Tony Cooke Quotes

She'd cook like an angel and fuck like a whore

The past was a consumable, subject to the national preference for familiar products. And history, in America, is a dish best served plain. The first course could include a dollop of Italian in 1492, but not Spanish spice or French sauce or too much Indian corn. Nothing too filling or fancy ahead of the turkey and pumpkin pie, just the way Grandma used to cook it.

Cook,” the historian Bernard Smith speculates, “increasingly realised that wherever he went he was spreading the curses much more liberally than the benefits of European civilization.

What do you know about somebody not being good enough for somebody else? And since when did you care whether Corinthians stood up or fell down? You've been laughing at us all your life. Corinthians. Mama. Me. Using us, ordering us, and judging us: how we cook your food; how we keep your house. But now, all of a sudden, you have Corinthians' welfare at heart and break her up from a man you don't approve of. Who are you to approve or disapprove anybody or anything? I was breathing air in the world thirteen years before your lungs were even formed. Corinthians, twelve. . . . but now you know what's best for the very woman who wiped the dribble from your chin because you were too young to know how to spit. Our girlhood was spent like a found nickel on you. When you slept, we were quiet; when you were hungry, we cooked; when you wanted to play, we entertained you; and when you got grown enough to know the difference between a woman and a two-toned Ford, everything in this house stopped for you. You have yet to . . . move a fleck of your dirt from one place to another. And to this day, you have never asked one of us if we were tired, or sad, or wanted a cup of coffee. . . . Where do you get the RIGHT to decide our lives? . . . I'll tell you where. From that hog's gut that hangs down between your legs. . . . I didn't go to college because of him. Because I was afraid of what he might do to Mama. You think because you hit him once that we all believe you were protecting her. Taking her side. It's a lie. You were taking over, letting us know you had the right to tell her and all of us what to do. . . . I don't make roses anymore, and you have pissed your last in this house.

If there was an overriding message in his journals, it was that people, the world over, were alike in their essential nature—even if they ate their enemies, made love in public, worshipped idols, or, like Aborigines, cared not at all for material goods.

Charred, blackened, and cooked, the morsel was brought to the mouth and chewed, contemplated, and swallowed with relish. There was no sauce or seasoning and no consideration for aesthetics or art. Yet the combination of meat and fire yielded something revolutionary. Cooked meat made man happy.

Rebuffed from his fine feelings, Milkman matched her cold tone. "You loved those white folks that much?" "Love?" she asked. "Love?" "Well, what are you taking care of their dogs for?" "Do you know why she killed herself? She couldn't stand to see the place go to ruin. She couldn't live without servants and money and what it could buy. Every cent was gone and the taxes took whatever came in. She had to let the upstairs maids go, then the cook, then the dog trainer, then the yardman, then the chauffeur, then the car, then the woman who washed once a week. Then she started selling bits and pieces––land, jewels, furniture. The last few years we ate out of the garden. Finally she couldn't take it anymore. The thought of having no help, no money––well, she couldn't take that. She had to let everything go." "But she didn't let you go." Milkman had no trouble letting his words snarl. "No, she didn't let me go. She killed herself." "And you still loyal." "You don't listen to people. Your ear is on your head, but it's not connected to your brain. I said she killed herself rather than do the work I'd been doing all my life!" Circe stood up, and the dogs too. "Do you hear me? She saw the work I did all her days and died, you hear me, died rather than live like me. Now, what do you suppose she thought I was! If the way I lived and the work I did was so hateful to her she killed herself to keep from having to do it, and you think I stay on here because I loved her, then you have about as much sense as a fart!

Black seamen - or "Black Jacks" as African sailors were known - enjoyed a refreshing world of liberty and equality. Even if they were generally regulated to jobs such as cooks, servants, and muscians and endured thier fellow seamen's racism, they were still freemen in the Royal Navy. One famous black sailor wrote, "I liked this little ship very much. I now became the captian's steward, in which I was very happy; for I was extremely well treated by all on board, and I had the leisure to improve myself in reading and writing.

You Say You Want a Revolution: Interviews with Steve Jobs, Phil Schiller, Tim Cook, Jony Ive, Tony Fadell, Paul Otellini. All Things

While Americans tried to justify and glorify their Indian-killers, George Armstrong Custer in particular,

It's only by spending time with Jesus that our thoughts, words, and actions will ever be transformed into His image.

The world of the rural poor remained what it had been for generations: a day’s walk in radius, a tight, well-trod loop between home, field, church, and, finally, a crowded family grave plot.

Mister was allowed to be and stay what he was. But I wasn’t allowed to be and stay what I was. Even if you cooked him you’d be cooking a rooster named Mister. But wasn’t no way I’d ever be Paul D again, living or dead. Schoolteacher changed me. I was something else and that something was less than a chicken sitting in the sun on a tub.” Sethe put her hand on his knee and rubbed. Paul D had only begun, what he was telling her was only the beginning when her fingers on his knee, soft and reassuring, stopped him. Just as well. Just as well. Saying more might push them both to a place they couldn’t get back from. He would keep the rest where it belonged: in that tobacco tin buried in his chest where a red heart used to be. Its lid rusted shut. He would not pry it loose now in front of this sweet sturdy woman, for if she got a whiff of the contents it would shame him. And it would hurt her to know that there was no red heart bright as Mister’s comb beating in him.

Eventually, as I studied grace more in-depth, I began to see the truth: After being saved it was still His grace that made me His, kept me His, and would enable me to live in a way that pleased Him.

In their attitude to history, some New Zealanders resembled die-hard white Southerners in America, who enshrined Confederate leaders and symbols without acknowledging the offense this might cause to others. Sheila

Seventeen evangelicals, plus five of their wives and three children, disembarked at Tahiti in 1797. Eight missionaries fled on the next boat out, to Sydney. One of the remaining missionaries married a native woman and left the church.

Good attitudes are contagious; they inspire and encourage others. Bad attitudes are also contagious; they create a negative and hostile work environment and make others feel uncomfortable - like they have to walk on eggshells all the time.

Before the cook arrived when she stood in a space no wider than a bench is long, back behind and to the left of the milk cans. Working dough. Working, working dough. Nothing better than that to start the day’s serious work of beating back the past.

Our girlhood was spent like a found nickel on you. When you slept, we were quiet; when you were hungry, we cooked; when you wanted to play, we entertained you; and when you got grown enough to know the difference between a woman and a two-toned Ford, everything in this house stopped for you.

Tony Blair had just been elected prime-minister and he and his foreign secretary, Robin Cook, were totally uninterested. In the pouring rain they were looking at the military parade from underneath their umbrella, for the transfer at midnight. Their entire attitude signalled something like: ‘’Can we go now?

Mister was allowed to be and stay what he was. But I wasn't allowed to be and stay what I was. Even if you cooked him you'd be cooking a rooster named Mister. But wasn't no way I'd ever be Paul D again, living or dead. Schoolteacher changed me. I was something else and that something was less than a chicken sitting in the sun on a tub.

At one stop in New Zealand, an Englishman bartered for sex. He was presented with a boy; when he complained, he was presented with another. The English related this incident with amusement, as a cruel joke. But the Maori may have supposed that homosexuality was the English norm. How else to account for the absence among them of women and children?

Purpose transcends personality. It is important for supportive ministers to serve based on their awareness of God's purpose. His purpose is foundational and will remain steady when personality conflicts and other difficulties arise.... Challenges come to all types of relationships. Only the relationships that are built on a strong foundation will survive and thrive.

An Underground that knew all about this, knew all about Les, was preparing to wake up the world and invite it to a Canada’s Wonderland made of bodies. Giant bloodslides. Houses of torture where children’s kidneys are twisted like sponges in the fat hands of musclemen. There would be buns crammed with the cooked knuckles of teenagers, and a king, sitting on a mountain of kings, eating his own shoulder.

Who’s teasing? I’m telling him the truth. He ain’t going to have it. Neither one of ‘em going to have it. And I’ll tell you something else you not going to have. You not going to have no private coach with four red velvet chairs that swivel around in one place whenever you want ‘em to. No. and you not going to have your own special toilet and your own special-made eight-foot bed either. And a valet and a cook and a secretary to travel with you and do everything you say. Everything: get the right temperature in your hot-water bottle and make sure the smoking tobacco in the silver humidor is fresh each and every day. There’s something else you not going to have. You ever have five thousand dollars of cold cash money in your pocket and walk into a bank and tell the bank man you want such and such a house on such and such a street and he sell it to you right then? Well, you won’t ever have it. And you not going to have a governor’s mansion, or eight thousand acres of timber to sell. And you not going to have no ship under your command to sail on, no train to run, and you can join the 332nd if you want to and shoot down a thousand German planes all by yourself and land in Hitler’s backyard and whip him with your own hands, but you never going to have four stars on your shirt front, or even three. And you not going to have no breakfast tray brought in to you early in the morning with a red rose on it and two warm croissants and a cup of hot chocolate. Nope. Never. And no pheasant buried in coconut leaves for twenty days and stuffed with wild rice and cooked over a wood fire so tender and delicate it make you cry. And no Rothschild ’29 or even Beaujolais to go with it.” A few men passing by stopped to listen to Tommy’s lecture. “What’s going on?” they asked Hospital Tommy. “Feather refused them a beer,” said. The men laughed. “And no baked Alaska!” Railroad Tommy went on. “None! You never going to have that.” “No baked Alaska?” Guitar opened his eyes wide with horror and grabbed his throat.” You breaking my heart!” “Well, now. That’s something you will have—a broken heart.” Railroad Tommy’s eyes softened, but the merriment in them died suddenly. “And folly. A whole lot of folly. You can count on it.” “Mr. Tommy, suh,” Guitar sang in mock humility, “we just wanted a bottle of beer is all.” “Yeah,” said Tommy. “Yeah, well, welcome aboard.

Decimated but stubborn, they were among those who chose a fugitive life rather than Oklahoma. The illness that swept them now was reminiscent of the one that had killed half their number two hundred years earlier. In between that calamity and this, they had visited George III in London, published a newspaper, made baskets, led Oglethorpe through forests, helped Andrew Jackson fight Creek, cooked maize, drawn up a constitution, petitioned the King of Spain, been experimented on by Dartmouth, established asylums, wrote their language, resisted settlers, shot bear and translated scripture. All to no avail. The forced move to the Arkansas River, insisted upon by the same president they fought for against the Creek, destroyed another quarter of their already shattered number.

Trying to get to 124 for the second time now, he regretted that conversation: the high tone he took; his refusal to see the effect of marrow weariness in a woman he believed was a mountain. Now, too late, he understood her. The heart that pumped out love, the mouth that spoke the Word, didn't count. They came in her yard anyway and she could not approve or condemn Sethe's rough choice. One or the other might have saved her, but beaten up by the claims of both, she went to bed. The whitefolks had tired her out at last. And him. Eighteen seventy-four and whitefolks were still on the loose. Whole towns wiped clean of Negroes; eighty-seven lynchings in one year alone in Kentucky; four colored schools burned to the ground; grown men whipped like children; children whipped like adults; black women raped by the crew; property taken, necks broken. He smelled skin, skin and hot blood. The skin was one thing, but human blood cooked in a lynch fire was a whole other thing. The stench stank. Stank up off the pages of the North Star, out of the mouths of witnesses, etched in crooked handwriting in letters delivered by hand. Detailed in documents and petitions full of whereas and presented to any legal body who'd read it, it stank. But none of that had worn out his marrow. None of that. It was the ribbon. Tying his flatbed up on the bank of the Licking River, securing it the best he could, he caught sight of something red on its bottom. Reaching for it, he thought it was a cardinal feather stuck to his boat. He tugged and what came loose in his hand was a red ribbon knotted around a curl of wet woolly hair, clinging still to its bit of scalp. He untied the ribbon and put it in his pocket, dropped the curl in the weeds. On the way home, he stopped, short of breath and dizzy. He waited until the spell passed before continuing on his way. A moment later, his breath left him again. This time he sat down by a fence. Rested, he got to his feet, but before he took a step he turned to look back down the road he was traveling and said, to its frozen mud and the river beyond, "What are these people? You tell me, Jesus. What are they?" When he got to his house he was too tired to eat the food his sister and nephews had prepared. He sat on the porch in the cold till way past dark and went to his bed only because his sister's voice calling him was getting nervous. He kept the ribbon; the skin smell nagged him, and his weakened marrow made him dwell on Baby Suggs' wish to consider what in the world was harmless. He hoped she stuck to blue, yellow, maybe green, and never fixed on red. Mistaking her, upbraiding her, owing her, now he needed to let her know he knew, and to get right with her and her kin. So, in spite of his exhausted marrow, he kept on through the voices and tried once more to knock at the door of 124. This time, although he couldn't cipher but one word, he believed he knew who spoke them. The people of the broken necks, of fire-cooked blood and black girls who had lost their ribbons. What a roaring.

We talked into the night, the room blurring around us as it had done at the dance in West Side Story when Tony and Maria first saw each other across a crowd of people. Tonight, tonight, it all began tonight. My friends giggled and sipped wine at the table where I’d abandoned them earlier in the night, oblivious to the fact that their redheaded amiga had just been struck by a lightning bolt. Before I could internally break into the second chorus of song, my version of Tony--this mysterious cowboy--announced abruptly that he had to go. Go? I thought. Go where? There’s no place on earth but this smoky bar…But there was for him: he and his brother had plans to cook Christmas turkeys for some needy folks in his small town. Mmmm. He’s nice, too, I thought as a pang stabbed my insides. “Bye,” he said with a gentle smile. And with that, his delicious boots walked right out of the J-Bar, his dark blue Wranglers cloaking a body that I was sure had to have been chiseled out of granite. My lungs felt tight, and I still smelled his scent through the bar smoke in the air. I didn’t even know his name. I prayed it wasn’t Billy Bob.

The sky is a dark bowl, the stars die and fall. The celestial bows quiver, the bones of the earthgods shake and planets come to a halt when they sight the king in all his power, the god who feeds on his father and eats his mother. The king is such a tower of wisdom even his mother can't discern his name. His glory is in the sky, his strength lies in the horizon like that of his father the sungod Atum who conceived him. Atum conceived the king, but the dead king has greater dominion. His vital spirits surround him, his qualities lie below his feet, he is cloaked in gods and cobras coil on his forehead. His guiding snakes decorate his brow and peer into souls, ready to spit fire against his enemies. The king's head is on his torso. He is the bull of the sky who charges and vanquishes all. He lives on the stuff of the gods, he feeds on their limbs and entrails, even when they have bloated their bodies with magic at Nesisi, the island of fire. He cooks the leftover gods into a bone soup. Their souls belong to him and their shadows as well. In his pyramid among those who live on the earth of Egypt, the dead king ascends and appears forever and forever.

MONKEY BREAD   Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position. 1 and ¼ cups white (granulated) sugar 1 and ½ teaspoons ground cinnamon 4 cans (7.5 ounce tube) unbaked refrigerated biscuits (I used Pillsbury) 1 cup chopped nuts of your choice (optional) 1 cup chocolate chips (optional) (that’s a 6-ounce size bag) ½ cup salted butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, ¼ pound) Hannah’s 1st Note: If you prefer, you can use 16.3 ounce tubes of Pillsbury Grands. If you do this, buy only 2 tubes. They are larger—you will use half a tube for each layer. Tony’s Note: If you use chocolate chips and/or nuts, place them between each biscuit layer. Spray the inside of a Bundt pan with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray. Set your prepared pan on a drip pan just in case the butter overflows. Then you won’t have to clean your oven. Mix the white sugar and cinnamon together in a mixing bowl. (I used a fork to mix it up so that the cinnamon was evenly distributed.) Open 1 can of biscuits at a time and break or cut them into quarters. You want bite-size pieces. Roll the pieces in the cinnamon and sugar mixture, and place them in the bottom of the Bundt pan. Sprinkle one-third of the chopped nuts and one-third of the chocolate chips on top of the layer, if you decided to use them. Open the second can of biscuits, quarter them, roll them in the cinnamon and sugar, and place them on top of the first layer. (If you used Pillsbury Grands, you’ll do this with the remainder of the first tube.) Sprinkle on half of the remaining nuts and chocolate chips, if you decided to use them. Repeat with the third can of biscuits (or the first half of the second tube of Grands). Sprinkle on the remainder of the nuts and chocolate chips, if you decided to use them. Repeat with the fourth can of biscuits (or the rest of the Grands) to make a top layer in your Bundt pan. Melt the butter and the remaining cinnamon and sugar mixture in a microwave safe bowl on HIGH for 45 seconds. Give it a final stir and pour it over the top of your Bundt pan. Bake your Monkey Bread at 350 degrees F. for 40 to 45 minutes, or until nice and golden on top. Take the Bundt pan out of the oven and let it cool on a cold burner or a wire rack for 10 minutes while you find a plate that will fit over the top of the Bundt pan. Using potholders or oven mitts invert the plate over the top of the Bundt pan and turn it upside down to unmold your delicious Monkey Bread. To serve, you can cut this into slices like Bundt cake, but it’s more fun to just let people pull off pieces with their fingers. Hannah’s 2nd Note: If you’d like to make Caramel Monkey Bread, use only ¾ cup of white sugar. Mix it with the cinnamon the way you’d do if it was the full amount of white sugar. At the very end when you melt the butter with the leftover cinnamon and sugar mixture, add ¾ cup of brown sugar to the bowl before you put it in the microwave. Pour that hot mixture over the top of your Bundt pan before baking and it will form a luscious caramel topping when you unmold your Monkey Bread. Hannah’s 3rd Note: I don’t know why this is called “Monkey Bread”. Norman thinks it has something to do with the old story about the monkey that couldn’t get his hand out of the hole in the tree because he wouldn’t let go of the nut he was holding in his fist. Mike thinks it’s because monkeys eat with their hands and you can pull this bread apart and eat it with your hands. Mother says it’s because monkeys are social animals and you can put this bread in the center of the table and everyone can sit around it and eat. Tracey says it’s because it’s a cute name. Bethie doesn’t care. She just wants to eat it.

The best you can do is catch an echo of the man. You can never reach out and touch him.

Cook, judging from his journals, was not a pious man. A product of the eighteenth century Enlightenment, he valued reason above all else, and showed little patience for what he called “Priest craft” and “superstition.

Shrimp and Grits The combination of creamy grits with slightly spicy, tomatoey shrimp is a classic coastal dish in the South. It’s comforting and hearty, but in an elegant serving bowl it can also be a perfect meal to serve at a dinner party. FOR THE GRITS 11/2 cup grits (not quick-cooking—I like stone-ground) 1 teaspoon salt 4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) butter FOR THE SHRIMP 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 tablespoon butter 1 medium onion, chopped 1 small green pepper, chopped 3 cloves garlic, minced 1 (14 oz.) can diced tomatoes with liquid 1 teaspoon Cajun seasoning (I like Tony Chachere’s Creole Seasoning) 2 tablespoons tomato paste 2 pounds medium-large raw shrimp, peeled 1/2 cup water 2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce

lingering

It was there I learned how I was not a person from my country, nor from my families. I was negrita. Everything. Language, dress, gods, dance, habits, decoration, song - all of it cooked together in the color of my skin.

Tony tells Melfi that he knew he had a golden moment after Junior shot him, and that he let it slip away; the implication is that his Las Vegas trip was a half-assed attempt to create a new chance for epiphany. But is such a thing possible, for Tony or anyone else? Especially when it’s just so easy to dwell on old grudges and feuds—to keep stewing in the juices, like the steak Christopher was cooking in “Walk Like a Man,” long after the flame’s turned off?

So the meal needn't be elegant, its participants well-versed in etiquette. Every dish doesn't have to be cooked to perfection, or adequately warmed, for that matter. What's important is that we not throw away yet another moment of sacredness in our desperate quest to distract ourselves. These fleeting moments of beauty and joy are all we have to shore ourselves up against the sorrow that inevitably finds anyone who has the courage to bind his heart to another.

As a Christian university administrator, it has been my life’s work to integrate faith and learning to equip students to be Christian servant leaders in their respective callings. In this book a dear friend of mine, Tony Carvalho, does not just integrate faith and learning, but rather he aids Christians in going beyond that into our central calling of integrating faith and living. Beyond Sunday Morning is a wonderful guide from a gifted business leader who has implemented these practices into his own life and work. This book is insightful, challenging, and inspiring.

Beaner Weens, head cook at the Vicar’s Knickers, verbal dueling partner of Ann Tenna, and infamous character known for collecting bottles, cans, and golf balls while disguised as a moose, had by some unknown manner transformed himself into a popular guest on various paranormal podcasts. It earned him dozens of dollars.

Also, emancipation is feeling satisfied. Take the case of a hungry man who, on encountering sweet dishes, devours them, and there is no end of eating. The case of emancipation is not like this. If one partakes of milk-cooked porridge, one no longer feels the need to eat. No longer feeling any need to eat may well be likened to emancipation. True emancipation is the Tathagata.

Well, Mamá says you need to come over more often and eat more.” Tony’s mother, Ana, was always cooking something. Chilaquiles was a typical breakfast in their home—corn tortillas, scrambled eggs, cheese, and green chili. It was Cedric’s favorite Mexican dish.

By the light of the hominy fire Sixo straightens. He is through with his song. He laughs. A rippling sound like Sethe's sons make when they tumble in hay or splash in rainwater. His feet are cooking; the cloth of his trousers smokes. He laughs. Something is funny. Paul D guesses what it is when Sixo interrupts his laughter to call out, "Seven-O! Seven-O!

Because of its frequent use in Scripture, grace should be an oft-preached topic, and a frequent subject of discussion among believers. Consider the following descriptions of grace found in the Bible.

Grace saves us and empowers us to live a life pleasing to God: We are saved by grace and through grace (Acts 15:11; Ephesians 2:8). It is through the grace of God that we believe (Acts 18:27). Grace builds us up and gives us an inheritance (Acts 20:32). We are justified freely by His grace (Romans 3:24). Grace makes the promise sure to all those who are of faith (Romans 4:16). Paul ministered through the grace that was given to him (Romans 12:3). We have gifts differing according to the grace that is given to us (Romans 12:6). Grace causes us to be enriched by Him in all utterance and in all knowledge (1 Corinthians 1:4-5).

These two verses are the hello and goodbye in the book of Ephesians. The standard greeting before Jesus came on the scene was shalom, the word for God’s peace in the Hebrew language.1 Paul and other New Testament writers added grace (charis) to the greeting, making it a very powerful statement.

Seventeen times in the New Testament, some variation of “Grace and peace to you” is used in expressing blessing to God’s people. In bringing God’s grace to mankind, Jesus also brought the peace every Old Testament believer had sought. The fact that grace is always used first indicates that grace is the root of what God did for us through Jesus, while peace follows as the fruit of His gracious work.

The prophets of old prophesied of the grace that should come to us (1 Peter 1:10). This grace came by Jesus (John 1:17). Jesus was full of grace, and it is from His fullness that we receive one grace after another (John 1:14,16). The grace of God was upon Jesus and gracious words proceeded out of His mouth (Luke 2:40; 4:22). It was by grace that Jesus tasted of death for every man (Hebrews 2:9).

Continue in grace (Acts 13:43). Abound in grace (2 Corinthians 8:7). Be strong in grace (2 Timothy 2:1). Grow in grace (2 Peter 3:18). The Word of God speaks of: Great grace (Acts 4:33). The abundance of grace (Romans 5:17). The exceeding grace of God (2 Corinthians 9:14). The glory of His grace (Ephesians 1:6). The riches of His grace (Ephesians 1:7). The exceeding riches of His grace (Ephesians 2:7). The dispensation of the grace of God (Ephesians 3:2). The gift of the grace of God (Ephesians 3:7). The grace of life (1 Peter 3:7). The manifold grace of God (1 Peter 4:10). The true grace of God (1 Peter 5:12).

Shown (Ezra 9:8). Poured (Psalm 45:2). Received (Romans 1:5). Seen and perceived (Acts 11:23; Galatians 2:9).

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Grace be with all those who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. Amen. Ephesians 1:2; 6:24

There is a depth of meaning every time the Holy Spirit greets us with some form of, “Grace and peace.” Today, few understand this. We greet one another with, “Hello! How are you?” But in most cases we are not expecting a revealing or meaningful answer, nor are we saying something profound in our greeting. Likewise, our goodbyes are usually something like, “See ya later,” or a simple, “Bye.” No weighty communication there! Perhaps this is the reason most of us give little thought to the beginning and ending of the epistles. We assume the writers were simply expressing a formality, and we believe the true substance of Scripture is between what are called the salutations and benedictions.

However, the Word gives us a different perspective. Paul wrote, “All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable” (2 Timothy 3:16), and this includes the salutations and benedictions of the epistles. I am convinced they are not superficial formalities. They were inspired by the Holy Spirit to impart powerful spiritual blessing to all who read them.

Grace makes us what we are and works in us and through us (1 Corinthians 15:10).

It is the grace of God that makes us rich (2 Corinthians 8:9). God’s grace is sufficient for us and causes us to reign in life (2 Corinthians 12:9; Romans 5:17). We are called by grace into grace (Galatians 1:6,15). Grace enables us to preach the unsearchable riches of Christ (Ephesians 3:8). Our words can impart grace to others (Ephesians 4:29). We are partakers of grace (Philippians 1:7). We sing with grace in our hearts, and our words are to be seasoned with grace (Colossians 3:16; 4:6). Grace gives us everlasting consolation and good hope (2 Thessalonians 2:16). Grace teaches us to live holy lives (Titus 2:11-12). Grace helps us in time of need (Hebrews 4:16). Grace enables us to serve God acceptably (Hebrews 12:28). Grace establishes our hearts (Hebrews 13:9). Grace is obtained by coming boldly before His throne (Hebrews 4:16).

As you read, remember that God is completely committed to you. Don't just read for information but seek the transformation He offers.

As you read the following salutations and benedictions, personalize them. Allow God to encourage and strengthen you with His grace.

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” (This phrase occurs ten times in Romans 1:7, 1 Corinthians 1:3, 2 Corinthians 1:2, Galatians 1:3, Ephesians 1:2, Philippians 1:2, Colossians 1:2, 1 Thessalonians 1:1, 2 Thessalonians 1:2, and Philemon 3.)

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.” (Similar variations of this phrase occur nine times in Romans 16:20,24; 1 Corinthians 16:23; Galatians 6:18; Philippians 4:23; 1 Thessalonians 5:28; 2 Thessalonians 3:18; Philemon 25; and Revelation 22:21.)

Grace be with you” (or you all). (This phrase

occurs five times in Colossians 4:18; 1 Timothy 6:21; 2 Timothy 4:22; Titus 3:15; and Hebrews 13:25.)

Grace, mercy, and peace from God our Father and Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Similar variations of this phrase occur four times in 1 Timothy 1:2; 2 Timothy 1:2; Titus 1:4; and 2 John 3.)

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” (This phrase occurs one time in 2 Corinthians 13:14.)

Grace be with all those who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity.” (This phrase occurs one time in Ephesians 6:24.)

Grace and peace be multiplied to you in the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord.” (This phrase occurs one time in 2 Peter 1:2.)

Grace to you and peace from Him who is and who was and who is to come.” (This phrase occurs one time in Revelation 1:4.)

Father, I thank You that this very day, You and the Lord Jesus are releasing grace, peace, and mercy into my life. Thank You that Your grace, Your love, and the communion of the Holy Spirit are mine today.

These are God’s thoughts and intentions toward us. He is for us, not against us. None of these letters begin with “Shame, Guilt, and Condemnation to you” because that is not God’s heart toward us, grace is.

The Lord is gracious (Psalm 111:4). He is the giver of grace (Proverbs 3:34). He is the God of all grace (1 Peter 5:10). His throne is a throne of grace (Hebrews 4:16). The Holy Spirit is called the Spirit of grace (Hebrews 10:29). Our message is called “The Gospel of the Grace of God” and “The Word of His Grace” (Acts 20:24, 32).

Even though I realized it was by God’s grace I had become His child, I had somehow come to think that my continued acceptance with God was based on me doing everything perfectly. I also realized that I had been trying to live the Christian life in my own strength. I knew God loved me enough to save me, but as I struggled with my flesh and the world, sometimes failing, I saw Him as angry, judgmental, and disappointed in me. Through this misperception, I saw Him not as my loving Father and Helper but as a mere faultfinder.

Grace is multiplied unto us through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord (2 Peter 1:2). An individual can: Receive grace in vain (2 Corinthians 6:1). Set aside or treat as meaningless the grace of God (Galatians 2:21). Fall from grace (Galatians 5:4). Insult the Spirit of grace (Hebrews 10:29). Fall short of grace (Hebrews 12:15). Turn the grace of God into lewdness (Jude 4).

By Lawrence Van Alstyne December 24, 1863 As tomorrow is Christmas we went out and made such purchases of good things as our purses would allow, and these we turned over to George and Henry for safe keeping and for cooking on the morrow. After that we went across the street to see what was in a tent that had lately been put up there. We found it a sort of show. There was a big snake in a showcase filled with cheap looking jewelry, each piece having a number attached to it. Also, a dice cup and dice. For $1.00 one could throw once, and any number of spots that came up would entitle the thrower to the piece of jewelry with a corresponding number on it. Just as it had all been explained to us, a greenhorn-looking chap came in and, after the thing had been explained to him, said he was always unlucky with dice, but if one of us would throw for him he would risk a dollar just to see how the game worked. Gorton is such an accommodating fellow I expected he would offer to make the throw for him, but as he said nothing, I took the cup and threw seventeen. The proprietor said it was a very lucky number, and he would give the winner $12 in cash or the fine pin that had the seventeen on it. The fellow took the cash, like a sensible man. I thought there was a chance to make my fortune and was going right in to break the bank, when Gorton, who was wiser than I, took me to one side and told me not to be a fool; that the greenhorn was one of the gang, and that the money I won for him was already his own. Others had come by this time and I soon saw he was right, and I kept out. We watched the game a while, and then went back to Camp Dudley and to bed. Christmas, and I forgot to hang up my stocking. After getting something to eat, we took stock of our eatables and of our pocket books, and found we could afford a few things we lacked. Gorton said he would invite his horse jockey friend, James Buchanan, not the ex-President, but a little bit of a man who rode the races for a living. So taking Tony with me I went up to a nearby market and bought some oysters and some steak. This with what we had on hand made us a feast such as we had often wished for in vain. Buchanan came, with his saddle in his coat pocket, for he was due at the track in the afternoon. George and Henry outdid themselves in cooking, and we certainly had a feast. There was not much style about it, but it was satisfying. We had overestimated our capacity, and had enough left for the cooks and drummer boys. Buchanan went to the races, Gorton and I went to sleep, and so passed my second Christmas in Dixie. At night the regiment came back, hungry as wolves. The officers mostly went out for a supper, but Gorton and I had little use for supper. We had just begun to feel comfortable. The regiment had no adventures and saw no enemy. They stopped at Baton Rouge and gave the 128th a surprise. Found them well and hearty, and had a real good visit. I was dreadfully sorry I had missed that treat. I would rather have missed my Christmas dinner. They report that Colonel Smith and Adjutant Wilkinson have resigned to go into the cotton and sugar speculation. The 128th is having a free and easy time, and according to what I am told, discipline is rather slack. But the stuff is in them, and if called on every man will be found ready for duty. The loose discipline comes of having nothing to do. I don’t blame them for having their fun while they can, for there is no telling when they will have the other thing. From Diary of an Enlisted Man by Lawrence Van Alstyne. New Haven, Conn., 1910.

Jesus took care of himself. He ate healthy food. He rested when he was weary. He sought time alone when he needed to recharge. He laughed with his friends. He wept when he was sad. He walked long distances and climbed hills and moved. From barren wilderness to unpredictable waters, he spent the majority of his time outside in nature. He loved wholeheartedly. He served others. He cooked. He studied and learned and grew in wisdom. Jesus cared for himself physically, mentally and spiritually. To be aligned with him, we must do no less.

Teams have to really get to know each other, work through many issues, overcome various obstacles, and establish winning strategies in order to experience this caliber of cohesion.

Leadership is a matter of having people look at you and gain confidence, seeing how you react. If you’re in control, they’re in control.

Damn, if you didn’t talk so much, I’d keep you around for your coffee and your cooking.

With the remaining 80 pesos, a Cuban has to pay around 15 pesos for the electric bill, 6 pesos for cooking gas, 5 pesos for water and sewer, and maybe 15–20 pesos if he or she is still paying for an apartment (although most people have finished paying their installments and own their dwellings). With

Everybody knew that when mama Betty cooked you needed to drop what you were doing and be there.  Mama Betty was a beast in the kitchen. “What’s

Right now in Harlem, for every bank and chicken wing franchise joint, there is a small business owner who has spent a decade trying to figure out how to cater to a neighborhood he has fallen in love with. For every man or woman who has succumbed to that spell, I want to tell them: Go for it, do it. I want to pass the word like gospel. Let me tell you something: Right now in Harlem authorship is on the move. This is ours, we tell each other. We have made it, chopped it, cooked it, played it. This is our story. Gordon Parks, photographer, musicians, writer, film director paved a way for us. Bear witness, he told us. That was his gift to the neighborhood. Whatever goes down, whatever turns up - make food and music and dance and story out of it. Right now and since forever, the world keeps telling us there's only room for one: Serena and that's it. Toni and that's it. I wonder if they can hear Harlem across the divide. Come one, come all. That's how we wrestle with urban renewal, black removal. The church ladies know this, and so do the hustlers. Right now in Harlem, we don't shy away from the ugly; we don't bow our heads to what's beautiful. We just keep asking, how does all this new s**t fit with the old? Right now in Harlem there's room; there's hope; there's inspiration; there's good food. I may not be able to explain the magic, but it is there. To be in Harlem and make it takes luck, but nobody told me different. One thing is certain, wherever you are, you should come to Harlem - right now.

Two little lines I heard one day, Traveling along life’s busy way; Bringing conviction to my heart, And from my mind would not depart; Only one life, ’twill soon be past, Only what’s done for Christ will last. Only one life, yes only one, Soon will its fleeting hours be done; Then, in ‘that day’ my Lord to meet, And stand before His Judgement seat; Only one life, ’twill soon be past, Only what’s done for Christ will last. Only one life, the still small voice, Gently pleads for a better choice Bidding me selfish aims to leave, And to God’s holy will to cleave; Only one life, ’twill soon be past, Only what’s done for Christ will last. Only one life, a few brief years, Each with its burdens, hopes, and fears;

You don’t know what heat is until you cross the border from Texas to Louisiana in the summer. You can’t come up with words that catch it. Trees give up. Turtles cook in their shells. Describe that if you know how.

Logic is the death of dreams. And it turned out that Tony and Sally favored dreams … and second chances.

Nobody ever sees a cook eat anything.

While Americans tried to justify and glorify their Indian-killers, George Armstrong Custer in particular, Australians simply wrote blacks, and the slaughter of them, out of the nation’s history. Until about 1970, history books and school texts hardly mentioned Aborigines at all. “The great Australian silence,” the anthropologist W.E.H. Stanner termed this amnesia in 1968. “A cult of forgetfulness practiced on a national scale.

crumpet. Fifty years later, Michener and the Yanks show up. Then come the travel hacks, who have to justify their fancy rooms and plane fare by telling us this shithole is paradise.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Come to think of it, paradise probably is a shithole. The missionaries sold a pup with that one, too. At least I hope they did, because I’m certainly not headed there.” We motored back to our yacht mooring. In twenty-four hours we’d be flying off the island. As we walked out on the pier, our legs still vibrating from five hours in the fun car, I asked Roger if he planned to come with me to Cook’s next landfall. “To New Zealand? Good God, that’s a pup even the Frogs couldn’t sell me.” I told him that French explorers barely went to New Zealand, and the first who had gone there ended up being eaten by Maori. Roger laughed. “Frog legs?

I found myself unexpectedly moved, less by the memory of Cook than by the people gathered to honor him. The British were brilliant at this sort of ceremony: sincere, stoic, and understated - nothing like cynical Australians or syrupy Americans. Watching these few dozen faces lashed by freezing rain, their breath clouding as they uttered "God Save the Queen," I caught a glimpse of the grit and pride that had sustained Cook and his men, and that had once enabled this small, damp country to rule so much of the globe.

Missing someone you love is a tribute to that person and to his or her influence in your life. Moving forward, making the necessary adjustments, and finding new purpose for yourself is a tribute to God and to His influence in your life.

I am The Black Book. Between my top and my bottom, my right and my left, I hold what I have seen, what I have done, and what I have thought. I am everything I have hated: labor without harvest; death without honor; life without land or law. I am a black woman holding a white child in her arms singing to her own baby lying unattended in the grass. I am all the ways I have failed: I am the black slave owner, the buyer of Golden Peacock Bleach Crème and Dr. Palmer’s Skin Whitener, the self- hating player of the dozens; I am my own nigger joke. I am all the ways I survived: I am tun-mush, hoecake cooked on a hoe; I am Fourteen black jockeys winning the Kentucky Derby. I am the creator of hundreds of patented inventions; I am Lafitte the pirate and Marie Laveau. I am Bessie Smith winning a roller-skating contest; I am quilts and ironwork, fine carpentry and lace. I am the wars I fought, the gold I mined, The horses I broke, the trails I blazed. I am all the things I have seen: The New York Caucasian newspaper, the scarred back of Gordon the slave, the Draft Riots, darky tunes, and mer- chants distorting my face to sell thread, soap, shoe polish coconut. And I am all the things I have ever loved: scuppernong wine, cool baptisms in silent water, dream books and number playing. I am the sound of my own voice singing “Sangaree.” I am ring-shouts, and blues, ragtime and gospels. I am mojo, voodoo, and gold earrings. I am not complete here; there is much more, but there is no more time and no more space . . . and I have journeys to take, ships to name, and crews.

Others specializing in the field of grief recovery state that the most difficult time following the death of a loved one is usually between seven and nine months afterward.

looked about as romantic and welcoming as a tar pit. I later learned that producers of the 1962 Marlon Brando film Mutiny on the Bounty had imported white sand from America so Matavai Bay would match the Hollywood image of a tropical island.

Lolling on the narrow pier, surrounded by these mocha-colored youths, I became aware of my own pallid body in an unaccustomed way. “Like cats,” George Biddle, an American painter, wrote of islanders in the 1920s, “they fall naturally into harmonious poses.

If we are going to be successful in supportive ministry, we need to learn to work with the unique leadership style and personality of the pastor for whom we work. Every leadership style had its own strengths and weaknesses, and every personality has its own flaws and imperfections - no matter what type it is. Therefore, we need to exercise long-suffering patience and tolerance, not just for the pastor for whom we work, but also for the other people with whom we work. Keep in mind that you're not the only one having to "get along"; your boss and coworkers have to get along with you and your imperfections!

Keep in mind that if God waited until we were perfect before He allowed us to be in His service, none of us could ever serve. We shouldn't use this truth as a cop-out to not change out improve, but to encourage us to keep striving when we're tempted to quit, remembering we've all got room to grow.

It's true that we are not saved BY works, but it's also true that we are saved UNTO works (see Ephesians 2:8). In other words, works are not the CAUSE of our salvation, but they are to be a RESULT of our salvation. Works are not the ROOT of our salvation, but they are to be the FRUIT of our salvation.

What outcome are we trying to accomplish? What changes will have the most direct effect on achievement of this outcome? Does this change require a transactional approach (remodeling) or a transformational approach (changing cooking approaches and strategies, ingredients, and related processes)?

Reka’s Haluski 1 package egg noodles 8 strips thick-cut bacon 1 small green cabbage, sliced 1 medium onion, sliced 4 garlic cloves, minced Salt and freshly ground black pepper Cook the egg noodles according to the package directions in salted boiling water until al dente. Drain and set aside, reserving 1 cup of salty pasta water. Set a large skillet over medium heat. Cook the bacon until crisp, then remove from the skillet and chop into 1/2-inch pieces. Drain off a tablespoon of bacon fat if the skillet is very greasy. Add the cabbage and onion to the skillet, and sauté for 5 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté for another 5 minutes. Once the cabbage is tender, add the cooked egg noodles and bacon to the skillet. Stir well, adding a dash of reserved pasta water to combine the flavors. Season with salt and pepper, and eat on a cold winter day after the holidays, while listening to “Because of You” by Tony Bennett and His Orchestra. “Hey,

The shit we put up with as women.” Marla sipped her drink. “I’m a good woman. I did everything right. I married a professional man. I cook. I clean. I fuck him whenever he wants and look at me now…my husband’s mistress is dead, and my knees are bleeding.” Rachel clutched her chest in laughter.

You need to make sure you always have a reserve of willpower available for the on-the-fly decision making and controlling your reactions. If you run your willpower tank too low, you’ll end up making poor choices or exploding at people. The following are some ways of making more willpower available to you: --Reduce the number of tasks you attempt to get done each day to a very small number. Always identify what your most important task is, and make sure you get that single task done. You can group together your trivial tasks, like replying to emails or paying bills online, and count those as just one item. --Refresh your available willpower by doing tasks slowly. My friend Toni Bernhard, author of How to Wake Up: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide to Navigating Joy and Sorrow, recommends doing a task 25% slower than your usual speed. I’m not saying you need to do this all the time, just when you feel scattered or overwhelmed. Slowing down in this way is considered a form of mindfulness practice. --Another way to refresh your willpower is by taking some slow breaths or doing any of the mindfulness practices from Chapter 5. Think of using mindfulness as running a cleanup on background processes that haven’t shut down correctly. By using mindfulness to do a cognitive cleanup, you’re not leaking mental energy to background worries and rumination. --Reduce decision making. For many people, especially those in management positions or raising kids, life involves constant decision making. Decision making leeches willpower. Find whatever ways you can to reduce decision making without it feeling like a sacrifice. Set up routines (like which meals you cook on particular nights of the week) that prevent you from needing to remake the same decisions over and over. Alternatively, outsource decision making to someone else whenever possible. Let other people make decisions to take them off your plate. --Reduce excess sensory stimulation. For example, close the door or put on some dorky giant headphones to block out noise. This will mean your mental processing power isn’t getting used up by having to filter out excess stimulation. This tip is especially important if you are a highly sensitive person.

Sethe rubbed and rubbed, pressing the work cloth and the stony curves that made up his knee. She hoped it calmed him as it did her. Like kneading bread in the half-light of the restaurant kitchen. Before the cook arrived when she stood in a space no wider than a bench is long, back behind and to the left of the milk cans. Working dough. Working, working dough. Nothing better than that to start the day’s serious work of beating back the past.

They live in Tranquility which is not disturb’d by the Inequality of Condition.