Greeting the day

Photos from the end of summer on the D&R Canal, Princeton, NJ. By Evan Schneider.

It’s inevitably the case that I can rise and get myself going much better on the first few days of the week, and greet the day, just as the sun is rising and the crispness of the morning provides all the confirmation anyone needed that fall is here.

As I run along the canal, I chase the fog, always visible out in the distance, yet elusive once I near it.  Still, it lingers over the waters, enchanting, haunting, tempting.

So I keep on, hoping to glimpse the heron take to flight like I did last week, its majestic wings flapping with exquisite rhythm.  Or stumble on the sun’s rays peeking through the towering, thin trees onto the dewy ground across the waters.

And I feel gracious for those moments, when I am alone with my thoughts, but hardly alone with all the birds, the animals of the forest, the life sprouting and fading in my midst.  I feel wild, too– free, and strong, if only for a moment.

And it is good.

Comfort foods

Well, I’ve been stricken with the sniffles here in NJ.

I’m pretty certain it’s just allergies, but those of you who have allergies know that there’s no such thing as just allergies.  I keep wondering where this special kind of torture came from (ragweed? pollen?) and thinking rather indignantly, China never did this to me!

The special kind of gorgeous on the D&R Canal, Princeton, NJ that may just be responsible for these allergies. Photo by Evan Schneider.

Of course, it’s funny the ways in which China has rubbed off on me.  For instance, I’m fairly convinced these sniffles are caused by the weather, and a dramatic change in pressure, and I stood around for at least a half an hour last night in order to avoid going out in the rain, in which I was convinced I’d catch a cold!

Yes, China has either made me into your grandmother, your mother, or…Chinese!

But as I dragged by tired self home last night (in a cab with a new Chinese friend I’d met on the side of the road, no less!), and I thought of what to cook up that would make right these snuffles and sniffles, I realized that my comfort foods are still decidedly American.

Last night I sauteed up some onions, garlic, spinach, mushrooms, and zucchini with olive oil and soy sauce, which I added to a steaming bowl of chicken ramen soup.  I also like the accoutrement with a bowl of rice, but last night I needed the chicken soup!

Vegetables and rice.

And if you read this blog with any regularity, you won’t be surprised that I made peanut butter and banana oatmeal for breakfast this morning.  We’ve been trying almond milk in our coffee, so I boiled the oatmeal with the almond milk this time and it worked nicely.

My love affair with peanut butter and banana oatmeal that began in China…

That’s something China doesn’t have–almond milk…or allergies.

What are your favorite comfort foods?

Cooking cultures

Many anthropologists are writing about the culture of feeding, defining kin and households based on who eats where and who feeds whom, and arguing that sitting down at table is a sacred practice that connotes far more than just physiological processes (see Janet Carsten and Mary Weismantel).

A meal in the mountains of Yunnan province. Photo by Evan Schneider.

My husband, hard at work, in the kitchen.

And last night as my husband whipped up some tomato sauce from a bushel of farm fresh tomatoes down the road, we began talking with a friend of ours about what we ate growing up and noting that it mostly came from cans, freezers, and boxes.  It was not only a function of the type of leisurely evenings and worryfree youth that we (in many thanks to our parents) are enjoying (and that our parents lacked), but also a culture of poverty that struck America among our depression-era grandparents and extended into the cooking habits of their baby boomer grandchildren.

“What a fascinating generational study,” I mused, perking up, ever the anthropologist, and my mind racing about the lively interviews to be conducted among grandparents, parents, and children in kitchens all over America.  I began to expound that my friends who have definitive cooking backgrounds mostly took these from their immigrant grandparents, while their baby boomer parents were too worried these ethnic roots would hold them back and didn’t pass on language, culinary expertise, or other cultural artifacts to their children.

The rolling hills of Yunnan province and mostly subsistence farms. Photo by Evan Schneider.

Traditional Chinese stoves in the countryside.

Another look inside a Chinese kitchen.

These are sweeping generalizations, of course, but immigrants cook less out of boxes and are often much closer to where their food comes from: I remember the Hmong families my mother tutored in inner city Milwaukee that kept pigs and chickens (and likely butchered them in the backyard), and fresh off the plane from China, my husband recently lamented that he may not be able to find anywhere in America to buy pork fat to render his own lard for making tortillas.

A mound of bok choy, our favorite Chinese vegetable.

My husband and a foreign friend haggling over a piece of pork along the road just outside of Beijing.

I’m not arguing for a hierarchy here when it comes to health, knowledge, or even taste (God knows lard, while it tastes great, has expanded many an American waistline), nor am I wanting to romanticize poverty.  Rather I’m going for something like substance, connection, depth.

As I thought more about these cultures of feeding or lack thereof (and enter here the catalyst for the slow food movement), I began to acknowledge the reason my heart leapt yesterday morning when my professor suggested my husband cook some Chinese food for us this evening, or why my husband and I felt oddly satisfied by the Chinese meal we had in Oklahoma in ways we didn’t by American cuisine.

It’s not just my body, but my heart that craves these foods lately, the feeling of being satisfied part and parcel of a struggle to adopt and adapt a whole nother world.  And that is often now followed by a profound emptiness, or hunger, that creeps up from the depths, hardly recognizable until it finds what it craves.  My heart, my mind, my soul found themselves profoundly satisfied by China’s odd cuisine, and I’m left wondering how long it will be before America can do the same.

**On a related note, I just stumbled upon this TIME photo essay on how families around the world eat.  Fascinating!**

Neediness

I’ve all but reached the grand finale in the book of Luke.  I know the events leading up to Jesus’s final hours, how he taught in the temple, and slept on the Mount of Olives, all too well, and yet things are remarkably not as the seem (21:34-38).

Wa church members worshiping in Yunnan.

The wonderful thing about scripture is that our own context always alters its meaning, lifting certain moments out of obscurity.

That…and the Holy Spirit, of course.

And so this morning as I find myself lamenting the divisions of my Church in America, as well as the fledging churches in China, I am humbled to see how Jesus surrounded himself with (unlikely) broken beings.  I think of Peter in his denial, Judas in his betrayal, and what rings true is not the prowess of Jesus’s twelve, but rather their inability to understand, their fears, their selfishness--in short, their humanity.

Rural church in the mountains of Yunnan.

The other morning as my friend and I reflected on the passage about the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years (Luke 8), she remarked wisely that Jesus responds to people with authentic need.  How true that is, I think, for all throughout scripture we see people who in humbling themselves before Jesus, their hearts have already been cured in that they’ve found their way to humility, servanthood, and faith.  Therefore, they are freed of their burdens, cured of their disease, and fully healed.

Meanwhile we who feel we have bigger fish to fry, we who, like the disciples, no sooner have we received Jesus’ sweet communion do we start to quibble about who among us is greatest (Luke 22:14-30) and who shall be saved, we mistakenly see ourselves as without need.  Jesus famously says in the fifth chapter of Luke that those who are well have no need of healing, and that he’s come to call not the righteous but the sinners to repentance (5:31).

Surely Jesus was being sarcastic about those healthy, righteous people, right?  Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear the tone of some of these one-liners!

Context, my friends.  And thank God for the Holy Spirit.

Mandarin Bible with Dai translation notes.

As I read about that Holy meal this morning in modern China, that famous last supper, what strikes me today is not only the communion Jesus offers to all of us so greatly in need, but how that last meal is tainted with the foreshadowing of betrayal.  We will all succumb to the lie in life that we’re healthy, shiny got-it-all-together disciples, and only when that lie comes apart at the seams do we find ourselves crawling back to Jesus.

So today I’m praying that God would make me ever aware of my own fragility, that I’ll stick to a life of groveling, crawling, and humbling myself–in short, the life where I belong.  And that the humanity of others would only make me see myself more clearly, more accurately, and that would only make me cling, in my neediness to Jesus.

Sounds like another job for the Holy Spirit!

Inside a Wa church in Yunnan province. All photos by Evan Schneider.

Odds and Ends

This weekend was a lesson in contrasts: on Saturday morning I visited a very naughty, angry little girl in foster care, but on Sunday afternoon I sat with another foster girl and her older sister, completely content to practice their English with me and on their very best behavior for their foreign aunty.  While I was rushing around Nanning, the poor husband was stricken in bed with a pounding headache (we still haven’t determined the cause), and so I took to caring for him in the only way I knew how: feeding…hehe.

Photo from justjennrecipes.com

We found mascarpone cheese at the Western store, so I plopped the other half of lemon yogurt cake batter I’d frozen from the last one into the crockpot, and whipped up a lemon mascarpone frosting to go with it.  The frosting is light and fluffy and tangy, subtle and sophisticated, yum.

Last night I stopped by the hand-torn chicken stand that’s been gracing the alleyway down from us and watched as they literally tore the chicken, chopped up the bones, and mixed the whole lot with spicy oil, peanuts, chives, and sesame seeds.  Then I headed home, and impressed myself by turning out some simple greens and stir-fried eggplant with rice to go along with our Chinese chicken dinner.

I know I’ve complained about certain stinky smells in China before, but this morning I kept getting whiffs of magnolia and jasmine on my morning run.  Lately I’ve been lusting these sweet smelling house plants, along with these mosquito-repelling ones!

In my recipes I’d like to try when I get back to China folder are these chocolate-apricot nut bars and this smoked sardine brandade, both from my latest imported issue of Whole Living.  I just love their natural, tasty recipes, and thanks to China, I’ve developed a taste for sardines!

I’m feeling pretty cheery this Monday–apparently there’s nothing like a brisk run and a productive morning to start the week out right.  

How was your weekend?  Happy Monday!

Creativity (or the lack thereof)

I’ve been away for a week or so traveling in Anhui and Hubei and learning about foster projects there.  I’ll be in and out this week, but I wanted to pop in and put some thoughts out about creativity and hobbies.

I have always considered myself a creative person: as little girls my sisters and I would litter the bottom of the Christmas tree with homemade items for mom and dad.  I played the flute since I was four or so, and I dabbled in dance, drama, and other arts.

This week, however, I traveled alongside a man who throws pottery, hunts, and fishes in his spare time, and I found myself envying his robust hobbies and contemplating my own lack thereof as an adult.  I run, I do yoga, I try to practice centering prayer, and I keep this blog, but I guess there’s something I feel like I’m missing when it comes to either practicing an art, making things for others with my own two hands, or finding a passion that connects me to the environment.

On the flip side, I realize that I love what I do: I love doing fieldwork, and doing ministry, and these in many ways are my passions.  I find myself devouring literature on Chinese culture and psychology in my free time, and I genuinely enjoy praying and having spiritual conversations with people.

And yet, I’m thinking that’s not quite enough.  I not only want to have interests apart from my work, but I also realize as I get older and I become more aware that life is short, I’m searching for activities that stretch me intellectually, physically, and spiritually–relaxation and entertainment must be more than magazines, tv, and blog-reading (although I certainly enjoy all of those).  Paradoxically, I’m also longing to return to some of the activities that brought me so much joy as a child: making music, dancing and gymnastics, map-making, drawing, painting, creating, gardening, exploring, and of course, imagining.

My dear friend Jessie and I hiking in upstate NY.

Today I told my husband that I used to love to play in woodwind quintets, and I also loved to make cards for friends and family.  Perhaps these are some hobbies I’ll be able to take up when I get back to the states.  I’d love to move to a place with great mountains where I could hike: I love the feeling of slight soreness at the end of a great day of exploring and exercising.

What did you love to do as a child?  What skill would you want to learn if you had all the time, money, and energy in the world?  And what hobbies do you have today?

Has anyone read this book on creativity?  Sounds interesting.

Spring fever

I think I must have spring fever, but not the kind that makes you long for warm winds and buds a bloomin,’ but rather the type that’s seeing the beauty of the world through rosy-colored glasses these days and drinking it all in.

I think God deserves some credit though, usually does, right?  

You see just a couple weeks ago when I had some wavering confidence in my language abilities, when I couldn’t seem to put thoughts into words, I thought the situation was hopeless.  Lately, however, it seems like my mind has become a sponge, soaking up new words, concepts, and patterns.  I feel rejuvenated in this whole language-learning process, and the woman who wrote that article about me did me a solid in even making me sound articulate!

As I get older, I feel less wise, more subject to my own fossilized patterns of doubt and weakness, but also more willing to throw them to the wind and rest on God.  Yesterday afternoon I ran twice as far as I ever had around Nanhu Lake, and I felt on top of the world.  I returned home to my husband in the kitchen, whipping up scallion pancakes, cucumber salad, pork and eggplant, broccoli, and kumquat tea–determined to make the most of this opportunity to cook Chinese with abundant ingredients!

I was reading last night about willpower and how we actually have more than we tend to believe, but we beat ourselves up about our failures, forgetting to forgive first, so we can move on.

Around South lake, Nanning. Photo by Evan Schneider.

Easter is just around the corner, spring has sprung, and rebirth is the name of the game.  Catch the fever and embrace today, challenge yourself, appreciate the world around you, and give God a chance to make good on God’s promises.

Happy Weekending.

Lion Hill Park in the spring (Nanning). All photos by Evan Schneider.

It is a gorgeous, brisk sunny morning here in South China.

Because the cool winds had powered back into our region these past few days, my husband I decided to make the most of the chilly weather and slurp down some delicious hot pot last night.

Today, it’s all about foster visits, wherein I’m challenged to get wiggly little girls to practice some English, share with me their fears and hopes about being adopted, and somehow encourage the older ladies who take care of them.

I’ve been having crazy dreams lately, the other night my family came to China and we took a boat down the Yong River into the wee hours of the morning, and last night I lay awake planning lectures for future courses in my head–I’m just that dorky.  Speaking of dorky, look who Obama’s put in charge of the World Bank: Jim Yong Kim is the creator of Partners in Health, a physician, AND an anthropologist!

On Halong Bay, Vietnam, last summer.

On the docket for this weekend: my husband’s planning to go down to the riverbanks and take some photos of Nanning (I’ll try to share some later).  Speaking of picturesque sites, we were both enthralled with this article, which brought back great memories of our Southeast Asia trip last summer.  We’re so excited to head back to Vietnam with friends in May, but are scheming for how we can fit in another trip to Laos somewhere in the near future!

I’m looking forward to church and a Sabbath, been reflecting on and touched by these words from one of my favorite blogs, “Be confident because you are A Child of God. Be humble because everyone else is, too.”  

I’ve been more diligent about working out this week (yesterday I even added these to my workout!), so I may treat myself to a cheap, luxurious foot massage for my aching muscles!

What about you?  What are you up to?  Hope it’s a great weekend.

A Woman Healed

Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years; and though she had spent all she had on physicians, none could cure her.  She had come up behind [Jesus] and touched the fringe of his clothes, and immediately her hemorrhage stopped… –Luke 8:43-44

I remember sitting in Sunday school and hearing about the mysterious woman with these issues of blood and great faith, the one who thought to herself, if I only touch the hem of his garment I will be healed, and it was.  And I remember knowing about the power and the compassion of Jesus before I understood the pain and the shame of this woman’s disease.

Sometimes when we see disabled kids at the orphanage and in foster homes, Chinese friends will ask me if I’m afraid to touch and hold the kids, and it seems such an alien question, because I have not only been taught from a young age that these children are just like me, that I can’t get sick from touching them or playing with them or even kissing or cuddling them, but also that they are also children of God, worthy of love and compassion.

But simply because I know these things, I can comprehend them with my mind, doesn’t mean it’s easy to live by them, or to believe them in my heart of hearts.  I remember hearing from missionaries to the DR Congo about women there who (many who are victims of rape) suffer from obstetric fistulas which often cause them to live as outcasts from their communities, and even their families.  Someone who has a fistula often feels perpetually unclean, the smell is overwhelming, and many women would prefer to die than go on living in such shame and pain.

But these missionaries help train doctors who perform surgeries that repair the damage done to these women’s bodies, so that they can be healed not only physically, but also socially, so that they can go back to living a normal life.  In many ways, though, it’s not these women who are only in need of healing, but we who call ourselves healthy, we as a society who view them as unclean, and cast them off.

Jesus told the woman who touched the fringe of his garment that her faith had made her well, but would he say the same to any of us?  Even if we know what is right, do we believe that Jesus is calling us to touch those whom no one wants to touch, to live among those whom no one wants to live with?

It’s so important for us to continue to seek to know Jesus and to live like him, not because we gain power by doing so, or so that we can perform miracles, but so that miracles can be performed within our hearts so that we can see others as Jesus did, so that we can be a society that isn’t sick with the diseases of pride and discrimination, but alive with the compassion and grace. 

Happy Weekending.

For the first time in a long time our cupboards are chocked full and bursting with items we imported ourselves from our recent trips to Egypt, Abu Dhabi, and Hong Kong.  We’ve got basmati rice, risotto, and bags of good coffee–all hard to come by on the mainland.  It’s opens a whole new world of possibilities when it comes to (comfort) cuisine!

Making risotto.

My husband has been whipping up homemade pizza sauce and calzones and fabulous thyme chicken and risotto.  This week has also been relatively light on the research front, so I’ve been exploring new language-learning strategies, getting out and running despite the dreary weather, and exploring new banana bread recipes (of the crockpot persuasion of course!).

It’s funny because I always used to chide people who drink decaf coffee that it’s not the real stuff, but lately my favorite activity involves a cup of Starbucks Decaf Komodo Dragon Blend and reading David Brooks’ The Social Animal.

One of my favorite breakfasts in Egypt.

The book is thrilling and fascinating, with so many intriguing overlaps and insights into my research, too.  Reading the Happiness Blog recently, I also got interested in this book on willpower–lately the brain is totally fascinating me, perhaps I was a psychologist or a neuroscientist in another life!

Since this weekend will be a working one, I’m enjoying some blogs, coffee, and blueberry pancakes this Saturday morning.  I only just noticed it’s Saint Patrick’s Day (not too popular in China!).

What are your plans?

I would make these lime bars if I had an oven…you can let me know how they turn out.  Despite the weather here, I’m inspired by Jen and her friends’ health challenge, thinking of asking some of my friends abroad to join in on one with me.  We had delicious Korean barbecue last night; if you’ve never been, I totally recommend it!

Hope your weekend’s a great one,

Erin