Author Archives: Laura Lindblom

Advent 2023 | The Hope Candle

Posted on by under Writing

Adapted from my devotional article for last year’s Advent season.

On the first Sunday in Advent, Christians across the globe light the first of the five candles, the first of the five thematic reflections leading up to Christmas Day. The Hope Candle.

Hope.

What a beautiful word.

What a misunderstood word.

What a misused word, flung like a threat, or uttered timidly, with ironic hopelessness.

We all need hope.

I look around and see war, death, pain, suffering. I see a culture that has turned its back on God and His Law, I see rampant immorality and acceptance of things that would have been considered wrong even just a few years ago. I see illnesses that even the most elite scientists can’t figure out how to cure. I see the butchering of children in the womb, the desecrating of the beauty of marriage, the destruction of countless innocent lives for the greedy schemes of the very people who should be the protectors, the guardians. People running to drugs, alcohol, sex, pornography, anything that can numb the pain of meaninglessness. It is a world rife with hopelessness.

Because without Biblical hope…life truly is meaningless.

Over the years, I’ve heard pastors talk about how Biblical hope is so contrary to how we so often use the word. Biblical hope is not an “I hope so” sort of hope. It is a confident expectation.

Which immediately begs the question…a confident expectation in what? In whom? For what? Where does our hope come from and for what are we hoping?

Hope without something or Someone to hope in is meaningless, isn’t it?

The Psalms are full to bursting with verses reminding us of where our hope is found, and in Whom we can have that confident expectation.

Lamentations 3: 24-25 reads:

“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,     “therefore I will hope in him.” The Lord is good to those who wait for him,     to the soul who seeks him.

And 1 Peter 1: 3-4 rejoices:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope though the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in Heaven for you.

We hope in God. We confidently look to Jesus’s perfect life and death as the means to being forgiven, justified before God. We look forward to an eternal easing of suffering, we confidently wait for the day when the difficulties of this life will be comforted. We hope in our Savior, the God-Man Christ Jesus. The Jews waited for His coming, hoped in the promises of a faithful Heavenly Father, fulfilled two thousand years ago, and we remember that coming and now we wait for His Second Coming, when “[God] will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:4)

And it just gets better. Revelation 22 reads:

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.  No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him.  They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.  And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

And he said to me, “These words are trustworthy and true. And the Lord, the God of the spirits of the prophets, has sent his angel to show his servants what must soon take place. And behold, I am coming soon.”

That, friends, is our hope. Jesus is coming soon. We enjoy this Advent seasons, reveling in God’s plan brought about in the person of Christ, born as a Baby in a manger in Bethlehem, but without the future hope, that living hope, that hope of something more, this season is meaningless. The Baby Jesus means nothing without the hope that comes from Jesus’s death and resurrection. And His death and resurrection mean nothing to us if there isn’t the hope of a future resurrection.

Hope. What a beautiful word.

Advent 2023 | Celebrations and Stones

Posted on by under Writing

Tomorrow is the first Sunday of Advent, launching us officially into the countdown to Christmas. Although culturally we tend to rush through the next few weeks, packing the calendar so full we live in whirling blur, although culturally we have turned Christmas into simply an excuse for rampant consumerism, there is so much more to this season, and so much need for this time. I hope you enjoy this article that I published at the beginning of Advent last year. I wanted to share it again, since it really speaks what is on my heart.

This time of the year is possibly my favorite. Admittedly, I love this whole season, from Thanksgiving to the New Year and experience what some might term a childish excitement as the festivities begin to take place. So many of my fondest memories take place in the period of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and so many of my favorite family times have been interwoven with the traditions and customs that became part of the fabric of my family. Even though the world around us goes crazy with all the frivolous and self-centered consumerism that has become the unfortunate hallmark of the American Thanksgiving-to-Christmas season, there is so much to embrace and to firmly fix in our lives. We set aside a day to remember God’s goodness and thank Him for His blessings, and then we intentionally fix our eyes on the hope, love, joy, and peace that the Advent season remembers.

In a culture that increasingly tries to erase all evidence of the Christian faith from public expressions during these historically overtly Christian holidays, I think it is more important than ever that families rally themselves around traditions that draw their eyes Heavenward.

I think of the traditions my family had growing up…We had our big family Thanksgiving, usually shared with someone from our church, and in the next few days afterwards, we would usher in the Advent season by putting up our tree. Out would come all the old decorations, the lights, and the treasured Advent books we would read year after year as a family. I think of the Christmas programs at church, the traditional songs and hymns, the somber and joyful candlelight services we would attend at my grandparents church, The Little White Church in Hill City. I think of our Christmas morning Bible reading, reading through Luke’s account of the birth of Christ.

Unfortunately, America in general but even many branches of the Protestant church have either given up on Christian tradition altogether, or given up on fully appreciating and applying the traditions of the past. In the culture at large, I think it is pretty obvious why…The “old ways” have been systematically devalued and the church and expressions of faith have been essentially removed from the culture. For two religious holidays, what’s left for a culture that hates God? Nothing, really.

In the church, though, this forsaking of tradition is more complicated. It is sad to me that a lot of people find the Christmas season just another part of the year, the traditions are just kind of boring and old hat, and there’s sort of a collective eye-roll at the traditional Christmas hymns. One facet, I think, is a rather poorly-reasoned idea that too much tradition and it might become meaningless and rote.

What a loss of such a gift! How silly, to avoid a good thing because it might become less than what it should be. And can’t we having meaninglessness and roteness just as easily without our “traditional practices?” Maybe we should work on our heart attitudes instead.

Traditions of the faith join us with other Christians across the globe, through the centuries and millennia even, since we don’t just find our spiritual origin in the Christ of Christmas, but in God’s covenants with the Nation of Israel, thousands of years ago. I look at how God’s people committed His works to their memory for future generations, two big ways come to mind: Feasts and monuments. Celebration and stones.

When the Israelites were instructed on the keeping of the Passover Feast after God’s delivered them from Egypt, this was why:

And when your children say to you, ‘What do you mean by this service?’ you shall say, ‘It is the sacrifice of the Lord’s Passover, for he passed over the houses of the people of Israel in Egypt, when he struck the Egyptians but spared our houses.’” And the people bowed their heads and worshiped. (Exodus 12:26-27)

And when years later the Israelites were under the command of Joshua, God brought them over the River Jordan, rolling back the flood-swollen river waters so that the whole nation could cross in safety. Joshua, instructed by God, directed the Israelites to take twelve stones out of the riverbed of the Jordan as they crossed over and to construct a memorial, so future generations might not forget the Lord’s power and His goodness.

And those twelve stones, which they took out of the Jordan, Joshua set up at Gilgal. And he said to the people of Israel, “When your children ask their fathers in times to come, ‘What do these stones mean?’  then you shall let your children know, ‘Israel passed over this Jordan on dry ground.’  For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan for you until you passed over, as the Lord your God did to the Red Sea, which he dried up for us until we passed over,  so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever.” (Joshua 4:20-24)

Christmas and the Advent season should be a time of celebration for the Christian. A time when we can proclaim the joy we have in Christ to a world walking in darkness. And a half-hearted participation hardly communicates joy. So set up your family monuments to the goodness of God and celebrate with friends and family. Celebrate Advent. Find a live Nativity to attend. Cultivate traditions in your family. Set up your cherished Creche and ponder its significance. Sing the old songs and really taste the words. Don’t just “make memories” for the sake of the memories, but counteract the temptation to be passive at this time of year and make memories to the glory of God!

We need our celebrations and we need our stones. Celebrations to bring us into a heart-posture of thanks and praise to God, and stones to be a visual reminder of Who it is we celebrate.

Make Something

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life, gardening

In a culture that wants fast and easy, cheap and replaceable, instant gratification and consumerism, convenience and mass-produced, it makes no sense to walk away to something totally different. It makes no sense to do for oneself. To take the long way around. To do it the slow way. To accept and embrace inconveniences.

If you had told me how satisfying it would be to eat eggs from my chickens, milk and cream and butter from my own milk cow, our own meat and vegetables and fresh baked bread, I would have believed you, but I wouldn’t have understood. Five years ago and ten years ago, my heart wanted that. But I had no idea.

No idea how satisfying it would be. How inconvenient and simple and hard and beautiful and growing it would be. How frustrating and elevating. It has moments of romance and sheer hilarity and humbling. And I wouldn’t want to change a thing.

Push back against a consumer mentality and become a producer. In small ways. Learn to make bread. Cook from scratch. Grow a few veggies on your deck. Keep an herb garden. Learn a few skills to do things yourself. Dust off your sewing machine. It doesn’t have to be complicated and baby steps are beautiful.

Because there is nothing like serving a home cooked meal, picking veggies from the garden, or pulling a loaf of fresh baked bread from the oven, or handing a neighbor a dozen fresh eggs, or a gallon of fresh milk. There’s nothing like knowing you made that. A factory in China didn’t make that. A computer didn’t execute that. You did that. You did the cultivating and the picking and the mixing and kneading and milking and stitching.

So go make something.

In the Kitchen | Pfeffernusse

Posted on by under country life, Recipes

As the Advent season rolls into Christmas, the tastes and smells of the season bring back so many memories. A handful of chicken-scratch recipe cards foster a connection with my heritage, and remind me of the many family Christmases crowded on hand-built benches around my grandparents’ long hand-built table. After supper was over and we all were stuffed, a tin of little round cookies would be passed around, tasting mildly of pepper and licorice. The adults always went for these more enthusiastically than the kids, but as I’ve gotten older this recipe has become very nostalgic for me, and I love to make these in bulk to gift at Christmastime!

Pfeffernusse are spicy, crunchy cookies that are a traditional German and ethnic Mennonite favorite, and translate to “pepper nuts” – they do contain black pepper, but add a little extra for a little extra kick! Molasses, black coffee, and anise extract add to the warmth of the flavors in this simply little cookie.

Ingredients

1 c. sugar
1 c. shortening (can be replaced with 1 c. butter)
1/2 c. dark syrup (can be replaced with 1/2 c. molasses)
1/2 c. molasses
1/2 c. cooled black coffee with 1 tsp. baking soda
3 T. anise seed extract
*can also add 1 tsp or more of ground anise seed for additional flavor

6 c. white flour (or half and half white and whole wheat)
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. nutmeg (double this!)
1 tsp. cinnamon (double this!)
1/2 tsp. cloves
1/2 tsp. black pepper (double this! Or triple…or more! How spicy do you want it?)
1 tsp. allspice

To Make

Cream together the first 7 ingredients; add flour and spices. Chill for an hour or so to make the dough easier to work with. Roll in 1/2 inch rolls and chill (or freeze). Slice into quarter-inch thick discs, place on cookie sheets with not much space between them (they don’t spread too much), and then press your thumb gently into each cookie to flatten a little. Bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes.

Notes

I noted most of my substitutions in the above recipe. I ALWAYS add extra anise. My uncle has actually used anise oil from NOW Foods, but I think it affects the crunch of the cookies. I just use plenty of anise extract. You can also add anise seed if you want a little extra bite, though I do recommend grinding them for better flavor, as well as better texture. Also, the quantity of the spices is on the mild side, so be brave and play with the quantities to get the bite you want! I don’t generally double the cloves, since cloves are such a distinct flavor and I don’t want to interfere with the anise, which is the star spice in this cookie. Grandma’s original recipe calls for shortening and corn syrup, as noted above, but I prefer to cook without those things, so I noted my substitutions. But sometimes faithfulness to Grandma’s recipe means something.

The dough should be chilled or frozen before slicing, as stated above, and I recommend freezing, since the dough is a lot easier to work with. This makes it incredibly easy to make a bunch of dough, roll into snakes, freeze, and then bake whenever you get a chance! They also freeze really well after they are baked. Brad and I have enjoyed pfeffernusse months after they were baked, which is great since the first time we made these together we had Covid and couldn’t taste anything.

And there really is something special about baking cookies that have been so traditional for my family. How about you? What are some favorite family recipes you grew up with, and are there any you continue to bake or cook for the holidays?


Ranch Wife Musings | Together Time

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life

“Want to sit right here, honey?” Brad patted next to his leg.

What a beautiful late November afternoon. Blue skies overhead, a gentle breeze, the sun still warm and making the tall grass glow.

I looked down at the heaving, black-haired flank of a steer calf we had choked down on the ground behind the trailer. He weighed all of 650 pounds, maybe more, and had put up a fight for the last 20 minutes, dragging Brad’s little roping horse all over the pasture, while I tried to haze the stupid animal on Henry, a giant black gelding who rides like a truck without power steering. Ten minutes ago, we had worked the calf over to the trailer and were trying without success to haul the ridiculous creature inside when he took off with two lariats around his neck. Dirty darn.

Brad spurred Rocket after him and piled off, managing to catch one of the ropes as it snaked through the grass behind the calf. I don’t really know what the plan was after that, but honestly it was pretty impressive to watch, in a strange sort of a way. The calf charging ahead like a bucking bull with a chip on his shoulder, Brad hanging on to the end of that rope and somehow managing to stay standing. It was all going along swimmingly until Brad yelled, “He’s getting mad!” and took off running as fast as his slick-bottomed cowboy boots would let him. It really was a sight to behold. I kept expecting the fun to be over and a word to that effect to slip out of Brad’s mouth, but he was grinning. The whole time.

Fast-forward, and here we were, back at the trailer with the calf, who had (finally) choked himself out and was laying on the ground temporarily, sides heaving, eyes rolled back in their sockets. Brad was kneeling on his flank, tying his front legs together. He patted the calf and looked up at me. “Want to sit right here, honey?”

I looked uneasily at the calf, not at all trusting that it was really out. And here’s my husband asking me to take a seat on the calf’s back end. All 120 pounds of me. Sure, yeah, whatever you want, dear. I did as asked, not at all enthusiastically, gingerly taking an uncommitted knee on the calf’s flank.

“And here, you can grab the tail, too,” Brad added, handing me the end of the manure-covered tail which was pulled tautly between the calf’s legs. Oh yeah, sure, that’ll help. I took it, obediently, but really, what good would that do, when 650 pounds of calf wakes up, catches his breath, and realizes there’s only 120 pounds of person on his rear? Not much.

“Can we at least tie his back legs or something?” I asked meekly. We did (kind of) and Brad bounded off.

We successfully loaded the calf, and uneventfully dropped him off at the main corrals to be worked the next day with the rest of the critters, arriving home some few hours after we were supposed to be home. I was tired. Maybe a little grouchy, since my to-do list for the evening (cooking and baking for the next day) hadn’t gotten any shorter.

But then I’d see Brad patting the calf and saying, “Want to sit right here, honey?” and I would just start giggling.

“Well, you said you wanted to spend more time together,” Brad quipped.

The Most Important Things

Posted on by under Agriculture and Ranching, country life, gratitude

Originally published in Down Country Roads Magazine, Nov-Dec 2023

As the year wraps up and as the daylight hours dwindle, as the nights lengthen and the sunlight grows weaker, we gather ourselves in and gather ourselves together for a season of merrymaking, with all of its traditions and tastes and sights and sounds that bring us into a festive spirit.

Sadly, this season of wonderful merrymaking has lost its glow for many. Our cultural expressions in this season of the year obscure the true meaning and poignancy of this time. The beginning of November is a tipping point – Suddenly the year is almost over. Some shudder at the thought of winter being at our doorstep. Some of us are bracing for a calving season that isn’t too far away, and savoring the temporary slow-down, and maybe regretting how busy this time of year can be. Some roll their eyes at the wanton waste and foolishness of much of our festive cultural expressions. With Thanksgiving followed ironically and hotly by Black Friday and Cyber Monday, it is no wonder there is some weariness as the holidays collectively approach. Shopping malls are packed out like no other time of the year, and money that we don’t have is spent on gifts that have no meaning. Parties and festivities wear us out. Preparations drag us down.

The wanton lavishness of many highlights the bitter lack of others. Waste on the one hand highlights poverty on the other. Joy of some highlights the grief of others. Even our own joy can highlight our own grief, intermingled in our hearts. Our memories of good times are mingled with sadness at the empty places at our tables, at the missing ring of that certain laughter, the missing voice singing carols. Loneliness is the bitterest pill at this time of the year.

But all of those things are an argument to enter into this festive season with even more enthusiasm, even more sincerity, with eyes to see the One from Whom and to Whom this entire season is due.

The the older I get, the more I love the stretch of the calendar from Thanksgiving to Christmas to New Year’s, not for how our culture participates, not for the parties and the shopping and the frivolity, but because of the wonderful sense of gravity mingled with grace and joy. It is a time we have set aside culturally for the expression of thanks to our God before we enter into the Advent season, the glorious countdown to Christmas morning and our celebration of His entering into His Creation.

The older I get, the more it matters to me that I continue to express the traditions I grew up with, things that fostered a thorough experience of this whole season, from the songs to the foods to my cherished creches to the simple exchange of humble gifts, to the church services and the cutting of a Christmas tree. The older I get, the more the liturgical calendar speaks to me, the more the Advent season weighs joyfully on my heart. The older I get, the greater my desire to build traditions that my husband and I will pass down to our own children one day. It is a time of sweet nostalgia, vivid remembrances, joyfully looking back on traditions that are part of the fabric of our Christian culture and our families’ cultures, and joyfully applying those traditions now.

We don’t know what next year will bring, so how good it is that we are invited into a time of holding one another close, of opening our hearts and our homes, of celebrating and remembering and thanking God for all His gifts, the ones we understand and the ones we don’t. The time of thanksgiving after the season of harvest puts our hearts in line with what comes next, and if we cooperate, we are reminded of how little we need and how much we have. All the tastes and the smells and the sights and the sounds of the season invite us to enter into a spirit of joy and festivity, at the darkest time of the year. Simple traditions remind us of the past, of God’s enduring faithfulness over the decades and centuries, as so many observances and customs span generations and oceans and cultures. Traditions don’t have to clutter the landscape at this time of the year, they don’t have to add to the chaos. Instead, they can foster our heartfelt participation, and remind us of what is truly important.