Game Night and Soup

There's lots to love about January game night.
Card games that feature loved ones laughing so hard that their eyes drip joy. 
Kitchen confidences shared over a steaming coffee pot while scores are tallied.
Flirty glances and idle threats lobbed across a table littered with dessert plates.

and ... SOUP! 
Here's what I suggest, but it does change every time. 
Consider this a (very) vague guideline for your soup. 
Personally, I've never made the same soup twice. 
I just cannot do it. 

January's Sunday Night Soup
1 large onion
1 cup carrots
1 cup zucchini 
1.5 cups potatoes
2 t. garlic
salt and pepper to taste
large box of broth
2 pounds chicken or beef
- Cook meat in large soup pot, keep the broth and cut finished meat into bite-sized pieces.
Saute each vegetable separately, seasoning each to taste. 
Use more or less of each, whatever your crowd likes.
- Dump finished veggies into the large soup pot with the cooked meat. 
This can be time consuming, so feel free to light a candle, check the laundry, or smooch your 
spouse while vegetables cook. You could use a pan for each veggie, if you have that many, 
to cut down on prep time, but I like to end with the smallest possible pile of dirty pans.
- When all the meat and veggies are finished, add garlic to the pot and pour in 
enough broth to cover everything. Simmer until flavors combine. 
To make creamy broth instead of clear, check out this listI use#7 - flour. 


Quietly Snoring

It's cold out here in Kentucky.
Don Juan climbing rose drooping and encased in ice.

It's a time of barren landscapes after the festivities of December.
I feel a certain camaraderie with the cool, bleak landscape. 
Neither of us have much to say right now and hardly anything to offer. 

But I know that life is sleeping out there in the gardens, not dead, 
just quietly snoring, preparing for the next season

God is about to do a new thing in my life.
What about yours?



     "Do you want to sit here?" His hand flipped from one jacket pocket to offer her the seat.
     She looked at the rusted metal chair and grimaced. What makes him think I would want to sit in that? "No. Thanks." She stood behind the chair, gripped the top edge, and directed her gaze at the collar of his flannel shirt. "They're going to wonder why we're still out here. You know they don't like to wait on supper." She looked down at the chair and flicked a piece of loose paint. It landed on the gravel at his feet. "What do you want to say? Just say it."
     She watched him take a deep breath and kick the gravel mixed with sticks. His words now would change the course of the visit. 
     Of the day. 
     Of her life.



Much More to Come

I have a jar of paperwhites brewing in my windowsill right now. 

So far, shiny brown bulb paper is their most attractive feature.
But look there -- 
the tiniest green leaf-tongue protrudes from each, a whispered promise of more to come.
Much more to come.

The above is a photo of paperwhites from last year, or maybe the year before that.
The added quote is something I'm trying hard to grasp in 2016.
While I tend to cram my empty places full of other things, 
Jesus gently reminds me that He is the only One who can satisfy. 

And there's much more to come... 
much more.