Life. Lemons. Love.

When life rains lemons, I bake lemon drizzle loaf. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve baked this particular loaf. The original recipe, handwritten by a close friend of my late mother, is found in a recipe book I started the year I was in grade four. I know exactly where the yellowed, lemon juice spattered recipe is, should I need a quick refresher. But I don’t usually refer to the recipe anymore. I know it by heart.

Many years ago, when the partner of one of Claude’s closest friends was waging war with stage four pancreatic cancer, I made this loaf nearly every day for nearly a month. Amanda and I had become especially close during her illness, and I usually spent part of each afternoon at hospital with her. She and her partner had decided that her sickness would not be a solitary struggle. They welcomed company. They wanted her hospital room and later their home to be filled with life and laughter and the sound of familiar and friendly voices. It was an honour to be invited into their intimate inner circle. Their kitchen was always full of ‘family’, the kettle always on the boil, the biscuits always on offer.

As Amanda’s appetite waned, there was just one thing she wanted to eat, just one treat that actually tasted good, even if she could manage only a small bite or two – my lemon drizzle loaf. I couldn’t do anything about the relentless progression of her illness, but I could bake. And so I did, again and again and again. I couldn’t carry her cross, but I could hold her hand. And so I did, again and again and again. As Amanda tired more easily, I’d say, “We don’t need to talk, we can just hold hands.” Silent connection. Connection. Connection. I’m still not exactly sure who was comforting who?

Nothing is so strong as gentleness. Nothing is so gentle as real strength.

Ralph W.Sockman

On one particular afternoon, I cut every single floret of lavender in my garden and arranged them in bottles in her room. It seemed right, somehow, to take everything of beauty I could put my hands on and deliver bottles filled full of lavender and a white candle into this room to honour her courage with beauty, grief with love. I wanted to offer her a little something in the bitter-sweet melange of life on planet Earth as a way of saying “Thank you for being a precious friend.”

After letting her hand go, Claude and I attended a Bastille Day function at the Alliance Francaise. This was her wish. Life was for living. Living. Living. Now, many years later, an indelible memory returns each winter as the lavender blooms in my garden and the French commemorate liberty, equality, fraternity on Bastille Day. Amanda, I know as I know you are celebrating true liberty, equality, and fraternity, in the presence of the One who is Peace. Joy. Love. In my mind, I see you swaying your hips as you dance with Jesus on the streets of gold. He is captivated by your beauty. So were we. We miss you.

“Your first family is your blood family and you’ll always be true to that. That means something. But there's another family and that's the kind you go out and find. Maybe even by accident sometimes. And they're as much blood as your first family. Maybe more so, because they don't have to look out for you and they don't have to love you. They choose to.” Dennis Lehane  

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading to the kitchen to bake a lemon drizzle loaf. You’re welcome to join me. Life, lemons, love!

Dear God

Thank you that on the cross Jesus took the lemons of my sin and turned them into the best ever lemon drizzle loaf. Jesus is indeed my bread of life! Thank you that as we eat of the bread (and drink of the wine – oh yes) we remember this incredible exchange. Our life and our lemons for your love! Oh yes! You give us a song of praise instead of sorrow, You turn our mourning into dancing, You give us life and life to the full. We rejoice in Your love poured out for us. Rejoice. Rejoice.

Amen

What do you do when life hands you lemons?