Taxes and the Homeless

Taxes are essential in our society, they help support college grants and social programs like welfare and food stamps. I think taxes could help the homeless, if the budget was big enough and programs were enforced and organized. But nothing in life is that perfect.

I think as Christians, we should be doing what we can to give back to the homeless and poor. God even said that the poor and sinners will be welcomed into his kingdom, but the rich might not because they are too self involved. And in the Bible it also says, if you feed the poor, and give shelter to the homeless, it's like doing these things to me. I think that if we want to help the homeless we have to be pro-active, especially as Christians. For me, who cares, if this person is really homeless or not, because you never know whether you are giving food to an angel, and what if you ignored them, God will hold you responsible for your actions. If they ask for money for food, go get them food, don't give them the money. If they really are hungry they will appreciate it.

We already have many programs to help the homeless and the poor. There are soup kitchens and shelters. When I was in highschool, once a month we would go to Washington D.C. and bring food and boxes of clothes and give them away. And there are other church organizations that do the same thing. We have to help them maybe get back on their feet, but I think it's also their decision to decide whether or not to accept it. Raising are taxes aren't going to help them, but us being proactive in our communities and trying to help them by providing them with food and jobs will.

Is Paying Taxes Enough?

First of all, I will try not to get heated about taxes and the non-working class.  Taxes are helping our country maintain some sort of balance, and it is helpful to those who need it.  But why do they need it?  I hate to think that my money and my families' money is going towards someone who was too lazy to go to college or do anything with their life.  On the other hand there are circumstances where families or individuals are working and trying to make a good life, but they simply need help.  I am glad to think that our taxes are helping these people.  I know I am lucky and have security in my life, but even if I didn't I would be doing everything i could to try and give myself an education or a job.  Sometimes we can not help the people that do not want to get a job or try school.  

For me taxes are sufficient but I also think that a little extra could be done individually to change other's lives or at least brighten their day.  People need to be educated about living and economic matters for them to know how to stay stable.  Educating them would be the best way to stop the homeless from being homeless.  This to me is true direct service towards the less fortunate.  

Rather than donate money to charities and send checks to random organizations, why not work in a soup kitchen?  Perhaps chat with the homeless and give them the meal yourself instead of just offering money.  Sit down with them.  Eat.  Enjoy their company, they probably will appreciate yours.  Adopt a child.  These are things that mean something in life.  Human interaction can change someone, not just money.  Show them how to save that money, work with that money, and make good decisions with that money.  And even if you do not change a large portion of their life at least maybe you can bring a smile to their face.  

Is Direct Service to the Poor Needed?

I was reading in Sachs (I am somewhat a glutton for punishment) and came across this statement (pg. 265): "Racial discord plays a critical role in determining beliefs about the poor. Since minorities are highly over-represented amongst the poorest Americans, any income-based redistribution measures will redistribute particularly to minorities...It seems people are more willing to withstand high rates of taxation if they know that their taxes are paying for programs that help people like them..."

I have always prided myself on being open-minded about race and about homeless people (or the poorest of the poor). I tend to agree with Sachs that 'taking care of the poor' (helping them out of poverty traps) will increase global prosperity and environmental health as well as increase global security. But then I read that statement in Sachs and I began wondering if I would personally vote to increase taxes in this country in order to fund social welfare programs. No. I don't think I would. Why should I let the government take my hard-earned cash and give it to some deadbeat Latin American, or American Indian, or.... you can see the disconnect.

I think there is a need for individual, direct service to the poor and disadvantaged--especially in one's own country--because it encourages sympathy. If, through offering direct service to the needy, I begin to see poor people as people who need help instead of minorities who need help, I will feel more inclined to act politically to change my government's priorities and maybe a collective government change will save the world.

Along with that, I completely agree with McKibben who says that Americans have too little community. He suggests one way to fix that is to do volunteer work or to join a group. If I join a group who is dedicated to helping the disadvantaged directly, then I have found a community that can support me as well.

Eat to live

Food for me has never been what I would term "spiritual". Events surrounding the food were always more interesting and important. Thanksgiving dinners, mothers day biscuits and gravy, Christmas with the whole family. I don't really remember what I ate as much as the surround people and events, that is what made the food taste so good. I tend to like food better when I am home and my mom makes it instead of myself, or here when my cousin cooks. I like food better when prepared by not me. I also am a person who eats my feelings, so chocolate at times is quite heavenly.

I can remember a few times when I was excited to eat certain things because they had been missed while traveling in other countries. Europeans do not understand mexican food nor is there a taco bell anywhere around, I spent a year in france and my father met me at the airport when I got back with two cold bean burritos....but they were delicious.

Also, when I was in Ecuador for a year I just wished for anything other than rice.....low and behold, my friend and I found a Chili's about 30 min away from our apartment. The first time we ate there we devoured like three bowls of tostada chips and each ate a burger and fries. We could hardly walk out of the restaurant but we were happy.

But still none of these events really sinks in as an intense experience where I really loved the food and it took on more than just food for me. I love eating if I am hungry, if I am not hungry i don't eat. I eat to live, not live to eat.

A Mom's Love

Lunch in high school was a big social event and served as a much anticipated refresher between morning and afternoon classes. But for me, lunch was something I dreaded.

Right after my 4th period class I would go straight to the library and do homework or study. I wouldn't call myself a nerd but I never really had close enough friends to actually sit down and eat with. I used to blame this on the fact that all of my close junior high friends went to different high schools on the other side of town but now I see that it was also partly my reluctance and fear in making new friends. Everyday as I passed by the cafeteria, I would glance in envy at how people sat at the tables and happily ate and shared their lunches with their friends while discussing the day's events. And I also envied how people called each other during lunch to meet up and eat out downtown. Technically, I could've still eaten by myself but I was too self-conscious for that. So, to the library it was.

For the rest of day I would endure the sharp hunger pains which usually hit around one or two, and feel slightly faint towards the end of my last class.

Like any other mom, my mom cared about my well being and would ask me after I got home from school how my day had been and if I had eaten lunch. I hated to lie but I didn't want my mom start fussing over me skipping meals so I would quickly answer yes and go to the kitchen. I don't know exactly when but at one point my mom began to get suspicious and started badgering me with more specific questions, like what I had eaten for lunch and who I had eaten with. Unfortunately, my brothers and sister went to the same high school as me and had noticed that I didn't eat. Of course, they told my mom and one day as I was heading out the door to go to school she hurriedly slipped something into my backpack before I could protest: a homemade sack lunch in a clear plastic ziplog bag.

As usual after 4th period, I made my way to the library where I sat down at a desk in a discrete corner and took out the bag. The lunch was relatively simple, food I could easily and silently eat in the library without making a mess or too much noise to attract the library patrol ladies and get caught (I realized why she had used a ziplog bag instead of a brown bag). There were cherry tomatoes, grapes and already peeled oranges in a small tupperware, a banana, some saltine crackers, a juice box, and a Nature Valley granola bar. Even though it was nothing extravagant, I could feel my mom's love for me through the food and was convinced that it was the best food in the whole entire world. The emotion I felt was overwhelming, enough to make me choke on my food. It was both healthy and satisfying and it reminded me that no one, with the exception of God, cares and worries about me like my mom does. The food got me through the day and when I brought home the ziploc bag empty, my mom smiled, pat me on the back and said, "Good girl." My mom continued to sack me lunches after that and I was always extremely grateful for them.

Food's True Purpose

One commonality that we find throughout the world’s many different and diverse cultures is the central importance that food holds in all of them. In many cultures, meals last for hours upon hours and are a time for conversation and communion with others. However, in our modern society, food has lost much of its importance. We live in the world of the microwaveable bagel sandwich, the McDonalds lunch break, and the T.V. dinner. Food is to be fast and filling first and foremost. Taste, quality, and nutrition are all secondary concerns. Food’s basic purpose is sustenance.

I found myself appreciating the value of food beyond basic sustenance during a trip to Korea. Like many other cultures, Koreans love their food. However, through the rapid modernization and development that Korea has been experiencing in the past few decades, food is losing its importance in the life of Koreans. Like in America, food is to be instant. Time is not to be wasted on food but to be invested in more
“worthwhile” activities such as studying, practicing instruments, exercising, or working. As such, I found myself traveling through the urban centers of Korea, enjoying food from sidewalk vendors and busy restaurants, having the same attitude about food as I had in the States. It was not until my family and I took a trip to the countryside that I appreciated food for what it was. We decided to go to a small restaurant that served traditionally made tofu and kimchi. Seeing the effort and care put into making tofu and kimchi in the traditional way made me feel like we have forgotten how important food should be in our lives. Before modern technological advancements, getting food on the table was a job for the whole family. From planting, to nurturing, to harvesting, to processing and cooking, the work and effort of the entire family was needed and expected to put food on the table. Meals were a time of family bonding, where everyone’s hard work could be appreciated and a sense of team, “one-ness”, community, of family could be nurtured.

In traditional Korean characters, the word for family begins with a character that symbolizes food. A family, a rough translation of the characters, means a group that eats together. Food has lost its place as something that brings people together. Politicians and pundits argue and banter about the disappearance of the American nuclear family and the problems that it has created for today’s youth. My solution is simple; families who eat together, stick together.

Southern Wisdom

I don't miss a whole lot about the South.

I don't miss the bugs...or the humidity....or the hot sticky weather that makes your sweat coat your skin like baby oil. I don't miss the smell of algae blooms, really, or the way that sawgrass makes your legs bleed, or the little barbed stickers that get caught in your shoelaces. It's all endearing... I guess... but if I never see another mutant giant hand-sized male mosquito again, I think I'll live.

But something I do miss about the South is the FOOD, and I miss the way that Southerners treat meals. In the Midwest---the land of "da bears" and Sunday churchgoers, of the last remaining pieces of old town America, and of depressed, suicidal alkie writers---it seems like people, generally, eat to survive; like the winters don't permit much leisure, so you gotta eat what you can while you can. The most hardy Midwestern farmer will advise you to store up for the winter, because God knows it's a brutal widowmaking beast. The snowdrifts will suck the life and the calories right through you, despite several layers of padded walrus/beluga-blubber lined fur coats. Thus you must eat. Fast. Otherwise you won't make it through February.

However, the Southern climate permits a different attitude toward eating: a more wholistic, gentler, maternal approach. Instead of eating to live, Southerners live to eat: and thus, we cater to much more deep-fried, sodium-soaked tastes. Meals take hours instead of half-hours. They are social gatherings: bonding times. A meal done right is something beautiful--not just because it tastes good--but because it draws people together.



Take, for instance, the Southern ode, Fried Green Tomatoes. Now, I love the movie....haven't read the book....I hear the book is quite a bit raunchier -- in a feminist, LGBT kind of way.... But basically the movie is about two Southern women who start a BBQ cafe in the 1920s, and the whole story is tied together with food... from church events to weddings, from honeybees to giving food to the homeless: there is always, ALWAYS a meal involved. This mentality, while not exclusively Southern, is distinctly Southern. A meal is an tangible and delicious expression of love. It says: "God gave you taste buds for a reason. And I appreciate your taste buds."

I think this is probably why Jesus is an excellent cook. This is the guy who invented chocolate and coffee....who came up with the idea of eggs and cheese and tomatoes.... And I would SELL MY CAR to eat some of Jesus's fresh-catch, fire-fried fish next to Lake Michigan. Or Lake Galilee. You know, wherever.

So, in the Southern tradition in which I was raised, I would say that meals should be more than required caloric intakes, more than just Red Bulls and granola bars and industry-sized chunks of soymeat. At home, I feel this is true...and in my experience, most of our family meals are centered around a meal being more about the food. I'm glad God gave us tongues and the brains to understand chemicals by tasting them. It's like a heightened sense of learning. And, for that, I should be thankful. I should try to have a spiritual sense of slowness when eating; to share meals; to take breaths in between bites; to treat myself to chocolate and strawberries; to feed people--not just soup or taco bell--but real, hearty meals like baked potatoes and cheese. For meals are expressions of love and relationship, and they are meant to be enjoyed.

High School Dorm bonding

For awhile, I didn't think I had any good memories involving food to talk about. I mean, I like food but it's not something that I swoon over. However, as I was sitting in front of my computer thinking about anything at all that I could write about, I remembered all the movie nights and rice parties I experienced with the other girls on my hall during academy.

During my sophomore year, a group of four girls, myself included, would get together once a week, "do homework," get out the snacks, and watch a movie. It probably doesn't sound like anything special, but to us it held an air of adventure because movies were banned in the dorm. We were constantly listening for the R. A. to come knocking and take the computer, but it was always fun. The snacks ranged from chips and dip to goldfish, and every so often we managed to order a pizza. It was really good times, and that was probably the most fun year of high school in terms of dorm relations.

Another thing that we did a lot was have rice parties. These were far less exclusive, and sometimes the whole hall would join in. Since rice is pretty cheap and easy to come by, the rice cookers would come out and we would top the finished product with random spices and herbs. It wasn't a big meal, and rice isn't really all that tasty by itself, but that wasn't really the point. For us, the point was that we could take a break from our school work, kick back, and just have fun. Those times I spent bonding with my classmates throughout high school are ones that I would never replace, and the lack of bonding that we experience in the university dorm setting sometimes brings on my nostalgia. But that's a story for another time.

Friday Night Dinner – A Reflection on the Sabbath

All through my elementary and high school years, I remember my family always being busy. My parents worked long hours and many times brought work home, my 3 siblings and I were involved in a myriad of activities ranging from school work, extra-curricular activities, participating in competitive team sports, music groups, holding leadership positions at school, and even volunteering in church-related programs. With all the responsibilities each member in the family had, it was always difficult for the whole family to spend much time together.

That’s why we usually designated Friday night dinners to a small group consisting of our family and 2 other families that we were extremely close to. It became pretty much a tradition throughout the years: our Friday night potlucks. No matter how busy our schedule was that week, we’d always have that specific meal where we’d be together. It was a time of happiness and companionship. Throughout the week, I would find myself looking forward to those dinners because I felt contentment and delight when we assembled together. Those meals sort of reminded me of how God set the seventh-day Sabbath as a specific time where we could rest from the hectic schedules of our week and just spend time with Him. Friday night dinners, just like the Sabbath, were set times in my mind where I could be assured that I’d have a great time and feel contentment, enjoyment, and overall peace. It was a time of fellowship.

Another meal I felt was quite spiritual was when my siblings and I decided to put together a special meal for our parents. Like I mentioned earlier, we’re quite the busy family and can’t always eat meals together. But one Sunday, we decided that we wanted to surprise our parents. So while they were busy running errands or playing tennis, we got the meal ready. My sister and I, being the two oldest prepared all the food. We prepared baked-salmon seasoned with Creole, an oriental soy-sauce mix, and topped with sautéed slices of ginger and green onions. We had also cooked a common Filipino noodle dish called pancit (very similar to lomein), baked vegetarian dinner roast, fried some egg rolls, and had two pieces of crispy cream-cheese wontons. To top it off, my sister and I also prepared a dessert dish called tuxedo brownies. The tuxedo brownies, while it doesn’t really “go” with the rest of the meal, had a rich layer of chocolate Hershey brownies, a thin layer of raspberry jelly resting between the brownies and layer of cream-cheese/white chocolate/whipped cream mixture, and topped with fresh raspberries.

While the meal was very delicious, the best part was my parent’s expression when they came back. They were really surprised and very grateful for all the work we did to put things together. For me, it was really great because we had the opportunity to sit together and eat as a family. While most families (I’m guessing) are used to eating meals together, my family doesn’t really do the traditional everyone eating at the table meals. We eat when our schedules allow, and most times our meal time schedules don’t really match up. That’s why that particular meal was so special to me: I had the opportunity to do something for my parents. The Bible says to honor our parents and through the preparation of the meal, I was honoring my parents for all they’ve done for me.

Spiritual Food

A time in my life that I remember having a spiritual food moment in my life was when my family had Thanksgiving in my house. Normally we have Thanksgiving in my grandma's house, so this time was special. all morning i could smell the aromas coming from the kitchen i knew it would be something special. Whenever I small my mother's food i feel comforted and at peace. i could smell turkey, cranberry sauce, corn bread, and best of all chicken curry. With all the foods and family together their is just a spiritual feeling that can't be explained. I just love the experience of eating all the hot, fresh food and then just chilling with my cousins afterward. just the fact the the good foods are available in the room for me to constantly eat throughout the day is comforting. Food plays a major role in my life. And whenever my mom cooking massive amounts of food, i feel so contented to be home. It's something that can't be fully explained, it has to be experienced.

Thanksgiving: Pilgrims and Indians Revised - Long Essay

A photo of my mother and grandmother-The Russian Side of my Family

This counts for one of my long essays.

Thanksgiving Day brings to mind a day of feasting, table(s) heaped with turkey, tofurky, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and the ever-present pumpkin pie. Except the pumpkin pie wasn’t present that Thanksgiving, nor was much else on the “traditional Thanksgiving menu. My mother and I immigrated to the United States from Russia when I was seven, leaving all friends and relations behind. In her loneliness for her daughter and granddaughter, my grandmother visited us one Thanksgiving. It was my family’s turn to host the Thanksgiving festivities and through a series of odd events, the only person available to cook for the Thanksgiving meal was my grandmother. My mother began the day by cooking mashed potatoes, turkey, and throwing together a salad, but the majority of the Thanksgiving preparation was left to my grandmother, who had been in America a grand total of two weeks and had never heard of a Thanksgiving celebration, much less observed one.
As the afternoon progressed, my grandmother busied herself preparing borscht, cranberry salad, Russian potato salad, and all manner of delicious ethnic desserts. She spent hours preparing her best-loved delicacies for my immediate family and my stepfather’s family. There was only one problem: the plates she prepared didn’t fall under the “traditional” Thanksgiving food plan. So when the entire Harris clan herded into the dining room, there was a moment of awkward silence. The food placed before the children was dubbed as “weird” and everyone looked skeptically about the room as my grandmother waited in anticipation for all to try her offering of love.
Once the prayer of thanks had been uttered, each member (save the Russian extension of the family) sampled the new Thanksgiving fare. As it should be with all days of celebration, the food turned out wonderfully and the day was spent in humorous companionship and enjoyment. That Thanksgiving was the best, most profound holiday I have ever had, for it was the last time that I saw my grandmother and that was the day I found the true meaning of holidays and family. Because the food laid out on the table didn’t matter (even though it was DELICIOUS and none of us could move an inch after consuming copious amounts of it), what mattered was my family’s readiness to accept my grandmother’s heritage and her attempt to celebrate our new culture. No matter what the plan is or what the expectations for a particular celebration are, the things that make a holiday a day of joy is the company and love surrounding a family. For what greater blessing can one be grateful for on Thanksgiving than a loving family and a good life.

Where I live (in Mexico) we do not celebrate thanksgiving as people here in America do. Nevertheless, one of the meals that I remember the most was actually on last Thanksgiving day.
As opposed to many student that went home I stayed at the dorm, so I did not have any plans for that day because most of my friends were gone, but I got an email saying that if we did not have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving lunch we could go to Lamson Hall and we were going to go to different families' houses to eat there, so I decided to give it a try.
So I went to Lamson Hall and I found out that I was going to a pastor's house, which I dont remember the name, but at the end of the day I thought to my self that it was very nice to have homemade food again, something that I did not experience that much during the semester and just being at a home made me remember my own family so that is why
I think this meal meant a lot to me because even though I was thousand of miles away from home it felt like if I was having a taste of being at home.

Magic Midnight Mayhem

My kitchen is magical. I don't say this statement lightly, as a joke or to incur jealously in others. This statement, is merely a statement of fact in my household. You see, my family is a tad unconventional. Random and unpredictable meal times(one of which I distinctly remember being woken up at midnight to eat dinner) are the norm as well as "guest eaters" that would literally materialize inside our dining room when the food was ready. Not to mention, amidst this chaos of mealtime was the constant bickering between my mother and father-both of who are incredibly cooks. My parents would each proclaim that the affirmation should go to them since they taught their spouse everything he/she knew. Halfway through eating, my father would then demand from me and my siblings that we proclaim who is the better cook and settle their "dispuste" once and for all. And ofcourse, there would be an epic story of exactly how my father made his magnificence masterpieces (excluding the secret ingredients that is)while my mother would interrupt his tales with loud mutterings of insults and of how it was a good thing she added those spices when he wasn't looking otherwise the food would be dry and inedible.

All this and more constitutes a "normal" dinner for the Lashley family and to me the joy of eating and communing with my family was nothing short of a spiritual experience. When I smelled the aroma of my parents cooking(nevermind if it WAS at midnight) i knew that no matter how bad my day was going, no matter how stressed I was for the present and for the future- happiness with friends and family was nearby and blessings were right around the corner. I guess this is the part of the story, where I admit that it wasn't REALLY the food, but the comradeship and family that made dinnertime soo enjoyable. However, in light of the simply heavenly BBQ chicken I had last week, I will compromise with an acknowledgement that love is always felt(whether it's emanating from the food or the cookers) in my kitchen.

Spiritual Food

I've never really had a spiritual experience solely because of food. What I have had are experiences involving food, family and friends. One instance was when I was on a mission trip. It was our last sabbath in Ecuador and we had gotten together for communion and an Agape Feast in the church we had built over the past week. We gathered around tables shaped into a big cross and ate dinner by the candle light. As we shared testimonies about how we've seen God working in our lives, we drew closer to each other as a group. It was a great night! It was amazing to see how much of their personal lives people were willing to share with people who up until a couple weeks prior had been perfect strangers. As we were caught up in the moment, the food became an after-thought. Yea, we were eating the usual Agape feast food - bread, fruit and soup - but the event, as a whole, was so much bigger than the food.

In our culture, a lot of events are centered around food. Meals have become social events, something I've just come to realize since arriving at college. I may tell myself that I'll only drop by the caf for a quick meal, but a couple hours later, I'll find myself just hanging out with friends, chatting over our empty plates. After returning to my dorm and seeing the loads of homework I have yet to accomplish, I may feel a twinge of guilt, vowing to really make it a quick meal the next time. But I probably won't. I enjoy taking the time out of a busy schedule to sit down with a friend and just laugh and talk about everything and nothing at the same time. It's very refreshing.

So for me, spiritual experiences with food can't be all about the food. It has to be about the environment, the people involved and purpose for getting together. And of course, we all have those really long days. Days in which you can't wait to get home, curl up on your couch, and eat that bowl of ice cream. As you it eat it, the ice cream melts in your mouth and your stress begins to fade away. I guess I understand how that could be an almost spiritual experience. From time to time, it's really good to have some alone time to really savor what you're eating. The caution we have to take in this is that we don't put too much emphasis on the food. That could cause us to become greedy gluttons. Instead, we need take food for what it is: a basic necessity of life. We need food in order to survive, and there's nothing wrong with enjoying what we eat, but we need to refrain ourselves from elevating food to a place where it doesn't deserve to be - a substitute for our hunger for more satisfaction in our lives. Because when this happens, we begin to eat not only to sustain ourselves, but to fill a place in ourselves that is unable to be filled by material things. This is when we begin to waste.

Rockwell Microcosm

            Normally, my family didn’t spend that final week of November alone. While we didn’t live near grandparents or cousins, there was always a visiting relative, or a close family friend, or well timed trip to California for the holidays. But friends had moved away, or made other plans, and we’d decided to stay home that year. So as we gathered around the table, it was just the four of us.

            Just my father, blessing the food and beginning to pass around the larger dishes. He’d printed out a recipe from the Internet that was in some way interesting to us – using an unusual ingredient, or popular in another country for their Thanksgiving. It may or may not have tasted good. It didn’t matter. We were interested in the tidbit of information, the story that went along with the dish.

            Just my mother, who got up at 8 o’clock that morning, saying she was going to watch the Macy’s Parade, but really just getting a head start on cooking. Our menu had no order, no theme. It was simply everything we loved, scribbled on a piece of paper taped to the fridge whenever we remembered. Just my mother, pulling out mismatched potholders and squeezing just one more dish onto the kitchen table. The leftovers would last for weeks.

            Just my brother, who emerged from his book to stand in the kitchen and try to help. Or to listen to my chatter with only minimal jabs about its constancy. (Minimal jabs are acceptable when you’re an older brother.) Just my brother, complimenting everything he eats during the meal – and then thanking our mother several times at the end of the meal before returning to his books, his projects. He always tried to do the right thing.

            Just me, so excited about the meal that I spend the first half of the week planning what I’m going to contribute to it. So excited about contributing that I make my one dish a good hour before we actually plan to serve the meal. So caught up in my excitement, in fact, that I leave the dish on the back counter and forget about it until we’ve finished eating. Too excited to care, I’d spend the rest of the afternoon convincing everyone to try it, even though we’d eaten until we couldn’t eat anymore.

            Just my family, getting one chance to spend together before responsibility takes over again. Just the jokes that don’t have to be explained, the traditions that make sense to no one else, the rituals carved into existence by years of repetition rather than any sort of reasoning. Just a love that can’t be defined, or even explained, but can be glimpsed in the story, in the excitement, in the kindness, in the meal. Just Thanksgiving.

The Most Wonderful time of the Year

It's almost the most wonderful time of the year... and I'm not referring to Christmas.

Food is probably the one of the best things that God has given us. And within this gift holds the power to bind family and friends. One of the sayings that I heard growing up is "a way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Therefore I was taught as a woman, to learn how to cook and the power of food over a man. Dinner was a time when my family would spend time together eating, talking and growing closer as a family. I think that pleasuring your taste buds and satisfying your hunger puts a person in a such a pleasant mood that all tension or strife is forgotten. I believe that food has the power to bring that spiritual aspect. I define spiritual as the intimacy and love between humans, found in many different relationships formed through out one's life.

But the meal that trumps all other meals is Thanksgiving. During Thanksgiving my dad's family gathers at one of their homes. They bring along their children and spouses and most importantly, the food. The aroma of the food fills the air as hugs and love are exchanged. We sit down at the table, the man of the house prays a blessing over the meal and the family. Then, we eat. As we eat, we laugh and joke and talk. After the food, we clear off the table and the adults sit around and talk politics, the cousins go down stairs and talk and watch movies. This is undoubtedly the most wonderful time of the year. It is a time of love, fellowship, family and food.

Spiritual Sustenance...maybe

So, for this blog Im supposed to equate a time when eating was an almost spiritual experience. I have deliberated and toiled with my memories to try and think of a time when such an occasion arose. Im regretful to say that I can't think of any...Is that bad?? I mean, there are certainly times when eating has proven to be satisfactory, but to relate it as an experience almost spiritual?? Im not sure I can.

So...here I am, trying to think of a singular event when an experience eating left an indelible and lasting mark on my mind. Well...I suppose that the most meaningful times in my life have been shared with other people and so, some of my fondest memories while eating are with the people that I love. Its the thanksgiving dinners, Easter brunches, even the humble, late night taco bell or Starbucks runs with friends that made have made the deepest impressions on my mind. It wasn't necessarily the food itself, but rather the time spent with food. Somehow the food just seemed to make it better. It just seems that meaningful dialogue and a cup of coffee seem to just work.

I think that was in these experiences that food left me on a higher spiritual plane...

Midnight Snack

Everyone needs calories. The whole life thing depends on keeping your body going which requires energy. That's where calories come in. Most of the time, humans get their calories from food, but there is an important difference between the two. You could technically get all your calories from a tasteless grey packet of . . . something. But I'm sure we would all agree that . . . something, isn't food. Food is more than the calories you consume, it's about how you're consuming them.

An excellent illustration of this is the literal midnight snack I shared with four of my friends on that arbitrary line between Sabbath and Sunday. We had just escaped from "Almost Anything Goes" and decided that the ice cream sandwiches the coordinators provided just didn't cut it. Despite still being in character (the theme for the event was superheroes, and we were lavishly dressed for the part), we decided to visit the local Dairy Queen. It was midnight and university curfew wasn't until 1. That gave us an hour. In fact, that gave us precisely 30 minutes to walk both ways. Superheroes (and villains) don't need no automobile. So the adventure began, as any good adventure does, with us skipping down the sodium-street-lamp-illuminated, cement sidewalk, off to eat a Blizzard.

I agreed to join my friends despite living in the community. I knew my responsible mother was likely already in bed and wouldn't mind me staying out until 1, but she would mind being woken up by a phone call telling her as much. I would adventure with my friends, come back to pick up the car, and drive home. Besides, I had the cell phone in case something happened.

Sometime later, after numerous adventures too exciting to condense into a blog post, we arrived at Dairy Queen. Unfortunately, the proprietor had failed to account for the "restless college student" market (or deemed our business too erratic) and had inconveniently closed at 10 o' clock. Wallowing in existential angst (a serious symptom of ice cream withdrawal), we briefly considered downgrading to McDonald's ice cream instead. "Not so!" I cried. "Our trip shan't be for naught. Let's rush over to my house just o'er yonder Rite Aid and liberate the Klondike bars held hostage within the freezer!" The idea was amicable to all, so we hurried posthaste (as all good superheroes should) to rescue those suffering treats.

We quickly arrived, and I hushed my comrades knowing my mom was probably sound asleep (and sure my brother was). We would go in, save the ice cream, maybe grab a drink of water, and get out before you could say "Costume Party!" So, we commenced to do just that. I unlocked the door, and quietly escorted my cohorts across the house into the kitchen. Turning on one light, I liberated the Klondike bars from both the freezer and their packaging and passed them around. As I turned to throw the wrapping away, I caught sight of my mother descending the spiral staircase.

"Oh! Uh, hi Mom. I didn't expect you to be awake," I said.

"I noticed," she replied sardonically.

"Hey everyone, this is my Mom," I said and we proceeded to introduce ourselves. After introductions and satisfying herself with some (in retrospect perfectly reasonable) questions about where the car was and when I'd be back, Mom turned and climbed back up the stairs to go to bed. We too, soon left and, fortified with our hard-earned ice cream, began the long walk back to Andrews.

At this point, it should be obvious that the trip wasn't actually about the food. (Well, not totally about the food. . . . It was ice cream after all.) The food was merely an excuse for the adventure. A goal to be reached however we wanted to. And so it should be. After all, what separates food from calories is the story surrounding the meal, be it about the people, place, or circumstances involved.

Finally, because everyone has their own perspective on the "spiritual" side of food (and because I found the whole incident rather humorous), I asked my Mom to write up her side of the story:

Midnight Visitors.

I’ll just read a little bit longer, I decided. It was about 11 p.m. and another 10 minutes wouldn’t matter. But when I looked up again it was 12:30 a.m.! Definitely time for bed. As I got off the couch, I realized that my son, Theron, wasn’t home yet. Hmmm. That was odd. He’d gone to “Almost Anything Goes” at the gym, but that didn’t usually last much beyond 11 or 11:30 as far as I knew.  

Well, he had the cell phone. I could give him a call and find out where he was, provided, of course, that he had the thing on. The cell phone rang and rang, then switched to automatic messages. He must have it turned off. I left a message, telling him to call me, then I went up to bed.

Not long after I lay down, I heard a key in the front door. ‘Good,’ I thought, ‘he got home.’ Then I wondered why I hadn’t heard the car. In addition, sounds from downstairs indicated someone was with Theron. Puzzled, I got up and looked out the window. The car was not in the driveway, but Theron was definitely home.

I descended the spiral staircase to find out where the car was. From the bottom of the stairs, I looked into the kitchen to see quite a crowd, standing around in the dim light, faces painted with masks and symbols, dressed in make-shift capes and odd clothes. I will have to admit this is the first time I’ve found a crowd of super-heros and villains fraternizing in my kitchen.

“Oh! Uh, hi Mom. I didn’t expect you to be awake,” Theron said.

“I noticed,” I replied as everyone turned to look at me.

“Everyone, this is Mom.”

Various greetings reached my ears and it dawned on me that the crowd seemed a bit nervous, if not a tad embarrassed to see me, or guilty even. Theron definitely appeared nervous. At which point I noticed the Klondike Ice-cream bars in various stages of unwrap and devour-ment which everyone was holding.

To truly appreciate this, one must know that everyone in our house loves Klondike bars, and rights to them are jealously guarded. A new package of Klondikes had been purchased just the day before, and with one glance I realized my oldest son had just given away five of the six bars, and the sixth had been eaten by my youngest son earlier in the day! THERE WERE NO MORE KLONDIKES!

Now, wandering around with a painted face and wearing odd clothes after the hour of midnight while leaving the car at Andrews is one thing, but giving away all the Klondikes in the house is on another level entirely!! Theron, you owe the house an entire package of Klondikes! Pay up!

Love, Mom.

P.S. I hope your friends enjoyed the ice-cream, and the laugh we got out of this more than made up for missing the treat!

(Longer Essay #1)

Spiritual Food

Food for me doesn't generally have anything particularly spiritual about it. I like food connected with holidays or special events or going out to eat, and I certainly like good food, but in general eating is just something I have to make time to do every so often.
One time, though, I would say that a meal took on something of spiritual dimensions for me. It was several years ago when my family, aunt and uncle, and cousins were all at my aunt's house for Christmas Eve dinner. The previous year had been very difficult for all of us. We had had several deaths in the family, one of which was extremely unexpected. It was an awkward Christmas and we were all uncertain how to act or feel or talk about what had happened.
My aunt had turned off all the lights in the dining room and adjoining living room and it was dark outside, so the only light was the backlight from the kitchen and the glow of the candles. Candlelight, of course, has long been credited with setting moods. We were all quiet that evening. My family doesn't tend to talk a lot during meals, but right then we were all completely silent. Maybe it was the combination of the candlelight and the silence that made me think about how lucky we were to be together right then in that moment, sharing a meal. We had already lost some and would someday surely use more--- not to death, but to marriages and jobs and just life taking us in different directions. We were all growing older and who knew how many years we would be able to come together for the holidays. Someday we would part ways and only connect with each other through family reunions (when we could come) and perhaps the occasional phone call.
For just that moment though, we were all together, in spite of the past year, sitting in the candlelight and eating together. And it was a spiritual experience in a way because it struck me how unsettled life is and how grateful we should all be to come together for just a little while. Separate paths joining for just a little while before parting again. That's what I think is beautiful about the holidays, particularly Christmas and Thanksgiving and why I'm always so horrified when I hear of people doing nothing for them. For me there is something sacred about them because they allow people to connect again, for just a little while, before going on their way in the world.

"Cafe-cards" and Spoiled Beans

When I was working as a missionary in Honduras, I had the equivalent of a cafe-card to keep track of how much I was spending on food. I was actually the one in charge of hole-punching every missionary's card at every meal: 15 lempiras (79 cents) for breakfast and dinner, 30 lempiras ($1.59) for lunch. A little over $3 a day if you ate every meal. Every once in a while, a missionary would want to know how much they owed the ministry. I always received a grim response in return. "Carolin, you owe around 1400 lempiras," I said. "¿Como?" That was basically the expression on her faces. And that's when things got extreme. "I'm going to fast for a week!" Easier said than done. She would've disappeared.

I fell into that plight myself. I was discussing with the president of the ministry that I could save x number of dollars that I owed the ministry in food if I were to just eat breakfast and dinner from then on. He hated the thought of missionaries skipping meals because of lack of money. I technically never should have had any conversations with people about how much money they owed the ministry for food because we were all supposed to pay in advance. But who had the money?!

Another experience I will never forget is helping out in the kitchen Friday afternoons. Every Friday we would prepare the food for Sabbath. Usually enough beans to serve 20+ people. This may not seem like a big deal, but there was no electricity at the mission station. We had to pray that the beans wouldn't spoil by the next day, and we used every trick we could think of to ensure that. Bring them to a boil in the evening and in the morning again before heading to church. Some Sabbaths we'd return from church and find a tasty pot of beans ready to put on our rice. Other Sabbaths we had to unfortunately dump the entire pot because it had gone sour. We'd mourn for just a moment and then try to keep in mind that God would provide for us. And He always did.

In Honduras I came to understand what Jesus prayed when He said, "Give us this day our daily bread." We'd sometimes worry that we might not have enough food to serve the guests that joined us on Sabbath. Or we might be told that we had no more money to buy groceries that week. We'd have to get it on credit from the village. No matter the challenge, none of us ever went hungry. God was, is and will continue to be faithful!

Lucky Charms and Going Hungry in the UP

When thinking of a time in my life when food took on an almost spiritual-like quality, one instance comes to mind. It happened a couple of years ago on a week long backpacking trip to Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore in the upper peninsula of Michigan. There's a fantastic hiking trail that runs along the lake from Munising to Grand Marais and at one point or another I've hiked it during all four of the seasons.

My number one problem as a backpacker is overpacking and a 40 pound pack usually isn't a surprise to my shoulders. I had already hiked this trail at least twice, and decided that this time I was going to attempt the trip in an ultralight fashion. So where did I decide to cut weight? My food supply. My daily food allotment was as follows - breakfast: 2 packs instant oatmeal and a fruit leather, lunch: 1 cliff bar and 1 vegetarian beef jerky, dinner: a pack of ramen noodles. This is all I packed for the 8 day trip. I didn't even have gatorade or electrolyte powder for my water! I had no extra food for snacks or emergencies.

Pictured rocks is definitely not even terrain, and about a half a day into the trip I knew I had made a dire mistake. Unfortunately the longer we hiked the farther we got away from Munising and our food source. I remember it got to the point where I would make my ramen noodle dinner at night first eating the noodles plain, and then adding the seasoning packet to the leftover water in my pot and trying to drink it as a stew so I felt I was getting a double portion! It is hard to trick the stomach. I also remember dreaming about Lucky Charms. It was the one thing I seemed to be craving that whole trip. I recall setting up camp, dropping off my pack, and heading for Grand Marais as soon as we got within a reasonable walking distance (I'm thinking it was about 4 miles into town from where we were). Never was I more thrilled then that day when I walked into the tiny Grand Marais general store and bought my milk and Lucky Charms. Spiritual? I don't know. But I do know that in the future I'd rather carry the extra weight of food on my back than starve away in the woods!

A Once-upon-a-time Food

Several favorite food memories stick out in my head. The proverbial "last meal" before heading off to college. The time I (foolishly) went hiking without a granola bar and practically fainted and a kindly hiker gave me food. Christmas breakfasts and how my mom would insist we clean up the kitchen before opening presents (I'm pretty sure she took a certain sadistic pleasure from that).

But the one I want to talk about involves a trip to southern California in the summer time. The circumstances have faded with time, but the most important facts remain: I was between 14 and 16. We were visiting family and I was grumpy. My parents were trying to show me places and experiences from their dating years. They were happy. We went on a nature walk of sorts into a desert-plant garden and my mom was doing her absolute best to make it interesting for me. But it was hot, prickly, and dull. Then we happened upon a little souvenir/food shack. My dad got an excited look in his eyes.
"Johanna! Have you ever had a date shake?"
"No." It sounded questionable. "What is it?"
"Oh! I haven't had a date shake since..." said my mom. So my dad went in and bought three tall sweating cups of a gritty, grey-brown substance.
It was literally fresh whizzed up dates with maybe a little milk and probably about the best thing I ever tasted including a white-chocolate mocha from Starbucks.

And the thing that I find so remarkable about this experience is that I've never had another date shake. It must be the real thing with fresh dates--any approximation would be almost sacriligious and I currently don't live where I can get sweet, fresh dates.

Maybe thats why traveling used to be such a big deal before we had airplanes. Transportation of foods, recipes, and ingredients tended to be limited to certain regions and so you could go to a new country and truly have a brand new experience with food. And once you went home, you would probably never have that experience again making it that much more precious.

Friendship and Flavor

There it was, a neat white invitation tacked to our cabin door. It was the final weekend the camp staff would be spending together at Camp Cherokee, and for the past two weeks as we served during family camp, us girls had taken the time to do a nice thing or two for the guys. And then this invitation.

A Sabbath morning breakfast down on the lake sounded delightful, but we were wary. Young men will be young men, won't they?--playful, mischievous, pranksters. We girls laughed amongst ourselves, figuring that we would encounter a bucket of granola and a gallon of soymilk--and then perhaps be tossed in the lake.

As we, herd-like, made our way down to the dock, we were directed to Adirondack chairs, spaced out evenly behind benches with flowers. The first gentleman to come out of the boathouse-turned-kitchen was Teddy, guitar in hand, who regaled us with quiet playing. And then came the menus, each one prinited with one of our names: Blueberry pancakes, regular pancakes, toast with honey, scrambled eggs, scrambled tofu, granola, fruit smoothies, fruit salad, mixed nuts... and the list went on. Could they actually do all this?

Having grown up with an abundance of vegetables and fruits from our garden and nearby orchards, I am used to simple, wholesome, delicious food. But this spread went beyond that. It was coupled with service and humility in the way that each of us was served, complete with flowers on our trays and a special note. It was an emblem of genuine caring and friendship--we had worked together all summer and had grown close, and they were honoring us. It was home-cooked and fresh food, lovingly prepared at early hours of the morning. It was combined with music, it was a Sabbath feast.

I still have the menu and the note with my name on them, tucked into the front of my little hymnal. I can yet see my gentlemen friends, decked out in homemade aprons and baking caps, smirks on their faces, bringing out trays...and the food? I can still taste it.

food as an excuse

When I was in grade school, my parents used to make me fill out workbooks and read books while they were away at work. My days seemed endless because there were never a reasonable (or so I thought back then) number of workbook pages to complete before I could call it a day. Therefore, I always felt like I had some studying or reading to do. Except when I ate. I think it is because of those summers that I developed a view of food as a break from studying. I took advantage of the fact that my parents weren't home to monitor how much time I spent "eating."

I've noticed that I carried this mentality with me into college. Sometimes I wouldn't even be hungry but would go eat anyways, just so that I can get away from the books. My reasoning was that I had to eat dinner at some point or another, and if I'm wasting my time staring at the same 2 sentences, might as well take a break. 

This view towards food has not necessarily been the most beneficial for a college student like me. Sometimes I'd fake myself into thinking that I'm hungry; I'd create a psychological appetite into a break. I could technically just walk around or something, but I think I don't because it takes less time for a break and I feel taunted to get back to homework when its sitting there right next to me. 

Food has become a means of escape for me, a chance to refresh my mind. 

Food-Spiritual?

I love food. I'm a connoisseur of textures, and tastes are important too. While I try not to judge my food based on appearance, I like the odd-looking stuff. So yes, food is very important to me, and I usually think about what I'm eating instead of just stuffing calories down. I'm even still enjoying the banana bread. My quest, though, is to come up with a particular instance when food meant more than it ordinarily does. Ah, fond memories...

Some of my most enjoyable meals have been, inconceivably, when I am alone. Sometimes it is very good to slow down and relax. When I am home (i.e. not at school) and no one else is around, I sometimes turn off most of the lights to cut down on distractions and eat something delicious. Sometimes I eat by candlelight. It is very nice to just sit and eat slowly and get to focus on whatever I want to, especially the food. Pasta is one of my usual choices. These rejuvenating episodes help me to refocus my mind on what is really important to me. Sometimes my thoughts tend toward religious and spiritual topics. Those alone times seem to be vital to my mental health. Other people might find solitary relaxation beneficial as well.

Come on, click the links, you know you want to.

Bananas, the Fruit of Champions

Bananas aren't incredibly delicious. Sure, they are sweet, nutritious, and satisfying, but a banana is not that much better than the next fruit. Why then do I have the capacity to eat over two entire bundles in one sitting?

I played tennis all throughout high school. Tennis matches can literally go on for hours, and because I sweat a lot, I had to be careful not to deplete my electrolyte supply. During one particular match however, I realized too late that my supply had been exhausted, and cramped up so bad that I was immobilized for over 10 minutes. That is how I lost the regional finals - one of the most important matches of the season. Needless to say, I became obsessed with banana-eating after that, eating one before and during every match.

This act of eating had taken on more than a way to obtain sustenance. It became a ritual, and I felt very uneasy if, for some reason, I skipped out on eating my banana. Conversely, if I ate FOUR or FIVE bananas, I felt basically invincible. Even to this day, I associate the act and quantity of banana consumption with how well one will perform throughout the day.

Spiritual Kimbap

A few Sundays ago, my brother mentioned to me and Arah, one of my best friends, during breakfast that he was craving some kimbap. (Kimbap is a Korean version of sushi. It has rice and vegetables wrapped in seaweed.) Being here at Andrews, we don't get to eat a lot of home-cooked Korean food and there are many times when we are even craving simple side dishes like kimchi. We've learned to not take the food that our moms cook for granted, but that's a whole different subject. Arah and I went back to our dorm rooms and we sat around doing nothing for a few minutes. We were trying to decide what we could do in the afternoon when the same idea occured in our heads at the same time. Make kimbap! We had no ingredients at all, but we were determined to make kimbap, so we walked all the way to the Korean Oriental store in downtown Berrien Springs. We also had to stop by Apple Valley on the way back to get some vegetarian meat so just getting our ingredients more than 2 hours. When we got back, we realized that neither one of us actually knew how to make kimbap, let alone cook in general. We tried to make do of the little knowledge that we kind of had in making kimbap. It got very messy, as we burned the eggs several times, spilled oil all over the place, and we had a hard time cutting the hard vegetables with a small fruit knife. The whole ordeal (including getting the ingredients) took about 3.5 hours and by the end of it, we were exhausted and we weren't even sure if the kimbap was tasty.

Thinking back, it was really fun making the kimbap, especially because half the time, Arah and I had no idea what we were doing and we would make up stuff. I think the best part of it was when we gave it to my brother and his friends, and they all complimented it and said it was really good (although truthfully, we put a little too much salt in the rice and the veggie meat tasted a little funky). Eating and watching my brothers and our friends eat the food that we made, I experienced such joy and happiness that I probably wouldn't have felt if we had been eating the highest quality kimbap made by the best kimbap chef.

Food, the best gift EVER!

I just celebrated my 24th birthday and since it is my last year here I decided that I would have a party at my rather small apartment on campus. The party started after church with everyone bringing a dish or drink to make it a birthday potluck event. It was the most amazing, beautiful event in my life so far. I would say it was spiritual in the sense that afterwards I felt full not in the eating sense (although I did eat plenty because there was a lot of food), but full in that I have never felt sooo loved and appreciated by so many people. 21 people showed up (including my roommate and myself) which was nice since my aunt surprised me by showing up. My friends sang "Happy Birthday" to me in 5 different languages and i got a sixth one a few days later in Sign Language, and my apartment had Little Mermaid decorations which are still up.

I wanted the "gifts" to be food because I knew I would be able to share it with everyone and that it would be something we could all equally experience. Think of it like giving a hug. You give a hug (or food in this case) and you get one back at the same time. Even those who didn't bring a dish, but came simply because it was my birthday made it special. If every last one of my birthdays could like this one I would be thrilled. It was better than any Thanksgiving, Christmas, or any "food oriented" holiday I have celebrated. It wasn't just a family (in the literal sense of the word) gathering and everyone pitched in to make it special; no one person got all or most of the credit and there was a ton of love in the room. Not just for me, but for everyone that was there. It is something I want to do again not just for me, but for my other friends too.

As one of my special friends once said "mmmm that tasty food meal was tasty," and I would say the same about this one because it was seasoned with love.

the food of my family

When I think about the importance of food and how it's production and consumption can have effects in so many different arenas I'm quite astonished, but that is only because when I'm enjoying a meal with people I care about and/or after not having food that compares to what I am eating then, the thought of how the food got there or the hoops farmers had to go through in order that my grocery store would buy it does not even cross my mind. The importance of food can both be felt on a global, physical level, as well as a personal, mental level - the latter of which we have not discussed in class and therefore must post here.

I'm not sure exactly if I've had a "spiritual" experience when it comes to food - sure I've had really really good food and meals with loved ones and friends that have been bonding, fun, and very memorable experiences - but I suppose that something as physical as food cannot provoke a spiritual feeling from me, at least as I define it. However, certain foods can evoke a special memory, they can remind me of people, places, and periods of time that are extremely important to me and I suppose that that can be translated to a sort of "spiritual" feeling.

• Kool-Aid reminds me of my childhood, which I hold dear
• Nature Valley bars remind me of high school and how all of my friends used to tease me for eating something that was as hard as rocks
• V8 and salads reminds me of my numerous attempts at dieting
• Ledo's Pizza reminds me of home and my family, since we used to eat there almost once a week
• Curry reminds me of my Grandma and family get-togethers at her house, with more than a dozen white people eating home-cooked Indian food
• Roti reminds me of one of my best friends and how I used to steal her lunch every day senior year and made her promise me that before I get married she's going to give me cooking lessons for a year
• Samosas remind me of receptions after church
• Chicken wings remind me of the lengths my guy friends would go to get them
• Thai stir-fry reminds me of the trips my friends and I would make last year to escape Andrews for some good food
• Jamba Juice smoothies remind me of three of my best friends and summer
• Chipotle burritos remind me of home and all my friends
• Salmon and Special K loaf remind me of my mom and how everyone loves the Sabbath dinners she makes and the fellowship everyone experiences as they eat it
• Popcorn reminds me of my day since he eats it every Saturday night
• Pastel mints remind me of my god grandma since she makes them
• Apple Sauce reminds me of my baby cousin that I babysat this summer and how cute it was to watch him eat it

Each one of these foods are delicious, but just the thought of them brings on something that is so much more than their actual taste - it's the person, the place, the moment(s) that are associated with the food. I'm a very sentimental person, and when I say "very" I mean "very", so when I get home having that specific Sabbath dinner will probably lead to a speech about how thankful I am for my family and friends, etc. and when I eat curry I may just break down since my grandma is very sick and who knows how much longer she'll be able to make those dishes for me. The memories I experience, the reminders of the love I have all around me, are the spiritual feelings you could say that food can bring me personally.

Global Cooperation: Ideal But Is It Feasible?

(Published by Steve Davis on behalf of asumbrad.)

You can ask anyone around the world, and I’m pretty sure that they will all agree that our world is damaged: poverty is rampant among many countries, rapid growth in population is a problem for countries that can’t support the sudden escalation of people, environment degradation due to human has contributed to global warming, destruction of ecosystems, and loss of species. In the first two chapters of his book Common Wealth, Jeffrey Sachs addresses these issues by stressing global cooperation as the key to fixing these problems.
I agree with Sachs’ belief that humanity shares a common fate. Similar to the butterfly effect, my actions on one side of the world, though seemingly unimportant, can have a huge impact on people living on the other side of the world. If America suffered a total devastation in our economy, it could negatively (or positively) affect the economy of other countries. And while we may not always realize it, the economic problems poverty stricken countries in Africa will/can also have an affect on America. Though people identify themselves as part of different countries or nations, all people are intrinsically connected with each other.
The idea that all people are essentially connected was the basis by which Sachs’ proposes the logical idea to fix the economic problems of our world is international cooperation. Ideally, Sachs’ proposal would be correct. If people worked towards the betterment of society on a global scale instead of looking out for their own interests, I believe society would eventually be able to rectify its economic problems. Unfortunately, the real problem lies in the implementation of Sachs’ proposal. Firstly, would countries be able to overcome their distrust of each other in order for them to cooperate together? And secondly, if by chance the world united as one, who would make the decision for what changes had to be made? It’s hard enough to get people of one country to make a unanimous decision, how much more if all countries were involved? Then, there’s the issue of “fairness”. Should the rich help the poor? And if so, then to what degree? Who would make those decisions?

Home Sweet Home

Last school year I was in Argentina and it was an amazing adventure. Second semester I had two new roommates, Fiorella and Any (prounounced Annie), neither of whom spoke any English, but we soon became great friends. As we were talking one night, Fiorella and I discovered that we both loved this sandwich place right by the park. So we planned a girls night, we would go get the sandwiches to go and come back to the room to eat and watch movies. I loved those burgers, there was something in the burger itself, that made it taste so wonderful.

We picked a night, we got out food, came back in the room, and set everything up. And the smells were just so delicious. The burger was pretty big, the bread was soft, there was lettuce, tomato, and egg. And for some reason you had to eat it with a knife and fork, because it just tastes better that way. We barely talked while we were eating our food, because we were all engrossed with the flavors and tastes, but afterwards, we just couldn't stop talking about how yummy it had been. Then we went back to normal and talked about girl stuff, watched a chick flick and had a great time.

I would say that is the last great meal I had and it was spiritual in a sense that, we had this simple sandwich and it just blew my mind and I got to share it with good people. It's all the ingredients for a terrific meal.

Sabbath Feast at Nana's

Before my grandma and grandpa on my mother's side moved down to sunny Florida, Nana used to cook us a special meal every Sabbath.  But this wasn't just any ordinary Sabbath lunch.  Nana would slave away for hours on Friday night to make sure all her best dishes were ready for us the next day.  Unlike the average American home, I come from a truly culture-enriched Hungarian  family.  This meant that we got to eat the Hungarian food-- goulash, kiflis, stuffed red peppers, cabbage rolls, baklava, and of coarse Nana's soup that could heal any sickness.  Let me tell you, you did not leave that house hungry. 

After a quiet prayer was muttered by my pastor Grandpa, the aura in the room would change immediately.  Loud chatter of Hungarian mixed with Yugoslavian and a few names like my own thrown into the mix, created a chaotic environment.  When my friends come visit and eat lunch with all of us they always ask, "Oh my gosh what is everyone fighting about?" I then reply with something like "Oh, don't worry, Nana was just asking mom to pass the peppers".  The food was delicious, but if you thought that it would be quiet while we ate you would be mistaken.  If you collected a bunch of food on your plate but then somehow could not finish it--oh boy were you in trouble.  Tradition is if you can't finish your food, the only way to be excused is to cry because you are already so full you could not possibly eat one more bite.  

Those meals were unforgettable, and now they are only more special because they are only about twice a year because they moved.  Every Sabbath was a blessing, was filled with joy and chatter, and not one was ever the same as the last. 

Back to School Noms

The most recent time that the mundane act of eating became spiritual experience for me was my first meal back at Andrews University. When I say that it was a spiritual experience, i don't mean that angels came down from heaven to sing the praises of Sam's Chicken while a beam of holy light shone on my plate. By spiritual, I mean that it was a meal that meant something to me besides being a tasty meal or energy to live.
My first meal back at Andrews was a spiritual experience in that it signified that the new year is really underway. It signified that being back is a real thing, not just an interlude in the academic sphere. This is so important to me because I almost didn't get to come back to Andrews this year. I had some issues with my financial aid, and was sure that I wouldn't be able to come back. There simply wasn't enough money. However, God gave me a way to get back here (granted, it was with a loan that I'll be paying for until Kingdom Come). So when I walked into the AU cafeteria for the first time this year, I nearly wept with joy. From what I've seen, there's a lot of weeping connected with the caf, but not usually with joy.
Anyway, I don't remember what I ate that night, but I do remember how good it tasted to me. It tasted like the promise of a new year.

I Can't Carry My Groceries.

Paper or plastic? Paper or plastic? Ever since we were tiny, we've heard that question asked every time we go to the grocery store. Mostly, our parents, for convenience's sake, asked for plastic. As we grew older, we questioned the wisdom of our parents' choice, because we heard, whether in school or on TV, that plastic bags never broke down and would fill up landfills for ETERNITY. Now, as I'm looking over my classmates' own educated answer to the question, "paper or plastic?" I find myself coming to the startled and somewhat confused conclusion that neither plastic nor paper bags are actually very environmentally friendly.

According to www.bankrate.com (who asked environmentalists, scientists, and bag makers), paper bags, contrary to popular belief, are no better than plastic bags. They take up more space in landfills and take more energy to make in the first place. Also, paper bag plants spew harmful chemicals into the air during the manufacturing process.

On the other hand, plastic isn't biodegradable at all, and is also made using harmful chemicals and pollutive processes.

What to do, then? I have heard two workable solutions, both put forward by environmentalists and economists. The first is to reuse the bags that we already have. This seems like a workable solution, but only in the short run, because paper and plastic bags simply aren't that sturdy. They'll fall apart after just a few uses. The other option is, of course, cloth bags. These are sold everywhere now, from Walmart to the campus bookstore. They are sturdy, handy, more environmentally sound than paper or plastic in the long run (according to many), and are often hideously expensive. In the long run, they might seem cheaper-not to mention better for the environment-but what college student has money to pour into reusable grocery bags?

The answer to the question "paper or plastic?" isn't an easy one. Personally, I'll probably keep on using plastic when I'm at home, because I reuse the bags for other things, specifically cat litter. However, if I'm at school (where there are no cats), I would much rather use a reusable cloth bag or two, or, even better, just stuff my purchases into my backpack.

We spoke in class how it seems that humanity doesn't seem to want to act upon the evidence given us about taking care of the earth. The true problems are lost in the semantics of the global warming debate. But should it really matter whether or not we are threatened with destroying the world's ability to provide for us? We were given a task at creation to care for our home. That obviously hasn't worked out too well thus far. Now that green is posh, the Christian community--which should have been at the forefront of this movement many years ago--has an opportunity to share a message of good stewardship with a secular world.

I gave up buying styrofoam several years ago, and have substituted it with reusable mugs and plates. On a short-term basis, styrofoam has a smaller carbon footprint than a ceramic mug because it is easier to produce. However, if you reuse a mug for several years, it eventually evens out the carbon produced. I drink at least one cup of coffee or tea every day, and if I used a new styrofoam cup every time, that would amount to several thousand cups over the course of one year. I don't replace my mugs every day. I have had my current mugs for over a year, and plan on keeping them for much longer.

Another option for ceramic mugs is to make your own. There are many local ceramic shops where you can decorate your own mugs and have them fired in a smaller (and therefore more energy-efficient) kiln. You don't even have to throw the mugs on a wheel. These shops usually use plaster molds with a viscous clay called slip. All greenware (unfired pottery) is ground up and mixed with water to recycle the slip until it is all used up. Besides being 'green'--no pun intended--making your own pottery is more fun.

Which is worse: Styrofoam or Ceramic?

When I first heard this assignment, I thought it would be a no brainer. Generally, I consider reusable objects to have less ecological impact than reusable ones. However, once I began to look at the energy used in production, plus the energy that would be needed to keep the ceramic cup usable, I was surprised how wrong I actually was.

In a study done by theInstitute of Lifestyle Assesment, they tested the difference between using a styrofoam, plastic, or ceramic cup for your morning coffee. What I realized is that there is more involved than just using the cup. They also calculated how much energy it would cost for production and shipping of the soap that would be used to wash it every morning. Then there was the energy used by the dishwasher, since very few people hand wash anything anymore. Their final tally was that in order to break even with energy wise with the styrofoam, they would have to use the ceramic cup 1000 times. That's a little over three years of a cup of coffee in the same cup every morning.

Now, even though energy waste is a type of pollution, I do still think that using a ceramic cup is still the best idea. Styrofoam is one of the things that we've managed to create that is basically as unbiodegradable (is that a word?) as it could possibly get. It is virtually resistant to degrading, which just means that it will degrade, but not while I'm still around. That's a lot of foam just hanging out and taking up space. I think I'd much rather drink coffee a couple thousand times out of the same mug than cover the earth with thousands of cups that will never, ever go away. I guess it's all just a matter of opinion.

Carbon Trail: Styrofoam or Ceramic?

After reading various peoples’ opinions on Styrofoam vs. reusable cups and poring (disinterestedly) over a slew of scientific data on the energy consumption of dishwashers and plants that make Styrofoam and ceramic cups, I have come to a conclusion: the cup controversy is not a very clear cut argument. If the cup is good quality and is reused for many years, then the energy consumption used to make the ceramic cup leaves less of a carbon footprint than using a new Styrofoam cup every day. But this all depends on the individual consumer; if a person reuses one Styrofoam cup to last for a week or two, then it leaves a smaller carbon footprint than the combined energy consumption of making a ceramic cup and washing it in a dishwasher. There are so many variables, such as: the amount of carbon emissions released by each Styrofoam or reusable cup manufacturer, which method one uses to clean dishes (dishwasher vs. hand washing), and how efficient one’s dishwasher is. So it really is hard to tell which type of drink is more eco-friendly. My personal opinion is that the reusable cup is more eco friendly and will last longer.
I believe that the real issue is that we need to attempt to leave the smallest carbon footprint that we can with the information available to us. Instead of spending multiple hours arguing over the nuances of the cup controversy, we should do the research for ourselves and decide how we will live and the decisions we will make to leave the smallest carbon footprint that we reasonably can. I plan on living my life as conscientiously as I can, playing my part to not trash my corner of the world in my time here.

Paper, Plastic or Cloth?

You're at the grocery store, about to pay for your food, and you get that nerve-wrecking question, "Paper or plastic?". If you care about the environment, you take a mintute to decide which would be more environmently friendly. Paper seems to be more easily recycable, but what about those trees? Plastic seems to be a no-no, because you've seen so many stray, plastic bags littered across the streets and don't want to contribute to that mess. Besides, it seems like it takes a lot more work to make plastic bags, because they're made of artificial material. And it's mostly likely less recycable because of that... Paper it is!
With so much information out there on the debate of "Paper or Plastic," it's hard to determine which would have the least effect on the environment. While paper bags may seem to be a better alternative to plastic, paper bags have their own downside. Looking past the fact that the production of paper bags is contributing to our dwindling forests, paper bag production produces more greenhouse gas than plastic bag production. Paper bags use 3.4 times more energy and 17 times more water to produce than plastic bags. But plastic bags are made of a non-renewable source, polyethylene, and take hundreds of years to break down. Plastic bags take up less landfill space than paper bags, but the comparison of the evils of both paper and plastic bags could go on forever! Why don't we just switch to cloth?
By using and reusing cloth bags, we could really decrease our carbon footprint. Think about it. Using the same bag, everytime we shopped, would save a lot of resources. Instead of choosing either paper or plastic, we've elevated to the choice of cloth. Cloth that can be reused time and time again, would lessen our carbon footprint by a whole lot.

Jesus doesn't love you more if you bring your own mug (but you should do it anyway)

I'm a big waster.

Ask anyone who rode in my car last semester, and they'll tell you that they've never seen so many half-drunk plastic water bottles in their life. And being an officer in the University "Green" club, and a good-intentioned failing environmentalist, I struggle over issues like this. It's like I will buy the t-shirt because it says GREEN on it -- and totally ignore the fact that this shirt has a size-14 carbon footprint, was made in China by children in sweatshops, and is printed on the farthest thing from fair-trade organic cotton..... The price of being cool and trendy, I guess.

I wasn't even quite sure what a carbon footprint was, to be honest: just that it had something to do with carbon emissions. I wikied it, though, and learned today that a carbon footprint is "the total set of greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions caused directly and indirectly by an individual, organization, event or product" -- easy enough, in this case, the emissions caused by a cup or bag.

I calculated my carbon footprint at carbonfootprint.com and discovered that I emit approximately 10.65 tons of carbon emissions annually -- doing things like driving my little beat-up Sedan and buying things that are "nicely packaged." I'm not sure how accurate that is, but it certainly sounds like a lot: 10 tons is a lot of air. But apparently, I'm doing about twice as well as the average American, who makes about 20 tons.

*Pat on the back!*
Now, dealing with coffee cups. According to CarbonRally.com, the footprint of a single medium-sized (ahem, grande!) coffee cup is 0.25 pounds of GHG.

"That includes both the CO2 released when fossil fuels are burned to create the energy needed to manufacture the paper in the coffee cup and then manufacture the coffee cup itself. It also includes the energy used to transport the cups from the factory to your local coffee shop." - CarbonRally.com

So, busting out the old math skills, that means if I buy a paper.......errrrr......a plastic polyethylene terephthalate-coated paper......cup of coffee once every day for a year (which I drink enough Americano to justify), I generate a good 91.25 lbs of breathable, huggable, loveable emissions that coat the earth like varnish and keep it warm, like a well-padded Andrews sweater.

Well, what's another 100 pounds to add to my 10,000+ pounds per year habits, you ask? I don't actually know. Especially considering this study done at the University of Victoria that found that reusable cups take, of course, more energy to produce than paper cups--and that it would take 1000 or more uses of the reusable cup to make up for this energy loss. I'm not sure how accurate that is....but the thing is: a year's worth of ceramic-mugging = 365 less paper cups in the dump. And I'd say that's well-worth the mug-hauling if all of us did our part....as long as we don't buy lots and lots of mugs every year.

And perhaps it would do good to say that our attitudes are probably the biggest obstacle in accomplishing this. It's kind of clunky to B.Y.O.M. --Bring Your Own Mug-- and whip it out at the Starbucks counter, even for the ten-cent discount.

"Two dollars," says the Barista, as she reaches to mark a paper cup....

"NO!!!!" I shout. "NOOOO!!! DON'T ADD 0.25 POUNDS OF GHG INTO THE AIR WITH MY MONEY!!!"

As I bang my reusable, slightly dusty, three-year-old mug on the counter. "USE THIS!!!"

It's awkward like that. I feel like it's not worth the effort sometimes. After all, are you really killing baby orcas or polar bears by using paper? Are you going to endorse the felling of trees in rainforests by buying a latte? The answer is: no, probably not.

And, in all cheesy WWJD fashion, would Jesus drink out of a ceramic cup? Probably, if he had one. But I don't think that he would take your paper cup and pour hot coffee in your lap if you happened to not recycle it. He's not going to be like, "Why don't you recycle, you insensitive @#$%?!" I think he's much more easy going than that. He'd most likely plant a coffee tree outside, and then sit under it and make reusable mug cozys.....at least that's what I'd envision.

So, in conclusion, though it may be awkward and inconvenient.......sticking that washable, reusable thermos in your purse (or man-bag) should do the world a little good at about 1,000 or so uses. And maybe the issue shouldn't be so much about how we use our materials, but why we use them....and figure out creative solutions to problems that are much more rooted in our identity and security as human people than in our kilowatt numbers and consumption usage. After all, why do we buy Starbucks? Why do we buy anything? Why are we so consumed with buying things that we have totally trashed the earth with garbage? These issues are more spiritual and psychological than anything else. I would like to see someone start at the heart of the issue....rather than take the failed New Year's Resolution approach, "Mug more, and paper less."