Easy Life, Lazy Christian?

Friends of ours gave us mangoes. These weren’t the local variety whose fibers fill your teeth with fur. These were large mangoes with peach-like consistency and enough flesh to make them worth eating.

We consumed quarts of homemade yogurt flavored with blended mangoes, and I froze seven quarts of sliced mangoes to be used in smoothies. After all that, I still had enough left to make several batches of mango butter. We inherited a left-behind jar of mango butter when we moved to Accra and loved its remarkable resemblance to apple butter.

And so, on a fine Saturday morning, I began the process. The recipe in the Wycliffe cookbook suggested cooking the mangoes for half an hour, but being a little familiar with apple butter, I chose to cook mine longer to enhance the flavor. Plus, I hoped the lengthy cooking time would work a little miracle on the texture of the sauce. I stirred it often, hoping the mangoes would break down into lovely smoothness without too much effort on my part. (I know, I know.) But that wasn’t happening.

And then there were fibers. Not in the same magnitude as the local variety, of course, but I took a taste and disliked the stringy texture. I wanted it to be smooth. I remembered my Victorio strainer with fondness, but it was buried deeply in our shed several thousand miles away. So I scrounged through my kitchen for an alternative. A metal strainer with small holes? Yes. A small, wooden pestle to force it through? Perfect.

My improvised system was definitely working, but oh my! I saw within minutes that not only would I have a high chance of beautifully smooth mango butter, I would also become a prime candidate for carpal tunnel, rotator cuff tears, and tennis elbow. Or at least I expected to be. 

So I sent a text to my colleagues: “Cooking question: Have any of you made mango butter without a Victorio strainer? How do you get rid of the strings?”

I hoped somebody would tell me that if I simmered the pot of gold long enough the fibers would break down on their own. There had to be an easier way out than all this grinding.

The response to my text referred me to a blogpost on TCK Mom where the mango butter process was explained. Sadly, the method was the same as I was doing. Even the strainer and pestle I used in lieu of a Victorio were the same ones pictured on the blog, for the TCK Mom host is Melissa, a former Accra gal.

“Hey thanks,” I said. “Same method I was trying to get away from. And please don’t use ‘lazy’ and ‘American’ in the same sentence right now.”

In the end, after reheating the fibers, blending them, and running them through my ‘Victorio’ the second time, I had 1 quart, 8 pints of beautiful mango butter. And, happily, I had a sore arm, but none of the more serious injuries came upon me.

No serious injuries happened, but serious reflection did. I thought of the comfortable life I was used to and my obvious aversion to doing the mango butter the hard way. Part of me wanted to argue that the easier way out is often a faster way which could mean a better use of my time. But I know better. I know my flesh dislikes hard things. My interest in having an easier method was more of an effort to avoid hard work than it was being concerned about wisely managing my time, especially since I had nothing else planned for the day. 

Perhaps my comfortable lifestyle I’ve been so used to has affected me spiritually as well. The desperate can almost always find ways to make the physical life easier; why should the spiritual life be hard? But it is. God hasn’t given the luxury to seek the easy way out of spiritual warfare. He described us as soldiers who will continue to be in the thick of the war until Jesus returns.

Maybe, then, the long day of grinding mangoes through a strainer was actually good for me spiritually. Maybe it helped to grind away some of the laziness that clings to me so naturally, like the fibers do to a mango. 

With that in mind, maybe I'll have to do another batch when our stash is depleted. 

Hippos and Happiness

Ever since he took a broken clock apart, Tyler has wanted to use those pieces in fabricating something. He thought a truck would be fun, so this afternoon he and I spent several hours making a pickup. We used an oatmeal box, some of the clock parts, old flipflops, and pipe cleaners from our craft supplies for the axles. Don't you love those windshield wipers? They were Tyler's idea. I don't suppose the guy who included a barometer and a thermometer on the clock had any idea the little pegs would eventually become windshield wipers. Then again, if he was once a boy, maybe he did.

 
Of course, it wouldn't be complete without having a fine paint job.

Tyler seems very pleased with the end result except for one passing comment: "Too bad it isn't remote controlled." He definitely asked the wrong person to help him build a truck if he was hoping for that. I felt clever because the wheels can turn. 

Sophia amused herself with giving Hippo a ride. 

Hippo is actually Tyler's pal and the two are great friends. 

This evening the lights went out and it was much too dark to play with the newly crafted pickup. Even Hippo turned camouflaged and faded into the dark chair (so much so that it took a Hippo hunt at bedtime). To redeem the potentially long evening, I did a scavenger hunt for the children by candlelight. I gave each of them a used gift bag and verbal directions on what I wanted them to find. When they completed each round, they put away whatever was brought to me and returned to hear my next request. 

Here are a few things I told them to find:

• Something soft and something hard
• Something fuzzy and something smooth
• Something black and something white
• 3 things that are yellow
• Something with four legs and something with none
• Something tall and something short

When Sophia tired of the game, I made them a little harder for Tyler:

• 3 things that start with B
• 3 things that have to do with mealtimes
• 2 things that start with H, 2 things that start with L, and 1 thing that starts with T (He came with a Horse, a cow with Horns, a Light, a Lamb, "and Tyler!")

It was grand fun for all of us. They loved bringing me things and I loved watching their little minds at work. One of my favorites was when I asked them to bring me something that can walk and something that cannot. I expected an inanimate object for the latter and was surprised when Sophia handed me a frog. "It cannot walk. It can only jump," she explained. But of course. 

Play-Dough Pals

One of my newest goals is to do something fun with the children once a week. I had that on my mind when I woke up yesterday and then was inspired to add googly eyes and pipe cleaners to the fun of Play-Dough.

Not all the results were recognizable. Below is Sophia’s cat "with fur," she said, in reference to the strands of pipe cleaner.  

And here is a bear with very big eyes so he can see in the dark. I’m not sure which woods he lives in, but if you are there, I suggest you move. Rapidly.

Others didn’t take quite as much imagination to decipher. Tyler’s rabbit, for example, at least has a puffy tail and bunny ears.

 And here’s a mouse.

And a frog. 

The good thing was that regardless of the results, it was a fun project for everyone, the mama included.