Sacred memories, and a collision of sorts

Yesterday I felt as if there was a collision of sorts. A collision between traditions I have grown up with and Seattle friends.

We made crepes (to me known as Swedish pancakes). I used my grandma's recipe, and taught a couple of my friends how to do it the way she taught me, the way my dad and I do it every time I am in Iowa for Christmas. They were yummy.

I grew up making these pancakes. Thinking about it more brought me back to my grandma's kitchen in Pella, Iowa, we would make them on Christmas eve at her house. My grandparents don't live there any more and as she is nearing late stage Alzheimer's, she wouldn't be able to ever make them with me again, but I'm sure if you put some of these yummy cakes in front of her, she would smile, say something off topic and find a way to eat them. She grew up making them too I bet.

I remember making these thin, yummy pancakes on my parent's stove Christmas morning. My dad took so much pride in teaching me how. Now as he watches me make them, he stands back, both proud and a little hurt that I can self-sufficiently come up with a finished product. He often makes the batter before I am up in the morning, secretly I think just so one portion of the recipe he can call himself completely responsible for...maybe he wasn't quite ready for me to take over the tradition (as I'm sure he has memories of cooking these with his mother, my grandma as a child).

So I made the batter this time. I cooked a couple and taught my friends how to cook them too. I'm ready to take on the tradition of cooking these pancakes Dad. But next Christmas I am home, I'm going to make sure we both have our hands in it equally. I am starting to understand how the act of making these pancakes is like a memory that you yearn to play out each year. A memorial of sorts. A privilege for each of us to take part in this sacred memory.

So the collision came in as I realized that my traditions (only ever played out in Iowa) could collide with people out here in Seattle. This tradition could come together here, a completely different place, a different territory with different people. It is really hard for me to think about traditions developing (and growing) out here in Seattle, maybe because I have spent most of my life in Iowa.

It is a different landscape, different pans, a different stove, and yet the sacredness of the tradition remains. And I remain grateful for the places in my life where collisions happen, where people come together a bit different and collide, with their interests, priorities, talents. They are similar and yet different, we need these collision, God uses these collisions to make us each more whom He Created us to me. Thank God I don't live in a vacuum, and that God uses experiences, people, and places in my life to make me more whom He has always envisioned me to me.