The Cottage at Stony Oak

My love language

2010-01-20T18:52:00.000-08:00

You know you've reached the point of truly uncomfortable pregnancy when you walk in the door from an outing, hang up your coat and your keys, and immediately start shedding your pants. Unknowingly. Like it's something you've done upon entering your home for years. Thankfully my husband takes it all in stride (or at least realizes one insensitive comment to such a hormonal woman could really send her over the edge).

Another possible indicator of imminent labor is desperately trying to teach one's two-year-old how to give a shoulder massage. Or, though he's very much a boy, encouraging him to play "beauty parlor" with Mommy's hair (does anyone see an issue developing in his later years?), just for a few more minutes of couch-sitting whilst having one's scalp delicately (most times - he IS a boy) stroked.

All this to say - it's becoming clear in the last few days that touch is my love language. If the jeans don't hug me right, they're gone. If the boy grows up with a complex, so be it. I just want to be comfortable. While I could make a very spiritual connection here (how easy is it to get too comfortable where we are?), I'll resist delving too deeply into that. Feel free to ponder for yourself. But as for me, I'm tired, sore, and very, very pregnant. And it's time for the pants to come off.

The Lady of the Cottage

Perfection in a (Ceramic) Cup

2010-01-16T12:30:00.000-08:00

I was just looking over my wife's first post and the last sentence struck me: "Maybe - just maybe - you'll find something here to enjoy." (Of course I hope this is the case.) It made me think that I should post about something I enjoy, and enjoy well I might add (my loving wife says "snob" and I say "connoisseur").

Every morning I wake to the possibility of one more perfect cup of coffee. It's an art I've been working at for a couple years now, the art of pressing coffee. When I first tasted the roasted magic that it is, I was a bit unsure. The slow process draws out more of the bean than your traditional percolator, and the taste can be a bit oily. (On a side note, I don't know why coffee beans are called "beans" at all, as they are really fruit seeds.) And again, it's taken a few years to figure out this art, so if you're starting out with your press, don't be discouraged if your first few cups taste a little - well - outright awful.

A friend of mine said recently, "There's no beating the ease of pressing a button and coming back to a cup of coffee a few minutes later." Oh, the humanity! It was all I could do to stop myself from slapping him about the face and ears with my mighty press-hand. The waiting adds so much to the overall experience. I heat the water on the stovetop, placing my ceramic cup (a must) and press around the flame so as to heat them as well, grind the "beans" and pour them into the press. Watching until the water is the right temperature is almost like sitting around a campfire with a few friends, waiting for our marshmallows to brown. As the pot begins to sing - ah, the sweet music! - I turn off the gas, pour the water, stir the mixture with a decidedly non-metallic utensil until frothy (another must), and wait again (about 4 minutes). At the end of those precious 4 minutes I press slowly, watching the grounds say farewell to the now blessed hot water, the water now happily called coffee.

I sip. Well worth the wait, I must say.

The Man of the Cottage

Best Buds

2010-01-12T18:33:00.000-08:00

The man is bathing the boy after gifting me with the last hour and a half of "veg" time (by which I mean "guiltlessly dipping Oreos into milk while feeling sorry for all the unhealthy people on The Biggest Loser" - something seems wrong with that picture, but my 37-weeks-pregnant self has never loved my husband more). I just heard the boy say "big brother" yet again - a phrase he's favored as of late, and one to which we always reply, "Yes, you're going to be a GREAT big brother!"

Truthfully, I'm more than a little nervous about this transition to a family of four. (Okay, that's the first time I've ever typed "family of four" in reference to, um, US. Really strange.) I'm thrilled, I'm thankful, I'm humbled beyond words that we are adding another little person to the mix - but I'm anxious about what that means for everyday life.

You see, I've spent the last 25 months hanging out with this one kid all day, every day. This kid that's accustomed to playing ball or reading a book with me whenever he wants, the one who takes precedence over just about everything else in my daily routine, the one used to my undivided attention. But if I'm being honest, HE'S not the one I'm really concerned about. He's amazingly adaptable, and it would be just like him to adjust without so much as a hitch in his gitalong.

No, the one I'm worried about is me. How will I give them both the attention they want and need? How will I change double the number of diapers? Is there any way to synchronize the naptimes of a newborn and a 2-year-old? And on a more serious note, how do I think I'm ever going to just pick up and go to Happy Hour at the drop of a hat with TWO children in tow?

But I think what concerns me the most is I've realized the boy's not the only one who's grown used to it being just him and me. I think I'm going to miss HIS undivided attention as much or more than he'll miss mine. I have loved being home with him more than anything I've done to date in my life - he's the best friend I've always wanted. What if our relationship changes? How can it not?

But then I hear him say "big brother," and I realize what a gift this next child will be not only to him, but to me. Sure, the transition won't be easy, but we'll make it. The boy's not losing a playmate, he's gaining one. I'm not losing a friend, I'm adding one. And soon enough, I'm certain, the three of us will hit a groove and really begin to enjoy our life together. Who knows, we may even end up like that car full of cronies you see at Sonic - Dr. Peppers all around.

The Lady of the Cottage

A Simple Illustration

2010-01-10T13:27:00.000-08:00

Last week I started to meet with a friend for weekly Bible study. We had met regularly months ago and were eager to begin again. We met at the local cafe and drank a lot of coffee, as is our custom, read the Bible, and prayed for each other. Since it was an initial meeting of sorts, we tried to decide what scripture we would read and talked about where we need to grow the most. We agreed to read Proverbs, and not just to read it, but to savor it, to meditate on it. That is to say, we decided to read a chapter a week.

The next morning I was reading along in the first chapter, and verse 23 popped off the page: "If you turn at my reproof, behold, I will pour out my spirit to you; I will make my words known to you" (ESV). "Christ," I thought, "these are Christ's words." I remembered the passages from Colossians, namely 1.15 and 2.2-3, that speak of Christ as God and the Wisdom of God. I thought also of John 1.1-2, where the apostle testifies Jesus is the Word, the Word with God, and God Himself. (And I'm seeing now verse 3 ties in wonderfully as well.) I jotted all the references down on a sticky note so I could share my thoughts with my friend and my wife (yes, dear, a sticky note).

Later that day my wife called me from home. She had a list of things for me to pick up from the store, so I grabbed another sticky note, wrote the items down and, without really thinking about it, stuck it to the aforementioned note. See picture below:

Nothing special. Two very different lists, about two very different things. The top list speaks of Christ Jesus, wisdom literature, and how the Father created all things through Jesus. And, especially, about how responding to his rebuke with obedience brings true wisdom and redemption. The second list is about dinner (yes, the cream cheese goes with the corn), and a delightful breakfast (sticky rolls). Yet I can't help but see an essential connection. It struck me the next day while I was eating a small orange at my desk. I looked at the combined lists again and thought about the incarnation of Jesus, the incarnation that brings the God of the Universe down to us, the people of whom it's been said, "Like sheep [we've] all gone astray" (paraphrase). And, somehow, the two lists I made touched me and spoke a simple truth: Everything belongs to Christ; everything, then, is sacred because it is his.

This includes sticky rolls dripping with caramel and pecans, cream cheese melted into corn with sugar, and a warm cookie dipped into a glass of cold milk. All this passed through my mind as I ate my orange wedge by wedge. I smelled the juice as it popped from each piece, some of it even splattered on my face and forced my eyes shut. I savored it. I thanked my Lord for what he did for me, for us, so many years ago, and, as I ate, as I meditated upon his good creation, I thanked him for his orange.

The Man of the Cottage

Let's begin here.

2010-01-06T18:12:00.000-08:00

My husband and I are very different writers.

He was schooled in Language and Literature and is a soon-to-be English teacher, with a love for Lewis, Dickens, Melville, and MacDonald. You’ll find his words will be beautifully crafted, strategically woven after days (weeks, YEARS) of deliberation. He’s the type that has little yellow post-its with the beginnings of his great ideas in places I’m still discovering. He finished the first draft of his first novel at the impressively young age of 26. Look for posts from him that include his reading reflections, thoughts on teaching, and coffee “snobbery” (as I so lovingly call it), with some marriage and family posts thrown in.

I, on the other hand, am a marketer. (Case in point: I rearranged the above list of my man’s favorite writers as he said them, because at first they didn’t “flow.”) I constantly fight clichés, and I don’t always win. My best writing, according to my husband, happens when I’m witty. If only. You’ll find my posts to be hammered out in a more disconnected fashion, and likely covering such sophisticated topics as country music, child-rearing, and cooking up delightfully fattening treats.

What ties us together is this: we both write to create. We both enjoy it. And somehow, some way, we both believe we’re at least a tiny bit gifted at it. So grab a cup of joe, crank up some Reba, and sit back. Maybe – just maybe – you’ll find something here to enjoy.

The Lady of the Cottage