Spinach-Pesto Pasta with Mushrooms and Ricotta

It is that time of year. Caught inside as the winds whip outside, dropping the temperature to an arctic chill that reads below zero. 

Yesterday, stuck inside I tried my hand at a new food creation: spinach-pesto. 

I watched a the food processor's blades turned with each push of the pulse button. Combining the garlic with the spinach and the spinach with the basil; the basil with the parmesan cheese followed with a dash of olive oil and lemon juice, and a pinch of salt to top it off.

The final pulse left me with a smooth combination of pesto, with a slight overpowering aroma of garlic. 

For those of you who find yourselves caught inside while the winter winds blow step into the kitchen, search Pinterest, and try your hand at a new food creation (maybe even this spinach-pesto).

Spinach-Pesto

[need] 

1 clove garlic

1/4 cup fresh basil (I used dried basil, but would recommend fresh)

1 cup fresh packed baby spinach

1/4 cup parmesan cheese (with a sprinkle more, who doesn't love cheese?)

2 tablespoons olive oil 

2 tablespoons lemon juice

1/4 teaspoon sea salt

[create]

First, mince the clove of garlic and place in food processor. Add the remaining ingredients and pulse into well combined. Taste, and tailor as needed. I found myself adding more spinach and cheese. Remove from food processor and place in jar. Refrigerate. 

Now what to do with the pesto? I combined it with pasta. Try out this recipe below. 

Spinach-Pesto Pasta with Mushrooms and Ricotta 

[need] 

Freshly made spinach-pesto

8 oz whole wheat pasta 

1/3 cup ricotta cheese 

Mushrooms (desired amount)

[create] 

First, sauté mushrooms in olive oil. Next bring a pot of water to a boil. Once the water is boiling cook the pasta as directed on packaging. Drain pasta. Place desired amount of pasta in a bowl, add a spoonful of the pesto. Next add ricotta cheese and top with mushrooms. Mix together. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately. 

[both recipes adopted from Naturally Ella]

What I have been learning.

It begins with a rocking chair and tea.

Tea in a cup, hand crafted by the humble hands of a human. A human broken in a broken world. Unending pain, anger, confusion. Yet even amongst the broken, shattered pieces of this world joy is found. Joy is found while shaping a vessel of clay. A cup is shaped, which holds the fine perfection of tea. Tea that is sipped by me as I contemplate life from a rocking chair.

Five things to think on. Five things to comtemplate as I look out at big sky country. The mountain range of perfection. Why am I here? Why has God placed me here? In it I must be gentle, humble, and quiet. Listening is the key to the art of quietness. Here in this place I listen. I approach with gentleness and desire to hear. To hear the stories of broken people. I too listen for the voice of the Creator who shaped each triangle, each misshaped mountain. Among it all I pray for peace, discernment, for time. I pray among people. I pray alone. Praying for the brokenness of the Rez, the people I've encountered. And selfishly I pray for me, for my brokenness. I seek. Oh how I seek. In patience, I have received. And I've found peace in my quietness. Last, I remember that the shadow proves the sunshine. The trials of the beginning weeks. The baggage, the fear, the confusion, the uncertainty. How those trials have illuminated the greatness of the Creator. To go to the mountains, to seek our Creator. How I've grown. I find myself broken as all humans are. But I find hope in a Creator who has shaped the sky, the mountains, and me.

Searching for your story

When you are stuck, you desire a place of creative inspiration. A place filled with overwhelming creativity. A desk overlooking a garden filled with bright colored poppies. A quaint coffee shop on the corner between Central and Eighth. A room where rustic wood lines the walls, covered in vintage black and white photographs.

Photographs of stories. The wrinkled hands of a Navajo woman. The portrait of a flapper girl from the twenties. A "in the moment" snapshot of a young girl wrapped in the beauty of the ocean, searching.
How often we search. We search for meaning, words, stories, lives. We search for people, spouses, children. We search for meaning greater than our own. For faith.
We search.
Now I search for the words to type because I am stuck. I am stuck without words. My writing has halted, stalled.

In one month I will search for adventure. I will wander the mountains, the open field, the mighty big sky. I will search the sky for faith. I will stand arms open. Listening.
Listening for the words I seek. Standing in the purple field of love, from the handiwork of a Creator who loves me. Even in the weeks I fail to bow my head and whisper up a silent prayer. The days I fail to acknowledge a might greater than mine. He loves me.

I am tired of searching. Aren't we all. We see the photographs lining the wall and think they won in their search. Yet the Navajo woman searched for a place to call home as her land was swept out from beneath her. As her culture, her language was torn away from her in rooms boarded with rules. Searching for HER story in the midst of it all. The twenties flapper searched for beauty, for love. She threw herself at the word, searching for acceptance. The young girl at the ocean searched for a stone, a shell. For a smile and a hope.

Add your photograph to the wall. Will you be bent over a typewriter searching for a story. Huddled over a cup of tea searching for the words to say. The life to live. Here is a hint: stop searching for your story and start living it.