Preserves

Preserves. I’m not sure if that is a word used in the UK for jams, but ‘back home’ we sometimes call jams, preserves. It’s a nice name, redolent of having something of value that you want to save for later pleasure.

I couldn’t resist the voluptuous brambles growing at the end of the road yesterday, and within 15 minutes had 3 pounds of plump berries. I came home and immediately set to making them into jam. Preserving their taste. In order to do this, according to the recipe I found on Google, I had to cook the berries in a little water and lemon juice for an hour to break them down and make them into a soft mush. Then I added the sugar and boiled hard until the jam was ready for bottling.

There is something immensely satisfying in seeing a cupboard full of preserves. Independent of electrical power (like all those berries in the freezer). They are there for years, until they are needed.

I love the joy of sharing the bounty with others, too. Most people are delighted to receive a jar of homemade jam, free of additives.

Jesus looks at us and, (I know this is a flight of fancy), he sees plump berries. (I make no comment on the plump aspect…) All we need is him, the sugar, and the steady heat of the Holy Spirit to preserve us. Then he can give us to the world, to sweeten the sourness, to encourage and cheer, to draw others into the fold.

May you be a sweet dollop of preserves to others today!

Too sweet?

Can anything ever be too sweet?

Well, yes.

I have just made my first attempt at short crust pastry. I know it’s incredible at my age, but I’ve stuck to the oil pastry I learned at my mother’s knee and it’s served me well.

But I saw this recipe for plum and almond tart, and thought I’d give it a whirl.

What I didn’t realize as I measured out the icing sugar into the butter-flour mixture, was that the batteries of this marvellous high-tech digital weighing scale, had jiggled loose. I did think it seemed a little more sugar than I’d imagined was needed. But I went ahead anyway.

It was when I was weighing the marzipan that I realized just how wonky they were. I pulled out my trusted old scale which tends to leap around a bit, but at least gives a ball park figure which has always worked for me before.

So the upshot is – look out, Doug and Joey, as we all may be whizzing with sugar overdose when we go to watch the Passion at the AECC. 

I didn’t realize that loose batteries could result in the weighing scale being so erratic. I’m sure that’s why God wants us to maintain a tight connection to him. When we fail to ground ourselves in God, our thinking grows erratic and our actions betray that we are no longer taking orders from the Top.

Jesus didn’t mention sugar. But he did talk about salt and light, and without secure connections, our lights will definitely fail to illuminate anything.

May your Good Friday be sweetened by the promise of Easter morning. It’s so much better to walk through Good Friday this side of the Cross.

Apple Butter

OK, this is going to be a weird one.

Just had to re-boil the apple butter I made, because I didn’t boil it long enough yesterday for it to thicken to a spreading consistency, and instead it was still runny.

I hate that, because it involves re-washing and sterilizing everything, re-boiling, re-testing, and so on. Got it now – I hope! Won’t know until it’s cooled down.

One thing I do know now though is that it yielded one less jar than yesterday. Boiling it down concentrates the taste, removes some of the moisture, and reduces the yield.

It got me thinking. I’ve been so busy recently, spread thin. A bit of this, a bit of that, hard to remember everything I’m responsible to do.  

By doing so much, maybe I’m not as ‘tasty’ as I would be if I did less. If I were to spend more time contemplating God and studying my Bible, maybe my Christ-like fragrance (to mix a metaphor) would be more noticeable to others.  Maybe, when I meet others, they would be able to ‘taste’ the Lord in me, and see that He is good.

Well, tomorrow Don and I are escaping to the Bield, a retreat centre  just outside of Perth. Twenty-four hours of heaven, a gift from our wonderful kids for birthdays long since past.

We’ll become human beings again, rather than human doings.

 My yield may be less for this week, but my flavour may be sweeter.