What’s in the market this week, what’s on my shelf? I love making soup out of whatever is at hand, and hopefully I have all the basic ingredients. Something savory something sweet, something bitter something salty, something spicy and something mild. Every season and every combination yields a different flavor, texture and aroma. Today I’m cleaning out the fridge and trimming the herb garden and it looks like this: The remainder of a roast chicken, parsnip and sweet onion, celery, parsley, sage, carrot, jalapeno pepper, chard, sugar snap peas, a Parmesan rind. And a little tomato from a friend’s garden, a generous handful of barley and some Hawaiian volcanic salt. Once it’s all in the
“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.” Romans 8: 22 NIV version I like to think about creation as orderly, seasonal, dependable, nurturing, restorative, beautiful. This is something I appreciate from my understanding of the Celtic Seasons of the Year. This past week, however, creation has seemed to be anything but orderly. Two historically powerful hurricanes roared out of the South Atlantic Ocean wreaking havoc in their path; rainfall measured in feet seemed obscenely misplaced as wildfires raged elsewhere in our country; in Denver, we were confined to our homes for days, by smoke as thick as heavy fog; in Mexico, the
A word of introduction may be in order, particularly for todays’s blog. At Celtic Way we write, pray, engage in conversation, celebrate the breaking of the bread, and sing – not to replicate exactly the ancient Celtic Christian religion – but instead to share our evolving Christian faith which is strongly under the influence of our studies of the Celtic Christian faith. I might add that we are also influenced by the growing number of contemporary Celtic Christian authors. Continuing in this vein, what I share in print both reflects our spirituality without my expectation of everyone at Celtic Way having to hold the same belief or pondering. There must be so much more that holds us all togeth
My grandpa’s name was John T. Smith. He wasn’t my “real” grandpa. My “real” grandpa drowned in a whirlpool when my dad was 11. It was during a family picnic alongside the Cedar River. John T. Smith was the only grandpa I ever knew. He loved me quietly with his actions. He was a creative and consistent man who turned old phones into lamps. They were very cool. Then he would sell them or he might give you one if he liked you. When I was in grade school I was in the hospital for several months. He would come and see me and bring me mints – individually wrapped! He didn’t say much. But he came regularly and often would bring me toys which were made out of wood. Cars, trucks, and a red and white
