Friday, November 18, 2011

Caramelized Onion and Goat Cheese Pizza

I probably won’t post a lot of recipes on here. But I did kinda make this one up. I think it’s pretty amazing. You should try it.

Caramelized Onion and Goat Cheese Pizza
Makes 2 amazing pizzas.

2 pre-made pizza crusts (I used Freschetta’s Artisan Golden Wheat, which was good)
1 jar of pizza sauce

1 sweet onion
3 tbsp. butter
3 tbsp. sugar
2-3 links sweet Italian sausage
2 medium tomatoes, sliced
1 red bell pepper, sliced
1 package baby bella mushrooms, sliced
15-20 leaves fresh basil
1 small package (4 oz.) goat cheese, crumbled
16 oz. mozzarella cheese, grated

1. Slice the onion thinly and separate the rings. Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the sugar and stir until dissolved. Add the onions and stir. Cook until onions are soft and a deep golden brown. Set aside.
2. Brown the Italian sausage in a frying pan.
3. Slice the tomatoes, pepper, and mushrooms and grate the mozzarella.
4. Spread the pizza sauce over the crusts.
5. Add the toppings! I add them in this order: tomatoes, pepper, mushrooms, sausage, caramelized onions, basil, goat cheese, mozzarella.
6. Bake in a hot oven (400 degrees) for about 25 minutes.

Et voila! C’est delicieuse!

This is my favorite combination, but it is also great without the sausage. I’ve also tried it with eggplant, which is pretty good, too. It takes a little longer because you have to slice and salt the eggplant (to draw out the bitter juices) and then sauté the eggplant before adding it to the pizza.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Thoughts on Prayer

So I've been thinking a lot about how I approach the spiritual disciplines I seek to practice regularly: prayer, singing, reading the Bible, giving, and, as we did in our church's service this morning, taking Communion. I suppose that last one is not technically a spiritual "discipline," but rather an 'ordinance.' But it fits in with my thoughts here, really. Just give me a second.

Prayer is probably the first one God started poking me about. For me, prayer is hard. Prayer is like taking your vitamins. You know they'll make you feel good, but man, they sure stick in your throat. I have a hard time with prayer for multiple reasons. Like the fact that the first things I usually want to pray about are the things that I want from God. The last things I tend to get to are the people around me (or far away) who live with much more difficult circumstances than I have ever faced. Or the spiritual well-being of my enemies. Yeah. Or for God's kingdom to come and how I can help with that. This is why I've been embracing opportunities for corporate prayer more and more the past few years. Because it makes me do it. It makes me pray for the church--the people God says are like part of my body, so much so that if they suffer, so do I (I Cor. 12: 26-27). It helps me learn to love people that I desperately need to love. (I mean really. Isn't this why women pay several hundred dollars a year to go to the gym and take an exercise class when they could pay $12.99 for a DVD and do it in their living room with the same exact effect? Thankfully, prayer meetings have no membership fees.)

Another reason I struggle with prayer is that I have a hard time focusing on the task. I'm kind of ADHD like that. Praying in the kneeling posture has never worked well for me. (Sorry, all you hard-core kneelers.) I get more prayer done while my hands are busy with a menial task like driving than while staring at my bedspread with my legs falling asleep under me. If you're ever walking in my neighborhood and see me out taking a stroll, you might notice my lips moving. In in effort keep my mind on what I'm doing, I might just be praying out loud. It helps.

You know, we have to be creative in fighting the Devil. After all, he's pretty crafty himself. (Ephesians 6:11: "Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.") And one of the crafty lies he likes to feed me is this: "Prayer, Debbie, is ineffective. It does nothing. If God wants to change something, He will. If He doesn't, He won't. Why bother?"

On my bad days, I sometimes swallow this lie. But recently, it tends to make me mad. "You know what, Devil," I say, "The fact of the matter is, I serve an incredibly big God. There is absolutely no problem that is outside the realm of His ability to fix; no person He cannot reach; no amount of money that He cannot provide; no circumstance He did not know about from before the beginning of time. AND, on top of THAT, there are a bunch of things He has explicitly promised in His Word He WILL do for us. So pretty much, your lie has backfired. Because now I'm gonna pray better than I would have before. Before, I might have just asked God rather timidly for these things. But now, I'm gonna pray like this: "You, God, are bigger than these problems, bigger than our sin, bigger than our weaknesses, bigger than our enemies, and definitely bigger than the stupid Devil. Provide for us because You said You would (Mat. 6:30). Change us because You said You would (II Cor. 5:17). Strengthen us because You said You would (II Cor. 9:8). Save us because You said You would (Ps. 57:3). And do this for Your honor and glory."

When I pray like this, I'm in pretty good company, too. I mean, look at Hezekiah, in II Kings 19:15, 19: "O LORD the God of Israel, who is enthroned above the cherubim, you are the God, you alone, of all the kingdoms of the earth; you have made heaven and earth. ... So now, O LORD our God, save us, please, from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that you, O LORD, are God alone." This how David prays in II Samuel 7:22, 25: "Therefore you are great, O LORD God. For there is none like you, and there is no God besides you, according to all that we have heard with our ears. ... And now, O LORD God, confirm forever the word that you have spoken concerning your servant and concerning his house, and do as you have spoken." And the apostles: "Sovereign Lord, who made the heaven and the earth and the sea and everything in them, ... And now, Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness." (Acts 4: 24, 29). In each case, there's an appeal to God's greatness, His character, His promise.

I have to think that when I pray this way that God is honored more than when I pray timidly, unbelieving. Of course, I have to qualify that I'm not talking about demanding God bring a certain outcome that I want. But I'm pretty sure God is pleased to answer our prayers when we ask Him confidently to do the things He's already promised to do, the things consistent with His character, with the kind of God that He is.

The idea of praying like God is actually listening and going to answer applies to the other spiritual disciplines I mentioned above. When I sing, do I do it as if God himself is truly my audience and the object of my worship? When I give, do I do it in faith that God will take the little I can give and use it to build His church here and around the world? When I read God's Word, do I come to it as if it is really "living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword" (Heb. 4:12)? And when I receive Communion, do I take it like Christ's sacrifice had a true and ongoing impact on my soul?

In short, do I perform the spiritual disciplines in my life in faith that the God I serve is utterly worthy of them? If I don't, why in the world would anyone watching be attracted to this faith, this so-called Christianity?

Friday, November 11, 2011


I'm currently re-reading a short collection of poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay that I've had for years (Selected Poems). I love Millay's style, even when I disagree with her philosophy on life. In my mind, she's up there next to Frost in her ability to capture something of what C.S. Lewis described this way: 

"the inconsolable secret in each one of you--the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves; the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name. Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that settled the matter ... But all this is a cheat ... The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things--the beauty, the memory of our own past--are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers." (The Weight of Glory)

Millay was not a Christian. But her work frequently expresses the longing Lewis described--a wordless aching for something we've never even seen; an aching ultimately filled only by seeing the perfections of Christ and becoming in reality what we (Christians) are currently positionally. As 1 John 3:2 says, "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is."

Here's a couple of my favorites from Millay:

I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
I should not so have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road.
I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs?
Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,
That am a timid woman, on her way
From one house to another!

Wild Swans
I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more;
Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
House without air, I leave you and lock your door.
Wild swans, come over the town, come over
The town again, trailing your legs and crying!

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Of Space Heaters 'n Rock 'n Roll

I live in an apartment in a big old Victorian house in the historic district of Grand Rapids, known as Heritage Hill. My apartment is on the third floor, and has dormer windows, and sloping roofs, and wood floors (never mind that they’re flaking varnish, they’re wood, okay?), and a sink with two faucets, and built-in storage units under the eaves, and cute radiator-type heaters. It only lacks a claw-foot bathtub to be perfect in its quaintness. It’s an efficiency apartment, and I sleep in the walk-in closet, which means I wake up to the sight of all my clothes hanging in a neat, color-coordinated row at the foot of my bed.  

My closet - and bedroom
I like my apartment for a lot of reasons, including the above-mentioned quaintness, and the fact that I get to take walks down streets filled with houses that look like they marched straight off the streets of “Meet Me in St. Louis,” and for the fact that it fit my budget, which pretty much every other apartment in Grand Rapids did not do. Apparently, however, it also fits the budget of assorted college students, down-and-outers, and wannabe teen rock stars. 

Like I said, I like my apartment for a lot of reasons, but the teen rock stars are not one of them. Said wannabe teen rock stars like to start practicing a set of pulsing and rather unimaginative songs around 11 or 11:30 at night, just as I’m crawling into bed with the intention of getting some shuteye.  Instead, I lie awake, staring at my row of sweaters, my brain thrumming, and my imagination vivid with scenarios of timidly knocking on their door in my pajamas and begging a crowd of unruly teenagers to “Please keep it down?” (I’m not the confrontational type.)

Last night, however, I accidentally discovered what I think may be the solution. Remember those nostalgic radiator-type heaters I mentioned? Turns out they and I don’t have the same ideas about how often they should put in some heating time. (I don’t control the thermostat in my apartment.) I, preferring to be warmer than not, have resorted to a small space heater that does a reasonable job at taking the chill out of the air, considering my apartment is all of 300-some feet square.  Unfortunately, the wiring in my apartment is also a bit temperamental. By trial and error, I’ve discovered that two of the outlets can’t handle the space heater for long without tripping the circuit breaker. One of them makes the overhead light in my closet go out, which is strange, because it’s one of the furthest outlets from the closet. 

Whenever this circuit-breaker tripping happens, I always feel a little guilty, thinking my neighbors might suddenly be reading their remedial English textbooks or watering their marijuana plants in the dark because of me. So I avoid those outlets now. Up until last night, though, the outlet in my closet (strangely unconnected to the overhead light) never seemed to have a problem, merrily letting the space heater run all night without circuit-breaking even of any kind (to plagiarize Oscar Wilde: “I have no brother, I never had a brother, and I don't intend to have a brother, not even of any kind.” I digress.). I assumed that I had sole dominion over the wiring for this outlet. 

I found out different last night. The space heater was running like normal, valiantly puffing hot air out into the main room. I was concentrating on my laptop, licking a spoonful of cream cheese frosting, and playing with my hair. I didn’t really notice when the boom-boom-boom started up downstairs. Didn’t notice, that is, until two things suddenly shut off simultaneously. The rock ‘n roll beat. And my space heater.

Yep. I think I’ve found the solution to my teen rock star problem.  Never mind that my apartment’s a bit chilly. At least I’ve got some peace and quiet.