In church this morning, there was a healing service. Or something. They sanctified the building by squirting oil on the walls and praying real loud, and then there was a praise/anointing time. The ushers cleared the white plastic chairs from the front half of the building (this, we’ve learned, means that Something Big is going to happen). People crowded up close around the alter. The seriously off-key guitar started up. There was hand clapping, and a bit of swaying and bouncing.

It wasn’t until several songs in that the screaming started. People kept on singing, but every few seconds, someone would scream long and loud. We all sat up straighter and kept our eyes peeled for the action. Soon, a woman, surrounded by four spotters, was escorted to the back of the group. A fifth man hovered close, shouting prayers over her. The woman was screeching and bouncing wildly up and down. After a couple minutes, she fell over backwards onto the floor and someone brought a shawl to cover her.

And so went the next thirty minutes. By the end of the morning, the front of the church was covered with shawl-covered bodies.

This is the second time our Mennonite church has held this kind of service since we’ve been here. I’m beginning to think it might be a monthly occurrence. The first time this happened, the kids were somewhat traumatized. What with all the hollering men, the flailing women, the pushing people over backwards, the spotters, the wailing and sobbing, I can’t say I blame them. Heck, I was a little shell-shocked. This morning, though, my children didn’t seem too bothered. In fact, my younger son laid down in his seat and kept pestering me about what time the service would be over. As though people failing over in church was the most normal thing in the world.

This afternoon, my husband and I were discussing the morning’s events. “What is going through their heads?” my husband asked.

I had been pondering the very same thing. What are the people actually feeling? This culture is so reserved, so stoic and quiet—how can they switch into something so completely different, and in front of a bunch of other people, too?

The interesting thing is: some people don’t ever fall over. Even when the elders are shaking their heads with their laying-on hands, pushing at them so they have to walk backwards across the room, and invoking the holy spirit in no uncertain terms, they stay erect. Are they being stubborn? What does it mean that they aren’t Getting It? What makes a person fall and what makes her stay standing?

Regardless of what’s going on in people’s heads, I am convinced that there is a lot of sincerity. The guy who knocks people over and then flings his hands high in the air and barks Glory to God (the Christian version of the first pump) strikes me as a little showy, but for the most part, I see genuine love and concern in the eyes of the leaders. This is how they care for each other.

In our bedroom this afternoon, I said, “I don’t think these people are any more real or any more fake than people in our home church.”

And only after I said that did I realize how much I agreed with myself. (Don’t you love when that happens?)

There’s a lot of pomp at my home church and in any church I’ve been in. Heck, wherever people are gathered, there’s pomp. (Except maybe at AA meetings—I’ve heard those are pretty raw.) There’s a lot of Saying the Right Words and Minding Manners and Keeping Your Shit Together. There’s also, thank goodness, a lot of profound caring.

Knowing this—that all churches are made up of human beings and that some of the strange customs might be both showy and authentic—helps me to be less wary and fearful, less judgemental.

But don’t worry. I’m not about to get knocked over backwards any time soon.

No one in my family likes avocado but me. This is tragic because avocados are everywhere and they are cheap. There are scruffy, scabby, circular avocados. There are giant, smooth, tear-shaped avocados. There are big avocados, medium avocados, small avocados.

Buying avocados can be tricky. Sometimes I end up with ones that look gorgeous on the outside only to discover, upon opening them, that their insides are all mushy brown. When I asked the toothless woman squatting behind her basket of avocados (actually, I’m not sure if the woman was either toothless or squatting, but so many of the women usually are, that I decided that, in this case, it wouldn’t hurt to make an assumption) (also, I’m not sure if the women are actually squatting—I think they actually perch on little stools, but it’s hard to tell with all that skirt fabric) to pick me out a couple good ones, she simply picked one up, squeezed its stem end until it cracked open a little, peered inside to make sure it was nice and green, and then handed it to me. Oh.

There’s a new cookbook out. It’s called Absolutely Avocados. The title pretty much sums the book up. I’ve been seeing it everywhere, and I’m a little lusty over it. I don’t buy avocados in the states much, but boy, that book would be appropriate right here, right now.

Except for the fact that the rest of the family doesn’t like avocados. Losers.

A week or so ago, I found a link for an avocado mac and cheese (which, incidentally, didn’t come from Absolutely Avocados). I made it for supper. Everyone ate it, but they were non too subte in making sure I knew they wished I had made the real deal instead. I, however, had no regrets.

I demonstrated my devotion by snapping photos of my beloved both on the washing machine and in the light of the setting sun with the dog watching on.

Creamy Avocado Mac and Cheese
Adapted from Two Peas and Their Pod, though it was Lori Lange (Recipe Girl) who first alerted me to it.

I made a scaled back version (naturally), using only a little “real” cheese and a nub of cream cheese, and while it was plenty good, I suggest you stick with the full-cheese version. Yum, cheese.

Also, I had one heck of a time blending up the veggies in my expensive blender (that we hesitated buying because we thought it might be too extravagant but then went ahead and did it anyway, no regrets). I had to add hot pasta water, olive oil, and regular oil (several times over) until it finally turned into a blendable consistency. But maybe my blender’s just wacko. Yours will probably work fine.

Not that it matters for this recipe, but here: how to cut an avocado.

10 ounces dry macaroni (why not a full 16? Beats me.)
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 avocados, roughly chopped (minus peels and pits, of course)
2 tablespoons lime juice
1/3 cup fresh cilantro
S&P
2 tablespoons each flour and butter
1 cup milk
2 cups shredded cheese (Monterey Jack, Pepper Jack, white cheddar, etc.)
more fresh avocado, optional

While the macaroni is cooking, put the garlic, avocados, lime, cilantro, and some salt and pepper in a food processor or blender and pulse until saucy smooth.

Melt the butter in a medium saucepan and whisk in the flour. Whisk in the milk and cook, stirring constantly until thick and bubbly. Add salt and pepper to taste. Stir in the cheese.

Drain the pasta. Add the avocado and cheese sauces. Stir to combine. Check for seasonings. Serve, topping with chopped fresh avocado, if desired.