On stories, Lent, soup and hard questions
Celebrating diversity in the daily
While sorting through and purging old files last month (as one tends to do in January) I came across some yellowed pages of our local newspaper, The News-Sun. I worked off-and-on at the newspaper for 20 years, beginning when I was 19 during summer break from my freshman year of college. I had intended to graduate from Ball State with an English major and Journalism minor. Working in a busy newsroom was far more appealing than heading back to the classroom so I stuck around. Over the next two decades, I gained the most valuable, practical education I could imagine under the tutelage of top-notch, award-winning journalists and editors. That education continues to serve me well today.
Back to the pages I had filed away. The clipping, dated January 23, 1989, included an essay (or a commentary in news lingo) about my grandmother Ruby. I wrote it to honor my father’s mother, who had passed away earlier that month. I came across the clipping on the very anniversary of the essay’s publication.
Titled “Grandma lived a full life in a common way”, the essay was an easy one to write. My hard-working, country-bred grandmother was a small, simple but fiery woman who loomed large in my life. The photo accompanying the essay shows a youthful Ruby with fashionably bobbed hair, wearing a dark dress with a lace collar, smiling coyly at the camera. She would have been about 16. The photo was taken outdoors and behind her are brick buildings that remain standing in Albion, Indiana, today. Here are a few memories, captured in my essay:
“As a teenager, Grandma played the player piano at the movie theater in Albion. It was there that she met her future husband, Lorne Wilson. A Canadian and an employee of Ford Motor Company, he drove new cars down to dealers in northern Indiana. Grandma caught his eye, and judging from photographs of her as a young girl, it is no wonder. Her impish grin, twinkling eyes and bobbed hair bespoke of a spirit that fellow classmates remember to this day. Grandma was liberated before her time. She was one of the first girls in town to have her dark hair bobbed….”
My grandfather met my grandmother in about 1919 when he stopped by the theater on his way through Indiana. According to Dad, the instrument Ruby played was actually a player piano that provided background music for the film on the screen. She just portrayed a “player” and kept the piano running.
Ruby quit high school and somehow followed Lorne back to Detroit, where she stayed for several years. Eventually, they married and returned to Albion to raise a family. My grandfather died before I was born, just short of acquiring American citizenship. He left Ruby with four young adult and teenage sons. Dad, the second oldest, was in the Air Force at the time and a photo of Ruby with her sons shortly after the funeral shows him in his dress blues.
A central character in the novel I am writing is inspired by Ruby, and while it is not fully based on her life, I’ve included some characteristics and events that serve the story well. Stumbling upon my essay about Ruby’s legacy is a gift and a reminder that we all have stories to tell, whether in memoir or in fiction, in a personal diary or in the local newspaper. It’s why I keep writing.
To quote one of my favorite “story-tellers” Eugene Peterson, author of The Message and so many more excellent books, and a strong promoter of the value of good fiction:
“Stories are verbal acts of hospitality.”
Lent: What to give up, what to gain
We have entered the season of Lent — the 40 days leading up to Easter observed by many Christians as a time of humility and sacrifice. This year, Easter will be celebrated on March 31. If you aren’t aware, Lent began on Valentine’s Day. My social media community included several photos of couples who marked both holidays by receiving the ashes together.
Growing up Catholic, my observance of Lent was a given. When I was old enough, I joined my parents at the altar and tilted my head so that the priest could form the sign of the cross on my forehead. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” By Ash Wednesday, I would have already decided what I should “give up” for Lent — usually chocolate or a favorite television show. And, of course, our family would abstain from eating flesh meat on Fridays, symbolic of the fact Jesus sacrificed his flesh for us on Good Friday. Instead, we ate fish or pancakes. I didn’t mind.
I am no longer a practicing Catholic, but I still observe Lent. In fact, I look forward to it. I wrote an essay about receiving the ashes at my evangelical church a few years ago. (You can read it here.) Most years I choose to fast from something during Lent. The goal is to replace whatever you give up with a greater focus on God. Though I am moderately successful in keeping my commitment, after Easter I resume consumption of whatever I gave up, usually with no lasting change in my spiritual life or my dedication to the One for whom I made the sacrifice.
This year, I’m choosing “gain” over “giving up.”
I have embraced a new spiritual practice during Lent — praying with religious icons as inspiration. “Behold the Beauty of the Lord” by Henri Nouwen guides me in this practice. I have long been drawn to religious icons and desired a way to access them meaningfully. Nouwen, a Dutch professor and priest who passed away in 1996, has been called “one of the most influential spiritual writers of our generation.” I have read several of his books and trust him as a guide to prayer.
“Icons are created for the sole purpose of offering access, through the gate of the visible, to the mystery of the invisible. Icons are painted to lead us into the inner room of prayer and bring us close to the heart of God.” ~ Nouwen
Pictured above is The Holy Trinity, painted by Andrew Rublev in 1425. Nouwen tells us Rublev, a monk, painted this icon “not only to share the fruits of his own meditation on the mystery of the Holy Trinity but also to offer his fellow monks a way to keep their hearts centered in God while living in the midst of political unrest.” The need for centering our hearts in God is as great in 2024 as it was 600 years ago.
This small prayer book includes three additional prints, all perforated so they can be removed from the book and examined up close. They are The Virgin of Vladimir, The Savior of Zvenigorod and The Descent of the Holy Spirit. All were created by Russian artists. “Together they express the Christian origin and destiny,” says Nouwen. “All four icons speak of a God not hidden in the dazzling splendor of the divine light but reaching out to a world yearning for freedom.”
Winter isn’t over yet. Let us eat soup!
You may remember that I’ve declared this the The Winter of Soup. My all-time favorite soup is a creamy tomato basil. I’ve done a taste test of the tomato basil soups available at a couple of local restaurants this winter. While Applebee’s is delightful and it’s usually my go-to (along with their chicken wonton tacos), I have a new favorite. DaVinci’s Italian Eatery and Pub in Sturgis, Michigan beats Applebee’s hands-down. It’s house-made and it is delicious. Here’s a recipe I snagged from All Recipes that I think comes close to DaVinci’s. (Image by Julie Kicova on Unsplash)
Tomato Basil Soup
4 tomatoes - peeled, seeded and diced
4 cups tomato juice
14 leaves fresh basil
1 cup heavy whipping cream
½ cup butter
salt and pepper to taste
Gather all ingredients.
Place tomatoes and juice in a stockpot over medium heat; bring to a simmer. Cook until tomatoes have softened, about 30 minutes.
Remove the pot from heat. Add basil leaves to the pot.
Use an immersion blender to purée soup until smooth.
Stir in heavy cream and butter. Cook and stir over medium heat until butter is melted, about 5 minutes. Do not boil. Season with salt and pepper.
Serve hot and enjoy!
‘A history illuminated by the past’
We enjoyed worshipping at Detroit Church a few weeks ago with our son, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren. It was dedication Sunday and the two littles were prayed over by the congregation and the pastors. The beautiful, meaningful ceremony came at the end of an hour of lively worship and a powerful message.
Our kids live in a predominantly black neighborhood near downtown Detroit. They love their city and have made Detroit Church their home. I’ve wrestled with the fact they are a minority in a community where long-standing racial prejudice has set them apart. (You can read my reflections here. And here.)
The wrestling eased a bit for me during this Black History Month as I joined my family in embracing the beauty of praising God in the presence of His perfect plan for diversity.
How can you explain the statement "the value and interest of history depend largely on the degree which the present is illuminated by the past"
This question was posted by V. S. Smith on the website Quora. The resulting responses reflect my own thoughts. What IS the value and purpose of designating a month to remember and honor the history of a race and culture that continues to fight for acceptance? And is the present explained fully by the past? These are much bigger questions than I can answer, but another concern stirred in my heart on that glorious Sunday as I sat in church alongside a black Mama whose precious baby was held close for the same prayers my white grandchildren received. Will this child be granted the same future as my family? That is my prayer for that little one and for all the black children my grandson plays with at preschool every day.
“My brothers and sisters, believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ must not show favoritism.” James 2:1
❤️🥰