Twenty nine days ago I found a rather odd, large, tender lump in my breast. I called my gynecologist office and left a message for the nurse to call me back. I’m 47. I’ve been having really weird periods and other stuff going on. I figured it had to do with the onset of menopause, frankly. The nurse called back and all of the symptoms I detailed could, in fact, be attributed to pre-menopausal irregularites. Except the lump. She suggested I come in to see the doctor first thing the next morning.

I went in the next morning, which also happened to be the day before we were to leave for our annual trip to Northern Michigan. Although, this year was a special trip up north. We hadn’t been there in three years. Lots of stuff going on with kids getting married, selling a house, buying a house, etc., etc., etc. Anyway, I went in; I had an exam and the doctor told me that with such sudden onset and a large lump, it was more than likely a cyst. She could easily aspirate it (stick a syringe in it to drain accumulated liquid). I agreed.

The syringe couldn’t extract any liquid because there wasn’t any, it seemed. This fact greatly concerned my gynecologist. I could tell by her face. Not really anything she said in particular, just her face. She offered to call a breast surgeon who’s practice was in the same building to see if she could fit me in, right now. Like get in the elevator and go to a surgeon. Now. I agreed. The surgeon had an opening. I went.

The surgeon used an ultrasound to look at the lump. She got the same kind of look as the first doctor. Not really a furrowed brow, but just a look I can’t really explain. I knew something wasn’t right. She turned off the machine and explained that the lump was a solid mass, and, although it could be a local mastitis (infected duct), it could also be cancer. She looked me right in the eye and said, “I can’t ignore what I saw. It might be cancer.” Somehow, I just knew. She seriously thought the lump could be cancerous.

She insisted that I needed a biopsy as soon as possible. But we were supposed to leave for vacation at 5:30 the next morning! She told me to go on vacation, knowing that even if it was cancer, a week wouldn’t make any difference. Hmmm.

We went on vacation and had a blast. We did a couple of things we’d never done. All with a peace I can’t explain (except to say that my good and gracious God provided it!). We laughed. We took the days slow and savored moments, making memories. We booked the same cabin for next year.

I had a biopsy the Tuesday after we got back. Thirteen days after I’d found the lump. Two days later I got the call while ironing Larry’s shirts that it was, indeed, cancer. We’ve had two more appointments with the surgeon and one with an oncologist. My surgery is in eight days, thirty seven days after I found the lump.

We’re going the simple mastectomy route. Seemed like the option that lent itself to the best long-term outcome with the least amount of pain and suffering. I’ll have a full course of chemotherapy after that, along with a couple other wonderful drugs. I’ll receive hormone therapy after my treatment course is through. My tumor is estrogen senstive, which means that estrogen in my body accelerates the re-growth of that tumor, or potentially any other tumor.

It’s been a nearly surreal, whirlwind ride for the past month. One of those times in life when you have to keep reminding yourself what’s true and what’s real. God is good. His word is true. Satan is a liar. Sin brings death. God is good. His word is true.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28, NASB, emphasis mine)

It reminded me of a time another friend, probably 10 or 12 years ago, dealing with all that a life holds when a child is enduring treatments for leukemia said, “You’re so upset because I’m living your nightmare.” Again, I smiled, nodded and tried to comfort my hurting friend.

Those two comments were at least 10 years apart, and yet, I remember them both as if they were voiced just seconds ago. I spent a bit of time reflecting on why they seem to have hit a sensitive spot in my heart and here’s what I’ve come up with.

My nightmare isn’t your nightmare. Your nightmare isn’t mine. Nightmares come in so many different packages … a loved one’s suicide, a cheating spouse, a sexual assault, an accidental drowning, the death of a parent, bankruptcy, a husband killed in combat, a prodigal in the family, alzheimer’s, cancer. Oh, how the list could go on and on and on.

I believe that, for those of us in Christ, God allows Satan to tailor-make our nightmares. I believe God knows the thing(s) in us that most hinder our sanctification, our maturity in Christ, and therefore sometimes allows the things that we fear most to drop into our lives. Unannounced. Unheralded. Boom, there it is.

Then, we have a choice. Many choices, really, but one big one right at the beginning. Are we going to trust God, or not? Is God sovereign and good, or not? Does He allow circumstances in our lives or in the lives of those we love most just to watch us squirm, or is there a greater glory at stake?

Oh, I’m not trying to say working through any one of those nightmares is easy. Quite the contrary. It’s work. And, I’m not saying there isn’t a need for tears, mourning, and a safe place to process grief, doubt and anger. There is. But the choice to trust God needs to be made before the work of healing and sanctification can begin.

 And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28, NASB, emphasis mine)

The sourdough starter came from Cultures for Health in a dehydrated, shelf-stable state. The directions were to add water and whole wheat flour over two or three days until the starter was active and bubbly. This I did.

The tips for success said that it might be best to give it a few days to settle down and get into a “routine,” once it was rehydrated.  Well, I figured my starter looked and smelled pretty healthy on the second day in. Must be ready for baking! Hmmm. I proceeded to bake a loaf of something we’ll loosely call bread. Not exactly sure what the problem was. Though, looking back, I think there were several. I didn’t take any photos, but I can describe it for you. I put it on my pizza stone and it flattened to a dark brown, dense, one inch thick, 12 inch diameter brick. After baking, it was literally too hard to cut, and I have a really good bread knife!

I tossed it in the trash and proceeded to do a little more recipe research online before attempting loaf number two. I found this website that even had a helpful video. They have a no-knead recipe that is really pretty good. I’ve made it three times now, and each time it gets a little better!

I’ve also used the starter to make sourdough english muffins. Here’s that recipe. Very, very tasty. We used them both as hamburger buns and as english muffins. Larry likes to eat them with sausage and eggs. I just like to eat them. Plain with lots of butter.

Another wonderful thing to do with sourdough starter is make sourdough waffles. A recipe for those (from the same place as the english muffins) can be found here. I received a belgian waffle maker for my birthday, (Thanks, Ryan & Emily!) and this recipe makes beautifully delicious belgian waffles. We’ve had these twice, and both times they were amazing. The first time I served them with fresh strawberries and the second time with maple syrup. I like fresh butter on mine; Larry prefers his without. Mmmm, good stuff!

Well, here’s my next question: What do I do with what seems to be a pattern of such punches? What’s up when not one or two, but several of the people I count my closest friends and family, land a sucker punch  in a matter of days? What do I do when I’m still trying to catch my breath from the last one when a fresh one lands in my gut? Stutter. Cry. And, then …

Put a praise CD in the player and choose to say to myself: “God wouldn’t allow this to happen if it weren’t for my good and His glory.” That’s truth. Truth that’s helped me grow in maturity for the last couple decades. Truth that’s helped me be in perfect peace with not having an answer. Truth that’s helped me trust God’s heart when what’s going on in my life (or the life of a loved one) makes absolutely no sense at all.

It sometimes takes me a little while to get there, but that’s where I have to end up. There’s really no other place to go. Oh, I suppose I could choose doubt, fear and bitterness. I’ve gone that route before. It isn’t pretty. Not pretty at all. I end up one nasty person. So, I choose joy! I choose to trust that God wouldn’t allow a sucker punch, unless it can be used for my good and His glory. Or, maybe someone else needed me to take one. I’ve also discovered that everything that happens in my life isn’t always about me. God is good. This I know. This I choose to believe.

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”  –Romans 8:28 (NASB)

Poiema–it’s a Greek word–and, according to the dictionary on my Logos program it means, “what is made, (God’s) workmanship, i.e., creation.”

I looked it up in my Complete Word Study Dictionary New Testament and here’s what I found:

Poiema, gen. poiematos, neut. noun from poieo, to make. Something made, a work, workpiece, workmanship (Rom. 1:20). figuratively in Eph. 2:10; Sept.: Ps 143:5; Eccl. 3:11; Is. 29:16. It denotes the result of work, what is produced as contrasted to poiesis which is the act of making, the doing itself and not that which is made. He who does the making is poietes, performer, doer, poet.

Something made … the result of work … He who does the making is the … poet. Guess that makes me (and you) God’s poem. A work in progress. A journey from what I was to what He’d have me become. A transformation of a life, a will, a heart. My life, my will, my heart.

So, the blog may take on yet another shape. A place to work out our journey through food. A place to work out my journey through life. A place to work out that which is being worked out in me. There may be a post now and then that is purely creative. There may be a piece that I’ve written to attempt to make sense of my world and the things God’s purposed for it.

We’ll see. It’s a process. God is the poet and I’m the poiema.

Today, I’m going to talk about my kombucha scoby. It arrived from Cultures for Health in a dehydrated state–a nearly transparent, paper-thin disc of what I hoped would help me create the probiotic goodness known as kombucha. Kombucha is a beverage that originated in Russia and is basically fermented tea. Like my homemade yogurt and kefir, kombucha is good for the gut. And, since my gut has its share of problems, the more probiotic foods I can consume, the better.

When I decided to begin the process of re-hydrating my scoby (stands for: symbiotic community of bacteria and yeast) several days after it arrived, I (thought I) carefully read the instructions included with my culture. I gathered all the supplies I needed: loose black tea, filtered water, sugar, quart glass jar, apple cider vinegar, wooden spoons, plastic measuring cups, and something to cover the jar while letting it breathe (a piece of kitchen towel and a rubber band).

I boiled the water, steeped the tea, and added the sugar. Then I waited until the sweet tea mixture reached room temperature. I poured in the required amount of vinegar and floated the dehydrated scoby on top. It immediately sunk to the bottom. Everything I’d read says this is perfectly normal. Then, I was to wait for 7 to 10 days. So, I did. My husband and I are very curious people (not to mention impatient). We used a flashlight morning and evening to look for and mark any progress in either the tea or with the scoby. About 2 days in, the scoby had gotten thick and opaque. Fine, very fine indeed. Proceeding just as all the literature said it would.

Sometime during day 3 and for some undetermined reason, I decided to read the instructions again. To my horror, the details specifically told me NOT to use rapadura, sucanat or raw cane sugar!!!  AAAaaaaaa!! I had used evaporated cane sugar. Frantically, I texted Larry to see what to do. He said, “I don’t know. You’re the kombucha ‘expert.’” Certain I had ruined my 13-dollar culture, I prepared another quart of starter tea, this time using plain old white sugar. Tears in my eyes, I drained the original starter tea. I’d ruined it for sure. Just in case it lived, I added the apple cider vinegar, rinsed the rehydrated scoby with filtered water and dropped it into my new (white sugar) starter tea.

The wait began again. Seven more days. We waited, watching earnestly as we’d done the first time. It hadn’t died. A new scoby began to form on top and relief washed over me. At the end of the waiting time, I brewed another batch of tea to begin the process all over again. I carefully pulled my new baby scoby off the top, poured the kombucha into another container, catching the mama scoby as it came out of the jar. I saved a cup of the starter tea to begin my new half gallon jar of kombucha, and we drank the little bit of kombucha left. It was pretty vinegar-y, but wasn’t too bad.

My next batch was even better. I put both mama and baby scoby in to give the baby a bit more volume and strength. When it was all done (7 days later), I removed baby scoby #2, baby scoby #1 and mama scoby, and saved a cup of tea for my next batch. This time, however, I sliced half a meyer lemon and added it to the stuff we were going to drink. I let the fruit sit in the tea for a good 24 hours and then strained it out. Oh, my goodness. The stuff was amazing. Not so vinegar-y, just a hint of lemon and tangerine. Mmmm, Mmmm.

I had another mishap with my third batch. Not sure exactly what happened, but 3 days in I noticed spots of green mold on the top of my jar. My newest little undeveloped scoby had become contaminated somehow. I guess I wasn’t as careful about keeping everything clean as I should’ve been.

I tossed all but the original mama scoby and started all over again, adding a bit of apple cider vinegar. It worked. Not sure if God has been protecting my little blob of bacteria and yeast, or if they’re not as fragile as I thought they were. Oh, well. I’m very pleased to be able to continue making kombucha. My latest batch was flavored with orange slices. Very good stuff, and, very good for you!

I chose three: 1) dairy kefir grains, 2) a kombucha scoby, and 3) sourdough starter. My order (with shipping) was nearly $50. So, needless to say, I wanted to take my time with each thing and make sure I got it right. I decided to begin with the dairy kefir grains. The sourdough starter would keep for a while in the pantry and the kombucha scoby would be fine in the fridge for a couple weeks.

First, I read everything I could find on dairy kefir. I read all the instructions, tips and frequently asked questions on the CFH website. I googled dairy kefir and read many of the articles that surfaced. I decided on a plan of action and began to implement my plan the day after receiving my CFH package in the mail.

I needed to choose the variety of milk I was going to use and then be consistent. Kefir grains don’t like to be cultured in a different kind of milk each time. They like things to stay the same. (I have the same proclivity sometimes!) I decided on Snowville Creamery’s whole milk. It’s milk from grassfed cows in my state that is nonhomogenized, pasturized at the lowest permitted temperature, and readily available at several different stores in my area. It’s good milk. We own a herdshare and purchase a gallon of raw milk per week. However, we choose to use our raw milk just for drinking. We consume A LOT of milk! Almost three gallons a week total. So, we drink the gallon of raw and use the other 1 1/2 to 2 gallons of Snowville for cooking, culturing and serving to guests who don’t want raw.

One morning, I put my dairy kefir grains in a cup of milk, gently stirred, covered with a piece of worn kitchen towel secured with a rubberband, and let sit on the counter for 24 hours. I used a pint-sized glass canning jar. Carefully following the directions, I made sure not to let any metal touch the grains, only using plastic, glass or wood utensils. The next morning, I used a plastic sprouting jar lid to drain the kefir, deposited the grains in a clean glass jar, stirred in a fresh cup of milk and began the process all over again. Since my kefir grains came in a dehydrated state and needed to be rehydrated, the kefir formed the first 3 or 4 days was not fit for consumption. It was more like soured milk than kefir and needed to be discarded. However, once the kefir began to thicken up overnight to the consistency of thin yogurt it was ready to use! I put my newly formed kefir in the fridge and allow to cool.

Since then, I’ve cultured one cup of kefir per day. I have about a tablespoon of grains. So, technically, I have enough to culture a quart of kefir per day. However, most days I don’t need that much. If the need for more arises, I’ll simply put my grains into a quart of milk rather than a cup.

My husband, Larry, chooses not to drink any kefir. So, I usually have a kefir smoothie each afternoon. It’s a wonderful treat and is so good for me! I put my cup of cold kefir into the blender along with any fresh or frozen fruit I want, a teaspoon of raw honey, and a tablespoon of coconut oil. Oh, my! It seems so decadent, but is absolutely filled with probiotic cultures good for my gut, and has plenty of beneficial fat, fiber and antioxidants.

Ingredients:

1/2 cup honey

6 Tbsp cornstarch (or arrowroot powder)

1/2 tsp salt

3 Tbsp unsweetened cocoa

3 cups cold whole milk

1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract

1 1/2 tsp butter

Combine cornstarch, salt and cocoa in medium saucepan; whisk in cold milk. Add honey once the milk mixture has warmed up a bit. This prevents the honey from hardening when it hits cold milk. Cook over medium heat until thickened and bubbly, stirring constantly (or at least very often). Remove from heat and stir in vanilla and butter until melted and well combined. Pour into serving dishes (makes 6) and refrigerate until ready to eat.

I do a lot of ironing.  My husband wears a button-down shirt 7 days a week.  He wears a dress shirt to work and usually prefers to wear a button-up casual shirt on the weekends–both for casualwear and for church.  So, I iron at least 7 shirts a week. I like them to be crisp and smell as fresh as possible.  Making sure Larry is well-dressed is one of the ways I choose to honor him and glorify God in our marriage.  Anyway, for the last couple of decades I’ve purchased store bought-spray starch.  I don’t really care for aerosol, seems like there’s more overspray and waste, so I usually just get the trigger spray variety.

It occurred to me a couple weeks ago to look at the ingredients on the can.  I wanted to see exactly how many chemicals I was spraying onto Larry’s shirts.  I couldn’t find anything.  So, I got online and found that the typical ingredients for spray starch are: corn starch, water, preservatives and fragrance.  This certainly sounded like something I could make myself.  Again, more online research.

I found a “recipe” for homemade spray starch that I made and have been using ever since.  It works just as well as the store-bought variety and comes at a fraction of the cost.  So, I thought I’d share it.  NOTE that the tea tree oil or lemon juice not only act as fragrance, but also as a preservative.  Tea tree oil and lemon juice both act as anticeptics and prevent the mixture from spoiling in the bottle.

Homemade Spray Starch

1 cup filtered water

1 Tbsp. corn starch

2-3 drops tea tree oil or lemon juice**

Heat the water and cornstarch in a saucepan until warm enough for the starch to completely dissolve into the water. Do not boil–you’ll have something the consistency of gravy. Allow to cool. Whisk in tea tree oil or lemon juice. Pour into a spray bottle and use as  you would any purchased spray starch. I typically give the bottle a little shake before using each time, just in case my tea tree oil has separated.

**NOTE: I’ve found that lemon juice will do a little better job of preserving the spray starch than the tea tree oil. Tea tree oil will work for a couple weeks, but I left it for about about 3 weeks once and it did spoil. I’ve not had that problem using lemon juice.