Clamless Clam Chowder

As I Was Saying is a forum for a variety of perspectives to foster faith-related conversations among our readers with the goal of mutual learning, even in disagreement. Apart from articles written by editorial staff, these perspectives do not necessarily reflect the views of The Banner.

Darkness is creeping in through the kitchen window, and onions and celery are sizzling on the stove beside me as I carefully dice potatoes. Somehow, all through the long, hard, rainy summer, these potatoes grew in my backyard garden, and tonight I’m partaking in my favorite autumnal ritual of cooking up a big warm batch of soup.

This year, however, is different. For decades my fall cauldron has held creamy potato soup, but tonight, I’m aiming for something more: clam chowder, soup of my childhood—soup of a tiny grandmother’s mint-green, postcard-sized kitchen with its Formica table and love etched in every wall.

Prior autumns have found me daunted at the thought of making clam chowder soup, stymied by the fact I’m a decades-long vegetarian who wouldn’t cook a clam to save my life. I haven’t eaten a clam since my childhood in my grandmother’s kitchen. It’s kind of hard, I always thought, to make clam chowder soup when you won’t eat or cook a clam.

But when I heard about a type of organic seaweed that supposedly would bring a clam-chowdery, briny ocean taste to soup, I was all in. Tonight, I hold a few of the flakes in my hand for a moment, before gently sprinkling them into the bubbling pot.

Later, when I serve the soup to my family, I am delighted to find that, indeed, the soup tastes like the soup my grandmother served so long ago.

And while my soup conundrum was by all accounts a small one, it’s made me stop and contemplate whether some of the bigger challenges in my life might also have creative solutions out there.

Sometimes, though, the challenges can seem so high and the solutions so few.

I know a lot about wheel-spinning challenges, as a physically disabled woman with complex health issues who adopts and parents older youth with complex disabilities and neurodivergences. Things that are just a normal part of life for many people can be very, very difficult for my family.

For example, we have struggled significantly in church since before last Christmas. One of my sons, who has autism, has an extreme sensitivity to noise. While our church is no louder than most churches, a whole congregation singing worship songs, accompanied by instruments, sounds so loud to him as to be agonizing. Add to that prayers and a sermon spoken over a microphone, and church has become a place of torture for my son.

Each Sunday he has sat quietly as long as he could until he could no longer bear it and would bolt out of the sanctuary, parent in tow. My husband and I have spent hours upon hours this year in the hall with him; there have been very few sermons I’ve heard in their entirety all year.

A few weeks ago, he was struggling so immensely 15 minutes into the service that rather than spend another lonely Sunday morning isolated in the halls, I took him home. I began to wonder if he would ever be able to handle going to church.

Out of desperation, I reached out to our church’s pastoral committee. To my astonishment, after talking together and doing a little research, a creative plan began to form. The church is creating a quiet room for my son and anyone else who would prefer a low-sensory service. We will watch it on a screen with the volume turned down and possibly the lights dimmed.

The church also asked my son and me to advise them on the creation of a basket of sensory items, such as weighted lap blankets and calming fidget tools, available to anyone who wants to use them during the Sunday service. We have also been talking with the woman who runs the sound system at the church to see if anything could be adjusted with the way the music is distributed acoustically throughout the church.

Within a week, creative solutions began to grow out of what had seemed like an insurmountable problem for my family. It was a powerful lesson to me on the love of community and walking alongside one another as we face a difficult problem. It was also a beautiful reminder to me that God frequently works through the love of our church communities.

We are not meant to face and solve the hardest parts of life alone, and this includes first and foremost turning to Christ when clarity is needed. “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you” (James 1:5).

We can also take great peace and heart in the words of Psalm 32:8, “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.”

What a comfort it is to know that even amidst life’s big challenges, Christ is watching over us with such love.