From: Brothers

I like what brothers give me for Christmas. I've been wearing the soft, cream-colored scarf Tim gave me. He bought it at Target - anyone could have walked in and checked out with a red-shirted cashier, but because he chose it for me, knowing I would like it, I treasure it like he walked the mountains of Peru to find alpacas who would shed their wool, and sheared and spun and dyed and wove with his own hands.

Jeff's hands really did work the stitches on his gift for me - socks, woolly and cozy and perfectly fitted to my feet. He asked me how big I thought Mom's feet were, since our feet are similar in size, and in my reply I told him the measurement for my own feet. But I was still completely surprised when I tore back the wrapping paper and saw the blue ribbing, the neatly shaped heel and foot and toe.

I listened to Sara Groves' newest CD today in the car. John and I like music, and we like Sara Groves, and we like to listen together and remind each other of appropriate songs, and sometimes we even break out in the same random song at the same random moment. Soon we'll have added the tracks from "Fireflies and Songs" to our repertoire.

My only big brother, Aaron, gave me a CD too. I have borrowed lots of his Caedmon's Call CDs, as he's a fan and has most of their recordings. He's also generous and tells me my membership at the Library of Dillow is still good and I should use it whenever I want. So whenever I listen to "Overdressed", the Caedmon's Call CD he gave me, I'll be reminded of the welcome I always find in his home and heart.

Thanks, brothers.

Five Years

Daddy drove me to the interview; I was scared of downtown. I remember the sweater I wore, and that I was early for the interview, and sitting at the table in the back to fill out the application while I waited for the French owner whose name I still wasn't sure how to pronounce.

It was Mom's idea. I was looking for a job to fill in a few free months--from February to June--and I had always liked baking, so she thought I should write Dad's college roommate's sister, who owned this bakery in Pike Place Market. I looked it up online, discovered it was called Le Panier, and found an e-mail address. Sending an e-mail is painless enough, especially when you don't know the person on the other end, so I decided it could do no harm.

Kristi wrote back right away, and told me my timing was good, and I should come in for an interview with her partner Thierry the following Thursday. I was excited, and surprised, and a little overwhelmed with all the unknowns involved. So even though I had just spent a year in Europe, traveling and going to school and facing all kinds of multilingual adventures on my own, I was glad to have Dad to drive me to the bakery that first day. He dropped me off at the curb and went to his office on 5th avenue, leaving me with specific instructions on which route to take when I walked up to meet him after the interview.

Thierry, in a chef's coat and French accent, took me further into the recesses of the kitchen and glanced over my application while I stood beside him at a wooden table. He asked me a couple of questions, like when could I start? And he introduced me to Christian, who didn't seem very social, especially when they started talking together in French. I felt out of place. "Great, you can start work next Tuesday," Theirry said, ushering me back to the sales floor. "You can come at 6:30. Or 6:45, or 7:00 -- it doesn't really matter." I was glad - after all, I had wanted the job. But as I walked out into the cold sunshine, I wondered what I would be doing? Did they really need me, or were they hiring me as a favor to Kristi in honor of Dad's connection with her brother Joe? Who would I be working with? What should I wear?

I didn't even know if I was on time when Dad dropped me off at the curb again on Tuesday morning, since I wasn't sure what time they wanted me to arrive. Thierry showed me downstairs (I hadn't even known there was a downstairs), gave me an apron, and turned me over to Katharine. I helped her make sandwiches and then was doing odd jobs for her, but she got sick midway through the morning and went home, so I was turned over to Khomphet. He ran out of things for me to do and turned me over to Christian. He didn't have anything for me to do and turned me over to the sales crew. They had me bag cookies for a while, but that didn't take long, and then there was no one else to turn me over to. I got the feeling that no one was really expecting me and I wasn't needed, and I went home early.

But by the time I left mid-June (to work in Stehekin for the summer), Katharine and I were fast friends and I had forged a place for myself working by her side. I also often helped Khomphet fill, roll, fold, and cut the croissant and feuilletage doughs. And I had a spot waiting for me to come back to when I returned home in October. My last day of work before I left, we had a sushi and champagne party in my honor. Of course, I had not yet developed a taste for sushi (that would come later), and I didn't drink champagne. But my heart warmed at the gesture anyway.

When I came back, happy to see everyone again, Katharine picked up where she had left off and continued to expand my skills until I could make nearly all of the pastries. Khomphet liked to take us out to noodles after work once in a while to tell us, in his slow, quiet way, that he appreciated us. Kristi was always warm and full of good things to say, and even Christian, who I was thought of as unsocial, turned out to have a sense of humor. There were more sushi parties for birthdays and the annual turkey feast on Thanksgiving eve. I was there long enough to see other employees come and go, and I even began to have a hand in training the ones who worked downstairs.

Dad had long since stopped taking me downtown every day; I now drove my newly purchased Volvo (my first car) to the Issaquah Park & Ride, and the walk from the bus stop through the streets of downtown didn't scare me anymore. The first day I took the bus home, I wasn't sure which of the four corners at the intersection of 2nd & Stewart the bus would stop at. So I waited at one corner through several scheduled bus runs until I finally realized that the actual bus stop was kitty-corner to where I had been standing for probably forty-five minutes or an hour. I got better at bus riding.

I would sometimes do errands for myself or Mom downtown, and the tangle of streets and shops (and even some of the people) became more familiar to me. Thierry asked me if I would be interested in housesitting for him while he was in France for six weeks in the summer, so I became even better acquainted with Seattle while living in what Aaron dubbed "The French Mansion." That was the summer that Aaron and Heidi were engaged. Their wedding was a big event in my life, and I dragged the whole bakery along with me. Katharine and I ended up making the desserts for the reception (I thought she volunteered; turns out I misunderstood her and volunteered her myself. But she gracefully went along and it was a lovely reception.) Thierry and Kristi were generous in letting us use the bakery kitchen for our labors, and others helped with manual labor, advice, and taste-testing in the last minute push before the wedding.

The next spring, as the due date approached for Aaron and Heidi's baby, I told everyone at work a hundred times about the impending arrival, and they all knew that I wouldn't be at work the day it happened. Drew's girlfriend was pregnant at the same time, due three months earlier, and he and I compared notes about how the pregnancies were progressing. When Heidi was in early labor, I was tied to my phone the whole day and as soon as I could leave, I zipped across 5-20 to Kirkland to join Heidi, Aaron, and Mom at the birth center where we welcomed Peter Christian into the world.

A couple of years at Christmas time John came in to work with me, and once Mom came too. They would join the fray making mountains of tarts and Buche de Noel, and get a chance to meet the people I was always talking about and to enter my basement world.

In November of 2007, Katharine left, something she had been wanting to do for a long time. By default, that left me in charge of pastries. I was a little concerned at first, but we got through Christmas okay, and then the months kept going and the case always seemed to be full, so I settled into my new position and quit worrying that I wouldn't be able to get everything done.

The next summer, Jeff was the one who was engaged, and again, I got the bakery caught up in the excitement by making his wedding cake in the bakery kitchen. A couple of months after that, Heidi told us that she and Aaron were expecting again, so the next May I missed another day of work for Lucy Rebecca's arrival.

I knew I didn't want to stay at the bakery forever, and I was always open to something else, if it came along. But it never did, so I kept getting on the 214 to Seattle every morning, and making my way down the cobblestone hill to that squeaky green door. When I wondered if there was any point, eternally speaking, in making pastries, God would remind me of all the relationships I had at the bakery, and I was content. Then in the fall of 2009, making pastry cream one morning, I knew it was time to leave. I didn't want to be making pastry cream for the rest of my life, or even for one more day. It was scary to think about leaving without knowing what was next, and I wondered if it was foolish. But God opened doors for me to talk with my employers, now no longer reserved and intimidating French bakers, but my friends. And though they were sad to see me go, they, too, could see why I felt that it was time.

So, at the end of March, I will hop on the 214 at 5:53 AM for the last time. I will say goodbye to all the good and boring and taxing and beautiful and familiar and comfortable and stressful and secure things about being the pastry chef at Le Panier, and I will enter a new season.

Thanks be to God for giving me this job, where I learned not to be afraid of lots of things: downtown streets, more work than I thought I could accomplish in the allotted time, bums asking for handouts, relationships with people who are different from me. I will miss Tru looking out for me. I will miss Alice's bright "Good morning, Julie!" when I first step in the door, and Laura saying, "These are beautiful today, Julie!" I will miss Kristi sharing stories about her girls, crying with me over something God is doing in my life or hers, or helping me fit my bridesmaid dress. I will miss heart talks with Karin about what God is teaching us, and dear friendly chats with Jana, who really cares, and Christian taking care of me, almost like a father, and the family feeling on holidays when things get really busy and we work together until it is all done!

I am not sorry for the five years of my life that I have spent in a little basement in the corner of Pike Place Market. And I am excited to look ahead to what God will do with me next.

Helper

"Oh, flour," Peter said from his perch on a little stool beside where I was rolling out lefsa, which brought his armpits up to counter level. He was reminding me of what to do next.

After watching me roll out a few of the balls into paper thin, irregular-shaped circles, he began taking initiative and helping. First he would point to the balls on the counter. "More, more?" Then he figured out something he could do: when I flipped a piece of lefsa onto the hot griddle, he would hand me the next ball. He reminded me to add flour after each one, and took upon himself the task of using the bench knife to scrape up sticky spots - or just to swoosh the flour along the counter's edge. He made his hands into fists, like mine on the ends of the rolling pin, and said, "Roll, roll!" as he moved them over the floury cloth.

Nana asked if anyone wanted to eat a piece of lefsa, and Peter was an eager volunteer. After he finished his piece, he asked if he could "neat" some more. Then he looked around and saw that the counter was covered with flour and even a few dough scraps. "Neat?" he asked me, holding up a little piece. "Other one neat?" (as he held up a pinch of flour.) "Other one neat?" Handily, it wasn't until the last few balls that he began looking for ways to spice things up by rolling or tossing me the ball instead of handing it to me (accompanied by impish glances and giggles).

And then it was time to clean up. We washed at the kitchen sink together, and then I brushed off Peter's floury front with a little broom, which he was then eager to put away. And he wasn't still wasn't tired of helping. After that, we set the table together (Peter helped to get the silverware out of the drawer and put it all on the table, walking around several times to get the right pieces in the right places. Every place setting was unique, but he does know that some pieces go on each side of the plate and was careful never to have all three together on one side). Then we made a salad. Peter wanted to tear the lettuce ("piece, piece"), and he got started okay but he asked if he could eat some, and after that not much went into the bowl. He would tear a long strip off the side of a leaf, and it would snake right into his mouth. Then he would tear off a small piece for the bowl, and the remaining half of the leaf would go back to his mouth.

So, you can tell from the fruit of his labors that it was done by a two-year-old. But he wants to help! And it's not a burden to him, but a privilege and a delight. I'd say that counts for quite a bit. Peter, you can help me any day.

Love

Thou who wast rich beyond all splendor
All for love's sake becamest poor.

Newsflash: I am much more often like the man who prays, dressed in his righteous robes, "I thank God that I am a good man, not like that man over there!" than I am like Jesus, who, though undeniably above us, did not look down upon us in frustration or disgust, but came and joined us.

Thou who wast God beyond all praising
All for love's sake becamest man.

With Amy Carmichael, I say, "I know nothing of Calvary love."

SELF

Reading in II Samuel this morning (chapters 18 & 19, but also thinking about what I read in the preceding chapters) and, perhaps because of what I know to be the condition of my own human self, I found a discouraging amount of characters to be concerned about the general upheaval caused by Absalom's takeover only as it pertained to their own selfish ends. No doubt the reason this jumped out at me was because of what God is dealing with in my own heart.

But look, starting with Absalom himself:
- Absalom drove out his father, chasing after his own power and popularity.
- Ziba betrayed Mephibosheth to gain favor in David's eyes.
- Ahithophel hanged himself after his advice was not followed.
- Ahimaaz wanted to be the one who delivered the news of their victory to David, yet when he got to David and realized that David would not be happy to hear of Absalom's death, he pretended like he didn't know what had happened and let the next messenger deliver the bad news.
- The men of Israel and the men of Judah argued among themselves about who was more important to the king.

That is not the whole story - David's gracious words turned aside violence and malcontent many times. Several men were generous to David and his household when they were in their brief exile. Many were loyal to David through the conflict. But for me this morning, the message was the ugliness of a life lived for self. I came away not discouraged, but grateful for a wake-up call about what matters: God's will and His glory.