Just a Handful. - by Chad C. Ashby
SLAM! We’ve bought a century-old house and SLAM! the doors are quite heavy and SLAM! the locks don’t hold real well and we’ve also got SLAM! six kids and SLAM! . . . pardon me for a second—will you guys please quit slamming the doors?!?
Between the little feet pounding up and down the flights of stairs and the in-law feet constantly crossing our new threshold (sorry to put you on blast, Mom and Dad!), it’s everything a body can do to snatch a little peace and quiet.
It’s true what the Preacher says, “Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and a striving after wind” (Ecc 4:6). My kids are a handful. Just a handful—full stop. But the truth is, I struggle to find quietness even when they’re not around.
We blame a lot of things for the lack of peace in our lives: children, jobs, finances, the gov’ment, stress, health, uncertainties, you name it. When Father Kumalo makes his way through the streets of Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country (1948), he has a thousand reasons to be disquieted. He discovers his sister in bootlegging and prostitution. He gets robbed in the bustle of Johannesburg. He searches across the sprawling city only to discover an illegitimate grandchild and a lost son locked up for murder.
Kumalo’s gray head bows with the weight of grief, fear, and shame. Toiling and striving after the winds of Johannesburg leaves him destitute—embittered.
At Kumalo’s low point, a sympathetic Father Vincent takes him by the arm, straightens his collar, and gives his brother a stern talking-to: “I must speak to you as a priest.”
Vincent sees a heart clouded with the noise of doubt and anger. After gentle encouragement to pray and rest, he hears Kumalo spit the words bitterly from his mouth.
Father Vincent admonishes, “Yes, I said to pray and rest. Even if it is only words that you pray, and even if your resting is only a lying in bed. And do not pray for yourself, and do not pray to understand the ways of God. For they are secret. . . . Do not pray and think about these things now, there will be other times. Pray for Getrude and for her child, and for the girl that is to be your son’s wife, and for the child that will be your grandchild. Pray for your wife and all at Ndotsheni. Pray for the woman and the children that are bereaved. Pray for the soul of him who was killed. . . . And give thanks where you can give thanks. For nothing is better.”
When our hearts are rattled, perhaps the best of us try to pray—pray for God to show us his will. Pray for it all to go away. Pray for answers. But through the clamor of faithless, Father Vincent holds out a handful of quietness: prayer for others. Direct your prayers other-ward. In this, our souls find a moment’s peace.
But who will pray for my cares? My anxieties? My worries? Our Lord says to us in the face of faithful friends like Father Vincent: “You will leave this to me . . . for you are too distraught to see God’s will.”
This necessarily won’t quiet your soul, but it will give you a handful of satisfaction. I’ve been making crepes recently, and I was frustrated that the whipped cream was melting to soup.
Then I thought, what if I whipped yogurt into the whipped cream? Is that a thing? I googled. Yes. Definitely a thing. A very good thing.
Put this stuff on top of pancakes, waffles, crepes, or fruit. The greek yogurt gives it a tang that swings the flavor profile back toward savory instead of just straight up dessert.
If you’ve got a Kitchen-aid mixer, you’ve really got no excuse.
Whip the cream, sugar, and vanilla together in a mixer with whisk attachment until pretty stiff (2 to 3 minutes on high).
Add the greek yogurt and whisk until combined.
Enjoy! No more melty whipped cream!
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