Our first snow this year arrived without warning. When I took Dobby out around five that morning, the ground was bare; by the time Mitchell was leaving for school, a grayish sludge had begun to accumulate on our sidewalk, white only on the rooftops. Normally, the first snow of the year is utter magic to me, but this year, I felt only a vague annoyance, first at the inconvenience of the soggy pools of slush between us and our mailbox at the other end of our apartment complex, then at myself for failing to feel my customary wonder at the beauty of the still-falling snow.
Gratitude. Wonder. Hope. The last two months of our year are dedicated to the cultivation and celebration of these qualities. As we look back, we thank God for His gifts. As we enjoy the present, we marvel at the beauty that swirls around us like a blizzard. As we anticipate the new year, we dream it will far surpass the one that is ending. I don't know about you, but I haven't felt much of any of these this year. Circumstances have been, shall we say, less than ideal.
But that's the problem, isn't it? We nurture our little biomes in order to make them grow the world we want, and when they inevitably wither––sometimes by our own fault, sometimes by the fickleness of circumstance––we are crushed. If they are to grow, gratitude, wonder, and hope need to be planted in soil far richer and safer than circumstance.
Throughout November, at the challenge of one of our pastors, I read a Psalm of gratitude each day of the month from this beautiful edition my mother-in-law sent for my birthday. Whenever I revisit the Psalms, I am struck anew by the profound honesty. Life in a fallen world is hard. When we demand such a fallen world (or worse, our fallen selves) to give us the desires of our heart, we are miserable. Make no mistake, we have apt cause for misery in this life––the psalmists can empathize.
Yet even when they are lamenting, they are lifting up their souls before God, seeking in Him the source of all truth, beauty, and goodness. Grounded in Him, they flourish. Thanklessness over their dismal state of affairs transforms into gratitude for God's unchanging character. Disillusionment over the way things ought to be dissolves into wonder at God's sovereignty over things as they are. Despair over uncontrollable situations dawns into hope for God's perfectly timed intervention. We do well to, like these psalmists, stake our wild emotions and expectations to the only truth that can support them: the truth of who God is.
I know that's a little longer and more rambly than my typical monthly review introduction. If you're still reading, here's what you came for: the monthly wrap-up of my latest creative endeavors.
What I Read
Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City, Matthew Desmond (★★★★)
The Madness of Crowds: Gender, Race, and Identity, Douglas Murray (★★★★★)
The Way to Rainy Mountain, N. Scott Momaday (★★★★)
Becoming Mrs. Lewis: The Improbable Love Story of Joy Davidman and C.S. Lewis, Patti Callahan (★★★)
Fortitude: American Resilience in the Era of Outrage, Dan Crenshaw (★★★★)
The Right Side of History: How Reason and Moral Purpose Made the West Great, Ben Shapiro (★★★★★)
Dreamland: The True Tale of America's Opiate Epidemic, Sam Quinones (★★★★)
If you want to hear the rationale behind my rating, head to my Goodreads for full reviews.
What I Cooked
The Mayes family is not a pumpkin-pie-for-Thanksgiving family. While we have tried––and on a few occasions even enjoyed––multiple pumpkin cheesecakes (this one from last year being the best), we tend to prefer apple desserts for our annual feast. As soon as I saw the words "the ratio of apples to crisp is essentially 50-50," I knew I had to break with the tradition of our classic family recipe to try this one. Let's be real here: we all know the streusel is the best part of an apple crisp.
I'm pleased to report that this was every bit as delicious as anticipated. Better still, it requires no weird ingredients, equipment, or methods to achieve its fantastic taste. My mom does not stock her spice cabinet with cardamom, so we subbed a Watkins chai spice mix instead. Also, this may just be my parents' fancy oven at their new house, but it definitely does not need 55 minutes of cooking time. Put it in for 40, then check it. It makes a fairly large pan, so cover it with plastic wrap and reheat it for dessert the next day . . . or breakfast.
Now that my family isn't a few minutes down the road and all potlucks are cancelled from now until the end of time, I rarely bake because, you know, what's the point. But when I got together with a friend at the beginning of the month, I decided it was as good an excuse as any to make a good loaf of pumpkin bread, and since I haven't found a go-to pumpkin bread recipe, I thought I'd give this one a try.
My dilemma with many of the pumpkin bread recipes I've tried has been that they include way too many ingredients. Applesauce! Yogurt! Butter! Canola oil! Pumpkin (but not a full can, because that would be too convenient) Add all the moisture! This one keeps it simple: one can of pumpkin, half a cup of oil, and then the usual ingredients. The beauty is in the simplicity––it's a perfectly classic pumpkin bread.
What I Created
Blackout poem "True in the Dark"
Essay "The Strange Thanksgiving"
So now here we are in the last month of 2020. It is a good time to give thanks, to wonder, and to hope––in circumstances when we can, but always in the Author of our circumstances, who is writing the best of stories and giving us the chance to be a part of it.