I had some interesting conversations on Thursday. Of the two
that I would like to share with you, the first was small in a sense. A friend
told me she had made Southern Fried Chicken for the first time. It was clear
from the way she said it that the words were supposed to be capitalized. She
had purchased a package with seasoning and dredging components. She cooked with
buttermilk for the first time, but now she had three more cups of buttermilk she
did not know how she was going to use. I shared with her the “secret” of how to
make a substitute for buttermilk so there isn’t any extra left. [I know, Grary*, you would be glad to drink that extra,
but most of us aren’t you.] Take one cup of milk, preferably not skim, add one
tablespoon of lemon juice or vinegar; stir it, and let it sit for a bit. The
acid will curdle the milk and make an excellent version of buttermilk for
cooking.
The second conversation came in the middle of talking about
how wonderful Hubble photos are. I shared an image that is an icon to me.
Icons, real ones, not digital versions to indicate an app on a computer or a
phone, are windows to put us in touch with that larger reality beyond that we
might call heaven or at least God’s realm. I discovered this icon when Dr.
Jennifer Wiseman, an astronomer who is the Senior Project Scientist for the
Hubble Space Telescope, was the featured speaker for the Faith and Science
Seminar for the VA Conference. I looked at the image below**
and saw myself in God’s presence. I know; that sounds weird, so let me explain.
Within the community of God, what we call the Trinity, the
conversation was, is, and always shall be a flow of love (verb) that has at the
heart of it true concern, an inadequate word, for the best for the other. It
was and is in the midst of this conversation that the love (verb) grew to such
dimension and power that it burst forth into what began all Creation. The
waves, or echoes, of that creating concern move throughout all of time, all of
space, all of matter, all of all. As I talked about this, one of my
conversation partners, said, “This doesn’t exist.” To which I had to say, “Oh,
yes it does; it is where we live, and move, and have our being.” Then she said,
“Well, humans are supposed to be like that (have the best at heart for the other).”
I agreed, and we both agreed that we seldom see that. I left the conversation
hanging there, maybe like the open jazz chord which AnnaMaria uses to keep
songs from closing too completely.
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