Switzerland: Where Narnia and Heaven Meet

“It is as hard to explain how this sunlit land was different from the old Narnia as it would be to tell you how the fruits of that country taste. Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this. You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking-glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different - deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia and the new Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more.” C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Chills creep down my arms as I read this excerpt from C.S. Lewis's final book in his series "The Chronicles of Narnia." I stumbled upon these words today as I read through some of my favorite passages, recalling Lewis's near-perfect analogy of what Heaven will be like. This vivid description spoke to me deeply as a child, during seasons of much hardship, lying awake in bed and bundled under the covers, wishing for a world unlike anything I had ever experienced. This passage still fills me with wondrous hope for what life beyond this one will be like. 

Looking out over the horizon at a vast expanse of mountain peaks towering 13,000 miles above sea level is impressive. It's also very humbling. In a reverent, marvelous sort of way. When I steady my gaze upon the the Swiss Alps, I feel like I'm breathing in something holy. I'm tasting a small morsel of Heaven, scraps off the table of eternal pleasures. It's ironic that today during our quiet time with the Lord, Ken and I read Psalm 16:11: "You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand." Being here in Switzerland, at a Bible Seminary perched on the hills of Beatenberg for more than 115 years, open wide to the surrounding snow-capped mountains and glistening lake below, feels like a dream. A vision of unfathomable beauty. Or rather, a glimpse of something that I know in my heart to be real. To be set just far enough, over the horizon, that I can hear the distant sounds of something spectacular--what C.S. Lewis describes as "deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know."

I already look forward to coming back to Switzerland. I can't adequately express how it feels to be here. But I love it. I love how God brought us here for a few short days, to recharge and refresh us, as we continue our tour of Europe. 

Here are some of my favorite photos of the landscape and our time here. Click on each photo to enlarge.

Segen für Sie. Blessings to you. 

A Chocolate Croissant & Overcoming Setbacks

I glance down at the chocolate splotches lining my fingertips. “You look so happy,” Ken said to me, a moment before, causing me to notice my hands and the empty white china plate in front of me. A warm, gooey, chocolate-filled croissant. I had just finished my first one ever, and it was amazing. Biting into the rich, chocolate cream encased in a flakey, buttery shell was like finding a piece of gold in a lush, verdant field—already beautiful and picturesque by its own right, but now even more wonderful of an experience. Analogies aside, this freshly-baked European pastry was, as the Italians say, “Perfecto!” As I ease back into reality, Ken smiles and continues, “You look really happy when you’re eating.”

I am happy when I’m eating, it’s true. I’ve always been that way. Food is a huge blessing and comfort to me. Perhaps more so than the average person because I know what it’s like to go without. To not have enough food. To be in want. Growing up on simpler means taught me the value of food—and especially good food—very quickly. Food is a gift. And good food is an elaborate present, enclosed in the finest paper, filled with bounty and best unwrapped by a grateful receiver.

Back to the croissant that had miraculously vanished from my plate. It was one of the best breads I’ve ever tasted. I’m thankful to be in the city of Florence, enjoying the many offerings of this pleasant city. Ken and I arrived here a couple days ago, after some big disappointments during our travels. I guess no story is really great without struggle. We experienced our first major difficulty in the form of a less than ideal hotel situation a couple days ago. I booked accommodations at a hillside inn that seemed lovely from the photos and reviews. However, when we got there, after disembarking from our cruise and then spending a few hours driving from Venice to Florence, I immediately felt uncomfortable. The room, sparse and muggy, felt closed in and hot, unusually so. I developed a headache, which turned into a sour stomach and a poor attitude quickly. The air conditioner was broken, the concierge told us, and no one would fix it until Monday (the day we checked out.) Then we realized that our room’s mini-fridge was broken, too. Warm drinking water in cramped, scorching quarters sounded awful. There was no ice to be found, either. My first time in this part of Italy, with the sun blaring down and a room temperature hovering around 80+ degrees felt just horrible. Again, Ken tried to convince the concierge that the room was not suitable. The lady refused to give us a refund although all her others rooms were booked. But our reservation promised air conditioning, we said. She was relentless. So, feeling nauseated and feverish, I asked Ken what are options were. Together, we made a hard decision—our first one that involved losing quite a bit of money.

We decided to go elsewhere.

From that point on, our situation improved immensely. We found a boutique inn just a few miles outside of the heart of Florence and 20 minutes closer to town than our previous hotel. It was a gamble picking our next place to stay, but I felt God’s peace about giving up our desire to save money and instead, placing health and wellness as top priorities in this instance. Our new hotel was impeccably clean, the staff friendly and welcoming, and the air conditioning worked great! There was even a pool, free breakfast and parking included in the cost. Still a bit disappointed from the nonrefundable costs of our previous booking, I started to pray that God would give me a heart of forgiveness and hope, amidst the sense of loss I felt. I believe He’s been doing that and now, two days later, I feel refreshed and encouraged by the restful nights we’ve had in such a comfortable setting! I can see now what a huge blessing it was to be closer to the city, and have incredible food provided each morning as a means of starting the day without having to look for food. We even grew close with our concierge, Asselli, a sincere and social guy in his 20s, who loves to travel and has spent in Britain and America. His English skills allowed us to overcome communication barriers. Asselli pointed out all the top spots for us to visit in Florence and kindly shared Italian customs and traditions with us, in hopes of increasing our understanding about why people do things in a certain way.

For instance, we learned that most Italians eat lunch at 12:30 p.m. or 1 p.m. each day. Dinner is at 7:30 p.m. or 8 p.m. Italians, he commented, are very rigid about when mealtimes take place. They refuse to eat or serve meals outside of those times, for the most part. Upon telling us this, he chuckled and pointed out that Italians are “very traditional.” But coffee, he said, can be enjoyed at any time. Asselli also educated us about how Italians don’t typically put ice in things. This topic came up when we asked where the ice machine was located. “Ice is bad for your stomach the Italians think,” he said.

We are learning so many things while abroad. Driving, in particular, is very different in Italy and Greece than what I’m familiar with. I’ve observed that locals drive much higher than the speed limit, don’t use their turn signals (or rarely use them, as if by accident), and prefer to drive in the middle of two lanes if they are unsure about which lane is moving faster. I’ve seen at least a dozen drivers do this in our two days of having our own car. It’s much like a circus when motorcycles and scooters are also involved. They can pass on either side and will do whatever it takes to get around slower-moving vehicles, even if it means putting themselves at risk.

But our experience with the food and culture here in Italy has been delightful, even with the near-death driving experiences and poor hospitality and service at our previous hotel. I’m thankful that our stories aren’t colored by only “good and seemingly perfect” situations. It’s in the trials, the discomfort and the disappointment where God is able to show us opportunities for growth, emotionally and spiritually. Ken and I are able to work through these things and grow stronger in our marriage. I truly feel blessed to be able to say that we are embracing the good, the bad, and the ugly, in hopes of finding real, meaningful life. Life that is sometimes tucked away and hidden in the darkness, forged by patience and forgiveness.

Well, it’s time to drive through Tuscany. The next couple days we are visiting the seaside town of Sorrento. I look forward to sharing more with you soon!

Europe: The First Few Days

“Grandma just passed us on her scooter,” Ken shared, as he glanced over his left shoulder for any other fast-paced Grecians wanting to cut ahead of our light yellow Ford rental car. This happened yesterday, as we were driving along Corfu’s main road to Paleokastritsa, a postcard-worthy, bright blue bay on the east side of the island. I laughed, and thought back to our time in Venice just last week, when Ken and I came across multiple seniors on road bikes and scooters, going incredibly fast. I swear one was a biker gang made up of sweet little ladies 85 years old and up, smiling and sharing stories as they turned the corner at a local restaurant. Experiences such as these have made our time in Europe so colorful.

We’ve been overseas for about five days now, and I already have enough stories to fill my stationary to friends. Our initial flight to Frankfurt from Seattle was delayed about an hour last Wednesday. Besides not being able to sleep much during the 11-hour flight, upon arriving in Germany, we struggled to find the correct bus to the Frankfort Hahn Airport, where our connecting flight to Venice departed. We soon found out that the bus ride was about an hour and a half away from our current airport (Frankfurt am Mein). During that transfer, we decided that in the future, we would take into consideration “ease of travel” instead of placing “cost” as our primary consideration. Our flight to Venice via Ryan Air was very bumpy. I felt like I was back in San Diego riding the Mission Valley Roller Coaster, in all its rickety, wooden splendor. There were multiple instances where I found myself grabbing Ken’s hand or arm, as the plane went up-and-down, side-to-side, catching every air pocket in the clouds. I almost kissed the ground when we landed—not just because I was excited to be in Europe but also since I was excited to be alive. (Ken is so good to remind me every time we fly that turbulence is completely normal and safe.)

It sure feels good to be on solid ground now, although that’s only half-true since we are currently taking a boat along the Mediterranean Sea. This is the first time I’ve ever sailed on a cruise and it’s honestly one of the most fun experiences I’ve ever had. There are multiple restaurants and food carts (all-inclusive) with all sorts of offerings—American favorites and international cuisine, along with buffet-style and four-course sit-down meals. Room service is also available 24-7. Food is obviously a selling point for the cruise industry. Besides the dining selections, there are two pools onboard, four hot tubs, two exercise rooms, a mini-golf course, a spa, a rock-climbing wall, ping pong tables, a quarter-mile track that encircles the top of the boat, a casino, a showroom, a bar, and an outdoor movie theatre. Ok, it’s crazy. That’s the best word to describe it. I’m still in awe of the amenities of this cruise ship. Ken and I happened to book this very cruise, in fact, because it ended up being comparable (or even cheaper) to our typical cost of food, accommodations, and travel costs while abroad for a week. We did it to save money in one sense. And the fact that it stops in countries along the Mediterranean—places we were already hoping to visit—made it perfect for us.

As I write this update on our travels, I can’t help but share how grateful I am for the Lord’s provision for us on this trip, even in the first week of traveling. One story in particular comes to mind. A couple days ago, our cruise ship docked in Croatia. For the past few weeks, I had been researching the Krka National Park, about an hour and a half’s drive outside of the port city of Split. Therein lies a series of breath-taking waterfalls carved naturally from the soft, local stone and formed by a unique biological process, which only happens in this location. It’s marvelous to see. All the reviews I read and photos I found online elevated my interest in going there and taking in the beauty myself.

And God provided a way for us to do this.

Once onboard our cruise ship, Ken and I had decided to brake down and buy the expensive tour tickets to Krka, after realizing that it’d be even pricier to try to get there ourselves. However, we soon found out that the tour had been canceled. The tour company decided to forfeit their business deal with our cruise deal, although nothing was wrong at the actual tour site. Disappointedly, I resolved myself to walking around the nearby towns in lieu of seeing the waterfalls. Especially because of the distance and energy it would take to get there. But when we got off the ship, we ran into some fellow tourists—a friendly family of five from Florida, who were also hoping to see Krka National Park. They kindly let us jump in their taxi car. Since there were 8 of us total, including the taxi driver, it was quite interesting getting everyone to fit! Let’s just say that three people went without seat belts and at one point, I sat in the cargo area of the taxi, comfortably placed between backpacks and day bags. It was an adventure! I hadn’t done anything like this since college. Looking back, our taxi driver was able to make the 90-minute drive in less than hour, thanks to his 150+ km/hr speeds. That’s almost 100 mi/hr. When I share this story with our children someday, I plan on deemphasizing the safety risks. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The falls were amazing and worth the trip.

I anticipate so many more wonderful experiences on this trip, if the first few days are an indicator of what’s to come. There are a couple other stories that I can’t wait to share in the coming days. 

Andiamo. That’s an Italian word I learned during our time in Venice. It means, “Let’s go!” 

It’s time for me to jump off the ship and tour Athens.

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.