Word for the Year 2025 – Wonder

Posted on January 1, 2026 by karenkeegan under word for the year

“Abin mamaki” is a Hausa phrase for “a thing of wonder.” This year I wanted to open my heart in wonder and awe, to deliberately notice things in a new way and record what I discovered. Not surprising, God’s creation in all its glory (water, sky, animals, flowers, rocks, and trees) topped my list, but I also marveled at how He gave man the ability to capture this nature on film. I stood in awe of some people’s aptitude for building, writing, or cooking. I recalled in wonder how God connects us, heals us, and sustains us.

If you read to the end of this long post, it will be “abin mamaki.” If you just want to read one entry, here is my list of topics with a link to each. What else would you add?

The Wonder of Books

Back in February 2020, I joined a book club, but we quickly had to shut it down as COVID-19 struck. So this year, when someone on my neighborhood Facebook page asked about interest in starting another one, I jumped right in. We meet once a month in each other’s homes. What a great way to make new friends with a common interest!

I wondered one day which books were most widely read or published in the world. A quick Google search gave contradictory results based on the parameters of the question (e.g. single book or series), but every list placed the Bible at the top.

Here’s an AI-generated list that omitted The Book of Mormon (listed #4) and the Bhagavad Gita (listed #5) from other lists.

The Holy Bible, ~5 to 6 billion copies
Quotations from Chairman Mao Zedong, 900 million copies (from one publisher)
The Qur’an, 800 million copies
Don Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes, 500 million copies
A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, 200 million copies
The Lord of the Rings, by J. R. R. Tolkien, 150 million copies
The Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien, 140.6 million copies
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, by J. K. Rowling, 120 million copies
The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, 100 million copies
And Then There Were None, by Agatha Christie, 100 million copies

Check out this list of best-selling books from Wikipedia. I was familiar with most of them except The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. After reading it, however, I’m not sure what all the fuss is about.

Two books that left their imprint on me this year:

Atomic Habits, by James Clear. I don’t place much confidence in most self-help books, so I was astonished at the results when I applied these principles to three new habits I wanted to maintain. Who knew!
Captive of the Simbas, by Margaret Hayes, inspired me to greater heights of faith. Miss Hayes was a missionary nurse serving in the Congo in the 1960s when guerrilla fighting broke out. Along with a group of fellow missionaries, she was reported killed in a savage massacre. She was, in fact, the only one to escape.

The Wonder of Human Creation

As my sleepy eyes popped open one morning, I glanced at all the manmade materials in my bedroom—from handmade gifts sitting on a shelf, to the curtains in the window, to the very structure of my home with its walls, doors, carpet, and paint—all things I take for granted.

Then I examined my ceiling fan and wondered what process created such a useful item. The parts came from various manmade materials, were assembled in a factory, and then transported to retail stores via trucks, ships, or trains. Finally, some individual chose this one out of a myriad of styles to add to my home’s décor. A Google search found this astonishing YouTube video of how ceiling fans are made in India.

I marvel at man’s creativity—a reflection of our Creator’s character. We imitate Him when we create. I found this thought-provoking podcast “On Purpose with Jay Shetty,” posted on July 16, 2025. Jay sits down with author, artist, and creative mentor, Amie McNeed, for a heartfelt conversation about reconnecting the artist inside all of us.

A quick AI prompt poetically stated, “Manmade materials are more than tools. They are the physical embodiment of imagination, the bridge between what is and what could be. They have allowed us to build cathedrals and skyscrapers, to mend hearts and travel to the moon, to connect continents with a whisper and capture beauty for all time.”

The Wonder of Water

Long before I was born, my father dug a 30-foot well, lined it with cement, rigged a barrel atop a tower with a handpump, and ran a pipe to our kitchen so we could have running water in the sink. In this photo I am pulling up a bucket by hand. Water was first boiled, then filtered, before it became potable. We also caught rainwater in large barrels strategically placed near the house eaves. Bathing required carting heated water from the woodstove to our tin bathtub. When all five of us were clean (sort of), it took two people to grasp the handles and dump the dirty water at the base of the fruit trees in the backyard. I never want to take running water for granted. In my home in America, I can wash my dishes, toss clothes into a washing machine, and take a hot shower without effort.

This summer, as I paddled lazily in the deep end of our community swimming pool, I marveled at the properties of water that can keep me suspended on a floating device, hydrate me internally, create ice cubes for my lemonade, drive a steam engine, and be powerful enough to decimate whole villages in middle Texas.

The Wonder of Breath

So much of what I experience in a client’s prayer session cannot be shared with others due to confidentiality. It’s their story to tell, not mine. But when I witness something truly remarkable, it’s hard not to want to shout to the universe: Look what God did—again! Here’s one story.

“Sabrina” regularly defaults into retreating into nothingness in order to avoid pain. Paranoia, with a persecution complex, she’s perpetually a victim with “I am” statements that include “I am worthless” and “I don’t deserve love and attention.”

One day she arrived so depressed I didn’t think she’d be able to climb out of the pit. I let her talk for an hour, waiting for the right moment to step in. With her voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I can’t breathe.” She continued talking, and I continued praying.

“Focus on the breath,” I heard from the Lord.

Just that morning I’d been meditating on the attributes of the Holy Spirit, with “Breath of God” being the last entry in my journal. With Sabrina’s permission, I placed my hand over her chest and prayed for the breath of God to fill her lungs. (I’ve never done this before with any other person.)

“It’s lighter!” she exclaimed. “I can breathe!” The next thing I knew, she was giggling loudly as she related a funny story.

The next morning, I listened to the old hymn “Holy Spirit, Faithful Guide.” I have the Comforter, the Counselor, the Breath of Life inside me to guide me if I’ll just listen.

Near the end of the year, I picked up a little book titled Breath—The New Science of a Lost Art, by James Nestor. Aside from his inane premise of billions of years of man’s evolution, he made some astonishing claims about the power of correct breathing. One observation caught my attention: we alternate breathing patterns (left and right nostrils) in conjunction with the sun and moon. And breathing only through the left nostril taps into the right brain emotion center whereas breathing only through the right nostril crosses over to the left-brain logic center. Fascinating stuff.

The Wonder of the Night Sky

We arrived at our Life Group Christmas party at a country home. A brilliant full moon next to two large stars (or planets?) in the clear night sky made me long for Africa. I tried to imagine what it would be like to stand on the moon, look back at the earth, and gaze at galaxies upon galaxies out there that my God created. How small and insignificant I feel, yet how deeply loved that He cares for me … one tiny speck in His vast universe. Our finite minds are incapable of imagining such immensity.

The Wonder of New Words

To be a writer is to be a lover of words. Though I enjoy the tactile nature of a book in my hands, I relish the ease of looking up definitions in e-books. Here are some gems I found this year. Please don’t gloat if you already know them!

Ailurophile means “cat lover,” derived from the Greek ailuros, meaning “cat,” and phile, meaning “lover.” Later in the year, I discovered this word ranked first in the list of The Most Beautiful Words in the English Language.

Boustrophedon: a method of writing that runs from right to left, then from left to right. I found this word in the book Under the Tuscan Sun, by Frances Mayes.

Flamboyance: that’s what a flock of flamingos is called. This I learned while on a bus tour in Curaçao.

Lickerish (which sounds like licorice) means “eager to consume delicious foods.” At least that’s what I thought till I discovered this definition is archaic. Today it means “lecherous.” Oh dear!

Murmuration: the term used to describe the fascinating phenomenon of very large groups of birds, fish, or insects moving together, including changing direction together. The name comes from the murmur-like sound made by the birds as they move in unison.

Mephitic: (especially of a gas or vapor) foul-smelling; noxious. I learned this word in the novel Accordion Crimes by Annie Proulx. (Maybe I can use this word the next time I flush the toilet.)

What does Noel mean anyway? According to my research, it’s another word for Christmas. The French say, “Joyeux Noel” (Happy Christmas). It comes from the Latin natalis (birth day) with the same root as natal or nasci (to be born). Nativity has the same root meaning.

Tonsorial. (Sounds like it belongs to that infected thing at the back of my throat that the doctor removed!) While I was searching for the meaning of Noel in dictionary.com, this word-for-the-day stared me in the face. It means “having to do with barbers or barbershops.” Who knew!

The Wonder of Connections

I love being someone else’s answer to prayer.

My husband was not feeling well after a medical procedure, but at the last minute, he agreed to go to a Christmas party. I checked in with him all evening to assure him we could leave any time he felt uncomfortable. When the activities wound down, we discovered our car was hemmed in, and we’d be one of the last ones to leave. With few people left in the room, our host introduced me to one of the guests and commented that we had a lot in common.

Within a few minutes, she told me she’d been asking God for someone to minister to her. She’d never heard of inner healing prayer, but she made an appointment with me on the spot.

I just marvel, again, at God’s timing and orchestrating of events to bring about His purposes. We had a divine appointment and didn’t even know it.

I was listening to “Chris Fabry Live” on Moody Radio when I learned about Malcolm Guite, an author, poet, singer, songwriter, and the former chaplain of Gurdon College, Cambridge. What caught my attention was that he was born in Nigeria (as was I). His first name is a traditional name for a second child in Yoruba: Ayo Deji. Ayo means “joy” and Deji means “again.” So it’s “second joy.” He mentioned how much he loved the glorious rain and thunderstorms (yes!). His dad taught the classics, but he was also a Methodist preacher and very much involved with the Methodist Church in Nigeria. Next, they went to Zimbabwe (formerly Rhodesia), and eventually back to England. While his dad was in Canada, he sent Malcome to a boarding school (another connection). Check out his heart-stopping poetry.

The Wonder of Beauty

We had just recently moved from Nigeria to the USA for my sixth-grade year at Samuel Strong Elementary in Elkhart, Indiana. Walking to school one day, I stopped to admire some pretty yellow flowers growing by the sidewalk and bent to pick a bouquet for my teacher. Though Mr. Mann graciously received my gift, my excitement turned to shame when a fellow classmate hooted, “Why are you giving our teacher weeds?” (“Weed” is a derogatory human classification without consideration for the One who designed it.)

How was I to know what a dandelion was?

That grade school memory returned as I stopped to admire the intricacies of God’s creation on the sidewalks in our Tennessee neighborhood. I still think dandelions are beautiful.

A friend recently sent me this excerpt from Signals of Transcendence, by Os Guinness. The author relates a story about GK Chesterton wherein “he was stopped in his tracks by ‘looking at a dandelion.’ The world was dark and the world was broken. Cynicism was easy. . .” Chesterton stopped to notice that there was beauty in the world and not just brokenness. Both needed to be explained, together. The beauty was as evident as the brokenness, and the brokenness as the beauty. But then, too, there was a wonder in the sheer existence of simple things, such as a dandelion.

The book goes on: “Chesterton was not talking about the beauty and the wonder that are so obvious that they are almost a cliché—the miracle of the birth of a baby, the majesty of a sunset over the ocean [see below], or the crystal beauty of a Mozart piano concerto. He was talking of a little common flower that everyone sees, few people pick, and even fewer think about. But thinking about it, he noted that ‘even mere existence, reduced to its mere primary limits, was extraordinary enough to be exciting.’ Anything was magnificent compared with nothing.”

Colors! The sunrise from our cruise ship balcony and the breathtaking blues of the Caribbean Sea

The Wonder of Discovery

Our 50^th wedding anniversary family cruise to the Caribbean brought several surprises. We had raised our three girls in Holland, Michigan, and Scott and I had been to the Netherlands, but It felt a little odd to see wooden shoes in Curaçao—a Dutch colony.

One day I snapped a photo of a beautiful purple flower on a walk near a graveyard in Decatur, Tennessee. I was astonished to discover it was from kudzu—a familiar, rapidly growing invasive perennial vine in the South that smothers all vegetation in its path. And it’s edible!

A few ladies joined me on a little hike on the property of Horton Haven Christian Camp following our annual Ladies’ Retreat. Three discoveries brought joy to my heart: a deer blind (which I climbed to the top for the view), a random campfire by the trail, and a dome in the middle of the field. We circled the structure to find a sign that read “observatory.” Too bad it was padlocked. On other trails, I discovered some amazing nature.

On a walk on the Greenway with my three oldest grandsons, we climbed down to a dry streambed and discovered a bed of seashells.

The Wonder of Birds

My favorite new app this year is Merlin Bird ID. Press a button to listen for birdsong, and voila! It identifies the bird.

I wake up to birds chirping outside my window each morning, and when I walk or hike, I keep my eyes open for abandoned birds’ nests on bare winter branches or on the ground.

One day I watched a solo heron rising from the river, feathers glinting in the sun. Another day it was the astonishing sight of thousands of blackbirds lined up like tiny soldiers across multiple electric wires by the highway. And the hypnotic, acrobatic, twisting, swirling, shape-shifting bird dance, a murmuration (See “The Wonder of New Words”) in their autumn flight. How do they follow each other? How do they decide when to move? Who’s the leader? What if one bird gets left behind? Keeping together, I discovered, provides safety from larger birds as they migrate.

The Wonder of Hymns

I began a year-long goal of reading Amazing Grace—366 Inspiring Hymn Stories for Daily Devotions by Kenneth W. Osbeck and listening to YouTube versions of each hymn. What a rich heritage we have! Several facts stood out to me.

So many hymns we enjoy today sprang out of personal tragedy. The most famous one is the Spafford story behind “It Is Well with My Soul.” But others need to be retold.

The majority of the hymns I grew up with were composed in the 1600-1800s. Prior to the advent of hymns, only the Psalms were sung in corporate worship. Churches split when hymns were first introduced (sound familiar?) To make the transition, one congregation allowed dissenters to leave before they sang one new hymn at the end of each service. If only we’d known our church history when the music wars raged in the 1960s and ’70s over “contemporary Christian music.” I now rue my lament over my lost heritage and my disparaging remarks about contemporary artists. Each generation needs to find its own voice.

While singing “Joy to the World,” I pondered the refrain “The WONDER of His love.” I was also captivated by the repetition of the word King in almost every Christmas carol we sang. Not baby, but KING. Jesus may have arrived on earth as a helpless infant, but His destiny is KING of the universe. Perspective is everything. Mental health depends on it. Wonder expands the space in my mind to create room for peace and joy. My to-do list, my schedule, my projects, and even people get pushed to the periphery as I focus on wonder. It deletes the antsy-ness of claustrophobia. My shoulders release their tension; my breathing deepens.

Here are some lovely artists I discovered on YouTube, along with a link to a sample of their music:

The pure, sweet voice of Rosemary Siemens with violin accompaniment.
Songs and everlasting joy
Acapeldridge: Four-part harmony by the same artist (a little strange to watch)
Luke Powell, a South African pastor who tells the story behind the hymns. Here’s one: Born in England, Louisa Stead moved to the USA. One day while she and her little family were enjoying Long Island Beach, her husband ran into the waves to try to rescue a drowning boy. Tragically, both were lost. And thus Louisa wrote, “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus.” She then became a missionary to South Africa and later to Rhodesia.

Throughout the year, I frequently found myself humming “The Wonder of It All” written by George Beverly Shea, gifted musician for Billy Graham’s crusades.

Verse 1

There’s the wonder of sunset at evening,

The wonder as sunrise I see;

But the wonder of wonders that thrills my soul

Is the wonder that God loves me.

Verse 2

There’s the wonder of springtime and harvest,

The sky, the stars, the sun;

But the wonder of wonders that thrills my soul

Is a wonder that has only begun.

Refrain

O, the wonder of it all! The wonder of it all!

Just to think that God loves me.

O, the wonder of it all! The wonder of it all!

Just to think that God loves me.

One day I randomly opened a hymnbook to the song “Jesus, I Am Resting, Resting.”My heart resonated with the words that were written by a poet, Jean Pigott, who died at age 37. She gave the hymn to her brother Thomas who went to China as a missionary under the China Inland Mission. He, in turn, shared it with Hudson Taylor who whistled it during extreme circumstances in the Boxer Rebellion. Thomas was executed, along with his wife and son and 41 fellow missionaries, on July 9, 1900.

Though I pray day after day with hurting people, I find my heart can stay at rest, at peace, if I focus on God.

One day I discovered Elohim Songs—”a worship space blending English and Hebrew lyrics, inspired by God’s Names and Promises: Elohim, Adonai, Yahweh.” They “create original Messianic worship songs, using AI-assisted tools not for worldly trends, but to glorify God. Every melody, word, and sound is crafted to draw hearts closer to the Father. Here you’ll find Scripture-based ballads, English-Hebrew lyric videos, and songs about God’s faithfulness from youth to old age. Let technology serve His Kingdom. Shalom!”

The Wonder of History

Well, not really … but. History was always my worst subject in school—all those dates and names, and nowhere to hang those little pegs in my mind. So when I discovered “Crash Course” on YouTube, I was hooked. Witty, fast-paced, visually appealing, and informative. I may not agree with all John Green’s commentary, but he keeps my attention.

Check out “Christianity from Judaism to Constantine: Crash Course World History #11”

The Wonder of Photography

When I was in Grade 6, my family did the touristy thing and drove into Yellowstone National Park to see Old Faithful. That’s about all I remember from that day. I wish now that we’d visited the Rainbow Hot Springs and hiked near the Yellowstone River (the longest free-flowing river in North America).

I didn’t know about the massive ecosystem until I watched Yellowstone One-Fifty with Kevin Costner, a 2022 documentary on the 150^th anniversary of the founding of Yellowstone National Park. Costner explores the Park “to find out if it’s still as wild and untouched as it was on the day of its birth.” The photography is breathtaking, awe-inspiring, and well worth an hour of your time.

Stunning, mind-blowing, astonishing, spectacular… okay, I’ve run out of words. Tom Hanks narrated a 10-part Sunday series on NBC called The Americas. The photography of never-before-seen, up-close nature kept me exclaiming, “How did they film that!?”

The Wonder of Rocks

I have always had an affinity for rock formations as they take me back to my childhood in Nigeria. Camel Rock was my favorite hiking destination.

We came across these cairns while in Aruba. Who piled them and why?

The Wonder of Trees

Anyone who knows me can tell you I’m obsessed with trees. I found these gems this year etched into dying tree trunks. And how in the world did this vine find its way to the top branch of a tree?!

The Wonder of Friendships and Health

After spending 5 weeks recovering from the flu and viral pneumonia earlier this year, I am grateful for my health. I struggled to remain positive, and I’m in awe of a couple friends who manage much greater illness far better than I.

The first is Joyce, my accountability partner for the past 35 years, who suffers from RA. She had two stints in the hospital this year for an infection and is now home after rehab. My heart aches for her suffering. Yet in our conversations she always manages to ask me how I’m doing. Her positivity is infectious.

The other is Tammy, who received the gift of a heart transplant this year. She’s a friend to all but makes you think you’re her best friend. The doctors told her she was one in a million in her recovery, and I believe them. She returned to dancing just weeks after getting out of the hospital. Wow! Her joyful spirit inspires me.

The Wonder of Architecture

To round off our year-long celebration of our 50^th anniversary, we stayed a couple nights in this romantic, cozy Terralodge dome house in Sewanee, Tennessee. The king-sized bed faced a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto a forest of oak trees. We had just settled in when we heard a ka-pow! over our heads. Was that a shotgun, we wondered. But no. It was the sound of acorns slamming into the deck or roof. We giggled every time one hit.

The Wonder of Food

Wanting to try something new on the menu at High Point Restaurant on Monteagle Mountain, my eye caught the words “lion’s mane.” My imagination ran wild as I tried to envision chewing tufts of hair from the head of the king of the beasts. “It’s the name of a mushroom,” our server explained. Always something to learn!

The Wonder of Healing

In 25 years of ministering to people through inner healing prayer, I can only name a handful whom we have been unable to help in some way. But when I first met Addie (not her real name), I thought she might be one of those failures. Every month for two years, I prayed with her with minimal change in her lie-based thinking. I tried every tool in my toolbox, and nothing made her budge. She firmly believed she was bad, a nobody, unworthy of love. She pled with me not to give up on her, so we kept plugging away. One day in desperation, I begged God to show me another way. That week, He used a book, a song, a list, and a massage therapist to teach me something new. When we met again, I asked her if we could try something different. Within minutes, a physical pain in her side began to subside. She looked at me in astonishment. “It’s been there for 35 years!” she said. And then followed the Lord’s sweet words to her, “You were not to blame.”

But that’s not the end of the story. We began to use this new tool with other clients, and they, too, exclaimed at the healing they received. Their gratitude warmed our hearts. All glory goes to God.

The Wonder of the Word

As a child, I often stared at the photo of Jesus holding a rescued sheep in His arms. I’d heard the story a hundred times about how God rejoices more over finding one lost sheep than over the 99 who didn’t go astray. I can hear George Beverly Shea’s deep bass voice singing, “There were ninety and nine who safely lay in the shelter of the fold…” The missionary message was clear: go save the lost . . . but I wasn’t one of them.

I just couldn’t identify with that disobedient rascal. I tried so hard to be good, to obey, to follow the Shepherd. I felt jealous of the one in His arms. Maybe I should quit following the rules and be bad—would Jesus race after me then and love me more?

I feel so self-righteous. I obeyed, I followed, I stayed in the pen like He told me to. Of course, unlike the wayward one, I didn’t have to endure the cold, the loneliness, the lostness, the trap, the brambles. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. But I’m petulant that Jesus seems to care more for the brat.

But as I read Matthew 18 (again for the umpteenth time), I noticed something for the first time. The context of this story is about children. Jesus had pulled a child into His embrace and instructed His disciples that they needed to humble themselves as LITTLE CHILDREN in order to get into the kingdom of God. And that anyone who hurt one of these LITTLE ONES should have a millstone hung around his neck and drowned. Verse 14 (NIV, emphasis added) says, “In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these LITTLE ONES should perish.”

And now I see it. I’m a full-grown, mature sheep. Of course my motherly instincts kick into high gear when a little lamb wanders from the flock or falls into a ditch. Go, Jesus! Run to him/her! That perspective changes everything. Whew! No more jealousy. So crazy that after 70 years I paid attention to the context.

The Wonder of Marriage

On August 8, 1975, Scott and I exchanged wedding vows. Fifty years later, as we gathered with family and friends to celebrate this milestone, I had ample time to reflect on our stories and to trace the hand of God on our lives. The beautiful young server at a romantic dinner for two asked us our secret for making it this far. “Two things,” we said. We committed to each other that we would never threaten divorce when we disagreed (which was on just about everything!) and that we would never go to bed angry at each other (a few times that vow stretched into the morning hours, but we always resolved our arguments as soon as possible.) Where have the years gone? How can I love this man more today than the day I married him? It’s “abin mamake!”

Word for the Year 2024 – Barkono

Posted on December 31, 2024 by karenkeegan under word for the year

Introduction

Barkono is a Hausa word meaning “pepper.” After losing all taste and smell for a full year after COVID-19, I decided to celebrate its 50-75% return by indulging in the joy of once more tasting spicy flavors.

I started by searching for ethnic restaurants in Murfreesboro. Not surprisingly, Chinese, Thai, and Mexican were the most prolific. And then I researched available varieties in Nashville—much more cosmopolitan of course.

Nigerian

In January, when Scott and I drove to Nashville for an appointment, we stopped on the way to visit our daughter Sharon who teaches ESL at Legacy Mission Village, a school for refugees. Though the culinary choices in that neighborhood were numerous, I opted for the only Nigerian restaurant in the city. We followed our GPS to Nico’s Restaurant and Bar. The large room was dark and empty except for one man sitting at a corner booth. He greeted these turawa (white people) and motioned us to a tiny, sliding glass window at the back of the restaurant.

I asked the owner if she had any tuwo da miya (my favorite northern Nigeria dish). Sadly, she said she was from the South and only served fufu and pounded yam. I asked for the spiciest dish on the menu, and she recommended the okra soup.

Scott cannot handle anything spicy (yes, opposites do attract), and he cannot tolerate this African American eating any food with my fingers, so I ordered take out and reheated the dish when I got home that evening. Deliciously satisfying!

In September, My sister Grace arrived from California to join my brother and me for a sibling reunion in Georgia. On the way home from the airport, stopping at the Nico restaurant was a must. Two large, boiled chicken legs filled her bowl of okra soup. Not her favorite she said. I was happy to polish it off.

And then Grace asked me to make some kose (deep-fat-fried, black-eyed-pea beancakes). Much to Scott’s chagrin, it took a week to get the musty odor out of our house. I think the peanut oil was too old.

Korean

February’s wet, gloomy weather drove me to try Cup Pop Korean Restaurant, across the street from MTSU. Two ladies, chattering away in Korean (I presume) lent authenticity to the atmosphere of this little hole-in-the-wall eatery. I opted for vegetarian and spice level 2. (Next time I’ll bump it up to 3). Instructions were prominently posted on how to eat this delicacy: Pour your sauce cup over the rice/meat/veggies, stir, and enjoy. “But don’t pour over the dumpling,” the cashier admonished. Oh … my … goodness! I thought I only had enough room for half a serving, but I couldn’t stop myself from consuming the whole thing. Amazing! I brought home the remainder of my sauce, planning to toss it over my next bland meal.

Italian

Once a week, Scott and I order online a large, one-topping pizza (half pepperoni for him and half jalapeño peppers for me) from our nearby Papa Johns. I’m on a first-name basis now with Seth who greets me as I walk through the door. A home movie and a pizza. Can’t get much better than that!

Indian

One day while waiting for a friend to get out of surgery, I was delighted to discover the hospital cafeteria that day was serving Indian butter chicken with cauliflower, sweet potatoes, and chickpeas over a bed of rice. Warmed my heart! I felt sorry for my friend’s pain, but this delicious meal made my wait tolerable.

Mexican

In March I indulged my craving for Chuys Mexican Restaurant’s creamy jalapeño dip and chicken tortilla soup. I always bring home leftovers.

And since I was out of town for Mothers’ Day, Scott surprised me later with a trip to Mi Patria, a new Mexican restaurant in town. I tried their fish tacos. Quite tasty, but the only spice came in the salsa dip for the chips. Since Scott does not care for Mexican, and spice does not fare well with his system, this was truly a sacrifice for him. He had steak and fries.

This summer, A friend gave me some home-grown summer squash (which I oven roasted with zucchini, mushrooms, and onions) and another friend gave me some tajin spice (chili peppers, sea salt, and dehydrated lime juice). Put the two together, and the result was indescribably delicious. I wonder what tajin would taste like on popcorn.

Thai

In April, my birthday month, friends treated me to two Thai restaurants. At Thai Pattaya, I ordered coconut curry with tofu and veggies (spice level 2) and at Bangkok Thai, red curry with fish (spice level 3).

In October, Scott and I returned to Bangkok Thai with a gift certificate for our anniversary, and I ordered the massaman curry dish with tofu. Though delicious, it was too mild and soupy. We were surprised when the bill came to $6 higher than the menu stated. Apparently, we had neglected to notice the $3-each extra charge for brown rice. But I guess I must have enjoyed it, because I consumed it all instead of taking home leftovers!

Ethiopian

My Life Group at church meets for a potluck every other Sunday, and the theme one week was international food. Since I was already in Nashville to attend the open house for Legacy Village Mission, I stopped by Rehobth Ethiopian Café, a take-out- only establishment that still had the remnants of COVID-19 restrictions. Undeterred, I ducked under the plexiglass partition in the doorway to place my order. Though Minna, my ministry partner from Ethiopia, raved about the food, I felt disappointed. Apparently this restaurant matches the poor man’s injera that she grew up with, and I am more familiar with the upper-class variety (pictured here). Though I craved the spicy meat dish option (30 minutes to prepare), I chose the vegan combo (10 minutes) since I would have had to sit in my car in the 97-degree heat to wait for my order. I also missed the experience of sitting around the community dish with my friends, with no utensils but the three fingers on my right hand to snuggle tasty morsels in the delicious bread.

Mediterranean

This next story begins in 1970.

When Cheryl (my other ministry partner and boarding school classmate) had reconstruction knee surgery in June, her home health care provider, Jan, arrived and announced she was not the person originally scheduled to come. The ensuing conversation went something like this.

Cheryl: I just got back from an MK (Missionary Kid) boarding school class reunion.

Jan: I’m an MK too! Where did your parents serve?

Cheryl: Nigeria.

Jan: Me too!

Cheryl: What school did you attend?

Jan: Hillcrest.

Cheryl: My ministry partner went to Hillcrest!

Cheryl (texting me): Guess who’s in my home? A lady who went to Hillcrest.

Karen: What’s her maiden name and year of graduation?

Thus, Jan (a classmate I had not seen in 52 years), Minna, Cheryl, and I met at Taziki’s Mediterranean Cafe. We shared some hummus, and I ordered an amazing watermelon, spinach, feta cheese, and candied pecans salad. Very refreshing on a hot summer day.

Venezuelan

One day my daughter Sharon wanted me to meet a sweet Venezuelan couple from her ESL class who had recently moved to our town. For a taste of home, they recommended Brasas Grill. Thus my friend Carol and I agreed to meet for lunch in August (“As long as the food is not spicy,” she said. It wasn’t.) We ordered chicken-filled empanadas and sweet, caramelized plantains topped with delicious cheese. Tasty and filling, but one visit was enough.

Cuban

In October, I tagged along with Scott to Chattanooga where he participated in WMBW’s Share-on-thon. Going to the Hamilton Place Mall food court was an easy way to satisfy both our palates. I tried a portobello mushroom sandwich. Though not spicy enough to provide the flavor I was seeking, I enjoyed the crustiness of the toasted bread.

Laotian? Vietnamese?

Quite by accident, I discovered an 18-month-old restaurant listed online as Laotian but supposedly Vietnamese just a few minutes from my church. Though near some run-down establishments, inside I found clean, bright booths and tables and a friendly face. Lin (not sure how she spells her name) greeted me enthusiastically and seated me with a one-page menu. Many of the items looked like Chinese or Thai, so I asked for her recommendation for a typical Laotian dish. “My favorite is Pad See Ew,” she said, “with wide rice noodles, Chinese (!) broccoli, and egg—but I don’t recommend you include the carrots.” I took her advice and ordered it with chicken.

This dish originates in Thailand, “so what makes it different?” I asked. “We like our food HOT,” she said. And she proceeded to fuss over the arrangement of condiments on the table, mixing Hoisin Sauce and Sriracha Chili Sauce on the side of my plate, topped with a jalapeño pepper. She then hovered nearby to see how I liked it. “Delicious!” I declared, and she grinned, satisfied. By the end of my meal, we’d exchanged names, I knew she was my age (70) and had lived in the USA for 43 years. Her two kids live out of state, and she works at the restaurant a couple hours a week to get out of the house. What a happy extrovert! To complete my experience, I wandered through the international grocery store next door and drooled over the guava and mango nectars.

International Potluck

For my last hurrah, I shamelessly invited myself to one of Sharon’s many Christmas parties at Legacy Village, for I knew I’d find a variety of dishes from other countries, including Kurdish, Burmese, and Mexican. Sadly, though all the dishes were tasty, this year not a single one was spicy. To make up for it, I added hot sauces, gifts from friends this year: Cowboy Candy and The General’s Hot Sauce Hooah Jalapeño.

In Conclusion

If you’ve read this far, I suspect the first question you will ask is, “What was your favorite?” Ethiopian and Nigerian topped my list for the best flavor (no surprise there), and Korean for the most unusual. My most fun experience was meeting Lin at Ladna 88. In the end, I enjoyed any dish with barkono.

Thank you to my friends who joined me on this adventure or contributed toward it with your gifts. And thank you to my husband who tolerates my cravings for international cuisine—as long as I don’t eat with my fingers or cook it in my house.

If anyone cares to join or invite me, I’m feeling lickerish* as I search for my next tasty culinary experience.

*Lickerish (adj.) [archaic]: eager to consume delicious foods

Navigating Body Needs

Posted on June 27, 2024 by karenkeegan under Choices, Emotions, Quotes

Journal 2017

“Sometimes you aren’t listening to your body because you’re listening to everybody else’s expectations.” AnnVoskamp.com

I’m reading a book entitled Plant Paradox that challenges much of what I’ve been taught. Who can I believe? Who has the answers? Opinions and research shift from one decade to the next. Eat potato skins, they say—that’s where the nutrients live; don’t eat the skins, others say, because that’s where the toxins stay. Egg yolks are bad for cholesterol; yolks and whites are best if eaten together. Don’t eat real butter—it has bad fat; don’t eat fake butter—it has too many chemicals. Aaackkk!

I just know that something has to give. I feel more tired and achy as the summer wears on—usually my most healthy season. Where is this inflammation coming from? How do I know what’s good for me and what’s not? Everyone has his or her pet opinion. And how do I balance buying organic vs. watching my budget? Or market-fresh vs. grocery stores vs. my shopping time? What’s most important to me? To God?

I eat pizza and pancakes every Saturday. And for company tonight I’m fixing a high-sugar dessert. How can I say no to that! My naturopath says to stay away from wheat and corn. The rheumatologist suggests avoiding nightshade veggies (tomatoes, peppers, eggplant)—all of which I just bought. Sigh.

I feel old when I’m tired and hurting and compare myself to an elderly couple at my church doing at their age what I don’t have the energy to do now at mine.

VISUAL: From the sidelines, I watch see this couple busily digging a ditch, while Jesus stands to one side observing us both. He hasn’t asked me to dig with these spry octogenarians, but somehow, I feel guilty.

“Look down at your feet,” He says.

I see water.

I don’t understand the significance. At first, I think, I need to bail this liquid out of my ditch. But then I realize the couple is digging for water, and I’ve already found mine. This is no reflection on them, no judgment—just an observation in the visual.

So, what’s next? I’m standing ankle-deep in clear, running water. It feels good on my sore feet. I’m allowed to stay here if I like . . . though I think, maybe I should help the couple dig for their water. Why should I stay here when others need me? So, I offer my services, but they wave me off.

“We love what we do!” they say. “If you like digging, you’re welcome to join us, but we don’t need your help. We’ve found our joy.”

Okay, I can live with that.

So, I stay here in the cool, refreshing water till something flows down my gully that requires attention. I’m grateful for those who answer the call to do. Today I am content to just be, a soft breeze caressing my cheek as I sit here on the patio of Starbucks, watching the cars go by, smelling coffee and perfume and fried food. It’s been a glorious day.

A 2024 Update. My inflammation is under control now and, fortunately, I don’t battle any allergies, or I might have a different opinion. I’ve settled on my mother’s philosophy and wisdom: eat what you want but in moderation. And eat lots of veggies.

Food—It Does a Body Good

Posted on April 11, 2019 by karenkeegan under Choices, Emotions

I know someone who analyzes every bite that goes into her mouth. She obsesses over fat and sugar and red meat and raw vegetables. I wonder if she’ll live any longer or have a better quality of life as a result? I doubt it. She’s riddled with fears and physical and emotional pain.

I remember my mother commenting on the food fads in American each time we came home on furlough: one year it was sugar-free, then fat-free, and now it’s gluten-free. One year we were informed that we should eat potato skins to get the most nutrients, and the next time we were admonished to pitch them because of all the toxins. At one time egg yolks were verboten, and now it’s acceptable. Will someone please make up their mind!

My mother taught me to have moderation and balance in all things. It doesn’t mean I’m totally and perfectly moderate in my eating habits. I just don’t worry too much if I eat a piece of sugar occasionally or enjoy a steak now and then. God gave us food to enjoy, and as long as we don’t make food our god, I think we can relax and live with an eye to the eternal.

Describe your relationship with food.