That's one hot pot.

You may recall my adventures with a little thing called "hot pot" 

during my adventures in a little thing called "China".  

[If you don't: http://laurenkooistra.blogspot.com/2010/08/beijing-it-is-time-to-become-your.html]

This past week, my darling Yi-Ting decided it was time to re-enact the hot pot experience 

(minus the plush purple sofa, that is...) since she, Yu-Chen, and I are running out of time to live life together.

Somehow--though at times it seemed like we would never actually reach this point--our doctoral journey has neared an end.  The two of them have decided to leave me here while they go off and work on their dissertations elsewhere.

[Don't worry.  I have already given them my blessing.]

And so, we needed an evening to eat hot pot 

and to talk into the wee hours of the night.  

Now, in case you're wondering:

The phrase "eat hot pot" does not involve some kind of heroic chomping of an actual pot.

Here's how it works:

You take any kind of meat/vegetable/mushroom/strange-and-unrecognizable-to-my-American-eyes-item

and stick them into?

A pot that is 

a) hot

and 

b) full of hot broth

When the meat/vegetable/mushrooms/strange-items have cooked in the broth you dish them out.

You eat them.

You grin widely.

Then you do it all again.

And again and again....

until you're about to bust or the food runs out, 

whichever comes first.

Based on this picture, guess which came first?

Yes--we were about to bust.

But, not just with food.

With the assurance that our journey together here has been a worthwhile one, if for nothing else that it brought us to each other, and gave us the gift of nights like this.

Of baby and family and all over festivity

Guess which one of us is having a Kooistra baby--soon?

[Hint: It's not me.....]

This past Saturday we Kooistras gathered in NJ among family and friends to celebrate the coming of that baby girl that we have been anticipating,

and to celebrate Marisa, 

the keeper of said baby girl.

A family affair, I took charge of the menu

and put my peeps to work.

Kara was the overseer of the design committee: the adorable invitations were her handiwork, as were some of the very special table accessories.  

[A key responsibility was also the carrying of the overflowing punch bowl, to avoid an undesired floor display I think...]

The show couldn't have gone on, however, without the vision and coordination of Grandma Kathy, seen here welcoming her guests and trying not to cry.

Once those guests seemed sufficiently satiated with the abundance of food,

it was time for presents!!

Everyone present was determined that this baby girl has everything she needs when she decides it's time to arrive,

and that we would have a good time while preparing for her.

All Keith & Marisa had to do was show up,

and let us love them.

We do--indeed--love you guys,

and can't wait to love that baby girl in person!

Help us, Keep us, Carry us

Doesn't this snowy view look pristine? I stood outside of my door this morning and reflected on the beauty of the sky, the sun reflecting off the purity of the whiteness.  I reflected also on the small little fact that as of 7 o'clock last evening I wasn't entirely sure that I would ever see this view again--or anytime soon at least.

You see, yesterday afternoon I sat at my parent's kitchen table in NJ, saying things like "Well, if I leave by 3, I'll be home by 7...." as the rain sputtered gently onto the windows nearby.  It seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan, with no foreseeable drama.

No foreseeable drama, that is, until I was still in my car at 7, battling for my life.  Turns out that the rain falling sweetly in NJ was at the same time snow swirling ferociously in Pennsylvania.  Turns out that Route 80 was a hotbed of ice and a pathway of un-plow-ed-ness.  Turns out: I was traveling on a haven for cars more comfortable in ditches and for drivers who enjoy the adventure of spin-outs.

I'm sorry I have no pictures for you dear readers, but I was just a bit preoccupied.

It turns out that I am not of the type who say "Maybe I should get off this road, find a nice hotel to curl up in until the storm has passed".  It turns out that I am about as stubborn as they come.  My mentality is?

I do not give up, even when it's difficult.

Even when I'm about to vomit out of absolute terror.

And then--as is true in most of life--at a certain point, even if one wanted to give up, there is no turning back.  The exit ramps hold stranded cars and jack-knifed tractor trailers.  Moving out of the lane straight ahead of you becomes a moment of slidden defeat.  All you can do is go ahead.

Calling on the name of Jesus.   A LOT.

Now, I know that there is power in the name of Jesus.  I have watched that power at work in the invisible storms of life in amazing ways.  And I figure: If Jesus's power is available to me in what I cannot see, then you'd better believe He is with me in the midst of a snow squall that is all but blinding me.

And so: As I maneuvered my car up a hill through a littering of stalled and precariously placed vehicles, I said, out loud for all to hear:

Jesus! Help us, Keep us, Carry us.

And I didn't stop saying it for the next 2 hours.

I only paused for interjections of "Jesus, you are with me!"s 

and shouts of "Surround that truck with ANGELS!"

(By the way, if you were looking for angels last night, I apologize.  They had all been summoned to the middle of Pennsylvania by yours truly, and I don't take no for an answer.)

Now, I don't think God needed me to repeat this two-hour long litany.  More than anything, I just needed to remind myself that He was there, and that I was driving in His power, as His beloved child.  I needed to be reminded of that because--I am not ashamed to tell you--It. Was. Not. Fun.

Up until the moment I pulled into my driveway, I literally did not know if I was going to make it there.  And when I did get there? I turned the car off, and allowed myself to breathe.  Allowed my muscles to relax (aka: shake).  Called the people who had been checking in on me, to whom I had rudely replied "Can't talk! I'm hanging up! Pray!"

I got into my house, and stood in the middle of the floor in some kind of shock, thinking "Am I really here?"  I took a warm shower.  I climbed into my bed.

I laid there, staring at my curtains, thinking: Am I really seeing these?

And I could not believe that I was.

As I laid there and allowed it to all sink in, I realized something that I have been needing to realize for awhile now.  I realized that--sometimes--those invisible storms of life are terrifying.  Sometimes you don't know whether to get off the road or move out of your lane.  Sometimes all you can do is go ahead, with every muscle braced, your hands being bruised by your grip on the steering wheel, unable even to talk to the people who care.  BUT. You have been put in the driver's seat by a God who is with you at all times, through all things.  He is a God who holds power to help, power to keep, power to carry. He is a God who has equipped you with the wisdom of how to maneuver safely in the snow, between the wreckages around you. He is a God who will bring you safely home, where the view is pristine.

But most of all, He is a God who Is.  And--thanks be to God--I don't need to remind myself of that in order for it to be true.

Memorable Treasures

What do you do when your life is going crazy in Pennsylvania, but there is a bridal shower in New Jersey for a good old friend on the same day that your brother--also in New Jersey--is having his 30th birthday party ?

You go to New Jersey.

Hence, last Saturday morning
I jumped in my car for a reunion with the road.

More importantly, 

a reunion with Karen, 

[my Princeton-years roommate]

whom I rarely get--but love--to see.

I joined with a crowd of her family and friends, 

as we showered Karen with treasures 

[such as these pots]-- 

tokens of our love and well-wishes 

in this memorable season of her life, 

because of the treasure that she is to us.

Sadly, however, I could not stay long! 

Two hours up the New Jersey Turnpike awaited my family,

gathered together to celebrate

our Keith.

Now, our Keith has a certain obsession with a certain game.  And, since it was the 30th anniversary of his birth, it was decided by our matriarchal decision maker that this particular gathering should be particularly memorable.

Hence, a large portion of the friends and family present 

found themselves playing a long [long] round of:

Monopoly,

in what turned out to be a Monopoly themed 

[and certainly memorable] event.

For evidence, I give you:

The Boardwalk food.

[Appetizers: Bags of popcorn, soft pretzels, nachos & cheese.

Main Course: Sausage & Pepper sandwiches, chili dogs, french fries, onion rings.]

The table decorations.

The cake.

[Serving the ulterior motive of apologizing
for the many years of heart cakes that
this Valentine's Baby has been subjected to ...]

And then?

The boy himself.

I don't know who won the treasures in that [long] game I mentioned,

[The benefit to going to a bridal shower first and walking in late? 

You miss the choosing of the players!]

but there is nothing more rewarding than celebrating memorable events in the lives of the people who fill your heart with the treasure of themselves.

A weekend to remember;

memories to treasure.

Even still...

...I miss...

...pink peppermints hidden in pockets
...me, hidden by his side, my arm through his, my head on his shoulder
...the laugh that began deep inside and inevitably ended with a snort and a shake of his head
...the reverence of prayer filled with Thy's and Thou's and the rolling of r's
...fighting with my brothers to sit next to him at Sunday dinner
...hands that swallowed mine, no matter how grown I'd gotten to be
...eyes full of absolute and unquestioned love
...him.

Arthur Knyfd, d. January 23, 2009
http://laurenkooistra.blogspot.com/2010/01/but-moment.html

Covenantal Living

Recently I found myself at the wedding ceremony of some lovely friends.  I sat in the congregation, unsuspecting, reflecting on the loveliness of the couple and the miracle that is marriage, when suddenly the word

"covenant"

leapt off the tongue of the minister and came catapulting through the air toward me, lodging itself--large, and etched in silver--on the frontal cortex of my brain.  I thought:

Buy a book.  You need to understand this.

So, buy a book I did.

Fast forward a few months to this past weekend, which found me in nyc with Lisa and Geoff for our yearly installment of "Lauren Lisa and Geoff Get Together and Hash Out Life".  This installment was similar to others: food, drink, hashing out life, food, movie, food, jazz at Dizzy's Club. Food.

[Yes, this statement--

uttered pretty early on in the weekend by a key member of the group--

encapsulates our time together: 

"I love food."  

Enough said.]

But. The real point of HOL? 

Be together.

Live life together.

Engage in real, deep, longterm relationship.

Together.

Now, you may be wondering what these two seemingly separate topics--covenant and the real relationship emphasized in HOL--have to do with each other. You may be wondering where I'm going, and if you are, I do not blame you.  I just ask you: 

Trust me, and walk with me for a moment.

Walk with me on the path that I have been walking over this past year, the path of learning:  

Walking in real relationship is difficult,

because we are all just walking wounded.

I have come to learn that with our wounds, we wound those around us, in the places that are often the most raw.

We hurt each other, and hurt leads to bells and whistles screaming in our heads "unsafe! get out!".

We try to protect our own hearts.  We hide.

We are human.  It is bound to happen.

But.

Speaking of being bound, did you know that a covenant is binding?

I found this out on Sunday morning when I walked into L & G's church to discover that the sermon topic for the day was--you guessed it--

covenant.

[Of course it was on covenant. I have walked with God long enough now to never be surprised by these seeming coincidences.]

And I learned: 

A covenant is a binding contract between two parties.  It says "I will do this and you will do that".

"But!," my little scrambling mind screams, 

"problem!"

If I am in covenant with you, I will let you down.  I will fail you.  I cannot hold up my side.

And here is where we intersect with another pathway I have been walking this year:

The pathway of learning to live in Grace.  

Abundant, extravagant, makes-no-sense kind of grace. 

The kind of grace that I can stand in and say: 

"God, I have no idea what the right answer is and I'm crazy in my head to boot, but I'm going to trust that your grace is sufficient.  That you will make right what I can't help but make wrong."

Because--did you know?  God's covenant is equal parts law and love.  It says there is something I'm being held to, but that His love will not let me go when I screw it all up.  He will not walk away from me, no matter what, because He knows I am just walking wounded.  And I am not bound in judgement or consequence--I am bound in freedom, because the purpose of His own wounds is that He loved me to the point where He took my wounds on Himself.  

And so, here is what I'm wondering:

What if I were to approach the relationships in my life covenantally?  

What if I were to say "I see your wounds, and I take them as my own, no matter the hurt they might inflict on me or the sacrifice they might ask of me.  I will allow myself to be vulnerable before you, and ask you for your grace.  I will fight the bells in my head pointing me toward my own safety.   I will not walk away from you.  No matter what."?

What if?

"But!"  my ever-present mind spins.  "Problem! I am human.  I can't.  I will fail you.  It is better if I walk away."

And, in my humanity, I turn around to do it.  To walk away.  To find:  Jesus, the Creator of the Covenant, waiting just behind me.

He takes my downcast face full of terrified shame-laced eyes, and turns it to His, with a tenderness I can barely endure.  

He says, 

"Take those wounds, add them to your own, 

and then give them to Me.  

I will take them, I will add them to my wounds.  

And by my wounds?  

You are healed."

Because--did you know?  

His wounds are covenantal.  They are equal parts law and love.  They bind me to Him, forever.  And, they give me the strength to stand, healed and armored with Grace, in otherwise impossible real relationship.

In covenantal living.

No matter what.

Good-bye Old Year, Hello New

I had never been a lover of New Year's Eve--

too much pressure to wear high heels and a silly hat, while balancing a glass filled with substances I don't particularly like--

until  "New Year's Eve" became synonymous with "Baxter Time".

Baxter Time in any capacity is time well spent.

(Baxter Time is also well planned, thank you Adam.)

The typical pressures are removed, 

since I can walk around in just my socks

while other people wear silly hats.

(Just kidding Nathan, you know I love that hat.)

There is, however, a little bit of pressure still involved:

The pressure to perform in activities slightly outside of my comfort zone.

Linked to the latest Christmas gifts, 

past years have included Guitar Hero and other various Wii activities designed for me to fail. 

This year's humiliation of choice?

Dance equal to (or much much less than) Michael Jackson.

Hm.

(If we are talking about humiliation, let's conveniently forget to mention the foosball tournament I lose in--less than or equal to--3 minutes).  

Fortunately, I am not the only one ever caught in situations that might come back to haunt,

and for evidence-- 

I give you:

and:

Really, the small pressures involved in embarrassing one another are worth it, in that they lead to much opportunity for hilarity.

You see, with games and movies (and endless quoting of movies, particularly by 3 younger males) and shopping and eating and tea and cookies and talking and teasing making up all of our time together,

we find ourselves just endlessly laughing.

And laughing--I have come to learn--cannot be genuinely performed if genuine pressure is involved.

So, now that the old year has passed gracefully away and the new one has dawned bright and fair in the company of these old and dear friends,

I only feel pressured to tell you:

I am one blessed girl.

(My glass runneth over--

with things I DO particularly enjoy, beyond what I deserve.)