If It’s Wednesday…

I raised my hand a few times over the past months, allegedly volunteering but I’m not ruling out just stretching a little and, you know. Accidents happen.

So that particular plate is full, and given the (church) season it’ll get fuller. This is fine with me; great, actually, at least when I consider the alternative. Too much time is the last thing I’m interested in.

Let us list, then. Monday night was a session meeting at church (board of elders), just running over the nuts and bolts of keeping a small church in the black and serving the needs of its congregation. New business, old business, budget business.

Last night, John and I drove down to Seattle to pick up his mom, then all three of us headed east, an hour weaving through traffic until we reached a sports bar of sorts, a monthly social gathering we do on the second Tuesday of the month. There were about 20 of us, which is a sizeable percentage of the active members of this church. Good food, great company.

And tonight is our second Lenten meal, my baby. I grinned like a fool last week, as everything I was hoping for materialized, one table, simple food, just conversation. No study, no lectures, no reflections or homilies. This was just breaking bread, and it broke just fine.

So now I’ve got a pork butt roast in the slow cooker, some garlic and apple cider vinegar and cumin. My daughter said I should toss a cup of coffee in there, although that seems a little cavalier for something as serious as coffee. It should be fine either way, and is only a back-up; I’ve got a couple of casseroles on the way, as well as salads and dessert. All I need is to roast some veggies, bake some bread, take the cat to the vet, and head south to set up. My kind of busy.

***

I’ve been apparently mispronouncing “cumin” most of my life, although I’m holding out for alternative pronunciations in this case just because I learned it from my mom. Mothers know things.

But I guess it’s not KOO-men but CUE-men, and I guess that’s OK. Not the way Mom said it, but life’s short. It’s one of my favorite spices, at any rate, so I cumined that pork real good.

Not that the food matters all that much. The idea was community, always was, my personal longing for a time when our little community could just sit down and eat together, not in a restaurant or an individual’s home but at church, where we have a large kitchen and need to use it more.

Last week we had about 16 (again, this is a church that has ostensibly around 65 members on the roll, although Sunday worship usually gets around 40-45 on a good day). I’m expecting we’ll top 20 this week, and while this is going to be a lot of the same people who do these sorts of things, it’s a nice percentage of our church and I’m not ruling out expansion. I’m not quite sure how we pull that off, but what faith I acknowledge is strong in the sense that there will always be enough food.

Man does not live by bread alone, of course. But bread doesn’t hurt, so that’s where I’m heading now, off to start me some dough. Let’s see if we break 20. I’m feeling pretty confident at the moment.

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