Grandpa Dick is my father’s father. He was a highly intelligent man. He had the engineering kind of intelligence that wants to know how things work and figures them out. He could make anything. He worked JPL, part of NASA, and he put his own additions on his homes. Grandpa was strong and driven. One time, he rode his bicycle from L.A. to D.C.  with a buddy of his. But he didn’t get to enjoy his retirement; by then he wasn’t putting things together very well. We thought he’d teach part-time, volunteer, and travel, but for the most part it was too late.

Grandma Rose is my mother’s mother. She was a little pistol, in the best possible sense. Her mind was always sharp, she had all of her eight siblings birthdays memorized, as well as each of their children, her children, and grandchildren. She knew everyone’s phone numbers too. I think that is where my mother and brother got their photographic memory. Just last year she told me in detail how to make gnocchi and beef brachial even though she hadn’t made it with her own hands in over ten years. She was a great Sicilian cook. She could sew too. She made jackets and skirts, everything. She made perfect high fashion Barbie doll clothes for me, until she couldn’t see well enough anymore. Then she couldn’t cook anymore either, so she taught grandpa Boyd, her husband to cook. She would sit in her seat and give him step-by-step instructions on how to make his favorite dishes that she had been making for over thirty years.

Now things are worse. Grandma Rose has been in a home for 4 years. She has the most faithful husband a place like that has ever seen. Grandpa Boyd is there three hours in the morning, and three hours in evening. For a while they had a routine, Fridays he would take her to the hair salon, and while she would get here hair done, he would eat at the Magic Wok. Then they would go visit Grandma Rose’s sister Nicka. Sundays, he would bring her her purse and her wedding ring and they would go to church. I always thought she’d have colored and styled hair till the day she died. I was wrong. She got a lung infection last Spring. After that, she stopped eating for a while and soon she was too weak to get up, now she can’t go out anymore. She eats a little pureed food a day. She sleeps a lot.  Still, I did get to show her my wedding video.  She felt like she was there. She called me her doll.

Grandpa Dick is getting worse too. Some things were funny. You had to laugh so you didn’t cry. One time we were sitting at the dinning room table and grandpa got up to go to the bathroom, after a minute grandma Margie followed him to make sure he was ok. She came back in the room shaking her head. Grandpa was peeing in the kitchen sink. Some things were sweet. Grandpa would be driving grandma crazy the whole day, making a ticking sound with his mouth, tapping his figure, and telling her to watch out of other cars on the road, and out of the blue he would tell her that he loved her.  He is still that way, even though his own doctor said that he went off a cliff in the last three months. Sometimes he falls asleep in his chair and he is so hard to wake up. Even when he wakes up it is like he is walking in his sleep, and he rarely makes eye contact. Then when grandma Margie hugged him goodnight a few evenings ago, he said, “I love you.” He told me he loved me too.

Whenever Grandpa told me that getting old was a bad idea, I wanted to disagree with him, to tell him to enjoy this season of life. But, who was I kidding? How could my grandparents enjoy the season of their lives where their minds failed them, their bodies failed them, or their spouses had to be put in homes. One time Grandma Rose told me that it just wasn’t right, not getting to live with her husband. “What does this mean for my marriage?”, she asked rhetorically.  I felt like crying.

There was a children’s book series that my parents read to me when I was young called, “Tales of the Kingdom.” One of my favorite parts in those stories, was when the old women, aged and ugly to the world, danced in celebration. When they would dance they would be transformed into the most beautiful creatures, and hunched over backs would be made straight, and wobbly knees made strong. This image has been forever cemented in my mind. When I look at the old and frail, I think this is not how they really are…this is only how they appear. And someday, someday they will be transformed.  I hope that those I love will be able to enjoy all the days of their lives, no matter what comes. So I bring grandpa Dick a milkshake, and I bring grandma Rose home baked sweets. But on the days that it is difficult to enjoy this season, I long for them to remember that this is not the end. Things are not as they seem. Someday, I’ll be reminding myself of the same thing.

Psalm 1

¹ Blessed are those
who do not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
or sit in the company of mockers,
² but who delight in the law of the LORD
and meditate on his law day and night.
³ They are like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither—
whatever they do prospers.

⁴ Not so the wicked!
They are like chaff
that the wind blows away.
⁵ Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

⁶ For the LORD watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will be destroyed.

—————————————-

Do you know someone who has the strength and resilience of an oak tree? Do you know anyone who is known for integrity? Think about that person. What is it that you respect and admire about that person?

Do you also want to be known as a person of good character? Do you want to be prosperous? According to the Psalmist a person of this kind of integrity becomes this way my delighting in God’s word, feasting on the scripture throughout the day.

Picture yourself as a tree planted by the living waters of God’s Spirit.

Now, read the Psalm for the second time and look for a phrase that God is speaking directly to you today. And throughout this day chew on these words. Write them on your hand or in a notebook, or even as a comment on this blog. Return to them in your prayers this evening just before you go to bed.

What is God speaking to you in this passage? Have you been sitting in the company of mockers? Do you find it difficult to delight in the law of the Lord? Ask God to open your heart to enjoying the scriptures.

So yesterday I set out to walk to Aldi’s with my commuter’s shopping cart. By the time I reached the corner of Wrightwood and Clyborne I was dripping in sweat, the heat index made it feel like it was $100. And then I saw that Aldi was closed for remodeling and would reopen in the Fall. I looked across the street at the Dominick’s for about two seconds, refusing to even try that store.  Frustrated I walked another half mile to a place where I knew I could catch a bus to Trader Joe’s. It turns out that Aldi is the cheapest grocery store, followed by Target, and then TJ’s. Jewell and Dominicks are almost as bad as Whole Paycheck (ur a Whole Foods). After waiting for the bus for over 15 min, I saw the bus coming and realized I had left my bus pass at home and had no cash. I walked home. I grabbed a snack, I checked on the puppy, and I caught the bus to TJ’s.

At Trader Joe’s I careful followed my shopping list, for each item I looked for the best unit price, and then I added the price into my phone calculator. I even decided to buy the unpeeled whole carrots rather than the cut and peeled “baby carrots” in order to save a buck. After going through my entire list, I was only up to $35. I thought of a few more items we needed, and wanted but kept the bill at $52 with tax! I’d like to see the American government do that!

Below is the recipe I followed, with a few short cuts: I used Trader Joe’s Biryani for the rice & garam masala from the spice house rather than homemade.  I used my favorite appliance, the  Cuisinart mini-prep plus, to finely chop all of fresh herbs, garlic, and ginger and it worked wonders. I used the pressure cooker. In India a pressure cooker was a necessity. Don’t be afraid of the whistles!

Total Time: 1 hours
Preparation Time: 30 minutes (excludes marination time)
Baking Time: 30 minutes
Serves: 4-5

• Marinade
  • 2 lbs Goat meat cut into pieces
  • ¾ – 1 cup yogurt
  • 2 tbsp Ginger Garlic Paste
  • 2 tsp Chili Powder
  • 14 small Chilies split into two (adjust to your taste)
  • 1 cup chopped Mint Leaves
  • 1 cup chopped Cilantro
  • Salt to Taste (sufficient for the meat)
  • Garam Masala Powder
• 1 Large Onion sliced
• 1 Lime
• 1 cup Oil (can use half oil and half ghee)
• ½ tsp of saffron strands (I used tummeric because I didn’t have saffron on hand)
• ½ cup milk
• Trader Joe’s vegetable biryani

Method:

• Clean and cut the goat meat.
• Mix all the ingredients of the marinade and marinate for at least 2 hour , preferably overnight in the fridge.
• Cook the meat with ½ the oil in a pressure cooker. Don’t add any water when cooking. In my cooker it takes 6-7 whistles and 5 minutes on low flame to cook. Let it cool.  Once the pressure in the cooker goes away, open it and cook it until all the water evaporates. OR
• Can cook the meat on the stove top until tender. This will take about an hour. I prefer the pressure cooker to avoid the cooking odor by cooking on stove top.
• Squeeze the lime juice on the meat and mix well.
• In a pan, heat oil and fry the onions until light golden brown.
• Soak saffron in hot milk.
• In a big pot bring water to a boil, add all the spices required for boiling rice and mix well.
• Add rice and continue to cook until the rice is almost done. It takes about 7-8 minutes on my stove. Drain the rice and keep aside.
• Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
• Now its time to arrange rice and meat in layers. Grease large baking tray with oil, layer half the rice at the bottom. Sprinkle some oil, fried onions and ½ the saffron milk. Layer the rice with meat followed by a layer of remaining rice. We should have 2 layers of rice and one layer of meat. Top it off the remaining oil, fried onions and saffron milk. Cover the tray with aluminum foil.
• Bake the biryani for 10 minutes on 400 degrees F and  then for 20 minutes on 350 degrees F.  The total bake time is 30 minutes, 10 minutes on 400F and 20 minutes on 350 F.
• Mix the rice and serve it hot with riata

This rescipe was adapted from: http://www.myspicykitchen.net/2008/08/07/hyderabadi-mutton-biryani/

I had to take a few shortcuts because yesterday I made ravioli and tortellini completely from scratch. It took me about four hours, and I wasn’t about to repeat that today (although it did turn out fabulous). I used my mom’s pasta maker to roll out the dough even and thin. I filled the tortellini with Ricotta, Mozzarella, Parmesan, and shredded spinach, and covered it in a red venison sausage sauce. I filled the ravioli with Ricotta, Parmesan, and sausage, and tossed in a brown butter garlic and herb sauce. F.Y.I., the main difference between ravioli and tortellini is the way the pasta is folded over the stuffing. See below links to rescipes that I referenced.

For the tortellini, the brown butter herb sauce, and the fresh egg pasta dough.

http://thebarefootkitchenwitch.typepad.com/the_barefoot_kitchen_witc/2008/01/homemade-tortel.html

http://tastykitchen.com/recipes/main-courses/sweet-potato-ravioli-with-pecans-and-herb-brown-butter-sauce/

http://www.jamieoliver.com/us/recipes/pasta-recipes/a-basic-recipe-for-fresh-egg-pasta-dough

So, how does Venison taste multiple days in a row? Actually, not that bad with a little love and creativity. I am glad that one of my husband’s “sports” produces organic meat!

How did I get myself in this situation less than a month into marriage? Well, Joe loves dogs. Last  year he wanted to get one as soon as he moved into the condo, but I convinced him he was too busy and it was not a good time. This was very true, plus I still needed to work Joe up to big dog. See Joe grew up with a little Havanese dog named Snuggles–a four pound white fluffy bundle of love. I grew up with a Rhodesian Ridge-back mix named Rusty–a hundred pound regal testament of devotion.  I used to joke that one day Joe and I would be walking down the street and I would be walking a dog bigger than me and he would have a little toy dog.

Then a week before we were married I was talking to my brother’s wife about her dog and I turned to Joe and said, “how long do you think it will be until we get a dog?” “Two months,” he said. I was fine with that.  But it turns out that I only lasted one week of being a housewife without a constant companion. I was looking to adopt the perfect dog: 1-2 years old, house-trained, non-shedding, cute boy under 50lb. I could have been looking for a long time. But, Joe came to me on his own and said, “I’m okay with a bigger dog, then I could take him on a run with me.” Another time he said, ” We have to get a puppy so we can train him exactly the way we want.”  I also had my qualifications, and top of the list was adopting a dog from a shelter. I’m not in to puppy-mills or overpaying breeders. So we were set up for compromise. We would get a bigger breed puppy from a shelter…The first time we went to PAWS which is the most posh shelter you can imagine, we just didn’t see the dog for us. I was looking on pet-finder and other places. Then two days later, I checked the PAWS website because I heard that they add new dogs on their site everyday, and on that day there were too black lab puppies. They were so cute. I told Joe we just had to go see them. “Labs are huge,” Joe said. We’re not getting a lab. “I know,” I said, “just for fun let’s go see them.” “But, as I have been researching labs are some of the best with people of all ages.” When we saw the two puppies they were so cute. At first Joe wanted the smaller one because we were trying to not end up with a 100lb dog, but the more we played with them the more clear it became that the little one was the hyper one and the bigger one was the chill one. I wasn’t quite ready to make this decision so fast. I said, “I think a calm personality is more important than size.” We started focusing on the bigger one, then Joe said, “So, do you want him? Should we get him?” “Let’s go to lunch and come back,” I said. “The puppy will be gone by then,” Joe urged me to decide. “Ok, let’s do it, let’s get him,” I agreed.

And just like that we went from being a newly-weds to being a small family with our .5 child. Poddy-training a puppy is not easy and waking up early to take him out is not always my favorite, but having little creature to love, and project to share (training him), and most of all seeing him nap on Joe’s chest is worth it.

So, my favorite part about being a housewife is cooking so much. Tonight I am making a sausage margarita pizza on yeast-less thin crust. My friend Abby and I discovered this recipe because we didn’t have much money to go grocery shopping or out to dinner and we really wanted pizza. It turns out yeast isn’t good for you anyway…and this is a nice thin crust and you probably have the ingredients already. Unfortunately my tomato plants died while I was on my honeymoon, but the basil survived. Thankfully I got some beautiful tomatoes from the farmers market.

Yeast-less Thin Crust Pizza

Mix dry ingredients. add 3/4 cup water and oil. Stir until it forms a ball. If dough is stiff, add more water.

The dough will be soft. Knead on a floured surface for 3-4 minutes and then roll out to fit the size of your pizza pan.

Bake at 400°F for 5-10 minutes

Add toppings. For Margarita Pizza brush with an olive oil & minced garlic mixture and top with fresh mozerrella, fresh basil leaves, slices of  tomato and  a few slices of chicken sausage.

Bake at 400F for 15 more minutes.

Joe liked this so much that he ate the first half before class on Tuesday and the second half after class on Tuesday. I had one piece. He is afraid I am trying to make him fat.

Here is are a few of the fiascoes that we went through in planning our wedding: finding that 90% of the Chicago hotels were booked due to a conference and we couldn’t get a block of rooms or a honeymoon suite downtown,  discovering that our reception venue could not formally seat 150 guests after the invitations were sent out and my parents had purchased over 150 place-mats in India, when the U.S. postal service lost my engagement ring for over 24hrs, and when the bar owner downstairs from our venue threatened to call the cops on any events held on the weekends at the Portfoilio Annex and we were asked to move our reception (luckily though it was a longer story we just ended the party at 10pm).  All of this combined with making $1,000 decisions everyday with your fiance, your parents, and your parents-in-law made for a stressful time indeed. And, the week just before the wedding might have been the most jam backed stressful time ever. But, by the week of the wedding due to the calling the cops episode I was laughing instead of crying. The week of the wedding, I had to make the programs twice due to misspelling, Joe sprained his ankle, our friend’s trunk he offered to help us move with was broken into, the bathtub in my apartment stopped draining, we forgot the seating chart for the rehearsal dinner, and my dear friend who made our amazing cakes got in a car accident and by the time she got to venue to deliver the cake it was locked up and the cakes were melting. I was standing outside of the Ethiopian Church where the rehearsal dinner was hosted thinking–really? The drama continues?

But, the day of the wedding could not have been better. We had a blast. We didn’t let anything bother us. The ceremony was beautiful. The music was more than I dreamed of…my friends Abby, Allison, Chad, and the violinist Igor made it beautiful. It was contemporary, but simple and classic at the same time. We used the grand piano, a guitar, and violin.  The weather was perfect. When I was little I always said I wanted it to rain on my wedding day (too many bollywood movies I guess). But then as the day approached I thought, “no, please, no, I don’t want it to rain.” So it was beautiful and sunny but a little humid. Then right as we walked out the chapel as a married couple for the first time…it was raining. Joe gave me his coat to cover my head and we ran to the side room to wait until the chapel emptied. I loved how my dress turned out. It was beautiful…my greatgrandmothers 1930′s dress redesigned…gorgeous silk satin and lace. Plus I got to play fashion designer! I remember walking down the aisle and thinking, why is Joe not looking at me. Look at me! Then when he wiped his eye I knew why he had been looking down. Steve’s message about learning to love someone so different than yourself was encouraging.

Then we got in the Limo…the hummer Limo. It was Joe’s dream…and it was fun. We went downtown and took pictures on Michigan Ave, Franklin Bridge and Millennium Park. I felt like a super-model. The funny thing was that Joe is shy of kissing in front of anyone and the photographer. My dear friend Robert of Shades of Grey kept asking us to kiss for pics. I loved it! h

When we got to the reception. It was like the this is the greatest party ever!!! The food from Catered by Design was beautiful and delicious. And the space was so cool. Then the band started playing. They were amazing… All of our hard work to get the best quality for the best price was paying off. Matt gave a great best man speech. I might post it here. But, our very favorite part of the evening was when the band played OMG…somehow Joe and I ended up dancing in the middle of the room with everyone surrounding us and cheering. I cannot wait to see that on video!

It was date night. A few months ago we started having date night every week. We take turns planning it, and whoever plans pays.

I don’t like to drive at night, to places I don’t know. Especially not for a date. Meeting at the restaurant is for first blind dates not for us. I made two wrong turns, but arrived a few minutes before our reservation, paid the marking meter, and opened the passenger side door of the car to switch into my cute high heels. There was one shoe. I looked under the seat, behind the seat. I emptied my whole purse. Still, there was one high heel. I had to keep the snow boots on. I felt like a fashion nightmare walking into Gajas, a romantic fondue restaurant. I arrived before Joe and was escorted to the bar. I quickly excused myself to the powder room to apply my lipstick and call Liz, my roommate. “Is there a black high heel shoe in the living room?” “No, I don’t see it.” I was almost crying. At least I found my red clinique lipstick. I had to go sit at the bar for minute like a girl about to be stood up. I called Joe and told him about the shoes. “Don’t say anything, I insisted.” I started porousing the wine list until Joe arrived. The first thing he did was look at my outfit up and down. “You brought attention to it,” he said. “Actually we’re supposed to meet a couple at a fancier place later, so the boots might be a problem.” Now, I was upset and embarrassed all over again. The hostess tried to check his coat. He insisted on keeping it with him, saying you could have things stolen in coat rooms and sometimes they can’t find the right coat at the end of the night. I shrugged.

We were escorted into the main room of the restaurant past curtained booths and  to the worst couple table in the place. It was in the middle of the room in a row of “date” tables. As we sat down, I was so surprised that I didn’t say anything. As soon as the maitre d’ left I scouted the room for a better table that was open. I asked Joe if he wanted to move to the table on the wall. He agreed, we asked if we could move and we sat down. He ordered the Italian wine on special that I suggested.

Wine, Cheese, fruit, and bread. Scallops, beef tenderloin, lobster, shrimp, chicken, vegetables all fried over a flame in a pot on your table. Marshmallows roasted on a chocolate flame dipped and rolled in graham cracker crumbs, strawberries, cherries, and pine apple dipped in chocolate. Genius.

Suddenly it was 7:30, we had been there two hours. I needed to go pay the parking meeter again, before I overstayed. “We’re about to go,” my Love insisted. So, we fumbled to pull up our groupon.Then I realized I had to go out to meter. I added two more hours, we would take a cab to our next destination and leave the car there. Then I saw it. No, not my black peep-toe high heel…a parking ticket. I was so mad.

We got in a cab and Joe directed him to Chicago and Michigan.

“We’ll go in Nordstrom Rack, you’ll by $15 dollar heels and it will be fine.”

“Yeah,” I said.

We look ed at the designer shoes, we looked at the regular shoes. There was one pair of black high heel sandals with straps that looked like they would rub your feet raw in 2 hours for $35. Nothing cheaper, nothing better. I was whining. One of my new years revolutions was not to buy uncomfortable shoes, and I did not want to waste $35. I babysit for a living. I was having a meltdown. Joe called our friend who was waiting at the bar and asked if my boots would be a problem. They insisted they would not be a problem.

As we were walking, Joe asked me if I knew where we were going. I asked if we had been there before. He said, “Yes, and no.”

Spiaggia. It was the place of our first date, and we recently had a friend who started hosting there. Knowing the how classy this place is, I again felt ridiculous. Why didn’t I just drop the $35? Joe would have bought them for me. To make maters worse I had been crying.

“Do I look like I was crying?” Joe looked at me up and down to tease and made a face. That was it, I was in tears again. I turned away from him in the lobby and tried to make myself stop. Then I powdered my nose, applied lipstick and said, “Ok.” As soon as we walked in, I was happy. Spiaggia is amazingly beautiful. Kate was happy to see us. She took my coat, and offered to take Joe’s, but he was still insisting on keeping his coat with him. I knew he was being strange, but still didn’t suspect.

Then Kate led us to a private window-view table in bar. Suddenly I had a goofy grin on my face. We weren’t meeting anyone. We recounted our first date and how overboard Joe had gone to impress me. I wasn’t sure about him at the time. I liked him, but I didn’t trust him. I didn’t know he was for real. He was happy to see that I was smiling, but asked me what changed. Ten minutes before I had been in tears. I didn’t say. I didn’t know for sure what was going on and I did not want to ruin it either way.We ordered cocktails and mid conversation, Joe fumbled open a ring box on the table. “You got it!” I exclaimed. At that point I should have shut up and let him do his thing, but we were both nervous I guess and I was afraid that setting the ring on the table was the closest I was going to get to a proposal so I said, “Aren’t you going to ask me something?” I must have asked that three-times before Joe got on his knee, asked me to marry him and put the ring on my figure. The ring, by the way is amazing. It is so beautiful. It is just how I wanted it, and he picked it out. It has a round center diamond, inlaid diamonds on the danty-band with filigree along the back. It is white gold and the center stone is much bigger than necessary but exactly what I anticipated Joseph Negussie would give me.Click to view slideshow.

Our friend’s Brian Pederson, Matt Donavan, and Kate came from around the corner. Brian showered us with flashes of photos snapped, Matt was almost in tears, and the waiter poured champagne on the house. I was so happy.

Outside,  snow started fallinng lightly and a horse and buggy was waiting for us. There were two-toned pink and wine roses and a bottle of champange. We drove along Lakeshore’s inside drive and through downtown.

I never did find that missing shoe, but I’m not waiting for Prince Charming to find me and return it. I was proposed to in my shoe-boots.

Last year, I left everything—my job, my friends and family—to move across the world for the potential of a great love. I had been living in Delhi, India for two years. I loved running VDS, a young adult program. I worked with and lived near my parents. I was good at what I did. My students were learning how to serve people in poverty. But, I reached twenty-eight and started believe that I would never find love. It was real for others, but not for me. Almost and sort-of relationships with promising young men only compounded my discouragement. So in the spring of 2009 when a tall, dark, and handsome American man walked into the retreat center in North India, I expected disappointment. I glanced at his left hand, but there was no ring. Huh. I thought. He offered to carry my suitcase down to my room.

“No thanks, I got it.” I snapped.

He was in India for a week accompanying his pastor on a speaking engagement. I wanted to help him adjust to India, but I refused to jump on the merry-go-round of “let’s get close in a few days and when you are lonely you can always email me,” and go-around-again. I was still dizzy from my last merry-go-round ride. Although I put my guard up, Joseph was persistent. We easily talked for hours. On the last day of the conference we exchanged email addresses and phone numbers and I offered to meet him in Delhi when he had a lay over on the following Saturday.

Saturday I dressed more American than usual in a cute sundress. I went out to the market with my friend. While haggling with merchants, my phone rang with an unknown number. I answered,

“Amy, this is Joe Negussie, ” he said.

“Oh, Hi” I said. “Are you in Delhi?”

“Yes,” he said. “We are sitting in lounge outside the airport for the next few hours, but do not have time to leave, do you want to come join us?”

“Um, maybe,” I said. “Let, me think about it, I might show up, I might not.”

I got off the phone and explained the situation to my friend Andi. We continued shopping. Ten minutes later, something came over me and I said to Andi, “I’m going to go.”

“You are?” she asked quizzically.

I nodded.

“Don’t you think he’s going to think you like him?”

I struggled. I didn’t care if he thought I liked him. I hoped in a three-wheeled auto-rickshaw and in my broken Hindi haggled for the price and directed the driver to take me to the airport. At the airport we bantered and exchanged travel stories until it was time for him to check for the flight.

Monday morning I had an email from Joseph. Next thing I knew I was in a flirty email correspondence, but there was something different about this exchange. As soon as I wrote to Joseph, he’d return my email—within hours. I was traveling and still cautious, so I would wait three days, sometimes a week depending on my Internet access. No matter how long I waited, he wrote back instantly. Most guys take days or weeks to respond. We got into a deep correspondence of past stories and experiences.  Joseph suggested I visit Chicago when I was in the U.S. for the summer. I was planning my itinerary of fundraisers and so I said, “if you host a fundraiser, I’ll come.”

He said he would throw a party if I would let him take me on a date. I agreed. He did not just take me out to a nice dinner. He took me to Spiaggia—an exquisite restaurant in downtown Chicago with a lake Michigan view. And, then he had a surprise. We were driving and I started seeing signs for Midway airport. Next thing I knew a buddy of his was greeting us and Joseph was explaining that Jarryd was talking us on a flight tour of the city. He was a charter plane pilot. I loved it. And, as I looked down at the city I had a feeling that something was pulling me towards Chicago.

A few days later I was leaving and Joseph told me he was interested in getting to know me better. He asked me to come back to visit Chicago before going to India again in the Fall. I agreed. By the end of the second visit we were officially dating. We both agreed that long-distance could not be long-term and we kissed good-bye.

For the next month we talked on the phone, over web-cam, and email. Then, I casually started looking for jobs in Chicago. Before I met Joe, I assumed my next move would be following a job offer in the States, and I hoped to be in California where my grandparents live. But, there was no reason I had to live in L.A. I had lived all over the place and found myself happy as long as I was in a city. We were on web cam talking about everyday life and I mentioned that I was looking for a job in Chicago. Joe changed the subject and pointed out a picture behind me. I let it pass, but rapid-fire emails and more Skype conversations followed. The risk freaked him out. Still, he did not disappear or break it off. A few weeks later I received a Chicago themed package in the mail. He did want me to move to Chicago.

I did not know what was going to happen. We had only spent three weeks together in person. That time planted a seed in me, and if it was watered and given sunlight, it might grow into the love of my life. But the seed could be neglected, over watered, ripped out, or not given enough sunlight in Chicago’s winter.

I would not have moved for anyone, and I would not have moved anywhere—but I liked Chicago and I liked Joseph. Some men look good on paper, but in reality they are dull or inconsiderate. Joseph looks good on paper. He was high school quarter-back, he was in a fraternity in college, started an faith-based organization in college, makes good money as a twenty-seven year-old, has just started his MBA at Kellogg, his boss told him that one day he will be her boss, and he’s gorgeous. But in reality, he is better than his CV. He is generous, God-fearing, fun, and loving. They say love is blind, but I did not want to be fooled. If this was real, if he was real, we could be something great. If not, it would be awful but I would get through it. So, with my eyes open, I boarded the plane, waved good-bye to my beloved friends in India who cried, “Mut jaow, Amy didi, mut jaow” (Don’t go sister Amy, don’t go), and took the first greatest risk of my life. It was the last week in October 2009.

At first it was a little rocky, we didn’t know each other well. He was used to doing what he wanted to do. But I was impressed that if I was offended by his behavior or attitude and I told him how something made me feel and what he could do different, he would apologize and make immediate changes. I made adjustments too. By mid- January I received an early Valentines present on my front porch. I’ve never asked him what possessed him to give me perfume mid-January especially because lovely earrings followed as a surprise on Valentine’s Day, but I think that was when he finally relaxed and remembered why we both felt that pursuing each other was worth going to extraordinary measures.

My life in Chicago still means sacrifices. I love the city and I love Joseph. But, I have had to work in coffee shops and other part –time jobs. I have turned down dream jobs, in other states. Someday I hope I will have both the man I love and a job I love, but for now it is worth the sacrifice. After a year of being together when I think of all the men I’ve dated, or even wanted to date, when I think about the men that my friends dated or even married, no one compares to Joseph Negussie. I feel excited thinking about our potential to love each other well for a lifetime, and to impact the world together for good. I would have never known this love if I did not take the risk of moving across the world for the hope of our potential great love.

Never mind that I am the most over-educated barista at my particular café.  Not only do I have college degree, I have a master’s degree–from Princeton Theological Seminary. And yet, I make Lattes. I clean toilets, I take out the trash—for $8.50 after my raise. When it was a half an hour walk and I thought it was temporary as in, 6-8 months–I was okay with it. Now it’s a hour bus ride, a 30 min bike ride, a $13 cab ride, or a fifteen minute borrowed a car or talked a friend-into-driving-ride, and it’s frustrating,

If it weren’t for the people I work with I would not have been able to last this long. They are real, they are interesting. Last night I worked with a nocturnal comic artist who drinks, and smokes and knows how to make everyone feel like he’s his or her best friend. He is very gifted with people. In fact last night a customer was hitting on me and he said to him, look she doesn’t get a paid for you to hit on her. The man said, “you can’t blame me for trying.” My friend said, “no, but I can blame you for a big swing and a miss.” That really meant a lot to me.

Sunday nights I work with an actress. She’s a tall beautiful perfectionist, who has an immense amount of compassion for the world. As a result of her compassion does not eat meat, and her boyfriend is a girl. They have become my friends. Her boyfriend is a photography student and owns a beautiful brown Alaskan Husky. Somehow my co-worker puts up with my quarks. She finds me a bit odd as we have talked about relationships, a moral system, and even God.

There is a theory that St. Ar Bucks attracts the artists and the more interesting variety of people to work there, it maybe true. I am highly impressed by my co-workers’ longevity to the job. And, here I am supposed to be a witness of who God is and they are putting me to shame in the good attitude category. Barely making enough money, odd hours, and lectures over the particularities of how to steam milk in order to perfect cappuccino foam—can be testing. You have to remember your job is not your life. It is just a job—a means to an end. We work to live, we do not live to work. Or at least we do not live to work the job that gives us a bi-weekly pay-check and health insurance. I am a preacher, he is artist, she is student, she is an actor. The café is a practice stage, it is a place for comic inspiration, and it is a congregation.

The economy is bad, so at least we have jobs. And, we get a pound of free coffee a week and if you close you can take home food that would be thrown away. Doing has been over thrown by being. “What do you do (for a living)?” and “Who are you (made to be)?” are not the same questions.