Archives for June 2013

I have been in search of the perfect cookie recipe for a while.  But, up until yesterday, I still hadn’t found what I was looking for. (And if that made you think of U2, here’s a great version featuring U2 + a gospel choir.)

So, what was I looking for in the Perfect Cookie?

1.  Signature element.  I wanted a cookie that was somewhat unique.  One that I can bring to a potluck and there aren’t going to be a million of them.  One that entices my kids’ friends to come to our house.  One that stirs up warm, cozy feelings.  This one has an ingredient that makes them particularly unique.  Orange zest.  Stick with me on this.

2.  Chocolate.  ‘Nuff said.

3.  Chewy.  I know some people love fluffy cookies.  But not me.  I like them kind of chewy and flat.  This also means that they are portable.  They’re not going to break into a million crumbs.  I love this.

4.  Easy.  Now, I know this isn’t a huge deal for many of you, but I really love that this recipe doesn’t require a mixer.  You barely melt the butter in a pot, mix in the ingredients, and then drop it by big spoonfuls on a cookie sheet.  If you’re struggling a bit with the orange zest, I can sympathize.  I used to totally avoid any recipe that asked for anything zested.  But then I bought a zester, and all is well.  Buy a zester.  It opens up a world of zestful recipes.  Seriously.

Now, if this isn’t your perfect cookie, that’s okay.  But I’d love for you to try it and let me know what you think.  And, right now I’m calling it “Perfect Cookie,” because I think that it is the perfect cookie.  But, if you have a better name for it, I want to hear it.

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups butter, melted
2 cups brown sugar
1/2 cup of honey
2 eggs
2 teaspoons of vanilla
Zest from one orange
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of baking soda
6 cups of old-fashioned oats
3 cups of coconut
1 cup of pecans, chopped
1 cup of chocolate chips

Directions 

• Heat oven to 350 
• Melt butter on stove, just to melting.  Remove pot from stove.
• Add in brown sugar, honey, eggs, vanilla, and orange zest.  Mix together with a spatula.  No mixer involved. How great is that?
• Add in flour, salt, and baking soda.  Mix it together.  
• Add in oats, coconut, pecans, and chocolate chips.  If your chocolate chips get a little bit melty, that okay. 
• Drop by big spoonfuls on an ungreased cookie sheet.  
• Bake at 350 for 14 minutes.
• Let cool on cookie sheet for ~ 10 minutes and then put on wire rack to cool completely.  

So, try them and let me know what you think.  If you make any substitutions, tell me about them.  And, if you come up with a better name, I want to hear it.

Twenty-two years ago, Bill and I drove from Raleigh out to Angier to visit his sister, Sue.  As city high rises gave way to barns and pastures, I demanded that Bill pull over.  In a pasture alongside 401S, I had spied a mama horse and her foal.  I had to take a look.

At this point, Bill knew he was in trouble.

My affection for babies, whether equine or human, took root.  But, honestly, he didn’t mind.

“We always knew we wanted a large family.”  That’s what we tell people.  And it’s true.  We just didn’t know how large.  An unexpected journey …

Unexpected because we started out, as many couples do, young and naive.  Finances were not of concern to us.  We embraced parenthood, seminary, and New England winters in one fell swoop.  God provided, and He always has.

Sara Maria was born while forsythia bloomed in our parents’ yard and we looked out of our parsonage window at foot-over-foot of snow.  His parents and a few weeks later, my mother, left the NC spring flying through ice and snow to welcome our first daughter.

Grace made her arrival early.  Just over 31 weeks into pregnancy, I knew that “the time had come for the baby to be born.” As I juggled worry and boredom at New England Medical Center, Bill cared for Sara Maria, made arrangements, and welcomed his parents who helped us through the trauma of a premature birth and managed the household.

Adelyn was born just over a year later.  From a pay phone at a Gordon-Conwell book sale, we let our doctor know that this was the day.  Bill juggled two toddlers while I folded laundry and cleaned the kitchen before heading to the hospital just in time for Adelyn to enter this world.

Josiah was our first to be born on Southern soil.  He came on a day that smelled green as a newly cut lawn.  And he arrived fast.  Bill held back while I told the nurse, “Yes, I most definitely AM in labor.”  Forty-five minutes later with the water still running in the jacuzzi, I marveled at this boy-child on my chest.

Cameron arrived in the heat of summer.  We barely left the pool long enough for him to press his way into the world.  He made his presence known in a slow, easy way.  Not too fast, but in a manner that showed us his personality.  Determined, persistent, and not making too much of himself.  We rejoiced in this sweet boy, and brought him home quickly to meet his siblings.

Piper gave us a date.  With contractions strong but only on the quarter of the hour, Bill and I wandered through Lowe’s talking tile, and hardwood, and fixtures.  The others were being covered by my mom, and so we lingered in this unusual date time until the sun set and we trusted that we wouldn’t be turned away from the hospital.  An hour later, we called home to tell the children of their sister’s arrival.  Years later we learned that they had a “Sibling Counsel” and decided they would not call her “Piper.” They had never heard such a name.

Just over a year later, Katya was born.  Not in America, and not from my womb.  But she is just as much our daughter.  Seven years would pass before I would hold her in my arms and Bill would welcome this daughter of ours into our home and into our heart.  One year and a bit more before she would be fully ours calling us “Mama” and “Papa” and telling us “Katya is like 100 bananas.”

What an unexpected journey!  A young man and young woman, so very unprepared for these days of diapers and nights of nursing.  The days were often so very long, as they say. But the years do, indeed,  pass so very quickly.

I married an amazing man.  One who I am proud to call husband and the father of my children.  Every day I learn from him and thank God for the joy he has in being so very present with our children and with me.  We love doing life together.

We never could have planned the years.  We never could have dreamed them up.  The faithfulness of God astounds us as we sit around our table and marvel, and wonder, and thank Him for the beauty of the years, for this unexpected journey.

Happy Father’s Day, my husband!  I love you!

And, just in case you’re wondering, I am going to come back to courtship, dating, and whatnot.  But today, I’m simply celebrating my husband.  

This was the question one of my younger girls asked one of my teenage boys while they sat on the floor working on some project. Only four feet way typing on my computer, I stopped breathing and kept on typing.

                                         (By the way, those are not my fingernails.  I wish they were 
                                                       my fingernails.  But they are not.)

At this moment, if I could have any super-hero power, I would definitely choose to be invisible.  Thankfully, my not-breathing-trick worked. I was rendered invisible. And the conversation continued.

This teenage son of mine looked up at his sister, smiled a bit shyly, and answered.  He actually answered.  Outloud he said the name of the girl in his circle of friends he would date if he had to date someone. Outloud!  I could hardly believe it.  There wasn’t any posturing, posing, or faking.  He just said right outloud the name of the girl he would date, if he had to date someone.  Blew me away.

Meanwhile, although I’m blown away, I’m invisible.  I’m still not really breathing, fake-typing on my computer, and don’t even glance their way. I don’t want to do anything to stop this conversation.

Younger sister asks, “Why would you date her?” 

Manchild looks up from his project.  “Do you mean why would I date her?  Or, why would you date her?”  

I’m still so very busily pounding on my computer, eyes glued to the screen, and hating that I have got to breathe.

Younger sister clarifies, “Well, both, but start with the first question.”  

“Okay, so if I was going to date, here’s why I would date… 

• To get to know someone better.  You know, as a friend, a sister in Christ, just to get to know somebody better that I respect and admire.

• To learn how to date. I’m thinking that Dad didn’t always know how to date Mom.  He had to learn how to do things like open the door for her, pick out a restaurant, that kind of thing.  

• To learn the type of person that I want to marry.  I think you probably need to date a little bit to learn what type of person would be a good match.  

• And to have fun.  But I do not want to to kiss.  I want to save that for when I get married. And I am absolutely not old enough to date.  Period.”

Hallelujah!  I so want to cheer, do a cartwheel, hug my man child or something.  But I don’t show any clues that I’m listening.  My eyes are glued to my computer screen, I’m barely breathing, and my fingers are pounding. But what I’m typing looks something like this:   alsdkfj;alsedfoaeth;eanf;oadvhodvoa erouqeofijeoifypeiofj o[sefiueofjasodjoas

Younger sister affirms.  “Okay, those are good reasons to date.  Now why would you, if you had to date someone, date her?” 

“Okay, why I would date her is pretty easy.  She’s pretty, smart, loves Jesus, isn’t too loud, listens to me, talks to me, and is fun.”

Younger sister nods.  “Sounds good.”

I exhale a little too loudly, and type a little less furiously.  Sounds good to me too.  

I used to be in the I Kissed Dating Good-bye camp.  But as my older girls moved through their high school years, I began to question the wisdom of this.  What about you?  If you’re single, what do you think about dating and courtship?  If you have children, how are you approaching the issue?  And, if you’d like to hear more about why I left the courtship camp, let me know.  Start the conversation with a comment, or email me at cynthiafin@gmail.com.