Grace

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith - and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God - not by works, so that no one can boast." - Ephesians 2:8-9

As a child, I was accident-prone, making my family "frequent fliers" at Jane Phillips Hospital in Bartlesville. I still bear several scars of a completely normal childhood. There's a place where my lip was stitched back together after I toppled over on a chair, busting my mouth on a twin bed post. I got a bad case of road rash while bravely roller-skating down a hill on the Pathfinder Parkway. My giraffe-like legs went out from under me, causing me to skid down the pavement on my backside.

My mother used to call me "Grace," when one of these unfortunate incidents occurred. I don't think she meant it as a compliment.

Thankfully, the Apostle Paul was not referencing the elegant movements of a jungle cat when speaking of grace. Biblical grace is God's unmerited favor shown to human beings. It is not earned and certainly not deserved.

Polish theologian Paul Tillich said that when humans experience grace, it is as if God were saying, "You are accepted. You are accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted!"

This is a difficult concept for most of us to grasp. We live in a world where acts of grace are the exception rather than the rule. We marvel at the Good Samaritan who stops to change our flat tire on the side of a frigidly cold interstate. We blink back tears as we ask him how much we owe him and he replies, "Not a thing. I hope you have a better day."

I recently returned from an amazing jaunt to Paris, France. While there, I visited Sacre Coeur, the Catholic basilica perched on the highest point of the city. I climbed the nearly 300 steps to the very top of the dome, admiring the beautiful decorations carved into the travertine...and not appreciating the graffiti of people who wanted to leave their own mark at the top of this holy place.

Deeply perturbed that they would deface this beautiful monument to God, I nearly didn't take the photograph. As I look back at all I captured, I'm so glad I did take that picture, graffiti and all.

I have no idea who Veronika is or if it made her feel better to know that her name is floating high above the streets of Montmartre. What I do know is that she is a child of God, just as I am. And I shall extend to her grace, just as God extends His grace to me.

Yes, Lord.

"What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who is against us?" - Romans 8:31

God wants me to go in a new direction with this humble blog. For many years, I've posted family recipes and homespun stories about my childhood and family life. My handle, "ClareMom," is a mash-up of my hometown and the name I love the most.

Twice this year someone has said, "You ought to write about your faith." And it just seemed too random to be...random. God doesn't speak to me with a giant booming voice from heaven. He speaks to me through His Word, thoughts that pop into my head, and conversations with others who love me and know my heart.

The past three years have been a time of spiritual awakening for me. It started with a Disciple One class at my church and has continued through Disciple Two, Disciple Three, and Christian Believer. What I know for certain is that each time I open my Bible, the words leap off the page in a way that is both refreshing and startling. I want to share those moments with you.

I know what you must be thinking. This is going to end badly. I've veered off into the realm of religious ranters who use the Bible as a weapon. Those blogs that love to point out the sins and transgressions of others and cram God down the throats of non-believers.

I refuse to be a part of that. The God I know and love, the God of the Universe, loves you with all of His heart. That is God's message today.

If God is FOR you, who would dare to stand AGAINST you? In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul wrote, "I'm convinced that NOTHING can separate us from God's love in Christ Jesus our Lord: not death or life, not angels or rulers, not present things or future things, not powers or height or depth, or any other thing that is created."

God wanted me to tell you that He loves you. Yes, you.

And, I don't think he'll mind if I share a recipe every now and again. That's the kind of God He is.

Vintage Christmas Tree Cookies

Christmas was my mother's favorite holiday, and she made it special, amazing, and full of memory for me every year. One memory that sticks out in my mind is making Christmas cookies with Momma, a tradition I've tried to keep up with my own children.

Every year, she would get out her mixer, baking pans, flour, butter, sugar, sprinkles, and cookie press. Our kitchen was small, but against one wall was a shelving unit and at the bottom was a table that lay flat against the wall, covering the shelving beneath. When it was lifted up into place, two legs would come out and make a surface for working. That's where the cookie-making magic would happen.

To make these cookies, you will need a cookie press. It's an old-fashioned contraption that works much like a caulking gun. The model above is from The Pampered Chef a few years ago, but you can find them online and at baking stores.

Here is the original recipe (circa 1970) from my Momma's cookie press. It's not easy to read, so here are my instructions (and I double the recipe):

4 sticks of butter, slightly softened

1 1/2 cups granulated sugar

2 eggs

2 tsp. almond extract

1/2 tsp. salt

4 1/2 cups sifted all-purpose flour

1/2 tsp. baking powder

Green food coloring

Multi-colored sprinkles

Begin by placing the sticks of butter in the bowl of a large standing mixer. If I've just taken them out of the refrigerator, I take the wrapping off of the butter and let it stand in the mixer for about 30 minutes. Then add granulated sugar. Cream butter and sugar together at low speed. With mixer still on, add eggs, one at a time. Once incorporated, add almond extract. To sift flour, I don't use the old-fashioned sifter. I take a bowl, set a large fine-mesh strainer over the top and pour in my flour, salt, and baking powder. Then, I shake the flour through the strainer and discard any hard pieces that are left over. Add the flour to the butter mixture in thirds, mixing to incorporate after each addition. The final step is adding the green food coloring and mixing it through the dough. Next, I remove the bowl from the stand mixer and using an offset spatula, I mix the dough by hand to ensure that everything is incorporated. You don't want to mix too much.

Next, fill your cookie press with dough. Choose the Christmas tree disk to extrude the dough. Then, onto ungreased cookie sheet, lay the bottom of the cookie press on the cookie sheet and pull the handle once. When you lift, you should have a perfect Christmas tree imprint in dough. Sprinkle the dough with colored sprinkles before placing in the oven. Bake cookies just until they are set, about 7 minutes and remove from oven. Allow to cool slightly before removing from cookie sheet. Be careful not to let the cookies burn. If they are brown around the edges, you've cooked them too long.

These are fun and easy cookies to make with your kids. And the best part is that they taste great. Clean-up is relatively easy, too.

Enjoy these delicious, vintage Christmas cookies, courtesy of my Momma. Merry Christmas from our home to yours!

A Little Taste of Summer

I love summertime in Oklahoma!

I love flip flops, lawn chairs, and grilling. And summer rain. And sunflowers. And fireworks. And, watching my sister-in-law run after she's lit an artillery-style firework. And, family vacations.

As with most seasons, there are a few drawbacks. I do not love 100+ degree temperatures. I do not love wasps, flies, or mosquitoes. I detest ticks. I do not enjoy sweating. And, I do not enjoy packing for summer vacation or watching my family fist-fight our way out to the car for said vacation. No...none of those things excite me.

But, I suppose it's all worth it when you get to eat home-grown tomatoes, fresh basil from the herb garden, and wild blackberries from the bushes that have set up shop in my back yard.

This summer, the blackberry harvest has been especially abundant, so much so that I've made three blackberry cobblers this week, one of which was gluten-free for a gluten-sensitive member of my staff. She was extremely happy.

My sweet husband also has been happy. I love happy humans!

Back to the cobbler. I've made a number over the years, but all the recipes I had were time-consuming and had a list of ingredients as long as my arm. If you're a regular here at ClareMom, you know how I feel about any recipe that has more than 10 ingredients.

Ain't nobody got time for that!

Thanks to Pinterest, I was able to find a Southern Living cobbler recipe, which I tweaked slightly. Here it is:

EASY BLACKBERRY COBBLER

4 cups wild blackberries, rinsed and drained well

Juice of one lemon

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons of granulated sugar, divided

1 cup all-purpose flour (use Bob's Red Mill White Rice Flour for gluten-free)

1 large egg

A pinch of salt

1 stick of butter, melted

Braum's Vanilla Ice Cream (this is imperative!)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In an 8x8-inch baking pan sprayed with non-stick cooking spray, combine blackberries, lemon juice, and 2 tablespoons of sugar. In a small bowl, combine 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar, pinch of salt and egg. Mix with a fork to create "crumbles." Sprinkle over berries. Pour melted butter over the top. Bake for 35 minutes.

After removing from the oven, allow to cool for at least 30 minutes. Then, scoop a serving into a bowl, top with a dollop of ice cream and watch it ooze.

Each bite is crispy, gooey, fruity, creamy, and yummy. Heavens to Murgatroyd, it's good!

That Cake's Not Right!

Before children, my husband and I lived in rural Rogers County (technically, Owasso) in a gray-rock, 1970s era Ranch-style house. I loved everything about this house and all of the memories we made in it.

Our family grew and what once seemed perfect and spacious quickly became cramped and uncomfortable once we added a baby boy and the burgeoning office of a busy moonlighting engineer.

The best feature of this house was the large galley kitchen with counter space galore. Many memorable parties, family meals, and holiday gatherings took place in that cozy kitchen. Since I love to cook, that's where I spent most of my time. Once, I offered to host a Pampered Chef party for a friend who was just getting started as a consultant. I think I bought half of her catalog that day.

The best part about a Pampered Chef party is that consultants bring recipes to try. On the day of the party, my friend whipped up a Caesar pasta salad dish and a lovely veggie pizza. She also brought the recipe for a Lemon-Blueberry Cake. As I am prone to do, I read through the steps of the recipe. Halfway through, I said, "You do WHAT?" I was so taken aback by the instructions that I asked my friend, "Have you ever made this before?" She shook her head "no."

This had to be a colossal misprint. The recipe starts with a regular yellow cake mix, any brand. You make the cake as directed on the box and then add the zest of a lemon (using the Pampered Chef Zester Tool, of course). Then, you boil water in a measuring cup and slowly add a package of lemon jello. After dotting the cake batter with fresh or frozen blueberries, YOU POUR THE JELLO MIXTURE OVER THE TOP OF THE CAKE BATTER!

My mother made beautiful birthday and wedding cakes. Indeed, everything I know about baking, I owe to her. She taught me not only how to make and assemble cakes, but how to frost and decorate them. Since she was the oracle of all things baked, we waited patiently for her arrival at the party. As soon as she walked in the door, I summoned her to the kitchen.

"Mom, have you ever heard of a recipe where you pour hot Jello over cake batter and then bake it?" She had not. My mother was very adventurous. She suggested that we give it a whirl. "What's the worst that could happen? If it's a flop, I'll run down to Braum's and pick up some ice cream. Your guests will not go without dessert!" Do you see why I loved my Mom so much?

This is a picture of my Mom and Dad with Gina and I in late 1972. My brother, Brad, came along in 1978.

So I made the cake using the exact measurements and directions. As expected, it looked terribly, disastrously wrong. I said a little prayer as I placed the big hot mess I'd made into the oven. I turned on the light and peeked into the little window of the oven multiple times to check its progress. When the timer went off, I was amazed to find that the cake looked and smelled luscious. The blueberries and Jello had sunk to the bottom and created an amazing jelly-like layer, while the cake itself rose to the top and made a lovely, sponge-like cake layer.

After allowing it to cool and sprinkling it with powdered sugar, I served this tasty (and very odd) cake to my guests, who said it was super-good.

Here's the recipe for The Pampered Chef's Lemon-Blueberry Cake:

1 yellow cake mix, prepared per directions on the box
1 tablespoon lemon zest
2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries
1 1/2 c. water
1 package (6 oz.) lemon-flavored gelatin
Powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix cake as directed on box. Add lemon zest to batter and stir to combine. Pour batter into a 9x13-inch baking dish which has been lightly sprayed with non-stick cooking spray. Sprinkle the blueberries over the cake batter. Microwave water on HIGH until boiling. Add gelatin slowly to water and stir until dissolved. Pour gelatin over top of batter. (Yes, you read that right!) Bake for 30 to 35 minutes or until toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool and sprinkle with powdered sugar over top of cake.

Everyone who tries it, likes it and when I give the recipe out, it always comes with a warning about how weird the cake is going to look going into the oven. It saves me those unnecessary 9:30 p.m. phone calls when I'm trying to veg out in my pajamas with a glass of wine and the Real Housewives of Wherever (yes, I watch them all. As if I don't have enough drama in my life, right?)

One last thing: you really must refrigerate any leftovers. It's a very moist cake and will begin taking on the qualities of a science experiment if you leave it out too long.

My little galley kitchen in Owasso is now a distant memory. I have a nice big kitchen here in Claremore and it's also Party Central. It's the people who make a house a home.

Aunt Isabelle's Stacked Enchiladas

I was born into the most amazing family. As a result, I had one of the best childhoods any young person could hope for. I suppose that's why I do what I do for a living. I want all kids to have a shot at having a childhood like mine. I had amazing parents, wonderful siblings, cool cousins, and lots of loving aunts and uncles. I was truly blessed, this much I know.

My maternal grandparents (Gram and Pop) lived in a cabin at Whipporwill Point near Hulah Lake in Osage County, Oklahoma. Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Bob lived in a mobile home just a stone's throw from the cabin. I have lots of stories about times spent at the lake with Gram, Pop, Aunt Isabelle, and Uncle Bob. Here's a picture of Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Bob with my Great Aunt Melba (seated):

Aren't they cute? Whenever we'd visit Gram and Pop, Pop would always take out his coin holder (it was one of those rubber ones you squeeze open - remember those??) and give each of us grandkids a quarter or two. Then, my sister Gina and I would proceed to wheedle and whine until Mom and Dad let us walk up the road to Zona's, a convenience store/bait shop/beer tavern, to shop for penny candy. Hey, it was the 1970s in rural Osage County.

One afternoon, while coming back from Zona's with our treasure, a thunderstorm blew up (imagine that - a freak thunderstorm in Oklahoma!), which announced its presence with a huge clap of thunder. Pop and Uncle Bob were sitting on Uncle Bob's porch hanging out and smoking. As soon as we heard it, Gina and I took off running across the field in front of Uncle Bob's house headed for the cabin, because Mom had scared us spitless about getting struck by lightening.

My sister and I were beanpoles. Pop and Uncle Bob got quite a kick out of watching our arms and legs flailing by as we girls ran screaming and caterwauling across the pasture right in front of them.

This is a picture of me and my little cousin, Tammy, Aunt Isabelle's granddaughter, sitting on the picnic table at Gram and Pops. I'm the one styling in the glasses and the halter top. Remember, it was the 70s.

Uncle Bob used to call me "Andrew." He said once, "Angela Dawn, I like you so much, I wish you were a boy. I'm going to call you Andrew." And he did. Every time I saw him, Uncle Bob would say, "Well, there's Andrew." Everybody else called me Angela Dawn. Not Angela. Angela Dawn. Still today, a grown woman with children of my own, my family calls me Angela Dawn. I don't mind it. The way my name rolls off of their tongues, I know they love me.

Often, during these visits to the lake, Aunt Isabelle would make enchiladas and invite all of us over for supper. I don't know who started calling them "Izzy's Enchies," but that is the name that stuck.

Not only are they absolutely delicious, they are easy to make. You can literally come home from work and have them on the table in less than 30 minutes. And, there is no stuffing or rolling of tortillas involved. These are stacked enchiladas.

To make them, you will need:

1 lb. ground beef
1 can Old El Paso Enchilada Sauce (mild, medium, or hot, whichever you can stand)
2 cans Ranch Style beans
1 package corn tortillas
3 T. olive oil
3 c. shredded cheddar cheese
1 head lettuce, shredded
1 tomato, chopped
4 green onions, sliced (optional)

Brown and drain the hamburger meat. Add the enchilada sauce and beans to the ground beef and stir together. Heat the mixture through. While the sauce is heating, place cheese in a bowl, shred the lettuce, chop the tomato, and slice the green onions. Place each in a separate bowl. I make a topping station by lining the bowls up in this order: cheese, lettuce, tomato, and green onion. Meanwhile, in a frying pan, heat the olive oil. Get out a stack of corn tortillas. Place a tortilla in the hot oil, cooking it very briefly on each side until it is pliable. Use a fork to flip the tortilla and retrieve it from the hot oil. Don't cook the tortilla too long or it will get tough. Place the cooked tortilla on a plate, ladle on some sauce and top with cheese. Repeat the layers again (or even a third time, depending on how hungry you are!) and after topping the final layer with cheese, top with lettuce, tomatoes, and onion.

The only drawback to this recipe is that the cook has to stand at the stove and make each plate, which usually means that the cook eats last. Oh, well...it's worth the sacrifice.

I will leave you with a picture of my wonderful Reynolds family:

Top row is my Gram (Ruth Darlene); Great Grandma Lula; Aunt Isabelle; and Aunt Alma. Seated on the floor are Aunt Shirley; Uncle Tommy; Aunt Melba; and Aunt Patsy. I love them all!

Mom Letter: Listen To The "Still Small Voice"

Dear Jared and Jade:

You may remember a song we sing at church sometimes. It's just one line, repeated three times: "Be still and know that I am God." It's the first line of the verse of scripture found in Psalms 46:10. Today's letter is about listening to that still small voice of God.

Many people call the still small voice "intuition." Others say it's "a sixth sense." Still others may say it's pure luck or karma. But if you believe in God (and I do), the still small voice is something you instantly know is God getting your attention.

Sometimes, the still small voice tells you to recheck the locks on your car door. Other times, the still small voice reminds you to turn off the coffee pot. From time to time, the still small voice will urge you to take a different route to work or school. Later, you may hear about an accident that occurred on the road you didn't take.

Several times, the still small voice has told me to go to your cribs and check that you're okay. Yes, I've hovered over you many times in your sleep. I've prayed by your bedsides. I've kissed your soft cheeks as you slept unaware that I was even in the room. That's what Moms (and Dads) do.

I'm not sure how to tell you to identify the still small voice. It's different for every person. For me, it's usually a thought, especially when I am busy thinking about something else. It feels sometimes like a tap on my shoulder. There is an overwhelming sense of urgency that accompanies it.

I've never regretted listening to the still small voice, but I have ignored it a couple of times with disastrous results. Staying tuned to the still small voice isn't easy to do in this crazy world of instantaneous communication, hectic schedules, and loaded down to-do lists.

The way I find best to plug into the still small voice is through quiet time, reading my Bible, and prayer. Turn off the television, the computer, the hand-held devices, the games, and the cellular phone. Enjoy the stillness. Think of yourself resting in the palm of God's hand. Don't expect the still small voice to speak every time, but be open to its gentle presence and leading.

Your father practices his quiet time through his photography. In fact, the picture that heads this post is a sunrise he captured recently. He finds God and the still small voice in nature.

While we're on the subject of God and faith, please remember that everyone experiences God differently. I try to be sensitive to the faith traditions of people around me. People worship God in different ways. Some people call God by a different name. And there are lots of people who don't believe in God or who choose not to have a relationship with Him. That is their business, not yours.

There are lots of ways to worship God. Some ways of worshiping God I enjoy. Others, I don't. I respect that other people do enjoy those methods of worshiping God and I don't think it's my place to look down on them for it. It's a matter of taste and style.

There are two principles that I think are very important for Christian living. The first is to love God and be in relationship with Him. The second is to love people. In loving people, we have to give them the space and the time to make up their own mind about God. Watch out for people who say they know a lot about God, or who act as though they've got God figured out. The people I respect the most are the ones who admit that they don't know everything.

Whatever you decide about God and the still small voice, I will always love you and you will always be in my prayers. Don't think that you always have to agree with me on this subject. My mother and I believed very differently on certain matters of faith. I respected my mother's beliefs, even though I didn't necessarily agree with her always. Sometimes, that was really difficult, but always we were united in our love and mutual respect for one another. This is the relationship I hope to have with both of you as we grow old together.

Much love always,

Mom