It's Christmas!

A baby is born
A life is given
Our King has come
It’s Christmas

Joy to the world
The angels proclaim
Our Saviour has come
It’s Christmas

All glory to God in the highest
All glory to Jesus the King
Jesus has come
May His name be heard
All glory to God
It’s Christmas

The shepherds look on
Creation’s amazed
God as a man
It’s Christmas

They fall on their knees
All glory to Him
Jesus has come
It’s Christmas

All glory to God in the highest
All glory to Jesus the King
Jesus has come
May His name be heard
All glory to God
It’s Christmas

From a baby so small
To a man on a cross
Salvation has come
It’s Christmas

I bow down my knee
I burst into song
All glory to God
It’s Christmas


Happy Christmas all! I'll be back in the new year. Till then, God bless. May you know and love the true meaning of Christmas for it is incredible and amazing but completely true!

Time for a Christmas Recipe

As many people in the blog world are sharing Christmas recipes, I thought it was about time I contributed.

Christmas in Australia is usually pretty darn hot so we usually go for a lunch that consists of a variety of cold dishes many of which are old family recipes. On the menu are a variety of cold meats, seafood and salads. One of the dishes I usually prepare is Pancetta and Basil Wrapped Chicken. It is one of my specialties. On Christmas day we usually eat this cold, cut into strips with various bean, watermelon, greek and potato salads. However, as this dish is meant to be served hot wth a delicious creamy gravy, I thought I would share it with those of you in colder climates. However you choose to serve this dish you can be sure it will be well received because it is scrumdiddlyumptious and dead easy to cook!

pancetta and basil wrapped chicken

you will need:

4 skinned chicken breasts
8 slices of pancetta
a good handful of FRESH basil leaves (Do NOT use anything but FRESH leaves - I feel very strongly about this)
butter
pepper

Gravy (optional)
575ml/ 1 pt [2 1/2 cups] of strongly flavoured chicken stock
100ml / 3/1/2 fl oz double cream [7 tbsp heavy cream]
chives
pepper

Preheat the oven to 220˚C/425˚F.

Lay 2 slices of pancetta slightly overlapping on a work surface. Put a good sprinkling of fresh basil leaves on top. Season with pepper (no salt the pancetta is salty enough) and place a chicken breast on top. Wrap the pancetta securely around the chicken breast.

Put olive oil and about a tea spoon of butter in a frying pan. Lay the chicken breasts in the pan and fry for 4 minutes on each side. Transfer to a roasting tray and put in the oven for 10 minutes (or longer depending on how big the chicken breasts are).


Gravy
As soon as the chicken breasts go in the oven, pour the stock into the pan and reduce by half over a high heat, scraping any bits from the pan and including them in the stock. Off the heat, whisk in the cream and all but 8 of the chopped chive stalks which you can use later for garnishing. Taste and add more pepper if needed. Keep warm.

serves 4

I like to serve this dish warm with beans, baby carrots, asparagus, and baby potatoes - I don't often cook the gravy as it is very delicious but very rich - or cold, cut into strips with salads. Either way the chicken is absolutely delicious!

What will you be eating for Christmas lunch?

"After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him." Matthew 2:1-2

Last Christmas, my sister-in-law wrapped one of my presents in this beautiful red and gold foil paper pictured below. I loved the paper just about as much as the present and thus have kept it. The three men look just like what I imagine the Three Wise Men of the Orient would have looked like. What I love about this paper is that it was not even really Christmas paper. It was some kind of delicate asian paper my sister-in-law found in China Town for some ridiculously cheap price. A bundle of it cost 20 cents or something crazy. Anyway, the paper captured my attention and imagination and leads me to share with you one of my favourite Christmas Carols, We Three Kings.

Please feel free to sing along with the midi version here.

We three kings of Orient are;

Bearing gifts we traverse afar,

Field and fountain,

moor and mountain,

Following yonder star.

Refrain

O star of wonder,

star of light,

Star with royal beauty bright,

Westward leading,

still proceeding,

Guide us to thy perfect light.

Born a King on Bethlehem’s plain

Gold I bring to crown Him again,

King forever, ceasing never,

Over us all to reign.

Refrain

Frankincense to offer have I;

Incense owns a Deity nigh;

Prayer and praising,

voices raising,

Worshipping God on high.

Refrain

Myrrh is mine,

its bitter perfume

Breathes a life of gathering gloom;

Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,

Sealed in the stone cold tomb.

Refrain

Glorious now behold Him arise;

King and God and sacrifice;

Alleluia, Alleluia,

Sounds through the earth and skies.

Refrain

Last night, after posting the random nonsense which is below, I realised the true reason for my scattyness: I was grieving.

Before you wish me your deepest sympathies, I better explain. You see, yesterday, I finished a book. A good book and when good books end I always feel like I have lost a good friend or two and don't quite know what to do with myself anymore. So, I wander aimlessly, post random nonsense, graze in the kitchen, and sit around doing nothing. And that was when it dawned on me - I miss Eragon.

I am not usually a fan of the fantasy genre, however, a student at school suggested - with some urgency - that I read "the most fantastic fantasy novel" he'd read and "quickly, before the movie comes out next week." As I like to take an interest in what my students are reading outside the classroom, I thought I'd give it a go.

The first few chapters were a little s l o w, however, I very quickly became absorbed; so much so that I could not put the book down. Thus, when I came to the end of the novel, quite unsatisfied with the partial resolution and the fact that there were no more pages to read, I was dying to find out what would happen next! The void I felt at the ending of Eragon was immense. Aimless hours followed.

I wanted desperately to escape my sense of loss by immersing myself in a new book, but I couldn't choose what to read. Another book would not be Eragon. I considered reading Eragon again, immediately, but sometimes you just have to acknowledge when things come to an end, no matter how good they were while they lasted. I quickly realised I was on the rebound - from a book! - and sought to distract myself with some house tidying. I was desperate!

My mum must have sensed my grief because today, - wonderful woman that she is - she bought me Eldest, the next book in Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Trilogy. So from my grief I have emerged and thus shall soon depart to read part two because clearly the first four hundred and ninety seven pages were not enough.

Could this be the beginning of my love for fantasy?

sometimes there is nothing to say














.

The Tale of Tiddly The Caterpillar

When I was in Year 9 at school I had a great love of nature, so it should not have been a surprise to my Geography teacher that I would bring a caterpillar to class. You see, one day during my lunch hour I found a gorgeous little green caterpillar. He was so small and so delicate that I could almost see through his translucent fluro green skin. When I plucked him from his happy nibbling place I was sure I was doing him some grand favour.


I bet I'm saving him from certain death, I thought, out here, in the open -- camouflaged as he was -- he is sure to be consumed by some ravenous bird.

With such love, such care and concern, I carefully picked up the little caterpillar, making sure I took a branch or two with me -- wildlife need their natural habitat to survive -- I carried this forlorn creature with me around the playground. As happens, the bell went and I promptly -- well as promptly as a Year 9 student with a caterpillar can -- made my way to my next class - Geography.

My Geography teacher was a nature loving hippie if ever I saw one. She loved the outdoors as much as she loved a good tan -- her leathery suncrisped skin attested that that was a whole lot! I naturally thought young Tiddly -- for that is what I named my cherished caterpillar -- would find certain refuge in the class of such a teacher.

You cannot imagine my horror, my pain, my sheer disbelief when this esteemed teacher of mine approached my desk, noticed Tiddly and before they could be properly introduced, squashed all the delicate greeness out of his tiny little body.

"NOOOOO!" I wailed, "You killed Tiddly! That was Tiddly!"

I felt defeated. My respect for my Geography teacher plummeted and I was thrust into a world of grief and loss.

"It's a bug," shrugged my Geo teacher. I could hardly believe the words had left her lips. I could hardly believe it. Who would have thought that losing such a tiny thing would have such a massive impact.

Remembering Tiddly, I was greatly encouraged by the sight of three Year 10 boys ambling into my Geography class today, 10 minutes late, with a caterpillar, a gorgeous green caterpillar and a lesson's supply of jucy green leaves.

I allowed the boys to enter and take their seats and with the loss of Tiddly still burning in my heart I approached the boys. They looked at me warily.

"It's a caterpillar, Miss. We saved it from a huge bird. We saw this leaf wiggling and thought we'd look and then we saw this...the caterpillar, it wasn't a leaf at all, it was a caterpillar and we saved it, Miss. The bird was going to eat it. We saved it!"

My heart swelled with pride and joy till it almost burst. Here, in my class, were young men who cared for the plight of insects! Here, so many years after the senseless slaughter of innocent Tiddly, were young men seeking refuge for beautiful defenseless caterpillars in a Geography class, in the very same school at which I attended. It was like I was being offered a second chance. A chance to redeem my attempts to save Tiddly so many painful years before.

"Alright, boys, you can keep the caterpillar as long as it doesn't distract you from the lesson."

"Okay, Miss. We saved it you know."

"I know. It's beautiful. You are real insect warriors." I said approvingly.

They grinned. I felt proud. I lovingly patted the gorgeous caterpillar and walked back to the front of the classroom.

It was a beautiful day.

I am a successful teacher, I thought, for I, -- unlike my own Geography teacher -- have encouraged my students to care for small defenseless creatures and have provided refuge for caterpillars.

What more could a teacher hope for?

"Miss," the boys called out to me as I walked across the pick-up zone at the end of the day. "Miss!" It was my insect warriors.

"Yes," I smiled.

"We cut the caterpillar in half!"

"You wha--!"

"We cut the caterpillar in hal--"

"...and we squashed it!"

It took all the strength I could muster to refrain from screaming out, Not Tiddly! You killed Tiddly! I can't believe you killed Tiddly!

"I thought you could be trusted with caterpillars! I thought you were insect warriors!" I exclaimed.

"Humph, you though wrong, Miss," scoffed one of the boys till the spiky haired boy interrupted with earnesty, "We had to, Miss. We let it go and a bird bit it in half. It was going to eat it, it bit it in half, so we had to stomp on it."

A likely act of mercy, I thought as I departed, once again deflated, once again plummeting into a world of loss and woe! Another caterpillar that will never see its destiny fulfilled. Another caterpillar who will never see the sky, will never fly, will never soar above this dark cold earth.

I left school today with a profound sense of failure, loss and grief, and a realisation that all these years on, I still miss little Tiddly. Despite it all, I still believe teachers can make a difference. One day, one fine day, I'll teach students to love caterpillars as I do and then the world will be a better place. Then the world will be beautiful. It's bound to be with so many more butterflies around. There ought to be more butterflies.

It's Jesse Tree time and look at the treasure I found in Dymocks the other day!

It doesn't replace the daily readings but it is a good book which also introduces children to the history and tradition of making a Jesse Tree.

I am not prepared for the making of our Jesse Tree, we are still debating what we will use this year.

Those of you who are unfamiliar may be asking: What is a Jesse Tree?
A Jesse Tree is like an Advent calendar. It is a branch on which we tie pictures representing God's plan of salvation from Creation to Christmas. Everyday we read a story from the Bible and paint or draw a picture that represents this story. These pictures are tied on to our Jesse Tree: a branch from our garden. 'Jesse Tree' refers to the prophecy in Isaiah that a saviour will come from the root of Jesse. This saviour is Jesus. At Christmas time we celebrate the coming of this saviour as a little child: God become man. It is amazing. It is true. It is the story of Christmas.

Here are some pictures of different ways people have made Jesse Trees in the past:



Let me know if you are doing or have done a Jesse Tree in the past. I'd love to hear ideas and stories...

I have a cold again.

Fortunately, it is rainy, which is just how I like it to be when I have a cold, and I have just begun another good book, The Portrait of A Lady, Henry James. The novel begins like this:

Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. There are circumstances in which, whether you partake of the tea or not--some people of course never do--the situation is in itself delightful. Those that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered an admirable setting to an innocent pastime. The implements of the little feast had been disposed upon the lawn of an old English country-house, in what I should call the perfect middle of a splendid summer afternoon. Part of the afternoon had waned, but much of it was left, and what was left was of the finest and rarest quality. Real dusk would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shadows were long upon the smooth, dense turf.

...which sets a wonderfully cosy scene that I believe is just perfect for creating the snuggly atmosphere I need right now. So, as the weather and the novel are so obliging of my mood, I must away to indulge in my sniffles and read until my sore head bids me stop, or the beautiful language combined with the sound or rain drumming on the roof lulls me to sleep. I promise to return and post when my head is working better.