"He will see the light of life and be satisfied"

Yet it was the Lord's will to crush him and cause him to suffer,

and though the Lord makes his life an offering for sin,

he will see his offspring and prolong his days,

and the will of the Lord will prosper in his hand.

After he has suffered,

he will see the light of life and be satisfied;

by his knowledge, my righteous servant will justify many,

and he will bear their iniquities.

Therefore, I will give him a portion among the great,

and he will divide the spoils with the strong,

because he poured out his life unto death,

and was numbered with the transgressors.

For he bore the sin of many,

and made intercession for the transgressors.

--Isaiah 53:10-12, NIV

Tonight I went to a Good Friday service at The Falls Church Anglican. Of course, the Old Testament reading was from Isaiah 52-53, the famous "suffering servant" passage. I've heard and read this passage many times before, but this time the phrase, "he will...be satisfied" stood out. I've really never given much thought to Jesus' own assessment of his death and resurrection, and I'd like to explore that here.

Of course, on the most basic level, we could say confidently that Jesus might be satisfied because he had obeyed his Father, and because he had finished the work he had set out to do. But any one of us could say that about any task set before us that we complete; there's nothing particularly striking about that idea. So let's think more about just what Jesus' task was, and what he endured to accomplish it.

What Jesus accomplished was the reclamation of the created order and of fallen humanity from the curse of sin, death, and corruption. It was a re-creation event. In the words "he will be satisfied," I hear an echo of God's assessment of the world he made, recorded in Genesis 1:31: "And God saw all that he had made, and it was very good." Genesis 2 goes on to tell us that "God had finished the work that he had been doing, so on the seventh day he rested from all his work." Jesus' resurrection was the testimony to the breaking of the power of death. After his resurrection, Jesus ascended back to heaven and sat down at the right hand of God. His work, too, was very good and was complete. Surely, we can say that "He [saw] the light of life and [was] satisfied."

But there's another angle from which we can look at this passage, and childbirth and parenting have brought it into focus for me. I had 15 hours of very painful, unmedicated back labor to bring my daughter into the world. After her birth came the excruciating challenge of nursing a baby with severe reflux, and even now we are still struggling to get her to eat enough and gain weight appropriately, and dealing with other complications related to her intrauterine growth restriction. I have had many days when I just wanted to pack it all in. And yet, when I look at her and see how much she has grown and the kind of person she is turning out to be, I can say that it has all been worth it. And we have many more years to go yet.

The suffering that Jesus endured in order to redeem his wayward people was even more intense. Philippians 2 tells us that Jesus laid aside his right to stay in heaven at the Father's side--as his equal--and became a man. He endured temptation, the rejection of the people he came to win back, the agony of bearing the sins of the world, and the torment of crucifixion. No one in history has ever suffered as he did.

Jesus endured all this in order to redeem a people who had rejected his kingship. Like the religious leaders who hoped to achieve their goal by telling Pilate "We have no king but Caesar (John 19:15)," like the Israelites who asked God to give them a king "like the other nations," like Adam and Eve, who decided that they wanted to be like God, knowing good and evil, we have looked to the world and to ourselves for our welfare and salvation. There is nothing worthy in us that Jesus should have endured all that he did, and yet, our redemption was worth the price he paid to gain it. The passage above says that "he will see his offspring and prolong his days." That's a reference to us, the people of God, once covered in sin and shame, now, a pure, spotless bride. Let that sink in. There is beauty and hope and rest in the balance of these two truths: we are both altogether unworthy, and absolutely worth it. 

Have a blessed Easter. 

"Wasted Votes"

I first posted the following reflection on Facebook, but it occurs to me that it's basically a short blog post, so I'm reposting it here.

This will be a very rare political post from me.

I find myself increasingly frustrated by post after post imploring folks like me not to "waste my vote" by voting for [candidate of choice]. It happens at least once a day now. Two of my top three candidates have already suspended their campaigns, so I already feel that my options are limited, and the person I plan on voting for is not my ideal candidate. And of course, you have the same right to try and sway my opinion as I have to try and sway yours. I am now going to exercise that right.

If everyone votes only for the "electable" candidates and not for the person they truly most wish to see in office, if everyone votes against the candidate they hate most, rather than the candidate they like best, all we are doing is playing into a broken system. The American people will not end up with the leader they really want by voting this way. Party leaders will look at the percentage of votes that their candidates receive, and they will see a distorted picture if too many voters choose Candidate A when they really wanted Candidate B or C or D.

Voting this way does not bring about the reform that the system so desperately needs. My vote for the candidate of my choice is not a wasted vote. Rather, it sends a message about the type of person I wish to see in office. If everyone votes for their true first choice, that message will be clearer. Like any other worthy endeavor, reforming American politics requires courage and a long view. I believe that God is ultimately in control, and that no one party or candidate holds the key to bringing about either heaven or hell on earth. In fact, it seems to me that putting one's trust for the welfare of our nation solely in the hands of one person or political party might just be idolatrous. So this election cycle, I refuse to vote from a place of fear. I will be voting for the candidate I like best (out of those who remain). And in November, I will do the same, probably with even less appealing options. I hope you will join me.

Never Say Never

For my birthday this year, I did something I said I would never do. I bought a bread machine.

I've known many people who owned bread machines, and I have eaten and enjoyed their creations. But using a machine takes all the tactile fun out of the baking process: the kneading, the punching down (a terrific stress reliever), the shaping of the loaves. I still believe that, but the last time I made a loaf of yeast bread was at least five years ago when I made some hot cross buns for Easter breakfast. I just don't have the time or the work space to spare anymore.

There were several factors that led me to change my initial judgment about owning a bread machine. First, while Johanna was still dairy and soy intolerant, I started really reading bread labels and discovered that most store-bought bread contains both milk and soy. And after almost a full year of avoiding foods with these ingredients, I no longer felt good about eating breads with ingredient lists that took up an entire side of the wrapper. Sure, all of the ingredients have been approved by the FDA (or USDA; I'm never sure which agency regulates what), but do I really want to subject my family to all these additives when the only requirements for bread are flour, sugar, salt, yeast and liquid? I found one brand of bread that is made from no more than half a dozen ingredients, but it costs almost $5 a loaf.

The cost was another factor. Has anyone else noticed that bread prices have gone up recently? I used to watch the sales and pick up what I thought was good bread on a 2-for-$4 sale, but I can't remember the last time I saw prices that low. Additive-free fresh bread from the farmer's market tastes much better than store-bought bread, but can only be bought once a week and goes stale before we eat it all. And it's between $6-8 per loaf, so it's not very economical.

I think the final factor may have been the St. Patrick's Day potluck at church. I found enough time to throw together a couple of loaves of whole wheat soda bread (NO RAISINS, butter, sugar, eggs or baking powder in the real deal, thank you!) and, as we were eating up the last few slices at home, Steve remarked that he could eat this bread every day. That got me thinking, and I realized that even though the loaves are quick to mix and shape (no kneading or rising), I still can't always count on having an hour at home to bake them.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the obvious solution to our bread quandry was to purchase a bread machine. So I did a lot of research online and finally ordered the small model that had gotten the best reviews. We were hooked from the very first loaf. I love that I control the ingredients. I love that I can take 5 minutes to add all the ingredients to pan and then come home to a fresh loaf three hours later. And I especially love the fact that instead of having to clean up two mixing bowls, a spoon with caked on dough, a rolling pin, a pastry cloth and two loaf tins, all I have to do now is rinse out the baking pan and kneading blade.

I'm looking forward to the beginning of this year's CSA season in a few weeks, and I think homemade bread will complement the fresh local produce nicely. I just wish I'd reconsidered my opinion about bread machines a long time ago. I still miss working with the dough with my own hands, but my enjoyment of a fresh loaf of bread every few days more than makes up for the loss.

Never say never...

An Update and a Prayer Request

Almost exactly one year ago, I wrote a post in which I described the many health challenges of my nephew. Tonight I write to ask you to pray for him tomorrow, as he undergoes major surgery to stabilize and manage his condition.

The shortest update I can give is this: all the tissue biopsies that Taavi underwent last year came back inconclusive for mitochondrial disease. His mother says that this is apparently not unusual (so little is known about mito that tests often miss it), and that the doctors feel that his symptoms are consistent with mitochondrial complex 1. Further specialized testing and imagery of his digestive tract a month ago revealed that his stomach and small intestine are functioning normally, but that a portion of his large intestine is not. It is stretched out and does not contract as it should to move food through. This is the result of an autonomic dysfunction (caused by the mito), and it is one of the main causes of his feeding intolerance, abdominal pain and distention, and even bladder symptoms.

So tomorrow, doctors will be performing a diverting ileostomy--a procedure that disconnects the small and large intestines and routes the end of the small intestine out through the abdominal wall and into an exterior collection pouch. At this point, the hope is that the procedure may be reversed years down the road, so the surgeon will not be removing the dysfunctional portion of colon. Taavi will also have a central line inserted for IV nutrition as he recovers. We don't know how long he will have the IV for, but the surgeon is hopeful that bypassing the colon will enable food to pass unimpeded through the digestive tract once more, and that, with time, Taavi may finally be able to take in the nutrients and calories he needs, either orally through a combination of oral and tube feeding. Currently he is only able to tolerate about half of the amount that he needs. Rebuilding digestive function will be a slow process, and only God knows at this point whether Taavi will eventually be able to have the surgery reversed and how dependent he will be on feeding tubes in the long run. And the surgery won't--and can't--repair the nerve dysfunction caused by the mito. But we are all hopeful that tomorrow's procedures will greatly improve his health and quality of life. Thank you for your prayers.

The Great CSA Experiment: Serendipity

The story of weeks 13 and 14 really needs to be fully narrated to be appreciated.

The finalized contents list for week 13 informed us that several crops had yielded lower-than-expected harvests. Each share, therefore, would contain one of four possible items: beets, an Italian eggplant (the large kind), a bag of mixed (smaller) eggplants, or a specialty herb (or green, I'm still not sure) called agretti. Individual boxes aren't labelled, and we were urged not to dig through boxes looking for a particular item. Pick one, and use the swap box if you get something you won't use.

I'm sure I've mentioned before how much we both hate beets. I actually have an aversion to them, thanks to a bad experience with some borscht I made for Lent one year. Maybe there's a good borscht recipe out there, but this definitely wasn't it. Eating it was, appropriately, a penitential experience. All season long, I've used the swap box to trade beets for something else that I know we will enjoy. So when I saw the contents list--and did a little research to find out just what agretti was--I decided that, on the 25% chance that our box contained beets, I would try and swap them. Anything else, I would keep.

On Saturday morning, I selected a box at random and hoped for eggplant. There, in plain view, was a beautiful Italian eggplant. Success!  After putting the rest of the items into my cooler, I was left with an extra item: a bag containing some oblong purple shapes, just the right size to be baby eggplants. What a bonus, I thought, we actually got two of the items and both of mine were eggplant--the best possible outcome. I headed home happily, to share the news of our windfall and to plan menus for the next week. I decided to curry the small eggplants, cook up the remaining potatoes in the pantry, and serve them with some take-away tandoori chicken. The sweet corn would be eaten on the cob with burgers from the freezer, some of the slicing tomatoes, the lemon basil, and the Italian eggplant would go into an Eggplant Provencal casserole for the freezer, the remainder of the slicing tomatoes and the entire bag of Romas would go into the slow cooker to become spaghetti sauce for the freezer, and the heirloom tomatoes would go for sandwiches. Easy.

Or so I thought. On Sunday night I pulled the bag of "mixed eggplant" out of the refrigerator to prepare it for cooking later in the week...and discovered that the bag did not, in fact, contain eggplants. It contained beets. Cylindra beets (hence the confusion), to be exact. Joy gave way to panic. I now had two dilemmas: 1) how do I salvage this week's menu plans? and 2) what am I going to do with these beets?

The first question came down to deciding whether I wanted to give up the freezer casserole and use the big eggplant for the curry. I decided not to take this path, as it would have left me with extra tomatoes and basil, and not enough room in the slow cooker for a larger batch of sauce. I ended up replacing the curry plans with some easy Thai-style oven steamed fish and an eggplant stir fry, for which I purchased two Japanese eggplants at the supermarket. They were no where near as fresh as the share vegetables, but at least they were local and in season. Everything else stayed the same.

That left me with the bag of beets. As I saw it, I had two options: contact the beet-loving friend with whom I split last year's share and see if she would take them, or find some way of preparing them that I might be able to choke down. I considered the first option for several days before deciding that since we'd paid for them, we may as well see what we could do. I googled "beet recipes for beet haters" and found many suggestions, mostly for salads, which I didn't think I'd be up for trying. Several people, though, suggested a radically different use: a chocolate cake made with beets. They unanimously praised the ability of the beets to lend a sweet and sort of earthy flavor to the chocolate, and they raved about how moist the end product was. I was skeptical at first but was finally persuaded to try it when I read comments about beets doing for chocolate cake what carrots do to spice cake. And unlike in the salads, the beets should be well-concealed in a cake. I decided to give it a try, and read through several recipes before selecting one that called for both cocoa and dark chocolate.

We'll return to the cake later, as I didn't get around to making it that first week. Everything else cooked up as planned. In our week 14 box, we got:

• 6 ears of sweet corn, which were only half-developed--probably the last of that particular farmer's harvest for the season--were eaten with chicken enchiladas. Johanna now stops eating when she sees the corn come out of the cooking dish at the table and points insistently until I carve off some for her.
• a bag of baby sweet "stuffing" peppers: I had originally planned on stuffing these and cooking them in the crock pot, but the operative word in the description turned out to be "baby." I guess the "stuffing" was intended to convey the idea of stuffing them with cheese for hors d'oeuvres. I chopped them up and made a Thai beef and bell pepper stir fry that was very tasty.
• an Italian eggplant was stir-fried to accompany the beef and peppers
• a bag of yellow wax beans was sauteed with lemon and garlic to accompany some French-style chicken cutlets. We also ate up most of the (now weeks old) red potatoes with this dinner.
• two red bell peppers also weren't quite big enough to stuff, but they were the sweetest and most flavorful I've ever had, and we ate them raw. Or at least, Johanna and I did. 
• Steve ate the almost-weekly pint of cherry tomatoes raw.
• two "slicing" tomatoes were cut up to go into a corn (frozen, alas), zucchini, and tomato dish that Johanna also liked.

At the end of the week, I finally found some time to make the chocolate beetroot cake. It was quite an undertaking. The recipe said to cook the whole beets "until soft, about 30 minutes." After said 30 minutes, I could pierce the beets with a sharp knife, but that was about it. I let them cook for another half hour. Softer, but not soft enough to mash as called for. By this time it was time to put Johanna to bed, so I turned off the burner and let the beets sit in the hot water for another two hours. When I came back downstairs, I was dismayed to find them no softer than before. In desperation, I drained and peeled them, cut them into chunks, and microwaved them for six minutes. Still no change. After another six minutes, I decided they were as cooked as they were going to get and I lugged out the food processor. They pureed OK, so I decided to proceed with the recipe. We were both skeptical. My first impression was that the cake was just "OK." I could tell that there was something else in the cake besides chocolate but if I hadn't known that there were beets in the recipe, I would never have guessed, so that was good. But it was denser and, while moist, drier than I was expecting (I was thinking carrot cake) and reminded me of a moist brownie more than a cake. A brownie with no nuts, chocolate chips, or bits of anything in it. So I decided that instead of the cream cheese frosting suggested in the recipe, the cake really needed hot fudge sauce and a clean vanilla ice cream. Sure enough, turning the cake into a hot fudge brownie sundae knocked it out of the park. Steve, who hates beets as much as I do, and who also doesn't care for chocolate cake, was instantly converted. He hopes I'll make it again, and if I get stuck with more  beets, I probably will. My first choice would still be to swap them, since the process of cooking them just to make the cake was so lengthy. But at least now I know that there is something to make with beets that we won't have to summon extra willpower to eat!

The Great CSA Experiment, Weeks 10-12

Week 10:

• a pint of cherry tomatoes went in Steve's lunches
• a bunch of rainbow carrots were eaten raw by both of us. I'd seen purple carrots before, but never white (or maybe very pale yellow) carrots. 
• a bag of "mixed specialty squash"--I recognized pipian and yellow straightneck--was julienned and sauteed in olive oil with salt, black pepper, and lemon juice. Johanna ate these too; once she got over her initial texture aversions, she really is interested in trying new things, for which I am grateful.
• 4 more zucchini were shredded and frozen
• 4 of crispest, freshest green bell peppers I've ever seen were stuffed with my "Greek hash" (ground turkey, onion, cooked rice, pine nuts, cinnamon, black pepper, salt, and a dash of nutmeg) and a can of diced tomatoes and cooked in the slow cooker. Yum!
• a bag of green beans was steamed and then tossed with sauteed garlic slices, toasted almonds, and a little lemon juice as a side to a crock pot-cooked rosemary cornish game hen
• more red potatoes were roasted and accompanied the cornish hen. I still have some left.
• three sweet onions went in various dishes throughout the week. I can always use more onions.

Week 11:

• a bag of green beans became a batch of creamy green bean soup, minus the cream because it was destined for the freezer. Dairy products don't survive the thawing process very well. with the exception of some cheeses in casseroles, so we'll add it when we eat it. I've never made this soup before, and am having some difficulty imagining green beans as the main ingredient of a pureed soup, but I didn't have enough space to blanch and freeze the beans on trays before bagging, so soup it was. The recipe has three whole shallots, so it will probably be good. 
• a bag of yellow patty pan squash. I had big ideas for this: I originally planned on making squash a la grecque, a marinated dish served cold, but realized that in order to use all the squash in the bag, I would need to quadruple the recipe. I didn't feel like pouring four cups of good wine into this effort, so instead I sauteed them and served them with parmesan cheese and oregano from the garden.
• 6 ears of sweet corn were eaten on the cob. We like them as an accompaniment to SLTs: smoked salmon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches with onion and chive cream cheese instead of mayo.
• a bag of big orange carrots was eaten raw with lunches
• I swapped the lima beans--the only vegetable we both dislike more than beets--for a bag of hot Hungarian wax peppers that I chopped in my food processor and then froze in single tablespoon portions for use as needed. Yield was 13 tablespoons, so we should be good for a while.
• this week's challenge item was globe artichokes. I've had artichoke hearts in things, but I've never cooked or eaten a whole one before. I went the "simple" route and cooked them for half an hour, pulled off the leaves, and served them and the hearts with some balsamic mayonnaise. They were tasty, but I'm not sure it was worth the effort.

Week 12:

• more cherry tomatoes were eaten raw for lunch
• a bag of Roma tomatoes: one was chopped for Hungarian paprika gravy, two more were quartered for the okra curry (see below), and the rest were chopped to be combined with the next week's (3-bag) haul for freezer spaghetti sauce
• one bunch of malabar spinach was substituted for regular spinach in our favorite Japanese-style wilted spinach salad (from Jack Bishop's fantastic "A Year in a Vegetarian Kitchen" cookbook), but sadly, this didn't work very well because malabar spinach has a very strong taste. We preferred the tatsoi from earlier weeks.
• a bag of okra was curried with onions and tomatoes to minimize slime. I have decided that okra just isn't growing on me, slime or no slime. If there's a next time, I'll try roasting them.
• 2 beautiful Japanese eggplant got the Mark Bittman treatment and were stir-fried with basil and some of last week's hot chiles. Probably our new favorite eggplant recipe--and we love eggplant!
• 5 Cubanelle (sweet, light green) peppers. One went into the paprika gravy, and the rest were cut into strips and frozen. Some will go into the spaghetti sauce, and some may go into a Basque chicken dish later on. Johanna liked them raw!
• 3 huge zucchini made 11 more freezer portions

We ate some of the freezer pickles from week 9 on burgers today, and they were really good--this coming from a person who doesn't normally like sweet pickles. The freezer is filling up nicely with soups, sauces, and side dishes. Now, if we can just get through the summer without a multi-day power outage, we'll be well set for the winter. And we still have another 13 weeks of produce to go!

The Great CSA Experiment: Weeks 7-9

Week 7

• 3 zucchini: shredded for pancakes as last week with the yellow squash
• a pint of cherry tomatoes and a bag of (green) romano beans made a delicious variant on a french bean salad recipe from a British cookbook. The tomatoes were halved, sprinkled with sugar, salt and pepper, and roasted for 10 minutes. After cooling, they were tossed with the cooked beans and some cubed feta cheese with a garlic and dijon vinaigrette.
• one head of brocolli was simply steamed with butter and garlic salt as a side dish
• one HUGE head of cabbage: shredded some and tossed with a store-bought poppyseed dressing for the world's fastest coleslaw, but the cabbage weighed over 2 pounds and we still have some left
• one head of red leaf lettuce was used for salads and sandwiches over the course of a couple weeks
• one bunch of beets (we both dislike them; I have an aversion to them after making a particularly muddy tasting borscht a couple of years ago during Lent) was swapped for tatsoi, to wilt down as in previous weeks

Week 8

• one pint of yellow cherry tomatoes and a bunch of purple carrots: eaten raw for lunches
• one bag of mixed (burgundy, green and yellow wax) and a second bag of yellow wax (swapped for beets): steamed with butter and garlic for a simple side
• one bunch of yellow onions: used in fried rice and zucchini pancakes
• 4 zucchini: still more pancakes. This week I learned that zucchini can be shredded, measured and frozen in individual portions, so we can have pancakes well after the growing season is over!
• one bag of sugar snap peas: stir-fried with garlic and soy sauce (so far, so good)
• one bunch of red kale: another batch of sausage and kale soup for the freezer

Week 9 isn't over yet, but I've already used most of the produce thanks to a visit from my parents!

• 6 ears of bicolor sweet corn were eaten within two days of receipt!
• a small head of cabbage is still untouched but slated to become Indian-style cabbage with mustard and coconut along with some take-out tandoori later this week
• a bunch of orange carrots and a very small head of broccoli (swapped for still more beets) were eaten raw with lunches
• a bunch of kale hearts were (gasp!) eaten raw in a Mexican-style salad with pumpkin seeds, avocado, and a honey-lime vinaigrette. I was at the wrong store to buy cojita cheese, so I used up some feta instead. Both non-kale enthusiasts in this house pronounced the salad "not bad," though I don't think it would be as good with larger kale leaves
• a bag of red potatoes is still entirely untouched. I will probably make a corn, crab, and red potato chowder for the freezer
• 3 more zucchini have been shredded and frozen for later
• 2 cucumbers--another vegetable we're not fond of raw--will be sliced and made into freezer pickles this weekend

The Great CSA Experiment: Playing Catch-up

I'm just a little behind--all this cooking has left me with less time to blog about it. Anyway, here's the quick summary:

Week 4

• one head of butter lettuce--salads
• snow peas--stir-fried with ginger and soy (or, in our case, coconut aminos); some kept for later next week in a vegetable curry
• mustard greens and collards--cooked Greek-style with rice, lemon and cilantro (swapped for dill)
• spring onions and kohlrabi and red potatoes--baked into scalloped potatoes and kohlrabi with ham as soon as the oven gets fixed
• garlic scapes--went into the casserole with the potatoes and kohlrabi
• 1 head of broccoli--steamed and served with a fennel and lemon dressing with spaghetti

Week 5

• a bag of English peas and a bunch of mini red onions--braised with marjoram as a side dish
• half a head of cauliflower, half of a quart of red potatoes and the remainder of the previous week's snow peas made a nice curry side dish to accompany tandoori chicken
• the rest of the cauliflower went into a Thai curry with turmeric
• one head of broccoli was steamed as last week
• a second head of broccoli (this must have been cruciferous vegetable week) was cooked with an entire bunch of garlic scapes and made into soup for the freezer

Week 6

• one head of red leaf lettuce--salads
• one bunch of garlic scapes (again???) and a head of broccoli--more soup for the freezer
• 3 yellow squash--made into pancakes with eggs and cheese, which Johanna just gobbled up. Winner!
• 2 bunches tatsoi (one in the box, one taken from the swap box in exchange for a bunch of beets)--wilted with a Japanese-style onion, sesame, and tamari dressing to accompany Thai-style fried rice with shrimp. Yep, folks, I'm trying to reintroduce soy this week. Fingers crossed!
• 3 sweet onions--went into the salads and soup
• one bunch of carrots--eaten raw

At the end of this stretch, I still have some red potatoes left, but that's it. The only item tossed out so far has been the frisee. Week 7 is almost over, but I'll save that for next time.

The CSA Experiment, Week 3

Not as many items in the box this week; I think the farms are still catching up from the cold snap at the end of April. We got:

• One head of green leaf lettuce: used for salads; still have at least half left. I’m going to have to find other things to do with lettuce besides salad because we can’t even get through a half share’s worth of lettuce in a week. Either that or resume having people over for dinner.
• One huge head of frisee: also went into salads, but sparingly as it is another bitter green that we don’t particularly care for.  We did find out that it is at least palatable if the dressing is super sweet, to cut through the bitter taste. I used it in a salad with strawberries, almonds, and a (fat free!) homemade balsamic and honey dressing. It actually started to rot within a few days…
• Asparagus: pan roasted with bacon and onions (the red spring ones from the previous week), as a side dish for the pasta with ham and chard. Think warm bacon and onion dressing from spinach salad but served over roasted asparagus. Yum!
• Another beautiful bunch of rainbow chard: Steamed and tossed with sautéed shallots, garlic, and a splash of vinegar; eaten as a side dish with roast chicken.
• Kale: another batch of sausage and kale soup, this time for the deep freezer.

The Great CSA Experiment of 2013

I promised a post featuring some success stories from my job, and I still intend to write one, but this one's in my head now, so stay tuned.

Last summer, a friend and I signed up to join a CSA--a community shared agriculture program. This means that we paid a lump sum before the summer growing season to purchase vegetables directly from an organic farming co-op about a 3-hour drive away in the Lancaster, PA area. Each week, the farmers harvest whatever's ready and divide that harvest up among the shareholders, each of whom gets their own box. The share boxes are loaded up onto a delivery truck and arrive at a central pick up location, where we repack them into our own coolers or bags and return the boxes for use the next week.

Joining the CSA appealed to me for many reasons: it encourages eating seasonally and shopping locally, it supports small farms, and the produce--which is all grown organically--is as fresh as it can be short of growing it myself. The price is competitive, too--more than the supermarket but less than shopping exclusively at a Whole Foods-type store. There are, however, two drawbacks that made both of us think twice about joining again this year. First, the size of the share was awkward: the full share would have been way too much for a small family, but splitting the full share between us often resulted in amounts too small to use effectively (one week we each got half a baby cauliflower). Second, you have no control over what's in the box. The co-op sends out a tentative list earlier in the week with what the farmers anticipate harvesting, so you can plan your menus ahead of time, but sometimes substitutions are made at the last minute, and there will inevitably be times when your box includes something no one in your family will eat (for us, that's lima beans, beets, and most bitter greens). As a result, each week last year several items went into the garbage untouched (that and the reality of dealing with a high needs baby who left me with very little time to process the items that couldn't simply be roasted or eaten raw...).

This year, the co-op offered a solution to the first problem: a half-share option which would provide fewer but full-sized items each week, with a focus on kitchen staples over specialty ingredients (like garlic scapes, pea tendrils, and stinging nettles). As for the second problem, there is a swap box at the pick up site in which you can place a whole item that you don't anticipate using and (hopefully) walk away with an item someone else didn't want, but you  still have to get lucky when using this option.

We both decided to give the half share a try, and I have resolved to try and use everything in the box each week. I thought that blogging about the experience might help me keep my resolution, so I will be reporting each week about how I used the contents of the previous week's share. If you have any suggestions for recipes to try, I'd love to hear from you!

Week One was actually the first Saturday in May--the CSA does a staggered start at the beginning of the growing season, so I had a bit more time to process everything. Here's how it all worked out:

• One bunch of the freshest asparagus I've ever had: this was a no-brainer--it was roasted in the oven as a side dish.
• One head of green leaf lettuce was also a no-brainer: salads.
• One bunch of radishes: I ate these raw. Steve doesn't care for raw radishes, but I like them.
• One bunch of scallions and part of a bunch of mint went into a lamb casserole that was quite good but a lot of work.
• The rest of the mint was minced and combined with vinegar, sugar and water to make British-style mint sauce. It was either that or dry it for tea. We like mint and lamb together, and I threw out the mint sauce we had in the fridge after the derecho last summer.
• A bunch of kale--which we will get almost every week, if this year is like last--was chopped and put into a pot of sausage and kale soup. Soup is really the only way we like kale, and this one bore a slight resemblance to the Olive Garden's zuppa toscana. Pretty good.
• We also got a bunch of mizuna, a bitter green which I swapped out for a bunch of thyme (in the full share). Some of the thyme went into a rabbit (yes, rabbit) casserole, some went into something else, and some is still in the fridge--but it's the only thing, so I did well this week.

Week Two--last week:

• One head of romaine and one head of red leaf lettuce: more salads. Some still left, but it will all be used.
• Two bunches of radishes: one from the share and one from the swap box as an exchange for collard greens, which we don't really care for except with Ethiopian-style spiced cheese, and that's a two-day process. On the advice of my friend, we tried them roasted with olive oil, salt, pepper, and some fresh oregano from the back garden. Not our favorite, but not bad, and Steve ate them.
• One bunch of red spring onions: will be used together with the bunch that's supposed to be coming this week in a side dish.
• A pint of strawberries: gone in a day and a half. Johanna seemed to like them, too, but I think they may have set off her reflux.
• One bunch of lovely rainbow chard: the leaves were blanched, chopped, and substituted for spinach in a cheesy ham and pasta casserole, and the leaves were blanched and layered with tomato sauce and parmesan cheese as a side dish. The latter went into the freezer for later, or to take to a potluck.
• This week's challenge item was a bunch of kohlrabi, a member of the cabbage family that tastes kind of like broccoli stems. I'd never tried it or worked with it before. I found a recipe for a kohlrabi puree that used both the bulbs and the leaves and served it as a base for the rabbit dish mentioned above. It was OK but had a much stronger flavor than I'd expected and took a lot of prep time.

As I was prepping the kohlrabi and throwing the stems in the garbage, I thought how nice it would be to find somewhere to take the scraps each week for composting. So my next challenge will be to find someone who does it themselves, or to find a community composting program.

Overall--some thyme and lettuce still left, but nothing else.

Why Freshmen Fail: Addendum

A couple of years ago, I wrote a series of posts exploring some of the many reasons that college freshmen fail academically. As I approach the end of my third year of undergraduate advising, I've realized that this series was incomplete. Here are two more reasons freshmen may fail.

1. Substance abuse. I should have thought of this one well before now, especially after one of the 18-year old students I taught during my very first year quipped--in all seriousness--that he was giving up alcohol (and, presumably, the underage drinking that would accompany it) for Lent. The following year, one of my advisees was dismissed--from his second college in a row--for marijuana possession. But the first student was an honors student who earned top grades and the second had a helicopter parent who bailed him out of all his scrapes, so I guess I attributed his failure to other factors. This year, however, I had an advisee who came to college with a near-perfect verbal SAT score and very good high school grades. She promptly began missing classes and failing to turn in assignments. When I met with her, she told me that she had "difficulty with transitions" and that she had lost her wallet, keys and phone over the weekend. She then mumbled something about having been arrested, too. In the spirit of "unconditional positive regard" that reigns in advising, I filed that tidbit away for the future, asking her instead if everything was OK and had been resolved. She said she needed a new ID and a way to get some cash, so I connected her with those resources and suggested that we meet weekly to make sure that this transition went a little more smoothly. That was the last I heard from her until shortly after midterms, and I didn't succeed in meeting with her one on one until she finally came in to get a tutor for one of her classes. In the meantime, I began hearing from her instructors about her chronic absence and tardiness. When one instructor reported that she appeared "disheveled" when she came to class at all, I began to suspect that something more was going on. I pressed her for more details about her absences, but all she would say is that she was sick (vomiting and dizziness. hmm...) a lot. At this point I figured she was either pregnant or on drugs, and I reported my suspicions to the Dean's office. To make a long story short, this semester has been no better for her. She finally admitted to abusing drugs and alcohol--though not to me--and is now failing two of her 4 classes. Unless she takes a term withdrawal, she will flunk out at the end of the academic year. Other students manage to hide their substance use better than she did, I'm sure, but her story illustrates the impact that substance abuse can have on a person's ability simply to function and meet obligations.

2. Intentional failure. I'll admit, this one is still a head-scratcher for me. In hindsight, I probably had a student in this category my very first year, but I didn't recognize it for what it was. Only this year, when one of my colleagues commented that she'd had a student admit to failing his classes intentionally, did the light come on. These are the students who either don't want to go to college or who didn't want to come to this college, and who now feel trapped here by parents who filled out the admissions applications for them, paid their tuition, packed their U-Hauls, and dropped them off on campus during orientation. Rather than finding their adult voices and trying to explain to their parents why they don't wish to follow this path at this time, these students  figure that flunking out is the only way out of their predicament--and for some, maybe it is. These students ignore or refuse all offers of assistance. This year, my coworker finally asked her advisee point-blank if he was intentionally trying to fail. He admitted to it, and she then had to work to convince him that wasting his parents' money in this way was not the adult thing to do. I'm not sure how she left it, but it got the rest of us wondering how many of our worst cases might be in this category. I don't think I have any this year, but my first year I had a student whose high school transcript indicated a high level of involvement with the local volunteer fire department and as a lifeguard with advanced training at a local pool. His admissions essay also addressed the satisfaction and personal growth he'd derived from these activities. He wasn't a stellar student in high school, and he didn't do any better in college. I could never reach him for meetings, and in fact the first in-person meeting I had with him was on the deadline to take a term withdrawal to avoid potentially flunking out. And he only came in because the Dean succeeded in reaching his mother, who persuaded him to meet with me. I remember wondering at the time if this student really wanted to be a fireman or an EMT instead of earning a college degree, but there was no time to explore the topic at that meeting. Still, it never occurred to me that he might not even make an effort, or that he might be trying to flunk out just to get his parents off his back about going to college.

These are, without a doubt, the most difficult cases I've had to deal with. Chronic absence is a warning sign in both, and it can be difficult to get students to come clean about either substance abuse or intentional failure. And it's difficult to watch a suspected substance abuser who isn't yet ready to change his/her lifestyle spiral downward. These are the low points of my job. Lest I leave us all on such a depressing note, my next post--whenever I get time to write it--will highlight some success stories.

Small Boy, Big Disease

Imagine voluntarily giving up your favorite food for forty days. If you are one of the millions of Christians worldwide who observe Lent, this is likely a familiar exercise for you. This has been my experience for the past 10 years or so, and it’s a challenge that I have come to look forward to most years.

Now imagine giving up multiple common foods for an entire year or so, not for your own benefit but for the good of someone else. Eating just to maintain your own well-being becomes exponentially more challenging and often requires careful advance planning. Social eating—at restaurants, parties, and staff meetings—becomes almost impossible. This has been my experience for the past five months, since we discovered that our daughter has sensitivities to dairy, soy, wheat, and possibly corn—the four most common sources of the additives that are found in most prepared (grocery and restaurant) foods. I’d like to say that I have handled this challenge with the grace and equanimity that Lent seems to inspire, but I can’t. Even knowing that it’s for my daughter’s good, and, in the grand scheme of life, is only for a fleeting moment, it’s been a long, tough road—and it’s not over yet. Only after meeting with a feeding specialist a few weeks ago have I begun to make peace with this reality.

NOW imagine having to give up eating anything at all for the rest of your life. Nothing by mouth ever again. You can go out with your family and friends to a restaurant, but while they get to choose anything they like off the menu, the only thing you’ll be enjoying is the conversation. And this reality will be your new normal—it will never be otherwise. How would you feel? Sad? Angry? Bitter? Finally, imagine that the recipient of this diagnosis isn’t you, but your young son or daughter. What other emotions would you add to the list? This is my two year-old nephew’s experience, and the experience of thousands of other children who have gastro-intestinal complications of mitochondrial disease.

Mitochondrial disease is actually a blanket term for a number of chronic, genetic conditions and complexes--some of which haven’t even been named yet—that involve the failure of not just organs but entire systems of organs within the body. These organs fail because the mitochondria—the parts of the cell that convert the proteins, fats and carbohydrates in food into the energy needed for the cells to perform their various functions—fail, causing injury and even death to the cell they occupy. Mitochondrial disease is difficult to detect, in part because it is so poorly understood, and in part because doctors understandably focus their attention on the secondary conditions the disease causes.  Typically, mitochondrial disease is considered when three different organ systems appear to be affected, or when a secondary disease presents with atypical symptoms, but even then it can take years for a diagnosis. For up-to-date, reputable information about mito, check out Mito Action and the UMDF website.

My sweet, smiling nephew, Taavi, has struggled with a host of health issues since his birth nearly two years ago. He has had severe GERD (reflux) from the beginning, and it ultimately had to be treated with a surgical (“Nissen”) procedure and the placement of his first feeding tube at 8 months. At nine months, even with the addition of extra calories to the formula fed to him via the g-tube, he stopped gaining weight and was diagnosed as failure to thrive. A gastric emptying test a few months later determined that his digestive was essentially paralyzed and therefore unable to digest food and absorb the nutrients needed for life and growth--a condition known as gastroparesis, for which there is no cure. Taavi has been dependent on his feeding tubes ever since, and he will remain dependent on them for the rest of his life, unless a cure is found. In addition to his digestive troubles, he has also been diagnosed with hip dysplasia (corrected surgically at 5 months of age), gross developmental delays that began to be apparent as early as his first month, thrombocytopenia (a low platelet count that caused a minor brain hemorrhage at birth and left him with two lesions on his brain), Sandifer’s syndrome (seizure-like spasms related to severe GERD), hypotonia (low muscle tone), conductive hearing loss and mastoid disease, dysphagia (difficulty swallowing), feeding intolerance, intestinal dysmotility, ataxia (lack of control over muscle movements), apraxia (hard to describe; read this page for more information), an inability to regulate his body temperature, increased sensitivity to pain, and strabismus (crossed eyes).  About a year ago, his doctors began to fit the pieces together. They suspected a metabolic disorder of some kind and eventually diagnosed him with mitochondrial disease. He has spent much of his short life so far being poked, prodded, tested, and operated on. Yet he has a ready smile for those he interacts with.

Well-meaning people, on learning of Taavi’s disease, will often comment on how good he looks. No doubt they hope to encourage his parents by their remarks, but as the mother of a slow-gaining refluxer myself, I can tell you that these comments actually have just the opposite effect—they make you doubt your own instincts when you know things aren’t right, and they can make it difficult to get your child the help s/he needs. Taavi may, indeed, look good at times, but he is still a very sick little boy. He has retained the failure to thrive diagnosis, as he has difficulty taking in the volume of food that he needs to grow and develop even through the feeding tubes. The food just sits in the stomach until there’s no more room. A few weeks ago, the surgeons recently replaced his g-tube (a tube that goes into the stomach) with a g-j tube (a tube with multiple ports that go into the stomach and intestines) in hopes that bypassing the stomach would enable him to take in a larger volume of food, but his muscles are thickened and his intestines were impacted, causing the inner tube to be forced up against the bowel wall.  This caused an immense amount of pain, and since he could no longer tolerate his feedings, he quickly became dehydrated and ill. So, only a few days later, Taavi had to be readmitted to the hospital to have another procedure done and another tube—a j tube—placed.  We remain hopeful that the doctors will find a workable solution to ensure that Taavi can tolerate his feedings and receive the nutrition he needs to grow and develop, but the sobering reality is that without a functioning feeding tube, Taavi will die of dehydration and starvation. And even without the gastroparesis, the nature of mitochondrial disease means that he could be fighting for his life at any time.

It’s hard to write this post. It’s hard to think about the possibility of losing someone dear to you, and even harder to think about that person being so young a child. Hardest of all is realizing that your own brother-in-law, sister-in-law (OK—technically Taavi’s mom is “my brother-in-law’s wife” but that sounds way too distant and unfeeling for someone I hold dear), and niece may lose a beloved son and brother if a solution cannot be found. And right now, there is no cure for either gastroparesis or the mitochondrial disease that has caused it.  The medical community has only recently begun to understand the function and importance of cellular mitochondria. Yet, the latest statistics estimate that mito occurs as frequently as cystic fibrosis or childhood cancer—and claims more lives. And these are only the confirmed cases. Many others go undiagnosed.

As I write this difficult post, it is the end of Mitochondrial Disease Awareness Week. Taavi is in the hospital, recovering from his latest, emergency, surgery. His parents and others who love him are waiting on the latest round of test results and praying for some answers and solutions, and, ultimately, a cure. And that’s where you come in. Unlike Taavi’s father and uncle, I am not a runner and cannot participate in a charity run. But I can write, and I can use this blog for something more important than my usual ranting about the deplorable state of our educational system. Now that I’ve made you aware of this debilitating disease, would you join with us in praying for this special little boy and thousands of others like him? Would you take a few minutes to pass on this post or the links to the mitochondrial disease websites to just one more person, to help spread the word? Would you consider making a donation (through the websites above) that would fund some much needed research? It’s not just about my nephew—if you consider the statistics, there’s a good chance that someone you know personally is or will be affected by this disease. Massive fundraising and awareness campaigns have resulted in great strides toward treating and curing childhood cancers and other debilitating illnesses. They are all worthy causes. Let’s get busy and add mitochondrial disease to that list. Thanks for reading. And if you would like to keep up with how Taavi is doing, please check out his website at Caring Bridge.

New and Important Post Coming Soon

Today is the fifth day of Mitochondrial Disease Awareness Week. My nephew is currently in the hospital recovering from a surgery related to complications from this disease. I will be departing from the usual themes of this blog in order to address this more important topic, but I need to let his mother preview and correct my draft first. Stay tuned. In the mean time, may I suggest you get a head start by reading about the disease at one or both of the following excellent websites: Mito Action and the United Mitochondrial Disease Foundation.

What's Your Major?

Thanks to my husband, who is an avid reader of the XKCD webcomic, I have discovered the real reason so many students in this generation list their major as "undecided." Enjoy!  http://xkcd.com/1052/

Handel's Messiah: A (very amateur) Listening Guide

A week before Thanksgiving, my husband and I had a rare free evening. He was working on a computer project in the office and decided to listen to Handel's Messiah as he worked. I had planned to do the dishes and then play a game or do some reading, but when I heard the familiar opening chords, I sat down and listened, too.

I've always liked the Messiah, but it's usually playing in the background while I clean, write, or drive. The last time I actually sat down to listen to the entire piece was about 5 or 6 years ago, when the ladies from my Sunday School class all went to a live performance at the National Cathedral. The company was enjoyable that night, but the venue was so drafty that the instruments had to stop several times to retune, including right before the Hallelujah Chorus and. I'm not sure which would have been worse: allowing the instruments to play the pieces out of tune (and potentially confusing the chorus), or interrupting the flow of the piece. In any case, the choppy performance was highly distracting.

So this time, as I listened with my full attention, I noticed several interesting things about the piece that I hadn't before. I'm not sure how many of them were intentional on Handel's part, how many of them were the result of the conductor's interpretation (for reference, the version we have is the Neville Mariner/Academy of St. Martin in the Fields performance of the original 1748 score), and how many are simply the result of the soloists' diction. But I heard a number of "musical jokes" or references, and I therefore offer this amateur listening guide. I won't claim any profound level of insight into the piece, but I am curious if others hear the same things I do, or if there are other references I have missed along the way.

"Comfort Ye My People:" the first time the soloist sings the word "iniquity," the chord structure of the music changes as if to convey the dissonance of sin itself.

"The People That Walked in Darkness:" this piece starts off with heavy, almost plodding, chords, and "lightens" as the light "dawns" on the people ("have seen a great light").

"Glory to God:" the string technique used here (I'm not a string player and so don't know the technical name) gives the impression of the fluttering of the wings of the angel chorus. Steve pointed out that the contrasting quiet of "and peace on earth" in the men's sections could be the echo off the hills.

"His Yoke Is Easy:" compare the lightness of this piece to the heaviness of "The People That Walked in Darkness."

"All We Like Sheep:" there's a lot of "turning" in the music itself in this piece.

"He Trusted in God:" one of my favorites. I can just imagine this refrain spreading through the crowd watching the crucifixion. It has the feel of gossip spreading through a large group of people.

"Thou Shalt Break Them:" the soloist in this version sings "thou shalt dash them into pieces" in such a way that you can picture something being thrown violently toward the ground.

And finally, note the difference in harmonics between "Behold the Lamb of God" and the final piece, "Worthy Is the Lamb." The former quotes the announcement of John the Baptist in John 1:29 ("Behold, the lamb of God who takes away the sin of world!") and is in a mournful minor key, as if to foreshadow the crucifixion for which the Messiah came into the world. The latter quotes Revelation 4:11 and is in a joyous major key, as if to celebrate the work accomplished by the Messiah who now sits at the Father's side in heaven and reigns as Lord of all.

Happy listening, and Happy Christmas!

On Board Games and Tenure

When we lived in Columbus, we were introduced to the wide world of what I'll refer to as non-traditional board games. These games--often but not always European in origin--aren't your typical "roll the dice and move around the board" games like Monopoly and Life. These games frequently involve more strategy than luck and usually have an original twist to the game mechanic that makes them interesting for more than their social value. "Games night" has never been the same for us since.

One of the more unusual games we played was a tongue-in-cheek commentary on the academic tenure process called "Survival of the Witless." It took hours to play, and we never successfully completed an entire game. This was partly due to complexity of the game--there were many components to keep of track of--but mainly it was because the objective was so difficult to attain.

I now believe that the impossibility of the game's goal was intentional on the part of the game designers. That goal was tenure, and I think the designers wanted to convey the impression that tenure was impossible to achieve through normal channels. More on that idea later; in the game, players tried to reach tenure status by publishing a book and earning the approval of each of the half-dozen diverse members of the tenure committee. Book publishing was the easier of the two tasks, and was accomplished by drawing a book contract card and a set number of chapter cards from the deck. There were a limited number of contract cards in the deck, though, so in larger games one or more players were unlikely to complete the publishing requirement. Influencing the tenure committee was also determined by card draws, and was tracked on a score board. Six committee members were randomly selected from the committee deck, and each committee member was biased in a different way. Other (non book-related) cards in the draw pile influenced the committee members favorably or unfavorably toward a player. For example, a player might draw the "hereditary academic" card, which meant that from that point in the game, the player represented a tenure candidate who came from a family tradition of university professors. Some committee members were favorably disposed toward hereditary academics and others were not. Other cards caused players to lose favor with all committee members through activities that made already-tenured professors look bad (for example, the "teacher of the year award" card, because no one on the committee wants to be upstaged by a mere associate professor) or to gain favor with one or more committee members (the popular "butt-kissing" card). Favor was tracked on the big score sheet on a scale of 1 to 10 and was constantly in flux, and only when a candidate had an approval rating of 10 with 4 or 5 (I can't remember) members of the committee AND had completed his or her book contract could s/he win the game.

We only played "Witless" twice. The first time I think we quit after about six hours of play. The second time was at a New Year's Eve party, and when it became clear that this game would also drag on interminably, my husband decided to try and win the game the other way. The rules stated that at any time, a player could choose to "go postal" and roll a die in an attempt to kill off, one at a time, the entire committee. If s/he succeeded, new members would be drawn from the deck, and the players would pick up where they were, hopeful that the new committee members would be more favorable. It almost worked. Steve rolled the die and successfully killed off four or five of the committee members. But the new committee wasn't any better, and we decided that we were more interested in popping the cork on the Ukranian red champagne as the new year approached.

In the real world of academia, if there is such a place, tenure is the ultimate goal for most graduate students and junior faculty. Tenure means a guaranteed job, a respected identity in the community, and--the holy grail for most of us--the freedom to teach what you wish, however you wish. It represents an arrival of sorts, because what the committee is saying is that you can now be trusted to teach your subject without having to submit your syllabus for approval and without having to submit to periodic evaluation. And although tenure isn't as impossible to attain as it is in "Witless," the process is lengthy and can sometimes be political.

But tenure is not the normal track for new hires anymore, for two reasons. First, the economic downturn has taken a toll on university budgets. To be sure, many tenured professors' salaries are funded by endowments, thus reducing the cost to the school, but it's more expensive to pay a new hire at associate or assistant professor rates for 10 or 20 years than it is to pay them as adjuncts, contractors who receive a flat fee for each course they teach. Adjuncts have to teach more classes than associate professors in order to earn the same money, and a heavier teaching load cuts into the research time needed to meet the publication requirement for tenure. The second reason for the decline of tenure is a shift in the general population's attitude toward it. In recent years, the concept of tenure--the idea that an institution can't fire a professor if s/he makes politically incorrect or unpopular statements--has come under fire, as a result of several widely-publicized cases of tenured faculty saying outrageous and objectionable things (e.g., the University of Colorado professor who compared the financiers in the World Trade Center to Adolf Eichmann). The notion of teachers who aren't accountable to anyone doesn't sit well with modern students or the parents who pay their tuition bills, either. A recent edition of "Inside Higher Ed" reported the case of Steven Maranville, who was denied tenure by Utah Valley University for using teaching methods that his students disliked. The case is troubling: the "objectionable" techniques--group projects and Socratic dialogue--had been observed and approved by Dr. Maranville's superiors, who described him as a "master teacher." Only the students, who apparently just wanted to be lectured and left alone, complained. Additionally, the university had all but promised Dr. Maranville, who had already earned tenure at another institution, tenure within a year of his hiring. After being fired by Utah Valley, Dr. Maranville took a considerable pay cut to start at the bottom at a third school.

The Maranville case illustrates perhaps the biggest difference between the way the designers of "Witless" portrayed the tenure process in the late 1990's and the new reality that today's tenure-track faculty face (excepting, of course, the existence of the "go postal" option in the game). In the board game, the receipt of an award for teaching excellence counted against you; in the real world, student evaluations are taken seriously--sometimes too seriously. On one level, the desires of teachers and students are perfectly compatible; students want to take interesting and relevant courses as much as teachers want to teach them. And no teacher enjoys failing a student, no matter how poor the student's work. Good teachers want their students to be engaged in the material and successful in the course. But we also don't to give easy A's. We want to challenge students to wrestle with difficult material, to think and solve problems, and to do their best. Sadly, many of today's college students are used to earning top grades with minimal effort, and they expect their university experience to be no different. They resist instructional methods that are new to them, and they think they know how to teach better than the teacher does. Saddest of all, some university officials and tenure committee members seem to agree with the students, forgetting that a teacher is, by definition, an expert. Dr. Maranville's case is, alas, not the only one of its kind.

I'm not saying that a Ph. D. in a non-education field bestows a professor with the ability to teach well. In my 20-plus years as a student, I've been taught by some obviously brilliant men and women whose lectures were boring, unorganized, and delivered too quickly to take notes from-professors who would probably never win a "teacher of the year" award. So although I note the current trend toward weighting student evaluations heavily in a tenure decision with alarm, I am also not advocating the do-as-poor-a-job-as-possible-in-the-classroom approach found in "Witless." But at the end of the day, teachers, not students, generally know best how to structure a course and guide students through its content and toward its goals, and that reality needs to be upheld by faculty supervisors, whether or not the institution of tenure survives into the next generation of academics.

An A-Z of DC Traffic

This one's for my friends who have moved away and who may be feeling a bit nostalgic for DC life (you know who you are), and for those of you who have never lived in this area. Full disclosure: I had a lot of help from my husband on this one. The germ of the idea was mine, about one third of the alphabet was mine, and the annotations are mine, but the rest is his. This week, we present to you an A-Z of DC traffic.

A is for Accidents, which seem to be especially problematic on the north stretch of the Beltway, around Georgia, Connecticut and New Hampshire Aves. I can count on one hand the number of times I've driven that stretch and not encountered an accident along the way.

B is for Beltway Chaos. Ordinarily sane drivers can become quite aggressive once they merge onto the Beltway. I'm not sure why, unless they're trying to minimize the amount of time they have to spend on it. Or maybe its design was the work of demonic forces (read Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman if you don't get this one).

C is for Construction. Lots and lots of construction. Whole sections of roads and interchanges are unrecognizable now because of a massive "high occupancy toll lane" project that won't be finished until next December. It's a mess.

D is for Diplomats. They have immunity, and many of them drive like it. Fear the State Department license plate!

E is for Emergency Lights. Don't misunderstand me--I'm grateful for our first responders. But pulling over for an emergency vehicle is more difficult when the road is four lanes wide or more and being in the wrong lane after having to merge over means taking a detour or risking your life trying to get back to where you were.

F is for Frightened by Precipitation. I am terrified of winter driving now, not because I don't know what to do, but because most of the other drivers don't know what to do. I've seen cars spin out on half an inch of snow here.

G is for "Greenbeepers," my husband's term for those drivers who are second in line at a green light and honk at the car in front of them the instant it turns green.

H is for HOV, or High Occupancy Vehicle. During rush hour on certain major arteries, you must have at least 2 or 3 (depending on the road) people in your vehicle in order to drive on the road. Violators are fined, and the enforcement can seem predatory at times (like the easy-to-forget-about .10 mile shortcut that connects one of the roads to the beltway).

I is for Increased Blood Pressure. I know I've become much more irritable since we moved here, due in large part to the traffic.

J is for Jerks Everywhere. Seriously, people honk at student drivers here.

K is for Killer Bus Drivers. Think I'm making this one up? Check out this link.

L is for Long Lights. A recent traffic survey revealed that DC area drivers spend in excess of 70 hours each year idling their vehicles in gridlock and at traffic lights, some of which take 4 minutes or longer to cycle. The national "idling" average is 34 hours per year.

M is for Motorcades. When the President, Vice President, or visiting dignitary needs to travel between downtown locations, police cars block key intersections so that the motorcades can pass through. This can take a while, and can happen for any reason, including taking the Vice Presidential dog to the vet for a check-up (Sorry about the source; it was the only one I could find that referenced the original, and apparently unarchived, news article).

N is for Night Milling and Paving. Lots of road work gets done during the overnight hours here.

O is for One-way Streets. Every big city has them, but what makes DC's grid even more frustrating is how many two-way streets turn into one-way streets during rush hour.

P is for Parking Tickets. Steve got one for parking in space that was clearly marked as an acceptable location. The other side of the street was clearly marked as unacceptable. Now we're trying to navigate the contesting process. Fun!

Q is for Quirky, Inconsistent Signage. The signage where Steve parked was clear, but that's not the case everywhere. Check the picture in this article out as an example.

R is for Rush hours...and hours. Morning rush hour here starts around 6:00 and tapers off between 9 and 9:30, although you may still encounter heavy traffic as late as 11. Afternoon rush hour starts around 3 and tapers off around 7. Did I mention we spend 70+ hours a year idling?

S is for Sudden Slowdown. For any reason or sometimes no reason. It makes me appreciate having the sound system controls on the steering wheel, where I don't have to look at them.

T is for Towing. Towing is such a fact of life here that one of our friends actually factors several tows a year into his budget as part of the "cost of living." Towing companies can be predatory, too, hauling your car away within minutes.

U is for Unpredictable Traffic. One local radio station broadcasts traffic reports every 10 minutes. I thought that was ridiculous until we got stuck on I-66 at 11 PM behind an overturned semi. You just never know.

V is for Vans of Illegals. I'm not trying to be racist here, but we have a fair number of hit and run accidents on our roads. Sometimes the person is drunk or oblivious or just can't be bothered to stop, but frequently the offending vehicle is a an older model van with few windows, and the driver doesn't stop because most of those in the van are illegal immigrants who fear deportation if stopped.

W is for Weaving Across Multiple Lanes. Enough said.

X is for Xenomanic Drving Tendencies (we didn't want to resort to the standard X-tra cop-out). Very few people in the DC metro area are actually from this region. Most of us are transplants from other parts of the country, or from other countries, here for a few months or few years. Everyone--New Yorkers, New Englanders, Californians, etc.--drives according to their local road culture. And everyone thinks their way is best.

Y is for Yield! Yield! Look, I'm going to have merge onto this road. We can do this the easy way, with you slowing down just a bit to let me over, or we can do this the hard way, by forcing me to come to a complete stop and really messing up the traffic flow. Oh, I see that you prefer the hard way.

Z is for Zero Room for Error. I've always had quick reflexes, but now my flinch reflex is on permanent hyperdrive. Just ask Steve--I know it drives him crazy.

What are some of your own local traffic quirks? I'd enjoy reading about them. Stay safe out there!

Is Your Church "Missional?" Part II: An Evaluation of the Model as I Experienced It

In my last post, I outlined my understanding of a fairly recent movement in Christian theology called "the missional church." In this post, I'll give my evaluation of that movement. Once again, please note that I do not intend to criticize any specific people--I'm interested in the ideas behind the movement. Any apparent disrespect should be regarded as unintentional.

It took me a while to think through the many facets of the missional community church model, and then to puzzle out which belonged to missional theology as a whole and which belonged only to this particular expression. I may still be misunderstanding some of the finer points. But here's what I've concluded so far:

1. The basic missional principle of approaching local outreach in the same way as global missions (taking the gospel to the people rather than assuming that they will come to us) is sound. The Great Commission (Matthew 28:18-20, and Mark 16:15) says "go," and it doesn't matter if the going is across the street or across the globe. Unlike the nation of Israel, the Church does not inhabit a fixed geopolitical location to which all nations can come to learn about God (the Promised Land was in the middle of the main trade route between Egypt and the other Mesopotamian states). The Church, the one people of God, is now by God's grand design scattered throughout the nations. We are to go to the people.

2. The basic missional principle of recalling all members of the Church to the Great Commission and to a renewed sense of urgency for reaching the people they already know is also sound. Complacency is always a temptation, and many of us in the evangelical churches are content to write a monthly check to a missions organization and call it "participation in the gospel." The megachurch movement has, to some degree, fostered the culture of Christian consumerism mentioned in the previous post. When your church can afford to staff all its ministries with paid professionals who will put on a well-polished show every week, parishioners get the idea that they don't need to do anything--so they don't. We would benefit from thinking of ourselves as missionaries as the people with whom we have contact, whether or not they eventually come to faith.

3. Focusing on building authentic community within the local church is a necessity. It's far too easy for Christians who are struggling with serious sins to fall through the cracks when all they do is show up for a Sunday service (and maybe even a mid-week Bible study) that is attended by other Christians who think that they, too, have to appear as though they have all their ducks in a row. The world calls this hypocrisy, and it's one of the primary factors that contributes to a disinterest in church among non-believers. On a similar note, in this same environment, it's far too easy for those of us who may not struggle with any of the "big" sins to sit back and ignore the progress that we could and should be making ourselves. Wouldn't it be better for everyone--believers and non-believers--if we dropped the masks and got down to the business of helping each other overcome our struggles and live as we ought to live? What happened to "Just As I Am?"

4. Having said the above, I find that the missional community model is too narrowly local in its focus. As stated in the previous post, most missional theologians and church leaders use the term "the church scattered" to refer to the sending out of their members into their local spheres of influence during the week. I, however, take a broader view of "the church scattered--" I believe it best refers to the fact that the people of God now live in many nations across the globe as opposed to one, poised to take the message to the people who need to hear it. Sure, that starts at the local level, but God's plan is bigger than my local community. The missional community view risks losing the bigger picture of God's plan to glorify Himself in all the world for the snapshot view of what God is doing in my neighborhood, as if these were the only people who mattered. It also has a tendency to create local congregations who think they are alone on the mission--that "the Church gathered" is just them and no one else, and that's a far cry from Pentecost, in my opinion. Furthermore, the Great Commission tells us to "go and make disciples of all nations," and Acts 1:8 reveals that God intends the gospel to spread outside of Jerusalem (our local neighborhoods and people who are like us) to "Judea and Samaria (those nearby with whom we have either no affinity or open hositility)" and "to the ends of the earth." Yet there's little to no talk about world missions among missional community churches. One leader in the movement explained that Acts 1:8 tells us that we are to take the gospel first to our local community, then to Judea and Samaria, and then (and only then) to the ends of the earth, and that the missional movement was designed to correct the "unnecessary and unhelpful divorce of Jesus' mission from our local context" by refocusing our efforts on this prioritized list. Furthermore, he said that we had no business doing international missions until the American Church starts reaching its own people again. He went on to say that if we were engaged in the local mission, it would spur us to get involved in missions beyond our own doorsteps, but he implied that the time for that was much further down the road. I have several issues with this explanation. First, I just can't see Acts 1:8 as a "list of priorities." Yes, the revelation was given to the Jews first, but God never intended for it to stop there, and the early church certainly didn't wait until they had reached everyone in Jerusalem before they took the message outside of the city. In fact, they had to be pushed to take the next step by the application of persecution (cf. Acts 8:1-4). And Jesus himself traveled between Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and the surrounding Gentile territories simultaneously. Acts 1:8 could be taken in one of two ways: it could, I think, be interpreted as a promise (the "predictive future") to the still bewildered disciples hiding in Jerusalem after Jesus' ascension: something along the lines of, "You may not believe this now, but the Holy Spirit is coming, and when He does, you're going to be transformed into bold witnesses who won't just stay in this city--you're going to take the message to the ends of the known world! How about that?" Or it could be a command ("the imperatival future"), but nowhere does the text imply that the local mission takes priority over the global mission. Second, when I look at the global situation today, I see doors opening in countries that have been closed (the so-called "creative access countries") for centuries. Do we really want to tell God, "Sorry, we don't have our local act together just yet. Can you keep those doors open until we do?" Third, isn't an exclusive focus on local missions simply swapping one "unnecessary and unhelpful divorce" for another? Overcorrection is rarely the answer--we must find a way to call the Church to fulfilling all parts of the Great Commission simultaneously. As Bill Hamel, the president of the EFCA put it in Columbus in 2010, it's both/and, not either/or.

5. Finally, I have a problem with the missional community model's approach to discipleship. I will grant that most churches probably have more member-centered programming than is absolutely necessary for carrying out the mission of the Church, and that many modern Christians are more interested in what they can get out of church participation than in what they can contribute, but again, I see an overcorrection in the "bare bones" approach taken by missional community churches. The Great Commission tells us not just to preach the gospel to all nations, but to "make disciples" and to "teach them to obey everything that I have commanded you." The behavioral component of discipleship is important, and accountability really is best fostered in small groups of people who are completely honest with one another, as the movement points out, but there's a teaching component to discipleship, too--you can't "obey everything that [Jesus has] commanded" if you don't know what that entails. And you shouldn't rely on your leaders to unpack all the details for you--that's how cults get started. We need to be teaching church members, particularly new Christians, how to read, study, and apply the Bible for themselves (and I would note here that traditional churches fail on this point as often as missional churches do). As a teacher, I worry that new Christians and unbelievers who are exposed to the missional community model will see that the pastor does all the teaching (the community groups focus on application and what they got out of the sermon) and will think that you have to have a seminary degree in order to read and understand Scripture--and that is a tragedy. How do we expect to break the consumer mentality among churchgoers fully if we keep them dependent on the leadership for substantive teaching?

Is your church "missional?" I hope it is. All congregations need to keep the Great Commission fixed clearly in sight. I hope your members have a sense of their own role in God's mission, and that they don't just sit back and wait to be ministered to (although we all have times when we need that). But I also hope that they have a sense for just how big God's plan is, and how their local congregation fits into the one people of God. I hope that they "go" to their neighbors and look for ways to make the gospel known throughout the rest of the world. I hope that they desire to study the Bible for themselves and that the pastor is a faithful teacher. I hope your church is both/and, rather than either/or.

Is Your Church "Missional?" Part I: An Introduction to Missional Theology

A little over a year ago, I was introduced to one of the trendiest words in contemporary theology. That word is "missional," and it is most often used to describe a "new" way of thinking about church life that emphasizes a conscious return to the mission of the Church to reach people with the gospel, instead of focusing too much attention on programs for those who are already part of the faith community.

At least, that's the broad definition of the term. I first encountered this concept while representing our local church at the 2010 EFCA annual meeting in Columbus, Ohio. Some of the presenters at the meeting--especially the younger guys who were working in youth and campus ministry--used the term while describing the success they had had when they shifted their ministry focus from trying to attract students to their programs to taking the gospel to young people wherever they were at. Many in the millennial generation, they said, would never set foot inside a church, but were interested in getting to know people who were clearly interested in them. The model made sense to me, but as the conference progressed, I noticed that other leaders in the denomination were suspicious of or openly hostile toward "missional" ministry. I didn't have room in my schedule to attend the information session on missional theology, so I left the conference more than a little confused as to the nature of the controversy.

A few months later, our congregation began the process of planting a church in downtown D.C. We teamed up with a young pastor who felt called to church planting, and who had a clear vision for the new community in the District. This vision was informed heavily by a particular outworking of missional theology called the "missional community" model. Over the past few months, I've had a chance to evaluate this model, to understand (finally) why the term "missional" sets some church leaders' teeth on edge, and to reach my own conclusions about the movement. Please note that I do not intend, in any way, to criticize the pastor of the church plant--planting a church requires a clear vision of who your target demographic is and how to reach them, and he has studied the neighborhood far more closely than I. My intent is to use this space to explore and analyze the ideas driving the movement. Also, note that the movement is still fairly young and has a fair amount of diversity--others may have had different experiences with missional community churches which would lead them to define the movement differently. In part I, I'll explain the model as I understand it, and in part II, I'll give my analysis.

The "missional community" model of organizing the church is based on two assumptions. The first is a belief that the modern evangelical church has become too inwardly focused (missional theologians often refer to this as a "culture of discipleship") and has neglected the basic command of the Great Commission, which is to reach unbelievers with the good news of Jesus Christ. We have developed a consumer mentality toward church membership and have focused so much on our own spiritual growth that we have forgotten that we are to be missionaries to those around us (our "spheres of influence"). The second is a belief that post-postmoderns (no one is quite sure how to refer to them yet) are more interested in forging authentic relationships than they are in subscribing to a set of religious beliefs. Many of them have either had negative experiences with organized religion and so are suspicious of creeds, or are relativists who don't see the need to profess allegiance to one religion over another. But in our media-saturated, frantic society, everyone wants to belong. If we can invite these people to our homes to see how Christians genuinely care for, invest in, and help each other out, some of them will be intrigued enough to consider the church's message. The catch phrase for this assumption is "belonging before belief."

Building off these assumptions, "missional community" churches pare their programming offerings down to the bare bones--childcare during the worship service, perhaps an impromptu women's gathering or men's prayer group--and focus instead on small community groups that meet throughout the week to share a meal, keep tabs on members' needs and encourage each other to "stay on mission" by looking for opportunities to reach out to unbelievers in their workplaces and by living lives of obedience. Community groups--often referred to as "the church scattered"--are also intended to serve as a gateway to church life for the unbelievers the members are witnessing to--they are supposed to be places where non-Christians can see (and be attracted to) the genuine community enjoyed amongst Christians, and where they can safely ask any questions they have. Community groups usually set aside some time for Bible discussion--frequently relating to the sermon heard earlier in the week at the corporate worship gathering--but the emphasis is on application rather than on in-depth exploration of the text. Members are encouraged to invite their non-Christian friends and contacts to community group meetings rather than to the Sunday services, because so many people have negative perceptions of church services, and because it's too easy to blend into the crowd and leave without really connecting to anyone.

Churches that employ the missional community model do have corporate worship gatherings (referred to as "the church gathered"), and these are where the in-depth teaching occurs. Worship styles vary from congregation to congregation, but sermon styles are (I think) fairly consistent: missional pastors prefer to preach expositionally ("verse-by-verse"), to take small chunks of text at a time (it was a rare week when the pastor of the church plant covered more than 6 verses at once), and to preach for longer lengths of time than most traditional church pastors (or at least, this was the case in the church plant). Teaching and worship take place in the corporate gathering; discipleship (application of the teaching) and evangelism take place in the community groups.

That's my version of "Missional Theology 101." Next time, I'll post my evaluation of its main tenets.

College for All?

The time has come--in the life of this blog, at least--to address one of education's hottest current topics: "college for all." I've mentioned the concept in passing in a few previous posts, but my thoughts on the subject didn't really begin to gel until recently, when I read two new publications.

The first catalyst was Mike Schmoker's Focus: Elevating the Essentials to Radically Improve Student Learning (Alexandria: ASCD, 2011). Although the book is targeted toward K-12 educators and policy makers, the author included some helpful ideas which could easily be applied to teaching at the undergraduate level, and his support for "college for all" is as enthusiastic as is his disdain for standardized testing. His basic premise was the absolute centrality of "authentic literacy" as the key to success in all subject areas. Teach students to read (or "decode," in the new jargon) in kindergarten and first grade, and then throw away the reading groups and basal readers (the graded reading textbooks that most of us probably used in elementary school, which mostly contain excerpts from short stories and/or pieces written specifically for the textbook). From second grade on, students should read entire works of varying lengths (novels, short stories, poems, newspaper articles) and genres as an entire class, with the teacher modeling a critical reading method and having students pair up and share thoughts, reactions, and answers to self-generated questions before completing written assignments related to the piece. If all teachers would follow this disarmingly simple plan, he argues, students would actually exceed the standards that have bloated our current system, and they might just retain a love of reading in the process.

Mike Schmoker--who has actual classroom experience, unlike many policy makers--makes his case for reforming language arts and social science instruction using this model well, but he lost me when he applied it to natural science and mathematics instruction, and it was in the context of doing just that that the nuances of his interpretation of "college for all" came through. Schmoker believes that all students could succeed in college if his model were used, because they would have mastered critical thinking and writing skills (in a usable form). Moreover, he states that the skills needed for success in college are the same skills needed for success in the work force and for responsible citizenship. In an ideal academic world, his assumption might be correct. Unfortunately, colleges have their share of instructors whose primary methodology is to do nothing more than lecture for 90 minutes at a time and then test students on what they can remember later. Listening and memorization are useful skills in college and in the workplace, too, and some students actually need more helping learning how to learn in these environments than they do in the critical thinking department. On the other side of the aisle are those students--and let's face it, they do exist--who just never seem to make the jump to independent, critical thinking no matter how much they are prodded. I admit to being something of a visionary myself, but Schmoker's world is a bit too perfect even for me. Furthermore, Schmoker divulges, in his chapter on mathematics instructional reform, that even he can't envision "college for all" as a reality unless schools abandon the new algebra II high school graduation requirement. Most colleges and universities require incoming students to have completed algebra II or its equivalent (whatever that is), yet the traditional high school curriculum has allowed students to graduate with no mathematics mastery beyond geometry. For the policy makers who initially envisioned "college for all," the solution was to require all high school students to complete algebra II. For Schmoker, the solution is to cater to the average student's ability and eliminate algebra II as a college entrance requirement.

I disagree with both proposals; the United States would be best served neither by dumbing down college standards nor by imposing unrealistic (and, as Schmoker repeatedly points out, untested) standards on all high school students, but by bringing back tracking.

Those of you who didn't run away screaming at the word "tracking" probably realize that not all jobs truly require a college-level education. A degree from CalTech or even from the local State U won't make me more likely to choose one auto mechanic or plumber over another, but good reviews and certifications will. I'm also unlikely to query the first responder to a house fire to see if s/he has completed the new BS in "Fire Service Administration" (no joke--click on the link) from UMUC before I let him or her put out the fire. And you might also realize that most European countries--countries who consistently outperform US students on standardized tests--have maintained tracking programs even after American educators declared them "discriminatory."

If you're still reading, and you still believe that "college for all" is a realistic and desirable goal, let me introduce you to the second publication that is responsible for this post. A headline in today's EdWeek Update proclaimed, "ACT Deems More Students College Ready." Apparently, data from the ACT (a competitor of the more famous SAT) results of the class of 2011 indicates that "...25 percent of those students produced scores in English, reading, math, and science that correlate with higher chances of earning B’s or C’s in entry-level college courses." This, the article goes on to reveal, is an improvement from 21 percent in 2005. ACT's senior vice president for educational services stopped short of gushing, calling it a "great sign," but cautioning that the pace of improvement is still too slow to meet the desired goals on the desired timetable.

In spite of ACT's optimism, the results of the study look grim. First, only 49 percent of the class of 2011 took the exam. Second, even though nearly 75 percent of the testing cohort reported taking the new standard "core curriculum" (4 units of English and 3 each of math, science, and social studies), 75 percent of test takers failed to meet ACT's "college ready" benchmarks in all four of its subjects. And while math and science performance saw modest gains, English scores flatlined or fell. Does this look like a cause for optimism?

I've been a fairly outspoken critic of US public educational policy for some time. With Mike Schmoker, I feel strongly that K-12 public education has been taken over by political agendas, to its detriment. The policies that were intended to ensure a consistent, quality education for all children in this country have actually obscured the teaching of basic skills, and those who make the policies often have no real teaching experience. Committee-generated lists of standards aren't helping anyone. The effort to bring real reform to our schools is entering its second decade, and we don't have much to show for it. The policies and procedures are deeply flawed.

But the "college for all" mentality hasn't helped, either. From my perspective in higher education, all it's really done is brought more underprepared students to our campuses, a phenomenon which has too frequently been followed by the dumbing down of our programs. Many students spend their entire first year in courses that have been completely redesigned to address their academic deficiencies, and part of their last year in special "workplace readiness" courses. I hope that they are really learning in their middle two years, but I'm skeptical. Let's stop kidding ourselves and admit that just maybe both the reform policies and the basic assumption--college for all--that has driven them are flawed. Real reform will begin when we relearn the art of seeing students as individuals with different interests, aspirations, and abilities, rather than as clones produced from the same material.