Strawberry Cream-Cheese Brownies at the Mochas

Husband and I were invited to dinner at a family from church's house on Memorial Day. The implications of the invitation were huge. Would this be a casual meeting, a tolerably enjoyable evening upon which to reflect with blandly positive responses? Or would it be a pivotal moment in our Washington lives? Would this seemingly random invitation be the moment we looked back on someday as the beginning of a social life that's not a travesty of a sham of a mockery? Could this engagement have an effect on our lonely weekends from this point until the end of the age? Would this Memorial Day get-together be the first of many, lead to quality friendships, happy memories, and, hope against hope, an avenue for recipe exchange?

I'm calling this family the Mochas not because the nickname strikes me as even marginally creative, but because I'm not convinced that if I sit here for 20 minutes I'll think of anything better. But Mochas is at least somewhat fitting because not only are they warm and inviting, but they have not only an espresso machine, about twenty flavors for your latte or Italian soda, but a full-on bistro room. I'm not sure why I have not mentioned this particular family before because they have certainly reached out to us and been quite enjoyable to spend time with during the opportunities we've had thus far. In fact, I talked to them to pass the time a couple Sundays ago because Husband and Mr. Canadian talked for about an hour after church. I repeat: Husband talked for an hour. Unprovoked. Progress? I think so.

So we were invited to dinner by the Mochas, as I said. I asked what I could bring as the sense of the necessity of this etiquette was thoroughly ingrained in me by my mother. (I begin to realize now that I've been training to be a wife since I was born). I was assigned a dessert. I undertook my mission with gravity and some trepidation, as was appropriate considering the import of the task entrusted me. I aproned-up and proceeded to scour all of my cookbooks and cooking magazines (my trusty compansions) for the perfect dessert recipe. I put a whisk in my front pocket to put me in the mood and to foster inspiration.

I don't have a lot of dessert experience as I find dessert recipes usually make about 80 dozen bars/slices/cookies or whatever, and so even halved I end up eating like 39 dozen guilt-inducing treats before the stars align to put Husband in the mood to try his first one. So I knew it would be a new recipe more than likely. Risky. Very risky. I asked Husband if he would help me. For a brief but significant moment his face drained of everything except horror. He paused, composed himself, took a breath, and said yes. I laughed. "Isn't it fun to be married to me?" Answer: "Sometimes." He was a good sport and endured my, "What about this? What about this?" for as long as he could, until I understood (as I should have from the beginning) that it was hopeless and called my mom.

So a few hours later we were off on yet another adventure in social interaction. James drove us to our dinner party while his little wife sat next to him with baked goods. I felt like I should have made a bunt.

The Mochas have a beautiful home and we passed through rural farmland and under sprawling shade trees to get there. I complimented them on their home and they simply gave all the credit to God. They said it was such a blessing and so perfect because they love to have people over and their house is set up perfectly for entertaining. They do have a reputation for having people over a lot. It seems they only enjoy having good things because they can use them to bless people. They understand that what really validates a thing's goodness is the ability to share it with others. Having a mansion with a tennis court and polo field isn't really useful until you have friends to share it with. The relationship is where the worth comes in. Without someone to share our blessings with... it's like keeping a facebook account but not requesting or accepting any friends. The Mochas use their house to have others over, makes friends, and let others relax. They realize that what they have isn't theirs at all, but God's gift to them. It seems to me they've given their things, and their lives, back to God (since they're his anyway) and now that they have, they're freed up to enjoy them in all their fullness.

Upon entering they told us we could take off our shoes, or not, depending on our preference, make ourselves at home, eat anything we found, and just feel comfortable. I smiled and thanked them but advised them, please, never give me permission to eat whatever I find. For the good of all.

Anyway, I was touched by how well they simply used their possessions as a means of blessing others. Kind of like how communism was supposed to work before humans got involved.

I so enjoyed the evening with the Mochas, as well as the rest of the church congregation. (They said they hadn't expected so many people to accept their invitation). I enjoy being with people that I want to be like, because hanging out with them increases the likelihood that I will indeed become a person with the qualities I see in them: openness, generosity, sincerity, and proper appreciation for guacamole.

It seems I am learning through others who I want to be. If you are reading this, most likely you are someone who is teaching me part of this. Thank you. I'm learning that people have a huge capacity for love and relationship, but these qualities will only develop through intentional cultivation. If that's the case, trim me up and pour on the Miracle Gro.

Again, my love to you all. And the dessert I brought? I received many compliments and some took seconds, but when I nibbled mine I turned to the only man in the room I knew I could trust and asked, "These aren't very good, are they?" He agreed they were not. But then, if something's worth increases when it's shared, and these were shared by so many, then I guess they were amazing. Though, I probably won't use my Cooking Light magazine for desserts anymore. Note to self: Add more calories.