A Tribute to 27 Years

All men have a sweetness in their life. That is what helps them go on. 

It is towards that they turn when they feel too worn out.

Albert Camus

Today is the 27th anniversary of two of my favorite people - these sweethearts who don't look a day over 25. 

All men have a sweetness in their lives, said Camus, and without it they cannot go on. My dad's sweetness has been my mom, from the day he first wooed that pretty girl of seventeen. The life of a small business owner is unpredictable, and often chaotic. Through it all Mom has been that gentle, loving force of sweetness and goodness and routine that keeps him grounded. They are so happy together. And their happiness has not been in the least bit self-centered. Instead, they took it upon themselves to bring six wonderfully wacky kids into this world. They raised us from a bunch of banshees...

...to the very closest of friends. 

They love us so deeply and so well, even when they aren't quite sure what to do with us. 

They appreciate good food and can put it away with the best of them. 

They are fiercely protective of each other and their relationship.

They still play dress-up and make-believe together. 

They have single-handedly raised and educated a colony of offspring...

...and welcomed new additions with open arms. 

They love their kids more than anything on this earth...

...with the exception of each other. 

They are world-class travelers, full of creative spontaneity. 

And every April 26 for 27 years, they get dressed in wedding clothes and pore over their wedding album like it was yesterday. 

Every April 26 our family huddles around the TV and watches, again, the timeless vows whispered by candlelight. Every year the mood is magical, unbroken even when my adolescent uncle is overcome by a suffocating tie and faints in the middle of the ceremony. Every April 26 my siblings and I are reminded, again, of the love that Mom and Dad have lavished upon us - first cultivated in their early years and growing, ever more strong, selfless and free - a love that established us on a solid foundation, saw us through our most difficult years, provided far above and beyond our needs and continues to intercede and care for us. 

Mom and Dad, words cannot express what a gift you both are. God knew exactly what He was doing when He knit all these Hoffmans together. You are both gems, and have given your children much to aspire to in our own marriages. May God bless you more richly than ever in this coming year together!

The Happiest Weekend

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

Eden Ahbez

On the Thursday before Easter, I boarded a plane in early-morning twilight and sneakily arrived in Maryland. I crept around downtown Frederick and covertly visited my in-laws and best friend, terrified that my presence would be discovered. And on Friday, on a sunny mountain by the railroad tracks, Jordan David Starin proposed to the love of his life, my sweet, beautiful, not-so-little sister Christene Marie. He knocked her socks off. She was floored. She said yes, and he swept her off to his sister-in-law's house where I showered her with confetti and her socks came off again (she thought I was in Texas, camping). I dressed her up in a starry lavender outfit and her soon-to-be husband whisked her off to a gourmet celebration dinner. It was a Good Friday, indeed.

There are just too many things to say about this dazzling, wonderful girl. She is bright and an extremely gifted actress, yet after she graduated from high school she chose to spend her time working with youth in local public schools. She ministers to hundreds of kids and has made an incredible impact on their lives. She is a godly and mature servant who I look up to in so many ways. And, at the ripe young age of 19 she finds herself engaged to a man she loves with all of her heart. I don't know Jordan very well yet, but my sister chose him which makes him pretty dang amazing. 

These two. I can't even.

pcs: Bethany Starin

Jordan and Christene have modeled such an admirable relationship. He first noticed her on the front lines of serving - pouring herself out for others without even a thought of "catching a man." He was hooked; here was a Proverbs 31 woman if he'd ever seen one! (not to mention the fact that she's drop-dead gorgeous.) Jordan was several hours away at school, so he and Christene wrote letters for months while seeking God to see if they were supposed to be together. In November Jordan asked Christene to be his girlfriend. In March he asked her to be his wife. Some would call it a whirlwind romance, but no couple has sought God and His will more than they have. What a joy to be home and see Him lavish them with blessing. They embody Psalm 37:4 - "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart." I could not be happier for them!!

Saturday was our girls' day. Mom, the littles and I took Stene dress shopping (she killed every one of them) and to high tea. It was such a lovely time.

Saturday evening the Starin and Hoffman clans all got together for feasting and much rejoicing. I was in charge of decorations and desserts, and there was such a general flurry that I forgot to get any pictures. Thankfully Leah snapped a few shots of the desserts - they were quite a hit and I highly recommend these recipes!

Strawberry Colada Cupcakes

Moccachino Cupcakes* (Recipe is below from my mother-in-law. They are divine!)

Jordan has quite a thing for donuts. I bought the sweetest milk bottles and striped straws from Shop Sweet Lulu. It was my first time attempting Baked Donuts, but they turned out wonderfully! (Note: these were made in a mini donut pan. I piped the batter with an icing tip and there was no mess. Follow the pastry chef's adaptions in the reviews! Chocolate glaze recipe is here.)

pcs: Leah Starin

I got to spend Easter with my family for the first time in three years. We had a lovely, relaxing day at home, and Jared only got a little crazy. 

I have the most amazing family in the world. Welcome, Jordan! :)

*Mochaccino Cupcakes (adapted by Beth Farlow)

1 box of Duncan Hines Devil’s food cake mix, baked with the following two substitutions.

½ c. unsweetened applesauce instead of the oil

1c. strong brewed hazelnut coffee instead of water 

   

Bake the cupcakes as directed on the box and use muffin tin liners of your choice.  Let them cool while you are making the icing.

Buttercream Icing  

1 stick of butter

3 c. powdered sugar

1 ½ t. vanilla

~4 T. strong brewed hazelnut coffee, cooled

Pirouette cookies

Allow butter to stand at room temperature for 30 minutes. In a large mixing bowl beat butter with an electric mixer on medium speed until smooth. Gradually add 1 c. powdered sugar, beating well. Beat in the brewed coffee and the vanilla. Gradually beat in the remaining powdered sugar. If necessary, beat in additional brewed coffee until buttercream reaches spreading consistency.  Right before serving, insert 1/3 of a Pepperidge Farm Pirouette cookie. The cookies will get soft if placed sooner.

Freely Give

Freely you have received. Freely give. 

- Matthew 10:8

When we first moved to Texas, I was overwhelmed by the materialistic lifestyle. Store after store, restaurants and malls and theaters line both sides of the intricate web of highways that is Houston. Literally anything I could ever need is mere minutes from our apartment. As I've gotten accustomed to hopping in my car and driving 5 miles for my errands, I've noticed a strange phenomenon. Nearly every intersection has been claimed by one or more people - tattered, weather-beaten, holding signs advertising their hunger, their five kids, their desperation. Some come right up to the window and demand acknowledgement, or else determined ignorance. Others, defeated, stand with head hung low and have given up making eye contact.

Panhandlers have always made me uncomfortable, and the shocking prevalence of them in Houston makes me positively squirm with awkwardness. They accomplish their purpose very well. It's impossible to sit at the stoplights without a tummy full from dinner out turning slightly sour, or those shopping bags in the backseat losing a bit of their intrigue. My awkwardness makes me angry. "Why aren't they applying for jobs instead of standing out here?" "What kind of parent would make their child stand on the street all day as a sob story?" "Why give them money when they'll just use it to feed whatever addiction they probably have?"

A few months ago my pastor preached a sermon that turned my world upside down. The topic was compassion, the text Luke 6:34:36. "If you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to get back the same amount. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil. Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful."

The people standing on the street corners aren't my enemies. They're not necessarily "ungrateful" or "evil." And even though some have been picked up as proven scammers, there is much legitimate need in this city. So why is it so very hard to give? Usually, it's because my logic gets in the way. Giving cash is dumb. It feeds the habit and may not be used for good choices. My pastor nailed that excuse too. We don't have the power to control what people do with our generosity, he explained. Having mercy requires obeying God and trusting that His justice will prevail. My heart and my response to Jesus' sacrifice for me is what's at stake here. Can I truly give freely and trust God with what happens next?

I decided to take the challenge. I bought supplies and put together little bags with bottled water, a granola bar, McDonald's gift card and New Testament. There was one man in particular on my mind. For weeks I'd driven by him in the opposite direction, my heart breaking for the pain and defeat in his eyes. I prayed that he would be on my side of the street someday. And one morning, he was. I waved him over and, as the light turned green, put a rather large and femininely-wrapped bag in his surprised hands and gushed "Hello-Sir-I've-been-praying-for-you-God-bless-you-take-care-stay-safe." I will never forget that look of confusion, shyness, emotion, gratefulness. Here, at least, I had made a difference. I still drive by him on the opposite side of the street. And I pray that he is reading the New Testament, and that he has found hope.

Right before Easter I gave out another bag. The men look more confused than anything else, but I'm praying that as their immediate needs of hunger and thirst are touched, and a meal is provided, they will open the Bible and their deepest need will be met. How extraordinary to touch the lives of perfect strangers even in this small way.

Springtime at Home

"Home is the nicest word there is."

Laura Ingalls Wilder

It is the first day of spring, which means that Houston has already trampled on the concept of spring and marched directly into midsummer. It is days like these that I especially miss so many things about dear old Maryland…

::green::
So much green everywhere. The greenness of my front yard, sloping downward to meet the sweeping greenery of our gigantic weeping willow. Driving along winding highways framed by carpets of green. Green reaching upwards and outwards, as far as the eye can see.

::Mom’s lattes::
Better than Starbucks. Mild, creamy and faintly sweet. Our long, long talks in the early morning hours before anyone else is awake. 

::kitchen::
Airy, spacious, spring-green walls. Coffee pot and tea kettle. My favorite staples always in the pantry: peanut butter, crackers and dried fruit. Countless parties, people everywhere, late into the humid summer nights.

::neighborhood::
Flowering trees lining both sides of a broad, sleepy street. My neighbor’s award-winning landscaping, a breathtaking array of color as soon as the last frost dies away. Spreading lawns and winding driveways that give off an aura of countryside.

::butterfly bush::
Explosions of purple bloom that overwhelm our back porch, attracting butterflies, bumblebees and hummingbirds.

::swimming pool::
Where it isn’t too hot to lay in the sun and tan away those lazy spring afternoons.

::siblings::
Always a brother or sister nearby to go on spontaneous dates to Starbucks, play lively games of Nertz or Settlers of Catan, cook up delectable concoctions, play catch in the front yard or ride our bikes to 7-Eleven.

::smells:: 

Getting drunk on the scent of spring, so sweet and rich it brings tears to your eyes.

::new life::
Nests of blue, speckled eggs. The tiniest bunnies amid stalks of warm grass. Birds. Singing. Everywhere.

::church:: 

Beautiful songs reminiscent of heaven in the joy, the never wanting to stop. Preaching so powerful it catches your breath. Resounding “amens!” Freedom. Power. God in our midst.

::friends::
Dearest, lifelong besties. The friends you can catch up with and months feel like yesterday. Memories and hugs and so much laughter.

::old stomping grounds::
Parks and highways and stores you grew up in. Everything changes, and yet it is the same. The feeling that you could go blind and be completely at home, for always.

::tennis::
Playing with dad, the brother, the boyfriend-now-husband. Sweating and swinging next to the playgrounds you once toddled in. Places where everything takes you back.

::softball::

Freshly combed dirt and snow-white lines. The satisfying smack of ball into glove. Whistles and cheers, knee pads and catcher's mask. Spring afternoons hitting, running, drilling. The thrill of gameday victories. Medals.

::volleyball::

The recreation of choice at every gathering. Hours in the park with the same group of friends; nets dragged out at birthday parties and family reunions alike. Spike. Set. Dive. The perfect game, the perfect weather.

::Grandma’s house::
The smell of fresh herbs drying. Pumping away on a prehistoric player piano. Grabbing a cold Yoohoo from a first-generation refrigerator. Knitting. Sewing the Civil War costume that won first prize in high school. Baking breads and desserts of all kinds. Feasting on hot beef sandwiches and jumbo shrimp. Exploring the attic and the hayloft. Riding horses, gathering eggs, feeding sheep. Both Grandma’s houses are what storybooks are made of.

With every fiber of my being, I miss Maryland. I crave the beauty, the aliveness everywhere. I long to be home as much as possible. And yet, I bloom where I am planted. I am multi-faceted and educated in a way that only comes from being transplanted into an entirely new culture. God knows what He is doing. And with every visit, home becomes even more the dearest place on earth to me. 

Surviving Lent with a Rebellious Sweet Tooth

Confessions of a sugarholic, featuring handy steps to lessen the cravings:

Step 1: Pray. Pray without ceasing. Ask God to curb this withdrawal that is making life miserable for another 16 days.

Step 2: Eat frozen fruit with abandon. Grapes are a personal favorite.

Step 3: Drink gallons of tea with lots of milk and a spot of honey, just this once. I highly recommend Chai. A pretty teacup is an absolute necessity - it makes everything taste better.

Step 4: Find friends who will join you in cultivating a savory tooth. Enjoy cooking and movie nights featuring dishes like Cape Cod chowder, Red Lobster cheddar biscuits and buttery homemade popcorn.

Step 5: Pick specific things to pray about instead of eating sweets. Intercede for those things while at birthday parties, surrounded by ice cream and cupcakes.

Step 6: Adapt favorite dishes for a sugarless alternative. Top decadent, impossibly fluffy Belgian waffles with a strawberry sauce made from reduced berries, vanilla and the tiniest smidgen of sugar to draw all the juice from the berries. Result? Better than syrup.

Step 7: Do strenuous physical activity to take your mind off your cravings. Train for a half marathon, and relish the weightless feeling of a sugar-free body.

Step 8: Repeat sugar fasts as needed throughout the year. They're no fun, but invaluable in practicing self-control and cultivating a healthy lifestyle.

Now, go eat a cookie. For my sake.

A Weekend in NOLA

For the 85th time I begged to know where we were going. Nathan refused to budge and even made me close my eyes whenever we passed a telltale road sign. Finally, my internal compass kicked in and I realized we were driving east. To New Orleans. Unbeknownst to me, my love had planned an entire weekend seeped in Cajun culture, complete with sightseeing, live music and more seafood and French pastry than I could dream of.

We pulled up to a breathtakingly beautiful hotel, a white jewel set in the midst of high rises and bustling streets. A gloved, tailed and top-hatted doorman took my hand and helped me from the car. We dumped our luggage in the room and immediately took off exploring, like two five-year-olds racing each other down silent, brocaded hallways. The elegance was magnificent. Heavy draperies, fresh flowers and hand-painted details adorned every inch of the place. We stumbled down forbidden stairwells, danced to the thrums of wedding reception music vibrating through every floor, and feasted on complimentary PB&J and hot chocolate in our jammies.

Every night at 10 pm a bedtime snack of sandwiches, milk and cocoa is laid out in the lobby, and guests have a PJ party.

There was even art on the ceiling!

Such an exquisite elevator

 Our weekend was packed, mostly with food. We breakfasted at a delicious French bakery, where Nathan died and went to heaven over the raspberry tarts.

We spent an afternoon at a fabulous WWII museum, spellbound in a Tom Hanks 4D film that literally transported us into the streets of Berlin. Then it was off to a dinner of crawfish and goat cheese crepes, a stroll through the French Quarter accentuated by spurts of live jazz and the lively bantering of locals at a moonlit market, and unbelievable cafe au lait and beignets at the famed Cafe du Monde. We walked home through Bourbon Street and barely made it out alive, and that's all I'll say about that.

Muriel's for dinner

6 pm, and the party begins.

Perfectly cast musicians.

Nate's beignets and chocolate milk

On Sunday I convinced Nathan that seafood is just as good at breakfast time. Cheddar grits and seafood omelet? There are no words.

He played it safe with steak. 

NOLA's most popular form of transportation

The party never ends.

I love New Orleans. I love the architecture; whole neighborhoods in rainbows of color where no two houses are alike. I love the festivity and the beauty and tradition. I especially love the food. And I love my husband who, after nearly three years, has never let the honeymoon die.