Five dollars from every bag of coffee bought from our coffee store will go to support our adoption. Remember to always select Fair Trade choices to ensure that farmers receive a fair wage for their crops!
The extra bag of coffee will be automatically added to your order after you submit the order. Just make sure you order three bags before the end of August 14th!
With me being an American, and Ken being Canadian, I’ve been asked a few times over the last few week: How did the two of you meet?
It actually all started with a business card . . .
Nearly 16 years ago, I got my first box of professional business cards. I was working at The Wesleyan Church headquarters in the Youth Department. I got 1000 business cards. Why in the world a writer/editor would need 1000 business cards, I’ll never know.
Our department had just finished Catalyst, a conference held annually for Wesleyan youth pastors, and I was settling back into normalcy when a tour group came through our office. It was a group of Canadians. As I got to talking to them, I realized that one guy in particular knew a lot of the people I knew. The rest of the group was moving on in their tour, but he stayed behind as we talked about common friends and young adult ministry trends. When his group came back to get him, I handed him one of my business cards. Maybe we’d finish our conversation later.
He got on a van, and headed back to Canada.
Ken had stayed in the Youth Department that day because he had seen headquarters before, and it wasn’t that exciting the first time around. And he met a girl who could use the word “dude” in a sentence and not sound weird. He got back on his van to Canada and headed out for the long ride back to Ontario.
When he was nearing the border, he decided to call his sister to check in on his mom. She was terminally ill with ovarian cancer, and though he had just visited her, he was worried. He was right. The doctor had just given the news that she would soon pass away, and he needed to hurry back to New Brunswick to say goodbye.
Ken boarded a plane in Detroit, and sat by his mom’s side that night. He described the conference, and without even thinking confessed that he met a girl named Robin, and somehow he thought she was “the one.” Feeling a bit silly, he tucked that away in his “we’ll not mention that again” file. He was by his mother’s side when she entered the gates of heaven on October 1, 1995.
As he sought out a way to sort through his emotions, he remembered the suggestion of a friend to journal his thoughts during difficult times. So he began to write. The funeral. The visits from friends. The meals brought by. The sadness in his loss and the mysterious joy for his mother’s crown of glory. At the end of the week, he decided he needed to share it with someone. Tucking his thoughts into a drawer somewhere just didn’t seem right. He should mail it to a friend. But he was at his parent’s house, not his own, so he didn’t have his address book.
But he did have a business card of a girl named Robin at headquarters. She’d likely think he was crazy, but she lived in another country. It was completely possible, if not likely, that he would never see her again. He put a note to her at the top, and dropped it in the mail.
A month after the Catalyst conference, a hand-addressed envelope arrived in the mail at my desk at work. It was a thick letter. Curious.
As I read the words that were beautifully written about a man experiencing his mother’s death, I had two emotions: sadness for his loss, and bewilderment on why he would share this loss with me. I went to my boss to report this unusual letter.
“Oh, Ken Jewett. Yeah, I know him. He’s a really solid guy, I’ve known him since he was a kid. His mom and my sister were close friends. I’m a little surprised that he wrote that to you, but you should get to know him.”
A Youth Department secretary’s husband, who was a traveling speaker for the Wesleyan Church, had known Ken since his early teenage years. He had so admired Ken’s spiritual walk that he asked him to autograph his Bible, so he’d always remember him. “You should get to know him. He’s a solid guy.”
And so I called him. And Ken called me back. We began to exchange letters, phone calls, and faxes. Friends who knew us both began to say we would be perfect for each other.
On December 24th, 1995, on our second date, Ken asked for my hand in marriage. Saying yes was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Somehow God had brought us together, given us assurance of His plan, and mutual friends to support us.
And it all began with a business card.
One of the things I love most about Nashville, apart from the people, the Preds, and the food trucks, is the cultural diversity that is represented here. I didn’t know until several years after we moved here that Nashville is a major refugee intake area in the United States. Somali, Kurds, Egyptians, Mexicans, Burmese, and many many more have come to call the Nashville area home. In fact, one in six Nashvillians is foreign-born. We’ve come to love cuisine from all different regions of the world. After eating at restaurants like House of Kabob, Wild Wasabi, Café Bosna, and even Mas Tacos Por Favor, we’ve realized that the best thing about many ethnic foods is not the complexity but the simplicity of the foods.
One such unique combination that we’ve loved is the Middle Eastern cuisine of House of Kabob. Cucumber, tomato, and onion drizzled with lemon. Naan bread with feta and cilantro. In fact, this snack has become a favorite in our household. The one problem is that naan bread is as hard to find as it is delicious.
In search of our precious naan, we began to search out different stores, and finally decided to venture into an international market that is located about 5 miles from our house. We quickly learned that it has great freshly-baked bread of many different types in stock, all at great prices. We’ve come to realize that they have good deals on produce as well, including some more unusual selections that we might not see elsewhere. And spices are dirt cheap! Our favorite aspect of the international market, however, is the atmosphere.
Many times when we walk in, other customers are hugging each other and conversing in other languages. Though I don’t understand the verbal language, I can easily recognize the language of love. If you speak English in the International Market, you are in the minority. But not just one ethnic group shops there. We find Hispanics, Africans, Middle Easterners, and Caucasians browsing the aisles amongst each other. Families shop together, as parents show their children products from their home countries. The sights and smells are different from what we are used to, and are fascinating. And indeed, we are becoming increasingly brave at trying new items. The owner greets each customer, and frequently asks about jobs, home countries, and other news. As he rings up orders, he declares the price to be paid with conviction, in a thick Middle Eastern accent, and in cents. “Eight hundred and forty nine cents for you today!” It doesn’t take long to become a member of the extended family of the International Market.
In fact, our third visit was this week, and the owner remembered us. We were buying freshly baked bread and a small selection of vegetables – cilantro, onion, tomato—as well as a few peaches. He rang up our order for the bread, cilantro, and peaches, and then picked up the onion and tomato and held them up and said as he looked us in the eyes, “For you.” Then he tucked them into our bag and pronounced, “Five hundred and twenty three cents!”
It’s interesting that for as much cultural diversity that is represented in that market, those who shop at the International Market have much in common amidst their dissimilarity. They are from all different corners of the planet, but they are all far from home. Not looking like typical Nashvillians, or sounding like typical Nashvillians, they have come together to celebrate the commonality of diversity. And being far away from their own communities, they have created their own sense of community in a pocket of Nashville along Nolensville road.
In the not too distant future, two little ones will be joining our family who will be from another corner of the world. We won’t look like the typical Nashville family, or sound like them either, but we love the fact that we already know that we’ll have a place to shop where being different is the norm. They may not have the selection of products that Kroger has, but their diversity of experiences make all the difference in the world.
Tonight was our first Gettin’ Chickin’ for Adoptin’ Event! It was fabulous! So many people came out. We laughed, we hugged, we ate chicken! At one point, it was standing room only in Chick Fil A. I’m thankful for all who were willing to get food to go!
Thank you so much for all who came out to support us in our adoption efforts! Our kids have no idea how much love is waiting for them when they get here!
Hopefully we’ll get totals tomorrow!
The past week has been a whirlwind of adoption activity. Paperwork has been flying around our household. Emails exchanged in rapid-fire sequence. We’re trying hard not to let anything drop!
Let me see if I can catch you up.
Suddenly we feel like we’re in fast-forward mode! We’re excited about all that God is doing!
Inspired by some of our recent food truck adventures, but short on cash, I’ve been attempting to replicate some of our favorite food truck dishes while adding my own twist. I’ve not been entirely successful in the past, but tonight’s Jamaican Tacos were a huge hit, if I do say so myself (which I may since I am 1/2 of the total number of people who ate them).
The main components are: Honey coconut curried rice, jerk-spiced chicken, tortillas, and spicy slaw.
Honey Coconut Curried Rice
Bring first 4 ingredients to a low boil, add 1 C rice. Cover and simmer until all liquid is absorbed.
Jerk-Spiced Chicken
Bake in crockpot on low for 4 hours until done. Shred.
Spicy Slaw
Mix well.
Tortillas
If you think I’m the sort of person who makes her own tortillas, you would be wrong!
Pile tortillas with rice, chicken, and slaw. The sweet warmth of the rice contrasts nicely with the spicey crunchy slaw. The cilantro cools fire of the jalapeno and onion. Yummilicious.
We’ll definitely be making this one again!
Our dogs are chewers. When they were puppies, they ate shoes, pillows, and kitchen cabinets. Then in early 2008, we went on a trip to California, and left them with a housesitter who came home to this:
They had not only torn off the ends of the love seat, they had ripped open the cushions and shredded the stuffing inside. They also ate each of the corners off of the throw pillows. They also tore into the matching couch as well. Did I mention that the couch and love seat set were only a few weeks old?
Apparently the dogs were a bit angry.
Ever since then, we have tried to head off the dogs’ inner chewing desires by providing them with a plentiful supply of dog toys to chew through. However, since they can tear apart a chew toy in less than a minute, it’s hard for the supply to keep up with the demand. I used to scour clearance racks in pet stores and websites for cheap toy deals, until I discovered the ultimate dog toy supply store:
Goodwill Outlet.
Goodwill has an outlet? Why yes. Yes it does.
Goodwill Outlet is the purgatory of donated goods. The merchandise has been featured in a regular Goodwill store, but hasn’t been purchased, so it is then taken to the Goodwill Outlet, where the wares are offered up by the pound, in hopes of selling to the best of the dumpster divers. In fact, the more you buy, the cheaper the price per pound.
The merchandise is no longer presented in size and color-coordinated displays, but tossed into bins that are wheeled into lines, where hoarders and bargain hunters alike dig through the piles of random merchandise. Shopping at Goodwill Outlet is WORK.
At the same time, we have occasionally found some very good treasures. A nearly-new Kate Spade purse, a Lilly Pulitzer blouse, a lacrosse stick with the tags still on it. The thing that Goodwill Outlet is best for is selling lots of things that no one wants to buy at Goodwill, such as: crutches, shoes, golf clubs, exercise equipment, As-Seen-On-TV cast-offs,and stuffed animals.
Oh yes, they sell stuffed animals BY THE POUND.
Of course stuffed animals don’t weigh much, so we can get a shopping cart full of them for less than $30. That will last us 6 months, and is much cheaper than buying new furniture.
So, Saturday, Ken and I braved the land of the lost and the home of the hoarders as we loaded up on dog toys to last the next few months. Our stuffed animals have made their way home from the store, have been washed and dried, and have now arrived in the place of fulfilling their final stuffed animal destiny: keeping our furniture safe from the destructive jowls of our gruesome twosome.
If you know me, you most likely know my husband. What you may not know is all the reasons why I’m so thankful that God brought him into my life to be my husband. There are thousands, but here are 50 of my favorites.
And those are just a start . . .
The annual pinnacle in the life of a professor is graduation, and tonight was our program’s graduation celebration. From the joy of celebrating 27 months of hard work mastered, to sorrow at knowing this is the last time we would all be together, to laughter over the strange and warm experiences over the years, the range of emotions was extensive.
While it’s been my honor to stand in front of them to teach, I know that it is their work that has brought them to this moment of honor. Galileo is often quoted as saying, “You cannot teach a man anything; you can only help him discover it in himself.” I have been privileged to have been a part of their journey of discovery about the human body, about themselves, and about God Himself.
Truthfully, my students aren’t just students to me. They’re not just another paper to grade, or questions to answer. After 116 credit hours of coursework, while sharing life under extreme circumstances, I come to know and care much more about them. I have had the blessing to be able appreciate their hearts as well, and they are vibrant reflections of Christ Himself.
This particular class of students had an unfair share of grief and sorrow during their time in our program. Too much disease, death, and disappointment weaved in and out of their lives. But while some could have let hardship cause division and bitterness, this class bonded together to care for and cherish one another. It also led them to love and support the disadvantaged community around them, even when they themselves were busy and hurting. I believe that difficulties bring out the true nature of our character, and in them I saw a beauty reflected in their struggles. I saw the Body of Christ.
So, on these graduates will go into their practice lives. They’ll take the things that they learned in our program, pass their board exams, and begin saving lives one patient visit at a time. I pray that they’ll see Christ in each person they see, and that as they are caring for bodies, they’ll help to heal souls as well.
In fact, I know they will. Because they already have.
Yesterday, the bright sunlight beat down on the South, leading to record-setting heat. There were few words to describe the atmosphere in Tennessee other than “oppressive.” Even at 9:00 p.m., long after the sun had set, its searing heat left a scorching 90 degree temperature.
Today, on the other hand, the sun was filtered by the clouds. The bright blue sky was cast in shades of gray, which filtered down to a humid blanket that laid over the landscape. The temperature was almost ten degrees cooler, as the radiant heat dissipated in the sifted sunlight. The clouds mercifully spared us from the sun we did not need!
While today the clouds seemed like a source of refreshment, clouds often don’t conjure such pleasant images. Clouds have long symbolized doubt, uncertainty, confusion. They suggest that storms are ahead, that darkness lingers nearby. But Oswald Chambers in My Utmost for His Highest reminds us that clouds have a distinct role in the spiritual realm.
“In the Bible clouds are always associated with God. . . It is through these very clouds that the Spirit of God is teaching us how to walk by faith. If there were never any clouds in our lives, we would have no faith. . . They are a sign that God is there. God cannot come near us without clouds— He does not come in clear-shining brightness.”
Experiencing God is not the absence of clouds. He is within the clouds, and they are an indication of His presence. I believe that His presence is often most profoundly felt in the times when clouds surround us. We find the true definition of our faith in times when everything else is clouded with uncertainty — our relationships, our work, our health, our finances.
In those times, the clouds sequester us away from the things on which we have inappropriately become dependant. They hide us, not from Him, but with Him from all that would vie for our attention.
“It is not true to say that God wants to teach us something in our trials. Through every cloud He brings our way, He wants us to unlearn something. His purpose in using the cloud is to simplify our beliefs until our relationship with Him is exactly like that of a child— a relationship simply between God and our own souls, and where other people are but shadows.”
I often want to run from the clouds in life, to pray for shelter against them, to avoid them at all costs. But perhaps the clouds in life are the very vapor of God’s sparing us from that which we do not need — anything else but Him.
Maybe the clouds really are refreshing after all.
Where in the World Are Our Kids? 