10|24: This embodied month.
A monthly newsletter about God's grace in the little, precious, tangible particularities of a life.
Hi neighbors,
Once each month, I interrupt the typical broadcast of more serious posts with something of a lighthearted test case of the primary message I have been preaching—that the Spirit is present in and wants to lavish grace upon all of your embodied experiences.
Simply put, I want to tell you where the life-giving Spirit is meeting me through tangible means, and I want to encourage you with a few important reminders:
This is your monthly reminder that your Good Father delights in your non-aesthetic moments too.
This is your monthly reminder to let aesthetic beauty build in your heart a bright hope for a world that is to come rather than an anxious attachment to the world where moth and rust destroy.
This is your monthly reminder that whatever your heart is looking for, at the deepest level, it will be found in Christ—and if you are a member of the body of Christ, then it is most likely to find sustainable relief as you invest your whole self into the life of that body.
This is your monthly reminder to stay hydrated, to wear sunscreen, to eat plenty of protein and fiber, to move your body regularly in ways that feel good to you, to get enough sleep, and to floss your teeth. (Not because these habits make you a better person—just because they will make you feel better, body and soul!)
This is your monthly reminder that I am praying for you—by name or by email address if you are a subscriber, or in thought if you are just passing through. (If you have a specific prayer request, you’re welcome to send me a message.) I firmly believe that the very God who created you loves you, delights in you, and desires to heal your pain and restore your heart to life and wholeness.
So without further ado, this is my embodied month—October 2024.
What is inspiring me?
What am I eating?
Well, it’s your lucky day: I’m going to share with you the recipe for my egg salad—yes, the very egg salad of which my husband, Chris H. Smith Jr., Ph.D., once said, “Hm, that’s good egg salad.”
All things considered, I’m proud to call myself a Millennial, but one thing I think our generation has done poorly is to exercise a proper appreciation of the miracle of mayonnaise. (And by “miracle” I obviously do not mean Miracle Whip, because that is not mayonnaise.) For a minute there we tried calling mayonnaise “aioli,” as though dressing it in Italian silk somehow justified its caloric density, but ultimately we found the Official Condiment of the South to be unequally yoked with truffle oil, and so we gave up on the project altogether.
What a tragedy. Friends, I am now giving you permission. Mayonnaise is delicious, and if you are not enjoying it regularly, your soul is missing out unnecessarily on a prime beatitude. If you don’t know where to start, start with this egg salad. Here’s what you need:
9 hard-boiled eggs, divided yolks and whites, with whites very finely diced 1 red bell pepper, very finely diced and blotted dry with paper towels 1/4 cup green onions, very finely diced 1/3 cup Duke's mayonnaise 1 teaspoon dijon mustard 1 Tablespoon pickle relish 9 slices pickled jalapeño (the kind that come in a jar) Salt, fresh ground black pepper, and smoked paprika
Add egg yolks, mayonnaise, dijon mustard, relish, jalapeños, a big pinch of salt, and a few liberal shakes of fresh ground black pepper and smoked paprika to food processor, and blend until uniform in consistency. Transfer to a mixing bowl, and gently fold in egg whites, bell pepper, and green onions. Serve on croissants with spring mix, and store leftovers in the fridge.
What ordinary object is dear to me?
I was honored to see a piece I wrote featured by Risen Motherhood yesterday. In it I talk about how Christ can redeem the years that depression (or any other breed of suffering) has stolen not just from us, but also from our children. As I told one of RM’s editors, Annie, I am grateful that platforms like RM have created a gracious and gentle space for vulnerable stories like mine, and I hope that my story will encourage many precious mothers.
During the editorial process before the article was published, Annie suggested that we add a little more content to acknowledge those mothers who are still stuck in seasons of hardship, and she recommended that we cite Joel 2:25–26 as verses of encouragement:
“Then I will compensate you for the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the creeping locust, the stripping locust, and the gnawing locust—my great army which I sent among you.
You will have plenty to eat and be satisfied, and you will praise the name of the LORD your God, who has dealt wondrously with you; then my people will never be put to shame.”
I was surprised and delighted by her suggestion, because these were the verses—more than any other in Scripture—to which I repeatedly turned for hope during the darkest days of my depression. I love the NASB’s translation, “I will compensate you.” These words stir in my heart great hope that for every season of distress through which I suffer, the power of Christ is sufficient to redeem these experiences towards the end of his glory—a glory in which I, his adopted sister, will someday share in full.
Of course, we will not see the complete redemption of our suffering until Christ returns and ushers in the new creation, but even now I have seen his redemptive hand at work in my life. It wasn’t that long ago since I truly believed that I was a lost cause, a burden on the earth and on all my human relationships. But Christ, in his mercy, has carried me through the darkness, and now I can recognize my struggle with depression as a gift—one which empowers me to comfort others who are enduring seasons of hardship, and one which emboldens me to advocate for the vulnerable.
During one of the lowest seasons of my depression, I created this linocut piece, titled “The Years that the Locusts Have Eaten,” as a tribute to Joel 2:25–26. Every black, downward-facing locust represents the sufferings that I face in this lifetime. But each is followed by an upward-facing locust in a diversity of vibrant colors; these represent the promise that my Good Father will someday compensate me for my sufferings with an eternal life of delighting in his glory, the beauty of which I cannot yet fathom. Seeing this piece hanging on my wall regularly grounds me in a peace that transcends anything this world has to offer.
What am I listening to?
Vibes, but make ‘em a little spooky.
What am I reading?
There are few qualities I value in the authors I read more than I value sincerity, and in All Who Are Weary Sarah J. Hauser proves herself to be nothing if not sincere. Sarah’s words are encouraging (but not sappy), smart (but not pretentious), and raw (but not grotesque). If you, like me, ever feel burdened—with stress, with anxiety, with shame, or with any other spiritual weight—I know that this book will speak to your heart and will teach you to rest in the Christ who loves you dearly.
Now what about you?
All recommendations—for recipes, for books, for movies, for music, for art, or for any other material experience that cheers your heart—are more than welcome in the comments. What are the rest of us missing out on that you just can’t wait to share with somebody?
Until next time—
Affectionate thanks,
HLS