One jillion tiny red currants,
already simmered, fill
Mama’s jelly bag, slung
on its tripod — summer
reduced, overnight . . . drip
by drip . . . until piquant,
translucent juice
brims in the metal bowl:
suspense, at its sweetest.
Time plus fruit, gently filtered through fabric open enough to permit the passage of light, creates a domestic trifecta. The upshot? Shimmering jelly, to later be spread like jewels across winter toast.
Just typing those words makes my mouth water. The image offsets weightier meanings of “strain” — as both noun and verb.
With the Delta variant on the rise, with wrenching losses and lockdowns barely behind us, escalating fatigue and fear plus diverse opinions can erode our peace.
“There is a physics of friction,” essayist Tim McCreight writes. “Things push against each other.”
Derived from the Latin stringere, “to stretch something to an extreme or damaging degree,” strain takes on different meanings in diverse areas, such as music, medicine, lineage, and biology.
Strain is a shape-shifter. Who knows where it will appear next?
My head lifts, as I catch a Celtic tune’s familiar strain,
or my neck bows over the sink, as I strain a batch of dubious gravy.
Perhaps appetite stages a binge, numbing a mind and nerves strained by too many housebound days spent avoiding excessive heat and smoky air.
Ears strain to decode an accented voice on the phone.
After a 4-mile run, strained muscles benefit from massage.
And memory offers the fraying thrum of rope straining through a pulley, my father winching our boat from lake to trailer. (Oh, the suspense: Would the rope hold?)
In My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers writes: “The strain of life is what builds our strength.”
When we face it—head-on and heart-foremost—we can overcome doubt, dare that next step forward. And as we do, grace closes the gap, supplies us with nourishing fortitude — sometimes, through other people.
Dare I view strain as an invitation?
“If you do this, and God so commands you, you will be able to stand the strain, and all these people will also go to their homes in peace” (Exodus 18:23, International Standard Version).
Thinking again of Mama’s jelly process, I make a plan . . .
- Let faith, rather than dread, simmer.
- Maintain the tools (prayer, worship, the Word).
- Make friends with time.
- Welcome prolonged suspense.
- Savor the juice of simple goodness.
Then feast on a bagel smeared with jelly.
Friends, what is strain teaching you? I could use a few tips . . .
You might also enjoy “Catch Your Breath Here”
Photo of woman by Keenan Constance on Unsplash
Bagel photo by Douglas Bagg on Unsplash
Oh my….. these reflections based on the umpteen possibilities of a word’s meaning are revealing such richness.
What is helping with the strain? (literal–the pulling down/stretching of a mind and heart worn thin).
Listening to classical music–filling my soul.
Resting and trusting with you, friend.
much love~
Now of course I am wondering which composers draw you . . .
One of the ways we celebrated our 48th anniversary yesterday was listening to a CD of choral music by Anuna. Breathtaking!
Do you have a favorite classical piece you’d recommend?
Strain teaches fortitude, patience and perseverance; it also aids the transformation of our character from mediocrity to excellence. But even before the jelly is smeared on the bagel, we find joy in the journey–the process–and live with gratitude. (This is the way I WANT to live; I haven’t arrived at excellence yet!)
Nancy, your words arrive (despite smoke-clogged skies) with welcome clarity. I want to live that way, too, finding small ways to sustain an outlook of “joy in the journey.”
Thank you, friend, for reminding me today that excellence (via devotion and Spirit-led action) ever-beckons . . .
Funny thing about strain, it is individualized; not the same for everyone. Unless you are going for a 40 mile run. Ha!
Strain invites reflection and choice, and actually becomes the tool for growth. “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me” Oh that I would choose His yoke, the one hand crafted to meet my strains, my heart. Funny thing about strain, it actually connects us to rest for our soul.
Thank you for your words Laurie, and the reflections of others. They have provided clarity and strength for my heart snd mind.
Roberta, I’m really taken by the specific “invitation” you mention, to actively engage in “reflection and choice.” And how compelling, to pair this response of the will/mind/spirit with the biblical yoke image that encompasses the body, as well, with that inherent promise of potential rest (whether we move forward or pause, panting), side by side, with Christ.
Speaking of panting, thanks for a Monday morning laugh over my typo. I run ~4 miles every day, and during our recent triple digit temps, I often lurched back into the house feeling I’d tried to run 40.
Like you, I am inspired by thoughts shared in this wise and loving community, a humbling, ongoing joy.
Laurie, thank you for another beautiful post. Your tools at the end are timely for me!
Linda Jo, my first thought about “tools at the end” was the Jellied Bagels. Might be time to fix breakfast . . .
I’m really grateful to know the ideas feel timely, my friend. Thanks for letting me know!
Your ending affirms and challenges me…
“Let faith, rather than dread, simmer.
Maintain the tools (prayer, worship, the Word).
Make friends with time.
Welcome prolonged suspense.
Savor the juice of simple goodness.”
I will add a few thoughts…
“Summer reduced, overnight”
Was recently contemplating seasons.
How this spring/summer has gone by fast.
Almost dreading the end of the present.
And then I heard it – “Seasons are necessary.
Choose to be present in every one.
The choice is yours.”
“Suspense at its sweetest.”
I hear Jeremiah, “Your words were found, and I ate them,
And Your word was to me the joy and rejoicing of my heart.”
“Time plus fruit.”
I continually hear Lamentations 3… “It is good that one should hope and wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”
You know my son is a firefighter.
I too was once a lifesaver at pools.
For anyone to be successfully rescued, one must coperate with the rescuer.
We’re rescued, by the minute.”
Drip, drip.
Nuff said.
Your reference to Exodus 18:23 echoed.
If I do this… do what?
Embrace the present (season).
I… a husband, father and papa.
Me first.
Peace for mine is a by product of my being led.
“and all these people will also go to their homes in peace.”
“Seasons are necessary.
Choose to be present in every one.
The choice is yours.”
Oh, I needed that. Thank you. It’s been a long, grinding, sorrowful time for so many I love. But to remain present, by choice . . . yes. That’s what I want.
Yesterday I prayed for a nimble spirit. Never prayed that before. The words of Jeremiah you’ve shared here slip metaphorical springs into my shoes. An occasional two-step, then, amid the quiet hope of waiting and the resolve to co-operate with the redeeming process.
Blessings on you and yours. Love learning from you, Rick. Thank you.
Very timely as I have just been straining Black Currants from daughter Rebekah’s new surroundings. I will remember your beautiful words as I enjoy the fruits of our labor!
Oooh, black currants. Lucky you! I’ve only had them once or twice but remember their taste with appreciation. Delightful to feel attuned to the seasonal creativity in your kitchen. Blessings on your feasting!
Love, lov,e, love this! Thank you, Laurie.
Dear April, thank you for reading the post and responding with such warmth and affirmation. Your words always mean a lot to me — especially today as I’m a tad ragged from recent insomnia. I’m going to imagine myself surfing on that contagious charge of good energy you’ve left for me here . . . right into my Zoom weight-lifting class!
Thank you Laurie great wisdom and timing. I am taking an watercolor class on line which heals me as I stretch into movement and color. Love you
Oh, how eloquent is line and the quiet wealth it transmits to the viewer as well as the maker/Maker. And what a marvelous means for gentle healing.
The words you use to describe it vividly register across all my senses—especially the visual and kinesthetic. Makes me want to pick up a brush . . .
Love you, Anne
I like your plan, Laurie! I’m going to post it at home to remind me of those wise words..
Roxanne, so lovely to hear from you today. You inspire me to post the list, to remind myself! Thank you. : )
Gonna be rereading this one.
Might chime in later as it drips.
Rick, I’m grateful to hear these words are inviting a second read. Thanks for letting me know.
I’m watching for further drips here, too.
Strain: Understanding hope can be slow is a first step. Incremental change can better be measured in weeks rather than days. A year rather than hours.
A long sigh . . . of ongoing surrender . . . perceiving hope in slow motion as a trait of beauty, soberingly true — and sometimes perilous — and worth the cost.
A 40 mile run huh? That’s more than a strain! 🙂
Oh goodness, what a hoot. I thought I’d corrected the typo during a tug-of-war with the internet. Thanks for the laugh!
Off to fix it . . .