month since I last wrote. I find writing to be like that sometimes. In seasons filled with extreme flurry, it’s hard for me to sit down and find peace in writing. Writing instead takes on a more stressful attitude; words become a battle, marked by loss.

All that aside, I am here. I can stand up straight. I can chew slowly. And I can breathe deeply. At least right now those three phrases bring me back to a concrete place, where my mind is not racing between our upcoming move and the loss of proximity to so many friends and the city--with all its tantalizing tastes, sights and sounds at my doorstep. In remembering to practice the simple things, I recognize my intense longing for stability and a sense of home.

 Since I wrote last, so many big changes have taken place or are in process. Ken and I officially gave our move-out notice and later this month, we will walk away from our second apartment we've together called home. Weekly community group meetings at our place have been a delight and also an opportunity for relational and spiritual growth. Yet, our time with our church group is coming to a close. Likewise, I have mixed feelings about leaving Seattle. While I tire of my many walks along the urine- and vomit-stained sidewalks here in our district, I must admit that being so close to such depravity has opened my eyes to the world that I live in. I’m recognizing that while safety and comfort rest easily in the suburbs, pain and brokenness lie awake in the city. It is here that Christ’s plan for the world takes on a fresh meaning for me. Here, in the city, where drivers outside our apartment slam on their breaks and barely bypass accidents, and occasionally scream obscenities to the wind, I see something that I've missed my whole life apart from the city. It’s a kind of stark desperation that can be witnessed by living here. By partaking in the clutter and messiness of humanity.

In a few weeks, my husband and I will leave this area. We’ll close this chapter on what has been four years of time spent developing friendships, living intentionally, and pursuing community. But in faith, we both believe that God is calling us to someplace new. Someplace different. It is in this hope that we venture out, in certain ways willing to compromise and leave behind some of the expectations that once felt so significant—such as being someplace that is warm year-round, close to a big city, near to my dearest college friends, and brimming with obvious opportunities. Instead, we are choosing to pursue proximity to family, specifically Ken’s family. In late July, we will take all of our belongings and drive the Yukon to Alaska. It is there that we hope to put down some roots, at least for a time. A time that is yet to be determined. We’re excited and also scared. OK, maybe I’m the scared one. But I think part of being honest is admitting my fears. I’m afraid of a big move. I’m worried about saying goodbye to so many friends. I’m scared that maybe it won’t work out. And still, I keep moving forward, pressing into God for a faith that rests assured. A faith that is marked by seasons of waiting and seasons of action. Our time to move forward seems to have come and I look forward to sharing how God speaks to us in this new adventure. Until then, I recall my small note stuck to my cork board: Stand up straight. Chew slowly. Breathe deeply.

I don’t need to figure everything out. It’ll come. In God’s time.

The Power of a Post It: Wise Words from Rainer Maria Rilke

 "It is a tremendous act of violence to begin anything! 

I am not able to begin. I simply skip what should be the beginning." 

Rainer Maria Rilke

Those words, neatly written by my husband onto a sage green post-it note, have been stuck to his dry erase board for as long as I can remember. Typically, I stare blankly at this tiny slip of paper while doing jumping jacks or jogging in place in our living room, while Ken is away at school. But today was different. Rilke's quote took on a new meaning. They forced me to get off the couch (and consequently, to log off Pinterest and Facebook and to quit checking emails on my smartphone) and just start exercising.

Do you ever have days like that--when it feels so hard to 'start' anything, let alone exercise? That was me this morning.

This past month, I have really struggled with my desire to be more self-disciplined, in setting aside proper work time, tending to household needs, being intentional in my relationships, eating well and exercising more often. It feels frustrating because I have such high expectations for myself, my business, my relationships and my body. Although recently, I admit to noticing a change taking place in my life, and it's encouraging. No matter how subtle it is. Rather than beating myself up for not being 'good enough' or 'doing everything right,' I am learning to bask in God's grace and love for me. I suppose in one sense, I am learning to be human. It's weird to phrase it that way, especially since I naturally focus on human depravity or the more negative/sinful aspects of humanity's makeup. But God is slowly transforming the way that I view myself. He's showing me that in loving who He made me, and in acknowledging and accepting my limitations, I am in fact, bringing Him glory.

It's an exciting time in my life. I'm so amazed at how God is crafting me into a more confident, resilient, wiser, and stronger woman who is also vulnerable, transparent and humble. I never knew that those things could exist together, in my life. I'm thankful for the small steps of faith that God has used to draw me deeper into relationship with Him, which in turn has changed me. Three and a half years ago, I moved to Seattle, in faith. Two and a half years ago, I married Ken, in faith. And last week, after a year and a half of prayer, research, diligence and schooling, I launched my own wedding and event planning business--in faith. Like I said, it's exciting. There's a whole list of other things that encompass how I'm feeling as well--scared yet hopeful, anxious but confident, vulnerable, tender, and the list goes on.

As I think back on those words by Rainier Maria Rilke, I'm thankful that God is opening my eyes to His great plans for my life. And how all that I'm called to do is to move forward in faith. I don't need to have everything 'perfect' (i.e. figured out, mapped out, planned, etc.), and I don't need to be perfect (i.e. in the best shape of my life, Martha Stewart, etc.), I just need to start where I'm at. And maybe, thanks to Rilke, I won't even focus on wading in slowly. I'll continue to thrust myself forward, into this ever-evolving story of Christ's work in my life.

When Pain Hurts: Reflections on Having Only One Good Foot

It's a quarter past 10 this Monday morning and from my vantage point on the tweed recliner in our living room, I can see my husband packing apples and notebooks for school. The sound of his keys jingling as they swing from his jeans, where they are latched securely onto his belt loop, triggers my heart rate to increase.

He's heading out for the day. I will be alone for the first time in nearly 48 hours, I think to myself.

"I love you. I'll call you in an hour," Ken replies, as if responding to my inner dialogue. He gives me a quick kiss goodbye. The lock to our apartment door clicks, and he is gone.

I glance over at my left foot and slowly practice flexing my toes, back and forth. Within the past day and a half, I've noticed a growing sense of fear that at some point I'll look over at my left foot and it'll be gone. I'm not sure what that means exactly, so anytime I start to panic about possibilities (i.e. a dead foot, a black and blue foot, a foot that never moves again), I focus on my foot and practice moving it ever so feebly. Until the pain returns. Then I stop and remember to pray.

In retrospect, I am baffled by how incredibly painful my current state is compared to the minor incident that most likely caused it. On Friday afternoon, while my cousin and his wife and Ken and I were hiking through some old roads en route to Mukilteo Coffee Roasters on a nearby island, I tripped and rolled my left ankle. It was quick and painless. Not memorable in the slightest. I've lost my balance countless other times and rolled both my ankles in ways that actually hurt, whereas this moment, I felt nothing. Just a little embarrassed, I suppose. Regaining my stance, I continued walking and enjoyed the remainder of our trip to the coffee shop and back to our vacation rental--all without a hint of discomfort.

But then that night, I woke up with a tinge of pain in my foot. I ignored it, assuming the cause to be an awkward sleeping position. In the morning, I started limping. This was now Saturday. A few steps here and there and I could feel my foot cramping. Annoyed, I decided to "walk it off" because honestly, the more I walked and moved around, the better my foot felt. Looking back, I don't completely understand why that was. Shouldn't my body have told me that it was hurt? I feel slightly betrayed.

Easter morning the pain hit me like a rush of searing hot water hurled against my left foot. My blood boiled with heat from every movement of my leg, as I tried to prop myself up in bed. Something is wrong, very wrong, I thought to myself, as I nudged Ken awake.

"I'm in a lot of pain, Baby. Can you please help me call the nurse's hot line for my insurance? The cards are in my wallet."

As Ken stumbled in the morning light toward our hallway, where my purse hung from the closet door, I shuddered at the thought of what was happening. I had never felt pain like this before.

The slightest twitch of my toes in the "wrong" direction, and I screamed out in agony. Every curse word I've ever heard, I voiced with equal opportunity, shouting, as I struggled in vain to get my foot in a comfortable position. I managed to make it through the phone call to the nurse, with only a few tears grazing my cheeks. She could tell I was hurting. Without any conversation filler, she got right to the point: "You need to see a doctor. Today. Go to Urgent Care. I will help you find one--but you must go today because this could get much worse." Amidst my physical pain, I couldn't help but cry over the disappointment of missing church on such a special day. Our friends were waiting to meet us for breakfast before service and we wouldn't be there. We had to go to Urgent Care. And we had to leave now.

At our local Urgent Care, I was seen by the physician's assistant, who kindly knelt down on the floor by my foot and gently pushed and prodded to locate the origin of my pain. She gave me two possible diagnoses: either I fractured some bones in my ankle or foot or I tore the muscle tissue of my Achilles tendon. One option required a cast, while the other required immediate surgery. Both would take 6-8 weeks for a full recovery. Once she voiced the possibility of surgery, my mind started panicking and I struggled to breathe. The room was closing in. I heard the physician say something about crutches and needing X-rays, but all I could think about was the thought of surgery. A small word with so much fear attached to it. I immediately thought back to my sister's recent surgery. It should've been a routine operation, an easy outpatient "fix." But the surgeon messed up. She aimed wrong with her medical tools and because of a simple error, my sister was in intense pain for days, with a catheter and the inability to move in and out of bed.

The crinkling noise of plastic wrap jolted me back to my surroundings, momentarily releasing me from all the "what-if" possibilities plaguing my mind. Crutches. The physician wanted me to try out the set of crutches she had just removed from their plastic covering. After we found the right height for my crutches, she sent us off to our next appointment at a nearby hospital. Time for X-rays. Following my X-ray exam, the radiologist determined that there were no broken bones. My physician also ruled out a torn Achilles tendon, which was very encouraging. This meant that both the possible diagnoses didn't fit. Surprised by the results herself, my physician decided that the next step will be to see whether my foot can heal on its own. We are giving it one week to see if the pain eases and if greater movement returns. If not, I will be scheduled for an MRI to better examine the muscle tissue around my ankle. In case the X-ray missed something.

I have so many questions swirling around my mind: Will my body heal on its own? Is this degree of pain normal? What does it look like to honor God when I feel so debilitated by pain and the inability to move and function? In the past two days, I have had multiple opportunities to extend grace and practice humility toward myself and others. Last night, I decided to start crying out to God in my moments of severe pain rather than scream obscenities. God knows I'm hurting. Instead of just voicing my anger, I want to face my pain and ask God to meet me there. I also want to show myself more grace, because the way I feel right now doesn't define who I am. In faith, I see how God is increasing my ability to relate to others in pain and extend compassion. I can't even imagine living in a state of constant pain, as some do.

Likewise, I've been humbled in ways that are hard to share. Showering and even using the bathroom are difficult obstacles when I am prone to lose my balance and fall down. Yesterday, I slipped while trying to use the toilet. Upon hearing a loud bang, Ken ran in to see me crying hysterically, as I had fallen on my hurt foot. I'm still getting used to my crutches, and it's going to take time. Yet my husband continues to show me his faithful devotion to our marriage, especially in this time of injury. For example, today I was so fearful of showering that Ken stood outside the curtain, squeezing shampoo and bathing products into my hand while I balanced on one foot, firmly grasping the shower bar with one hand. When I finished, he carefully guided me out of the bathroom, encouraging me that I could do this. I am so thankful for the glimpses of God's goodness, faithfulness and healing that I have experienced these past two days, even in the midst of such pain. I'm holding on to hope.

Lord, please heal my foot and restore my mobility. Until then, please continue to show me Your Kingdom with eyes and ears, perhaps just a little bit more inclined, to receive it.

Roasted Rosemary Garlic-Lemon-Chili Chicken

Finger-lickin'-good. That would be my slogan for this chicken recipe, had it not been trademarked by Kentucky Fried Chicken years ago. All that to say, this recipe makes by far one of the tastiest chicken and potato dishes I've ever tasted. It's that good. Last night, when Ken and I practically licked our plates clean, I thought to myself, "Wow, it sure makes a difference in cooking when I use a cast iron skillet...when I incorporate a little heat (i.e. pepper flakes)...when the chicken is free range and grain fed...and when I sear and then roast in cooking." Yes, that's a lot to think about and I hope you will find that this recipe is one of those that is worth serving to guests, and on special occasions, and when you just need an evening pick-me-up.

Enjoy!

Rosemary Roasted Garlic-Lemon-Chili Chicken

Adapted from Food Network Magazine

Serves 4

Ingredients:

4-5 small red-skinned potatoes, halved, or quartered if large

2 teaspoons salt

4 tablespoons fresh rosemary or 1 ½-2 tablespoons dried)

5 cloves garlic, finely chopped and partially mashed

2-3 teaspoons pepper flakes (depending on heat preference)

Juice of 2 lemons (squeezed halves reserved)

2-3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

4 skin-on, bone-in chicken breasts (6 to 8 ounces each) or 1/2 of a medium chicken

1 cup baby carrots

Rosemary sprigs for garnish while baking (optional)

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Heat your cast iron skillet over medium heat. Add 1-2 tablespoons of olive oil and when oil is warmed, carefully add the potatoes and cook for 6-8 minutes until skins and outside of potatoes are crisp but the inside is still firm. Remove from pan and set both potatoes and empty pan aside.

Meanwhile, pile the rosemary leaves, garlic, 2 teaspoons salt and the red pepper flakes on a cutting board, then mince and mash into a chunky paste using a large knife. Transfer the paste to a bowl. Stir in the juice of 1 lemon and 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Add the chicken and turn to coat.

Return the cast iron skillet to the burner and heat over medium-high heat. When hot, add the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil and then chicken, skin-side down. Cover and cook until the skin browns, about 5 minutes. Turn the chicken; add the potatoes and carrots to the skillet and drizzle with the remaining garlic-chili-lemon paste and the juice of the remaining lemon. Cook for 4-5 more minutes, then turn the burner off.

Slice the leftover lemons into circles and add to the skillet, along with the rosemary sprigs, arranged artfully (optional).  Transfer the skillet to the oven and roast, uncovered, until the chicken is cooked through and the skin is crisp, 20 to 25 minutes.

Grandma Elsa's Apple Pie

In honor of two birthday celebrations today (my older sister's and a friend's), Ken and I made my Grandma Elsa's much beloved apple pie recipe. Unfortunately, my older sister lives in Hawaii and will not be able to taste the buttery richness of the pie crust and the sweet cinnamon-vanilla apple filling. Sorry, sister. But my friend who lives here in Seattle and is part of our weekly community group will definitely enjoy a slice of this deep-dish apple pie tonight. This is my first time sharing this recipe with the general public, so I hope you it compels you to immediately grab some butter, flour, sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, and apples--and start baking.
Enjoy!

Grandma Elsa's Apple Pie Recipe

(Best prepared in a deep-dish pie pan)

Serves 8-10

Ingredients:

Pie Crust Recipe, doubled, so that you have a top and bottom (My favorite recipe is here. Make sure to use real butter; you can use a prepared pie crust in a pinch.)

7-8 large Fuji apples, cored and sliced (any variety of apple works great; also, I keep the skin on)
1/2 cup unsalted butter
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 c. white sugar
3/4 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. water
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 tbsp. cinnamon

Directions:
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. 

Core and slice all apples, cutting the slices thinly (about 1/4" to 1/2" in width). Set aside. 

My Grandma at this point in the recipe would steam the apple slices about 5 minutes in a large pot. I do love this step and if you choose to forgo it, please add another 10 minutes or so to your total bake time.

Melt butter in a sauce pan over medium high heat, then stir in flour to form a paste. Add white sugar, brown sugar and water and bring to a boil. Add vanilla extract and cinnamon. Reduce temperature to low and simmer 5 minutes.

Prepare the bottom crust of your pie and place in pie pan. Fill with apples, mounded slightly. Cover with a lattice work crust or pattern of your choosing. Gently pour the sugar and butter liquid over the crust, pouring slowly. 

Bake 15 minutes at 425 degrees, then reduce the temperature to 350 degrees and continue baking for 25-30 minutes.

Remove from oven and let cool for 30-45 minutes (if possible), so the filling can firm up. Enjoy with a dollop of whipped cream and/or vanilla ice cream.

P.S. Fruit pie is way better than cake, I've realized. ;)

Photos of the process (below):

Snapshots of San Juan: Our Weekend Getaway

A couple weekends ago, Ken and I seized the opportunity to venture back to San Juan Island, one of my favorite places here in the Pacific Northwest. This secluded, intimate island, which is part of a larger archipelago, boasts about 8,000 year-round residents. Yes, it is quite charming and what it lacks--traffic, fast food restaurants, and department stores--I found refreshing. Just one and a half hours north of Seattle by car and a one-hour ferry ride, San Juan was the perfect Valentine's getaway. Although our Friday morning started with some stressful health concerns (which praise God, have subsided), we made it out of the ER within about three hours and were able to pack up and head north in time to make the last ferry bound for San Juan Island.

Our journey brought us to the Lakedale Resort (lakedale.com), where we enjoyed a time of relaxation, steeped in the immense natural beauty of our surroundings. This resort overlooks three spring water lakes, lined with towering Douglas fir trees. I couldn't have asked for a better "retreat" setting. While there, Ken and I spent some much-needed downtime reading and napping, and also praying and discussing where God is leading us in regards to the weekly community group that we host, and our role as facilitators. In being away from the structure and schedule of our lives here in Seattle, we were able to prayerfully consider what community, particularly ours, can look like. We asked each other questions and engaged with some difficult topics. And we walked away with a stronger sense of unity between us and a greater desire for intentional community within our group, and that is so exciting.

Besides our time at the resort, Ken and I ventured on a picturesque bike ride along the south end of the island. We started at American Camp, a site occupied by the US army from 1859 to 1874, which is now a national historical park. History surrounding the camp and the battle referred to as "The Pig War" (where Great Britain and the US almost waged war over San Juan Island) can be found here. It is quite fascinating and if you make it to San Juan, you must visit this park. The windswept cliffs are captivating. Likewise, the wide, open vistas make for an unforgettable backdrop to a picnic, hike, or in our case, bike ride. I will admit though that the beautiful views are matched fully by the difficulty of biking uphill into the wind. My dear husband can attest to my wobbly, shaky legs fiercely going head-to-head with the wind. At times, I lost the 'battle' and dismounted from my bike, walking or running or charging uphill in a headstrong fashion, but ultimately we did make it back to our starting point. Plus, the intense workout allowed me to relish the large box of assorted chocolates and Italian champagne that were recently gifted to us, which of course, we brought on this trip.

Attached are some photos from our trip. I hope you enjoy them. They're a 'snapshot' of the incredible memories that we are making here in Washington. As we look forward to the future in hope, both Ken and I are curious and excited to see where God takes us next--what adventures (as well as opportunities for growth) await!

Heart-Shaped Cookies & Handmade Valentines!

My husband with a heart-shaped cookie!

With Valentine's Day less than a week away, I am realizing that it would've been a good idea to start earlier this month on my handmade cards and homemade goods. As I write this, I'm watching my microwave timer count down the last few seconds before another batch of cookies must come out of the oven, while reviewing the few Valentine's cards that I managed to complete. Oh goodness, I'm not going to make the postman's final round of mail-pickups this afternoon...

Well, instead of worrying about this, I'm going to instead focus my thoughts on the excitement of this coming weekend. Tonight begins our first-ever Building Intentional Community Small Group Retreat! I'm really looking forward to this. One of our community group members proposed the idea months ago, as her Uncle owns a cabin on the water about two hours north of Seattle, right on the border between us and Canada. He kindly rented us his place for the next two days, and I anticipate this getaway will be an incredible time of building relationship, kayaking, cooking meals and sharing life together. Ken and I are on 'breakfast-snack-dessert patrol' and I'm hoping the "Hummingbird-Meets-Carrot-Raisin Muffins" and chocolate chip cookies I just whipped up will be a great addition to the spread.

Here are some photos of the Valentine's cards I created this year, along with today's baked goods. I hope they inspire you. Speaking of which, I better get back to baking! There goes that timer again...