A Word About Coconut Oil

A Word about Coconut Oil

By: Kathryn Gustafson

“Put some Windex on it.” Is a classic line from one of my favorite romantic comedies, “My Big, Fat Greek Wedding.”  In the movie, the bumbling and lovable father of the film’s protagonist is a firm believer that Windex can treat any ailment, no matter how pesky or obscure. Well, since my husband and I started using coconut oil, we have said, “Put some coconut oil on it,” more times than I care to count.

            According to research presented by leading health-man, Dr. Oz, coconut oil is a miracle food which aids the body in a multitude of ways, from cholesterol reduction to increased metabolism to the prevention of Alzheimer’s  Disease.  There is also evidence to support coconut oil’s ability to reduce the risk of seizures, moisturize hair and skin, and reduce fat-especially the dangerous and hard-to-target belly fat! (authoritynutrition.com)

Did I mention, it’s delicious? One of our favorite meals to cook, which uses a great deal of coconut oil, is coconut-curry tilapia with coconut, lime and kale salad. Delicious!  Dane also likes to slow cook chicken in it.  The result is tender, meaty, and slightly tropical.  Homemade French fries cooked in coconut oil are also incredible. Plus, imagine eating French fries that actually reduce your cholesterol instead of raising it!

The flavor is slightly coconut-y, but not overbearingly so.  If you can’t stand coconut, but want the health benefits of this powerhouse oil, you can mix coconut oil with olive oil to lose the slightly sweet flavor. 

I love concocting homemade cosmetics, so one of my favorite things about this oil is its ability to be used in a variety of spa-like applications.  A tablespoon of coconut oil diluted with water makes an effective and inexpensive make-up remover.  Added to honey, it is an incredibly moisturizing face mask. Heat up the leftovers from your face mask, and you have an excellent warm-oil hair treatment (I am currently treating my breaking hair with this once a week and can tell a huge difference after each treatment). You can mix it with sugar or Epson salt and have an awesome body scrub. I love experimenting with this oil as a beauty product. 

Dane and I are currently working on a cookbook to record, in greater detail, the many ways we have been learning to incorporate this seemingly miraculous oil into our everyday lives. In the meanwhile, I hope that you are encouraged to go get some and try it out for yourself. 

LoGiudice, Pina, ND, Siobhan Bleakney, ND, and Peter Bongiorno, ND. "The Surprising Health Benefits of Coconut Oil." The Dr. Oz Show. N.p., n.d. Web. 21 Sept. 2013

Gunnars, Kris, "Top 10 Evidence-Based Health Benefits of Coconut Oil." Authority Nutrition. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Sept. 2013.

Broken Strings

"All the strings inside him broke," is how author John Green describes  death through the voice of his character, Margo Roth Spiegelman, in Paper Towns.

I found Green's comparison to be quite striking actually, but I thought it to be more befitting when applied to the broken-hearted rather than those who are already gone. 

If you, like me, believe in eternal life, you know that the suffering is greater on the earth-end than it is for those who have found Christ. 

For those who must go on everyday without someone we have loved and lost, it is a constant pulling and detaching of strings....

......wanting to hug that person who was always there with the warm, tender hug that seemed to fix anything, wanting to call them on the phone to chat, or go shop together, or ask for advice about a situation that no one but that person would understand, or just to sit on the couch and be close to them because they are one of the best things in your life.....

Each of these things becomes a pulled and broken string when your thoughts automatically reach out in anticipation of them.  When you realize that you will never be able to do those things in your whole life again..... it does feel like you are being ripped apart inside. 

You feel like you are an instrument that is malfunctioning  in places  no one can see. You try to keep working and playing and just hope that no one will notice that you are broken and can't make the same music anymore. What else can you do? An instrument or machine does not have another function. People, likewise, are ultimately left with the only options of A. just-keep-on-going or B. give-up-and-die.

In the car this morning, I was thinking about the different ways I have reacted to the pain of my mom's death over the past few months. 
The first thing was screaming, just screaming and crying.
Then the crying, several times a day, almost on the hour.
The crying still happens a lot. The screaming happens less. When I scream I do it in the car. I try to cry in private. I couldn't control that at all before.

Now there is always this deadweight in my stomach, a panicked feeling, and a constant sensation that my heart is being pulled to pieces. This is why I liked the strings analogy. That's what it feels like: what once held you together is being pulled apart, and you are snapping as all the strings inside you are pulled to an extreme tension point until they inevitably break.

Grief is so weird, because everyone seems to think it gets better over time, but  it has hurt more the longer I go without her. The more time passes, the more I miss her as I really start to realize that she won't be there when Dane and I have kids, she won't see this or that happen, we won't take those family trips together. When I run into people at the grocery store that I haven't seen in awhile, I run away because I don't want to have to explain it.

Maybe I seem better, because the crying and screaming are more under control.

But here's what I am thinking:


The tears and external reactions were events outside of my body, physical, observable responses to something horrible. They had not become part of me yet, so my body rejected them...regurgitating the sadness it was forced to swallow.
Now "myself" has given up. I have been saturated by a sorrow that is inside now, doing damage to the strings and breaking many of them totally. The broken aspect of the strings is as much a part of me as the strings themselves.

Before, the pain was something I was experiencing from the outside in. Now it is inside, and it does its damage there, leaving its mark on who I am. It is not a damage that could be confined to an experience, it is a damage that is identity-defining.

So what do we do, us damaged instrument people who try to keep trying to make music?

I am not there yet, but my mind says this: 

Acknowledge that we have suffered damage, and will never be the quite the same. I think we can also hope that our Maker will give us some new strings one day.