An American in Pretoria

Day 7 - It Sounds Better in French

2012-01-31T20:27:00.002+02:00

I had a revelation today:

When you go to a nice restaurant the food is so beautifully described that you want to order one of everything. At a "regular" restaurant, this is not so. Squash is just squash. At a nice restaurant, however, it is "Julienned summer squash delicately sauteéd in a garlic-orange-wild-thyme-infused butter and slow-roasted to perfection, topped with a ginger-balsamic reduction." Here's the catch: the food might not actually taste better at the nice restaurant, but because it has been defined so positively, your perception of it has changed. You now want it, because you see it as more valuable.

What if we took our problems - our "squash" - and redefined it in a positive light? Would our perception change? Would we be able to see the good in it? Could we even desire it? (Squash is, after all, high in nutrients.)

"Difficult child" becomes "Rare and exotic human, hand-picked while tender and prepared to precise instructions over years to achieve a maturity and fragrance unparalleled."

"Car trouble" becomes "Golden opportunity to learn mechanical engineering while simultaneously training for half-marathon and improving cardio-vascular fitness."

I think I just stumbled upon a key... If I move myself over from "regular restaurant" to "nice restaurant", would I define myself differently? More positively? Would I see myself as more valuable by virtue of a changed perception?

I am SO jumping off of the Wimpy menu and onto the La Pentola menu (because the Honey Mustard Warthog - slices of warthog loin pan-fried in butter and black mustard seeds, flamed in 1920 Portuguese brandy, flavoured with honey and Dijon mustard, bound with cream - is out of this world!) World, get ready for Anna!

Day 6 - Allow

2012-01-31T19:46:00.000+02:00

I inherited my papa's clarinet. It has such a rich, mellow tone that has been built into the wood through years of playing.

Like all instruments, it occasionally needs tuning and adjustments. Pads need to be replaced, screws need to be tightened, cork needs to be greased, and the keys need to be checked to make sure they seal properly. I suppose, if clarinets had nocioceptors, this would be a painful process. It would be even worse if the clarinet resisted me and tried to take control. Assuming a clarinet could do that, what would result is an instrument that refused to be improved because "it hurts". The clarinet's functionality is inversely proportional to its stubbornness. I, the musician, would be able to do nothing but sit, watch the clarinet fall into disrepair, and lament its wasted potential.

This is a silly story, no? If I think of myself as the clarinet, however, and God as the musician, then it's not so funny. It hits a little too close to home. I have spent years trying to be in control, resisting God's refining because "it's painful" and trying to play myself rather than let the Great Musician play His music through me (and yes, I'm sure I have a few "loose screws"!).

Few things are more sad than wasted potential. It's time to surrender control and allow God to have His way, trusting that He will restore me as an instrument of His grace.

(I know this week's photos were supposed to be about putting myself in the picture of God's beauty all around me, but this IS God's beauty - His gentle reminders and spiritual truths taught through every day tasks. I really do feel loved.)

Day 5 - Colour!

2012-01-30T16:38:00.001+02:00

I used to have this neighbour who painted the walls of her house bright colours. "Bright" is perhaps an understatement. Her dining room was yellow, but it was not your average buttercream, lemon or golden yellow. It was "mustard on steroids" yellow. The colour of her bedroom walls was what I affectionately called "Barbie coughs up a lung" pink. My neighbour loved her house, and I thought she was crazy.

These days I've changed my tune and I think I finally understand what my neighbour did: Colour is beautiful. Colour brings joy. Colour inspires.

Children understand this implicitly. They are exuberant in their colouring and their clothing combinations. God also understands this. One has only to look at colour combinations in nature to see that this is true. It is we adults who have "lost" this understanding.

Why is it that we care more about others' opinions than about what brings us joy? Why do we live our lives according to "social convention" and let that hinder us from being creative and free? We end up painting our walls taupe, sandstone and beige, and then pride ourselves on being "normal".

Today, I did something I've always wanted to do but never did because "You're Not Supposed To". I did something that will likely cause people to stare and say, "Aren't you a little old for that?" to which I shall smile and politely reply, "Probably. But it brings me joy."

My neighbour would be proud.

Day 4 - Speechless

2012-01-29T20:29:00.000+02:00

I don't know how to begin this post so I'm just going to dive in and hope it forms a coherency by the end.

I may struggle. I may have issues. I may even have glaring faults, but when I worship on Sundays I leave all that behind for several reasons:

I don't ever want worship to be a performance. I want to be a facilitator - someone who points people to the most amazing God. To that end,
Worship must come from a sincere heart. I must come as I am and give all that I am. There is no measuring up or not measuring up at this point. There is only vulnerability between me and my Maker.
Worship is between God and me and yet there is an honouring of the congregation as well. I honour them in their "holy otherness" when I have the courage to be vulnerable in front of them, to share from my deepest heart and hold nothing back. That is the only way I know how to point them to Jesus.

Dan took some photos this morning. I didn't even notice him. This afternoon as I was downloading today's pictures, I saw them. And... I'm shocked.

I never knew I looked like that when I worship. When I look at myself or think about myself, I think "fat", "ugly", and "doesn't measure up." I hold myself to a standard that is unattainable and one that I would never impose upon anyone else. It's my life's battle, and I hate admitting it to you. But this...

When I look at these photos of myself (which feels embarrassing and narcissistic and is why I didn't want to do the assignment this week), I see... beauty. I see a heart that longs to know God in spite of its failures and weaknesses. And I'm speechless. I never saw myself from the "outside" as I have in these photos.

Is this the way God sees me? Is this what I look like to everyone else? And most importantly - the next time I think untruths about myself, will I be reminded of this? I can no longer refuse to see myself as beautiful in God's eyes or to love myself as He loves me when I look at these photos.

As strange as this may sound, that scares me. Believing a lie can be such an ingrained pattern that it's comfortable. It's what I know. Accepting the truth is scary because it carries me into unknown paths and changes my whole paradigm. It's good, yes. Absolutely good. Yet this is the scariest (and most incoherent!) post I've ever written. Still, I'm determined to continue the journey.

He decidido seguir a Jesús y no voy a dar marcha atrás.

Day 3 - Calm After the Storm

2012-01-28T17:59:00.000+02:00

It is still. I lie on the floor, prostrate, and after a moment's silence and reflection on the past three days I speak.

"I place myself here, God, as though on an altar. Whoever I am and whatever I have - take it. Burn off the impurities so all that remains is as gold. Make of me a vessel fit to carry and dispense Your love.

"Yes, I know what I'm asking. I know it will hurt - this refining - and does not come without a cost. I know it will require my will, my control. I am prepared to pay that price. I release it all. Please, God, just turn me into my name - grace - and extend that grace to the world. That IS my heart's greatest desire. Amen."

I move outside to read. The sun is warm but not too warm. There is a gentle breeze and I become sleepy. The leaves rustle in the trees, the birds sing their afternoon song, and I fall asleep with the warmth of the sun falling on me as though God covered me with His own blanket.

The battle is over. It is quiet and calm, and I fall into a deep sleep of peace.

Day 2 - Grace in the Battle

2012-01-27T14:31:00.000+02:00

My mind has been a huge battlefield these past two days. Emotion has been warring against (rather than working with) Intellect. I know God loves me but I don't feel that love. I know I'm made in the image of God but I don't feel beautiful or worthy.

Feelings are a tricky thing. They can lead us astray from what's actually happening and yet they can't really be discounted, either. I may not want to feel a certain way, but I have to concede that I do feel that way, even if it contrasts with what I know intellectually to be true. I can only deal with my feelings when I first acknowledge them.

Today my emotions are more in line with my intellect (at least, they're moving in that direction) and I am thankful for the grace that has been extended to me these past few days. My armour is a little dented, but you know what? That affirms I'm engaged in the battle. If my armour still looked shiny and new, I'd be assuming a position of passivity; I would have given up the fight. But I'm still fighting, and that gives me hope!

"Wanneer die Bose julle aanval, sal julle weerstand kan bied, en na die hele geveg verby is, sal julle nog vas staan." ~ Efesieërs 6,13

And after everything, to stand. Battle scars, dented armour and all. I'm still standing. And if you're not, take my hand. I'll help you to your feet. We can do this.

A Shift in Focus

2012-01-26T13:15:00.000+02:00

I'm still stinging from yesterday. I feel raw and sore and have a sense of walking on eggshells rather than dancing fearlessly with Grace.

I was challenged yesterday to put myself in the pictures of God's love and beauty all around me, to step out from behind the camera. For the next week (or maybe longer) I'll try to include myself in these photos of God's love, but it's hard for me to see myself as part of the picture. It's much easier and safer to hide behind the camera. Still... growth does not come without a bit of discomfort, does it? So here we go...

Maybe if I sing it enough it will start to sink in...

Day 14 - Tears and the Grace of Striped Socks

2012-01-25T20:40:00.000+02:00

Today was rough. I thought I had this down - this seeing God's love and basking in it - but I couldn't see it at all today. In fact, everything I saw today seemed to scream, "You're a failure. You're worthless. Give up!" And I don't like admitting that to you. I want to have a beautiful insight to share with you, I want to encourage you, I want to share how I've grown with you. But I can't today.

All I can share with you are my tears and my confession: I didn't feel God's love today. I couldn't even love myself today. And I hate not being able to get past that. I share this because I respect you enough to be honest with you in saying that growth is hard sometimes. Facing my issues is, well... it sucks. But I'm going to keep at it. And I can say with certainty - and even a faint glimmer of hope - that tomorrow is another day. And maybe... if some of you felt like that today as well, you can know that you weren't alone. We can cry together and share the journey towards healing and wholeness.

I did see this today, however, which made me smile:

In order to get that photo without the cute old couple knowing, I had to take a bunch of photos that looked like this:

Needless to say they noticed that. I'm sure they're still talking about the weird lady who kept taking photos of her toes...

Day 13 - Only a Child of God

2012-01-24T09:24:00.000+02:00

Lucy was selected to be a Grade 7 prefect this year. I got to pin Lucy's prefect badge on her in a special ceremony at school. As I was hugging her and telling her that I love her I was reminded of the chorus of a song called "Child of God":

"Father, You're all I need,
My soul's sufficiency,
My strength when I am weak,
The love that carries me,
Your arms enfold me, till I am only
A child of God."

May we find our identity in being a child of God - not in our position life, our occupation or in what we possess but in being the beloved of God. "Only" that... nothing more.

Day 12 - Marvel

2012-01-23T15:50:00.000+02:00

As I was getting ready this morning I saw this lacewing on my bathroom wall. Its wings shimmered in the sunlight and I stopped what I was doing, mesmerised by the insect's beauty. And then I laughed. Twelve days ago I would have either squashed this bug or shooed it out the window. These days I'm wandering around marveling at every little thing like a toddler discovering the world for the first time. I suppose I look rather ridiculous, but at the same time, I'm learning to see the gifts in each day as well as the gift of each day.

Tomorrow is not promised.

Day 11 - Miracle

2012-01-22T14:01:00.001+02:00

This is the third blossom that's appeared on my bauhinia tree. Since it wasn't supposed to bloom for another year or two, each flower is precious and somewhat of a miracle. I have taken a photo of each one because I'm excited. I suppose that's a bit silly, as they all look the same, and yet they're not. Each one is unique.

This morning I realised that's exactly how God sees each one of us - as precious miracles. I don't think He ever gets tired of marveling at our uniqueness. I imagine He is excited forming each person in their mother's womb - "This one's going to grow up to play violin with passion. This one has an amazing compassion for mankind. That one over there - the one in Slovenia - I have great plans for him. And the one who suffered trauma - I created him with great resilience and I will redeem that situation."

My prayer for all of us today is that we will believe that God loves us - no matter what we're facing at the moment - and wear that love like a beautiful blossom.

Day 10 - Sing

2012-01-21T13:55:00.001+02:00

I stopped to take this photo as I was driving across town this morning. Even in a city of 1.5 million people bustling with activity - noise, smog, hurry - there is beauty. Today, this beauty compels me to sing.

"A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song."
- Chinese Proverb

Day 9½ - Poetry

2012-01-20T19:45:00.000+02:00

You fling it
around so wastefully,
God,
as though it
will never run out.

Splash in it,
You say,
Immerse in it
so you can't tell yourself
apart from My love - until
you're dripping soaking sopping laughing wet,
swimming in the discovery:

No, it
never does run out.

-a.k.e.

Day 9 - Focus

2012-01-20T15:29:00.002+02:00

I had a bit of a setback today. I had my year mapped out - work, studies, ministry, life. Today a huge bump appeared in the road (or rather a pothole): there's a 50% chance I won't be able to take the course for which I had registered if it's offered on Wednesday evenings rather than Tuesday mornings.

I am ashamed to say I had a bit of a freak out moment (as you can see, stress brings out my American English and all of its ensuing bad grammar). I had to stop myself and ask - Have I learned nothing about living in the present during this past week? I took a deep breath and pulled on the reins of my mind.

The truth is, there's nothing I can do about it. Things will either work out as planned or not. If not, my year will just go differently than expected, so why worry? I worry because I've moved my focus from the present and an awareness of God's love to my circumstances and perceived problem.

Living in the present doesn't mean that I turn off my intellect, ignore the challenges facing me, or even that I have to like the present. Living in the present does mean that I shift my focus, which generally leads to a shift in perspective.

Day 8 - Fascination

2012-01-19T17:52:00.002+02:00

This photo will likely mean nothing to you, but I was so struck by how the shadows fell and interacted with the texture of the carpet and the grain of the wood. I never noticed it before - I must have walked by it a thousand times - and yet today I sat and stared, fascinated.

"Wonder is the spirit behind awareness that transforms paying attention from a discipline to one of life's greatest joys." - David Benner, Soulful Spirituality

(And yes, I have decided to continue this practice of living in the present, beyond the seven-day time constraint I initially placed upon myself. I hope you don't mind...)

Day 7 - Surrender

2012-01-18T20:45:00.000+02:00

There's something amazing about letting go... accepting what is... and surrendering to Love. I feel as though I've been so busy on this treasure hunt of looking for God's love that I had very little time to be self-absorbed. During this week a whole new world opened up to me - one in which I was (and am) surrounded and enveloped by God's love. I find myself becoming more and more "empty" of myself (and my selfishness) as this love fills me.

It was there all along - this beauty, this love... I just didn't see it because my eyes were turned inward. Oh God, forgive me... Let this not be a one-week project but the beginning of a way of life. Help me to keep my eyes focused on You always, to be aware and attentive to Your fingerprints around me, and to be present to Your love.

(By the way, this was tonight's sunset... I actually pulled off the road to take this photo. I would have missed it before this week. How grateful I am to have a new awareness of God's love for me. Words cannot express...)

Day 6 - Openness

2012-01-17T19:46:00.001+02:00

There's something about open gates and doors that is warm and welcoming. I feel as though I am invited, loved and even expected. It goes beyond doors of houses, though. There are also people whose lives have open doors for us to enter and share in holy communion. They are reflections of God, whose door is always open to us... no matter what. That kind of love draws me in and touches the deep longings of my soul.

Day 5 - Mystery

2012-01-16T16:00:00.000+02:00

This is the magical fairyland I always dreamed about as a child. I finally found it... in Swaziland! It's so thick with wonder and fantasy I can hardly breathe. The air is heavy with a Narnian magic and I can almost believe that I have entered a secret land...

While it seems a bit child-like there is also something holy about it. I am reminded of Jesus saying that unless we change and become like children we will never enter the kingdom of heaven (Matt. 18:3).

Here's to the magic and mystery of following Jesus, and to getting lost in what the world would call "fairyland foolishness."

Day 4 - Reverence

2012-01-15T19:53:00.001+02:00

Dear God, Thank you for bringing me to South Africa. I love this country, this land, these people. Thank you for glimpses of Your glory in them.

"I will strengthen you, though you have not acknowledged me, so that from the rising of the sun to the place of its setting people may know there is none besides Me." - Isaiah 45:5-6

Day 3 - Savour

2012-01-15T19:16:00.002+02:00

My favourite colour, my favourite mug, my favourite beverage...

The geometric lines, which I captured by accident in my amateur photography, somehow inspire praise in a God who makes order from chaos, knows all the theorems, proofs and formulas and yet can whisper His love to me in the steam of my morning coffee...

Day 2 - Wonder

2012-01-13T16:00:00.000+02:00

I was so captivated by the shadow of this little fern - delicate and dainty. But even more than that, I was in awe that such a fragile thing could push through unyielding stone in a beautiful tribute to the triumph of life. This perseverance which leads to transcendence stirs something deep within my soul.

Day 1 - Awareness

2012-01-12T19:01:00.001+02:00

"You are the God who sees me..." - Genesis 16:13

Living in the Present

2012-01-12T18:50:00.000+02:00

I've been challenged lately to be more aware of the present and not dwell too much on the past or the future. I seem to miss so much of life because I'm distracted with my thoughts and concerns.

I also struggle to love myself the way that God loves me; it's much easier to focus on my faults and shortcomings and beat myself up for not being perfect.

In an effort to counteract the above two things, I'm devoting the next seven days to practising the posture of being aware and open to the many ways in which God shows His love to me (and you, for that matter). Every time I find myself missing what's right in front of my face because I'm preoccupied with what's to come or what just happened, I'm going to make the effort to draw myself back into the present - observing, noticing, being...

In order to aid me, I asked Dan if I could borrow his camera for one week. I have committed to carrying the camera around with me at all times. When I notice something that speaks God's love to me, I'll take a photo. I hope to post one per day for the next seven days.

Would you like to take up the challenge with me?

Thankful for Green

2012-01-10T16:57:00.001+02:00

I saw these lily pads yesterday on a hike in the Northwest Province. I stopped in my tracks, captivated by their colour and the sun highlighting them. I asked Dan to take a photo.

These lily pads are so vividly green that I find myself wanting to praise God for green. I feel silly and childish, and yet I think, "Why not praise God for a colour? Does He not delight to hear our praise of thansksgiving for the simplest of things? Does it not please Him?"

At the same time I realise how little my heart is filled with gratitude. More often it is filled with the heaviness of complaints, burdens, worries and criticism. How did this happen? When did I become so weighed down with the cares of this world?

I want to change. I don't want to just be thankful for the colour green, but for the whole rainbow of colours. I want to find vivid hues of beauty in every day, sing a song of thanksgiving rather than complaining, and let that praise refocus my eyes on the One Who Provides All Things... including the colour green.

Thoughts on Roasting Coffee

2012-01-08T10:06:00.000+02:00

I've been thinking about coffee lately, and how it's so different between cultures. South Africans seem to like a lot of milk and sugar with their coffee. What they call a cappuccino, Americans call a latté. What South Africans call a latté, Americans call café con leche. This is neither here nor there... just different. It took me a long time to get used to the high milk content, however, as I am a bit of a coffee purist: I never sweeten my coffee, I grind my coffee beans fresh every morning, and I like to roast my own coffee when I have the time, choosing beans from specific regions of the world and even specific plantations. This is perhaps where my story really begins...

I'm only a beginner when it comes to roasting coffee. I like to roast on the stovetop - a single layer of green beans in a cast iron skillet stirred constantly with a squared-off bamboo spoon (this is my own quirky method - highly inefficient and messy - which I am not advocating here). I watch every bean carefully to stir and circulate them as evenly as possible.

When the beans reach a certain temperature the oil inside expands and is released. The chaff is released and blows all over the kitchen (I told you this was messy). This is called the first crack. I then watch the smoke. At the beginning of the second crack, the smoke changes from being thin and fickle to thick and intense. This is when I turn off the heat, but don't be mistaken - the beans are still roasting. The pan must still be stirred and tended until the beans cool down. The rest of the chaff is blown away and the beans are set aside to rest. Pause... breathe deeply...

We all know the story of separating the wheat from the chaff by means of threshing. It's the same with coffee - the chaff is separated by means of high temperatures - fire, roasting, burning... whatever you want to call it. Only in extreme heat are the oils - what's inside the bean - released. What is dead and no longer needed is blown away. What remains is something of great worth possessing the richest of aromas. It doesn't come without hard work.

As I was thinking about coffee and the process of roasting, making the obvious analogies to humans and character development, I realised that I still complain when things don't go my way. When I am under pressure, facing the heat, being threshed... I don't embrace it as a precursor to richness and beauty of spirit. I don't see it as an opportunity for transformation or transcendence. I complain. Bitterly.

Nothing tastes worse than burnt coffee.

A Little Less of Me, Please...

2012-01-07T08:20:00.000+02:00

"How much larger your life would be if your self could become smaller in it."

- G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

"Expectations kill relationships - especially with God. And that's what a child doesn't have: this whole edifice of expectation. Without expectations, what can topple the surprising wonder of the moment?" - Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts

Fully Alive

2012-01-02T08:57:00.000+02:00

The bauhinia flower is the national flower of Hong Kong. Bauhinia trees also happen to grow well in South Africa. Since our son is from Hong Kong and we live in South Africa, I thought it would be fitting to plant a bauhinia tree in our garden.

I bought a little seedling of a tree - about 30cm high - two years ago. And then I accidentally killed it. The leaves fell off. It looked pathetic. I refused to give up, though. I tended it, nurtured it and cared as much for a stick (which is literally what it was) as a human ever cared for a stick.

This year it not only sprouted leaves; it also grew to a height of 80cm. I was thrilled.

I had no idea what colour the blossoms would be, for the tree wasn't supposed to begin blooming until the third or fourth year. At least, that's what the man at the nursery told me.

This morning I looked out my window to find this:

Here's to new beginnings. To defying the odds. To flourishing when everyone else has given up on you. To beauty from ashes. And to being fully alive.

May 2012 be a year in which you blossom to the fullness of your potential. Happy New Year.

A Different Kind of Book Review

2011-12-31T19:22:00.001+02:00

For the past eleven years I have had the goal of reading 24 books a year (two books per month). In all but one of those years I surpassed my goal. I added it all up today, out of curiosity's sake, and here are the stats:

333 books in 11 years
an average of 33 books per year
an average of 2.75 books per month

Interestingly, this did not impress me. I felt no sense of pride or accomplishment. In fact, it caused me to wonder: Did reading those books make any difference? Did it change me for the better, have an impact on my life, or better yet, cause me to have an impact on others' lives? If not, then... so what?

For me, the real question is: Did I love people in those eleven years? Did I love my children? Did I love my husband? Did I love the lady at the till who was rude to me, the hurried driver who cut me off in traffic, the beggar in the street? Did I love my neighbour? Did I even (though we don't often like to mention this one) love myself?

"If I speak with the eloquence of men and of angels, but have no love, I become no more than blaring brass or crashing cymbal. If I have the gift of foretelling the future and hold in my mind not only all human knowledge but the very secrets of God, and if I also have that absolute faith which can move mountains, but have no love, I amount to nothing at all... For our knowledge is always incomplete and our prophecy is always incomplete... In this life we have three great lasting qualities—faith, hope and love. But the greatest of them is love." - excerpts from I Corinthians 13

I'm still going to keep my goal of reading 24 books a year (because quite frankly, I enjoy reading), but I also want to live with a sense of purpose and intentionality. I don't want to amass knowledge just for the sake of amassing knowledge. I want it to work towards achieving a greater purpose; I want it to help me fulfill my calling. In short, I want to love people better.

Journal of the Spa, Part 12

2011-12-30T18:59:00.000+02:00

“Anna (for that is what God calls me),do you see the path outside the window?”

“Yes, Papa. It looks venturesome and inviting and bends teasinglyaround the corner to where I cannot see.”

“Would youstep onto this path and follow it, not knowing where it leads?”

“Yes. I believe I would, for the path looks safeand as I said, it bends playfully out of sight, almost beckoning me to chase itin a game of touchers.”

“If you cantrust a forest path, which is but man-made, can you not trust Me, even thoughyou cannot see where I am leading you?”

“Yes, Papa.I want to... but I am also following the lead of other voices, and I do notknow how to stop.”

“Would youallow Me to accompany you on that path?”

“Oh, no! Youdon’t want to walk on that path! It is dark and dirty and rather hopeless!”

“Anna, I amover all the paths of the earth. How doyou expect to move from that path to My path except that I show you the way?Yet I will not merely show you – I will walk with you and guide you by the handbecause I love you. Wandel met My, Anna Grace. Let My light direct you.”

I am tired,I have no arguments left and so I hop into God’s strong arms. He carries meback to my room, where I sink into His love. He does not leave, but holds metight against His chest where I can hear His heartbeat. It is beautiful, and inHis beating heart I can hear a Love song.

Outside itis dark and the insects sing in response to this Love song. I fall asleep totheir lullaby.

Journal of the Spa, Part 11

2011-12-29T20:31:00.000+02:00

Dinner,18h30 - I haveingested more kilojoules in this one day than I have in the past several dayscombined. I hate that – I feel guilty and fat – though I choose not to listento that voice today. Today is a gift in which the voice of “not measuring up”has no place. (In truth every day shouldbe like this but that is a battle I still must fight.)

So... whatis today all about, then, for I know that tomorrow I shall go back to my "regular" life. Tomorrow I shall be back with the burdens, challenges and busyness of life, and I shall expect them to be there like family members. If today was a gift, then what must I glean from it to take into tomorrow? Because the truth is, I want tomorrow to be different.

I do the only thing I know to do: pray and listen.

Papa? I have spenta lovely day with You – a day that engaged all my senses, tilled the soil of mysoul, stirred the sediment of exultation, suspended me in Grace and Joy,brought a fresh perspective of creation (both mine and the world’s) andconnected me once again to You and to the beauty of the earth around me.

You know that my desire is to love You more deeply,know You more fully, and serve Youwholeheartedly. You know my strengths and weaknesses, You know me better than Iknow myself, and so I ask You – what is the lesson You would teach me? Or am Iagain getting ahead of You, looking too far into the future rather than baskingin the present moment?

I sit with the questions and listen. Outside the birds are singing their lullabies, the insects are just waking up, and I imagine it is God's favourite soundtrack as He calls the stars by name...

Journal of the Spa, Part 10

2011-12-28T22:10:00.001+02:00

17h00 - I am in myroom. There are zebras and impala outside my window, a host of mosquitos inside my window, and the power is out.There is a holy hush and I listen to the sound of a bird whose song I havenever before heard. I feel as though I am intruding on an intimate moment andthen realise that all of life is madeup of intimate moments if only I am aware.

It thunders in the distance and begins to rain. Theelectricity comes back on. Thenoff. Then on again. It, too, seems tojoin in the Love song by its staccatoedentrances and exits. I do not sing, for it seems inappropriate to this passage ofmusic, but I am still very much a part of the song. I am engaged, even in mysilence.

Journal of the Spa, Part 9

2011-12-28T21:52:00.000+02:00

16h00 - I step into the warm water of the jacuzzi and then fallbackwards, yielding to the buoyancy of the liquid. I allow myself to be carriedand supported by the water and relax all of my muscles. I am suspended inGrace. It is thunderous and yet it whispers.It is tumultuous yet it is a gentle, rolling wave but it is always – always –moving. Only when I cease striving –when I stop trying to tread water and move myself in its current – does Gracecarry me effortlessly in her flow. It isalmost... easy. Why did I struggleso? Why did I not give up controlsooner?

Journal of the Spa, Part 8

2011-12-27T20:38:00.000+02:00

15h15 - Sylvia workson my feet. I look upon these feet and muse over their history:

These are the feet that danced through almond orchards as a child.
These are the feet that ran, terrified, from a leather belt.
These are the feet that stood once again in resilience and healing.
These are the feet that traversed the globe, finding purpose in a path not chosen but greater than they could have imagined.
These are the feet that flounder from time to time, losing their way or stumbling over a rocky trail.
These are the feet that occasionally run like the wind, discovering a course and momentum perfectly suited to their unique construction and ability.

They aretired feet. They are strong feet. They are blistered and they are beautiful.They are my feet and they are every man’s feet.

Journal of the Spa, Part 7

2011-12-27T20:03:00.001+02:00

13h45 - Sylvia givesme a facial. I feel guilty about this day, which has been so unproductive on my part, but I remind myself that it was a gift from Dan. I fall asleep praying about my head...

Lord, these eyes of mine - you know how fiery they can be. Help them to instead reflect Your love and compassion. My smile, which is often upside down - I want my smile to somehow echo Your joy. The rest of my face - I would like it to display Your peace and contentment. And Lord, there is so much knowledge in the world to be learned. Help me to have the discernment to learn only that which would teach me of You and help me step into Your call upon my life. Help me not to waste my time amassing knowledge that I do not need.

I desire that my mouthwould speak words of encouragement, truth and inspiration. I want my story – my life – tobe one of redemption that lends courage to the downtrodden, hope to thedisillusioned, and strength to the weak. And my voice, Lord... if I sing, then let me sing of You. ForYou. Would You give meaning to my song so that it would sweetly beckon the world to followYou, to find healing and wholeness in You?

Would youinfuse every cell of my body so that my very being is a unique interpretationof Your love for creation, for mankind, for me? Would you sync my heartbeat toYour rhythms, my ears to Your melody and my eyes to the dynamics of Your music? Lord, you know how great the distance from where I am to where I would like to be... what my life is and what I would like it to become... I have so much to learn, so far to go...

Words beginto fail me; my thoughts become less and less coherent. I am sinkinginto the earth – into nature – and the more empty I become the more room thereis to be filled by Jesus. Paradoxically, the more I “lose” myself in Him, themore I find my truest self.

Journal of the Spa, Part 6

2011-12-26T22:00:00.001+02:00

12h00 - Sylvia works on my arms and hands. The exfoliating hurts when she gets to my left hand which is still healing from a rather bad burn. I am thankful for the gift of having two functioning hands after having had the use of only one for two weeks. I tell God of my desire for these hands – my right hand, which writes and draws in black, and my left hand, which does all else and shades in colour. May these hands encourage people – through writing, through music, through touch. May my right hand point people to God and write only that which is true and meaningful. May my left hand add an element of creativity and fun which brings joy, humour and a playfulness that also points to God. Together may these hands create a beautiful counterpoint that fulfils God’s call on my life.

Lunchtime, 13h00 - I do not worry about the food I am ingesting or the kilojoules I have consumed. I can only bask in the presence of God and wonder at His love for me.

The words of Genesis 28:16 come to mind and suddenly I am Jacob stirring from a dream in which I wrestled with God and upon awakening said, “Surely the Lord is in this place and I was not aware of it.”

Surely God is present in each of my days, in every one of the 86,400 seconds. Surely God is active and moving all around me if I could just remove the veil from my eyes, the deafness from my ears and the hardness of my heart to be sensitive to the evidence. Surely God is in the dark places I don't want to acknowledge as well as in the places of joy and mirth. Surely God is present in my weaknesses and failings as well as in my strengths and successes. Surely God is as much present when I am alone with my thoughts and nakedness at night as He is when I put my best foot forward in public during the day. Surely God is present. Surely God is. Surely...

Christmas, Unplugged

2011-12-25T15:04:00.000+02:00

One of the noticeable things about moving from the northern hemisphere to the southern hemisphere is that all of the days you celebrate and hold dear are in the "opposite" season. My birthday, which used to be in autumn, is now in spring. All of the things I associated with my birthday - crisp mornings and evenings, beautiful autumn foliage and pumpkin pie - have been removed. Or replaced, to put it in a positive light.

It's the same with Christmas. My Christmases over the years have been a bit schizophrenic. I have:

Gone innertubing in the snow
Gone swimming
Hiked through pine forests
Hiked through the bushveld
Drunk hot cocoa and gone Christmas caroling
Had a lekker braai and cooldrink
Bundled up in my warm woolen mittens
Harvested summer vegetables

All of the things I used to identify with Christmas disappeared when we moved to South Africa. I spent the first two years pining for what I lost. I spent the last two years enjoying what I gained. In the process I learned that most of the traditions I associate with Christmas are just cultural trappings, if you will. They have nothing to do with celebrating the birth of Christ and everything to do with the season and country in which the holiday occurs.

When you strip all of that away, you have nothing left but the holiday - holy day - and yourself. When you remove the distractions from a celebration you find out what you really believe. Take away the birthday cake, presents and party and you find out how you really feel about the fact of your birth. Take away the Christmas tree, gingerbread latté and Western consumerism and you find out what you really think about the birth of Jesus.

A Raw and Gritty Christmas Quote, Part 3

2011-12-25T05:00:00.000+02:00

"But 'like a root out of dry ground,' he came, Isaiah says (53:2), and it was down to the roots of things that he moved all his life like a mole - down at the undetected sickness fiercer than flesh, the buried sin, the hidden holiness. 'Cleave the wood, I am there,' he says in the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas. 'Lift the stone, and you will find me there' (77), and it is always far beneath that he is to be found and deep within that his most shattering miracles happen...

"Because of this story of Jesus, each of our own stories is in countless ways different from what it would have been otherwise, and that is why in speaking about him we must speak also about ourselves, and about ourselves with him and without him too because that, of course, is the other story we have in us to remember and tell. Our own story...

"To live and look beneath our own stories is to see glimmers at least of his life, of his life struggling to come alive in our lives, his story whispering like a song through the babble and drone of ours. Where he is strong, we are weak, God knows. Where he is faithful, we are what we are....

"And in the meantime, this side of Paradise, it is our business to speak with our hearts and to bear witness to, and live out of, and live toward, and live by the true word of his holy story as it seeks to stammer itself forth through the holy stories of us all." - Frederick Buechner, Secrets in the Dark

A Raw and Gritty Christmas Quote, Part 2

2011-12-24T05:00:00.000+02:00

"He was born, the story begins - the barn that needs cleaning, the sagging steps, the dusty face - and there are times when we have to forget all about the angels and shepherds and star of it, I think, and just let the birth as a birth be wonder enough, which heaven help us it is, this wonder of all wonders. Into a world that has never been famous for taking special care of the naked and helpless, he was born in the same old way to the same old end and in all likelihood howled bloody murder with the rest of us when they got the breath going in him and he sensed more or less what he was in for. An old man in the Temple predicted great things for him but terrible things for the mother who loved him in what seemed to have been all the wrong ways. He got lost in the city and worried his parents sick. John baptised him in the river and wondered afterwards if he'd chosen the right man. It wasn't just Satan who tempted him then because for the rest of his life just about everybody tempted him - his best friend, his disciples, his mother and brothers, his enemies. They all of them tempted him one way or another not to go off the deep end but to stay on the bearable surface of things - to work miracles you could see with your eyes, to feed hungers you could feel in your belly, to heal the sickness of the flesh you could touch, to be a power among powers and to avoid the powerless, the sinful, the deadbeats like the plague in favour of the outwardly righteous, the publicly pious...

"But 'like a root out of dry ground,' he came, Isaiah says (53:2), and it was down at the roots of things that he moved..." - Frederick Buechner, Secrets in the Dark

A Raw and Gritty Christmas Quote

2011-12-23T20:16:00.000+02:00

"The story of Jesus is full of darkness as well as of light. It is a story that hides more than it reveals. It is the story of a mystery we must never assume we understand and that comes to us breathless and broken with unspeakable beauty at the heart of it, yet is by no means a pretty story, though that is the way we're apt to peddle it much of the time. We sand down the rough edges. We play down the obscurities and contradictions. What we can't explain, we explain away. We set Jesus forth as clear-eyed and noble-browed, whereas the chances are he can't have been anything but old before his time once the world started working him over, and once the world was through, his clear eyes were swollen shut and his noble brow as much of a shambles as the rest of him. We're apt to tell his story when we tell it at all, to sell his story, for the poetry and panacea of it. 'But we are the aroma of Christ,' Paul says, and the story we are given to tell is a story that smells of his life in all its aliveness, and our commission is to tell it in a way that makes it come alive as a story in all its aliveness and to make those who hear it come alive and God knows to make ourselves come alive too." - Frederick Buechner, Secrets in the Dark

Journal of the Spa, Part 5

2011-12-22T16:00:00.000+02:00

11h30 - Sylviamassages my neck and head. I see only the forest in front of me. I amhyper-aware of every moth, spider and bird that makes its presence known. Twomonkeys peer curiously from behind a rock.

There ismusic playing in the background – Asian music – and I smile. I could be inJapan, in the bamboo forest of the Hamilton Botanical Gardens in New Zealand orhere in the Republic of South Africa. God’s love and presence spans the globe and though I am displaced frommy culture and all things familiar I am very much at home. Thisis home. I settle into a deepcontentment.

I am sohumbled and thankful that God brought me to this country. I wish only to livewith a great respect for the people of South Africa who have allowed me to makemy home with them. My life has been incredibly enriched by all they are and allthey have to offer the world. Who am I, to be so blessed?

Journal of the Spa, Part 4

2011-12-22T05:00:00.000+02:00

Tea Time, 11h00 - I look outthe window into the woods. The trees sway in the breeze and create amesmerising dance between sunlight and shadow on the forest floor. I am caughtin its spell until something shimmery catches my eye. It is a spiderwebglistening in the sunlight and gently blowing in the wind. The artistry stirsthe sediment of exultation that lies on the bottom of my soul and I suddenlywant to dance. I am carried in a suspensionof joy that touches everything from the gossamer silk of a spider’s web to thewounded and bleeding heart of a human made in the very image of God.

I sing thesong of being alive as my eyes are opened to the beauty around me. We areconnected, all of us – from the least to the mightiest. I am keenly aware ofthis fact, and I tread with reverence.

Journal of the Spa, Part 3

2011-12-21T20:11:00.000+02:00

09h45 - Sylviamassages my body, but I do not sense Sylvia’s hands; instead I am taken back tomy mother’s womb where God is busy knitting me together. Sylvia rubs my backbut I see God fashioning my spinal column, connecting each vertebra and disc.Sylvia massages my legs but I feel only the hands of God creating my femur,tibia, fibula and all of the muscles, tendons and ligaments – down to thetarsals and metatarsals of my feet.

I tell God of my desire for these feet: May they stay on thepath He has chosen for me. May they carry His love and hope.

Sylviaplaces hot stones on my skin and I feel God breathe life into me. The blood andmarrow course through my body and the warmth indicates that I am alive. Thespinal fluid flows through the ventricles in my brain and I am aware of theDivine creation that I am. God’s fingerprints are all over me. I am at rest, floating in this amniotic fluidof creation mixed with the tears of God. It is a holy moment, a moment pregnantwith anticipation and hope: hope of potential, intention and purpose.

Journal of the Spa, Part 2

2011-12-21T19:58:00.000+02:00

09h15 - The womanwho attends to me is named Sylvia. Fitting, as her name means “of the woodlands” and we are in a beautifulforest setting. The trees are thin butthey are many and when the wind blows they click against each other in apercussive touch; they are the rhythm section of nature.

Sylviaexfoliates my skin. It is rough and painful. Parting with things I no longerneed is painful. I tend to hold ontothem with a stubborn persistence despite the fact that they are dead and nolonger nourishing. I feel raw and exposed, like freshly-tilled soil, and yet,this is good. I am ready for new seeds – life-giving, sustaining and nourishingelements that can only be planted when the dead brush is cleared away.

Journal of the Spa, Part 1

2011-12-20T21:56:00.000+02:00

I am sitting alone at the breakfast table, but I don’t mind. The other women here are lostin conversations with each other – intelligent or shallow conversations, itdoes not matter – but I am free to notice and savour the smoothness of theyoghurt, the crispness of the apple and the texture of the watermelon. I can enjoy the warmth of the teacup in myhand and feel the steam kiss my nose playfully when I take a sip of tea. I can breathe in the smell of the thatchedroof – breathe it in deeply – and be overcome by its aroma. It is beautiful.

I am notdistracted by conversation, do not need to put my best self forward, and Ishall try not to pay attention to the kilojoules I am ingesting. I don’t wantto miss this opportunity to connect with God – to hear His voice above thecacophony of all other voices that beg for my attention and allegiance. Idesire that everything today would enhance this communion with God. Oh, thattoday would be a beautiful dance between lovers where time stands still and allbut the presence of my Lover melts away!

The other women glance over at my table and whisper amongthemselves. They pity me, perhaps, for being alone, but I am not alone. I am most definitely not alone. I am caughtup in a sensual symphony – colour, taste, aroma and the music of nature aredraped over my shoulders by the Lover of my soul. The hairs on my arm stand on end and tingleat this blanketing touch of the Divine and I am captivated. I am here. I amaware. I am.

The End of an Adventure (And the Beginning of Another?)

2011-12-20T10:50:00.001+02:00

Last month I wrote about my husband being gone for two months and my initial glamourisation of the "adventure". Then reality set in (as reality is wont to do...) and all glamourisation flew out the window. Here's what actually happened while he was gone:

The roof leaked in three places
Our son had a birthday
The car broke down
I had a birthday
My daughter was in a school play
The towel rack mysteriously fell off the wall multiple times (usually in the middle of the night, which gave me quite a fright!)
The internet connection disappeared for a week
My daughter attended her Grade 7 valediction and earned several awards (equivalent to a Junior High graduation in the United States)
I burned my hand rather badly and was one-handed for two weeks

As you can see my husband missed a lot of momentous events! I was so overwhelmed and exhausted at the end of every day that in some ways the two months flew by in a blur of busyness. My husband came home last week to a tired, drained and empty wife (who was also very happy to have her man home!)

A few days after his arrival, I humbly asked if I could have a day to get away by myself to rest and recharge. He sent me to a day spa.

I'm not a day spa kind of girl, so I thought I'd keep a journal in which I observed and analysed the day, kind of like an undercover reporter. The next several posts will cover this day (which was surprising in every way). More to come...

Monday Quote

2011-12-19T05:30:00.000+02:00

"Daring to accept myself and receive love for who I am in my nakedness and vulnerability is the indispensable precondition for genuine transformation. But make no mistake about just how difficult this is. Everything within me wants to show my best 'pretend self' to both other people and God. This is my false self - the self of my own making. This self can never be transformed, because it is never willing to receive love in vulnerability. When this pretend self receives love, it simply becomes stronger and I am even more deeply in bondage to my false ways of living...

"How terrifying it is to face my naked and needy self - the self that longs for love and knows it can do nothing to manipulate the universe into providing the only kind of love I really need. The crux of the problem is that I cannot feel the love of God because I do not dare to accept it uncondtionally. To know that I am loved, I must accept the frightening helplessness and vulnerability that is my true state."

- David Benner, Surrender to Love

The Prodigal Father?

2011-12-18T20:03:00.000+02:00

A while back I wrote an entry on the story of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32). At the time (and up to today), I've always thought the word "prodigal" referred to a person who went "astray" and later repented and returned home, as exemplified in this Biblical story. I learned today, however, that the top two definitions of the word are as follows:

prodigal, adj.
1. Spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant.
2. Having or giving something on a lavish scale.

I feel a bit embarrassed - as if I should have known this long ago - but I guess I've only heard the word "prodigal" in reference to the parable told by Jesus. And while it is true that the son in the story was wasteful and spent his money freely and recklessly (which makes every definition of the word "prodigal" applicable here), if you look at it from a different angle...

Was not the father - the father who scanned the horizon looking and longing for his son's return - just as prodigal? When the son returned, the father threw a huge party rather than voice disappointment in his son's poor decisions. The father was wastefully extravagant with his love, spent that love freely and recklessly on his son and gave it to a lavish degree. Is that not "prodigal" by definition?

And so I wonder... is the point of the story about the bad choices the son made or about the love of the father? If it is the latter, perhaps we have not only incorrectly titled the parable, but also incorrectly placed an emphasis on the deeds of the son rather than the nature of the father.

Perhaps it is time to rename this story.

Thoughts on Success and Measuring Up

2011-12-14T05:00:00.000+02:00

I have this bad habit - this broken thing inside of me - that needs to "measure up". I keep trying to reach some far-off standard of success, approval, perfection... (you could pick almost any word and insert it in here). It drives nearly everything I do, and at the end of the day I often go to bed feeling somehow "less than"... because I didn't attain the goal (which doesn't actually exist, by the way). It is a never-ending cycle of striving and feeling disappointed in myself.

I've been reading German authors lately (I go through phases in my reading). Today I started on a Viktor Frankl book. I didn't even get through the Preface before I read this:

"Don't aim at success - the more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it. For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side-effect of one's dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by-product of one's surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it. I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge. Then you will live to see that in the long run - in the long run, I say! - success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think of it." - Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

Jesus said it like this: "What I'm trying to do here is get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God's giving. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, and God-provisions. Don't worry about missing out. You'll find all your everyday human concerns will be met." - Matthew 6:31-33, The Message

The trick is to get your heart to believe what your head already knows...

Thoughts on Nostalgia, Part 2

2011-12-13T12:07:00.001+02:00

I left you hanging on a rather depressing note yesterday, so let me try to lift your spirits by pointing out the good thing about nostalgia.

It is true that for many of us, there is no longer a "home" in which to return. The thing we long for most on earth no longer exists, or is altered so drastically that it no longer holds the comfort and safety we once associated with it. But there is another Home, another place that beckons to the eternal nature of our being - where Deep cries out to deep - and whispers, "It will not always be thus..." Hope rises in our spirit and begins to attach longing to this Home rather than the earthly home which was lost or destroyed.

I am speaking about heaven, of course. But the question is, can one be nostalgic about something one has not seen or experienced? I believe in this case the answer is yes, for all of the earthly longings - all the things of this world for which we feel nostalgia - are pale whispers of the realities of heaven. They whet our appetites for what is more true and lasting than we could ever imagine. In that sense we yearn for something we have smelled but not yet tasted.

And just to set the record straight - God does not offer us heaven in an attempt to make up for some sort of cosmic oversight on His part or to atone for what happened to us on earth. God is Love and Love desires only that which is good (in the truest sense of the word). It is we who are responsible for this homeless wandering, we whose immortality is marred by the dust and sweat of sin and humanity, we whose folly creates loss, danger and instability. It is because of us that a painful nostalgia exists, and God in His grace has redeemed even that to create a hopeful nostalgia in which we find our home with Him and never have to leave.

Thoughts on Nostalgia

2011-12-12T23:00:00.000+02:00

nostalgia, n. a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

ORIGIN late 18th century (in the sense 'acute homesickness'): modern Latin (translating German Heimweh, 'homesickness'), from Greek nostos 'return home' + algos 'pain'.

I am feeling nostalgic today. I was listening to recordings of my dad - who died earlier this year - playing French horn. He played in the symphony in my home town in California. I never got to hear him play due to the fact that he was in a motorbike accident when I was four years old. I am thankful for the recordings, but I always wish I could have heard and seen him play in person.

I like the origins of the word 'nostalgia'. There is a pain in knowing you can never 'return home', isn't there? It conveys so well this longing - this deep, deep longing - that will never be fulfilled this side of eternity.

Change is hard. It speaks to the fact that our eternal souls, bound in mortal bodies, were not meant for loss and separation and this 'cutting off' that came with sin and free will and all things 'human'. We long for stability - for a place that will always be there when we need a haven or retreat from the (sometimes) harsh realities of this world. And unfortunately, sometimes that place is not there; hence the pain - this wandering about the earth looking for a home that no longer exists...

I'm not feeling very philosophical or able to argue intelligibly today; I just miss my daddy.

Thoughts on Leftovers and the Power of Availability

2011-12-11T11:35:00.001+02:00

I didn't know what to make for lunch today. I looked in my kitchen at the assortment of random ingredients: one ripe squash from my garden, a bit of cheese, a few mushrooms, milk, rice, an onion. Not very promising. (Think hard, Annie...)

I simmered the rice in a creamy mushroom sauce and added the smoked gruyére. I sautéed the squash in some butter, garlic and fresh basil. I caramelised the onion. I added the squash and onion to the rice and created a sort of risotto (Risotto à la Leftovers?). It was surprisingly good considering its humble beginnings.

This is not a story about cooking, however. It is a story about the ingredients in my kitchen just... being there... and offering themselves to me in availability. They did not hide from me when I opened the fridge, did not resist when I chose them, did not protest to how I used them.

We often compare God to a Master Artist, but what about a Master Chef? What if He desires to prepare an amazing feast of flavours, colours and aromas made up of... us? What if we are comparable to ingredients in a cuisine so grand we can hardly even imagine it? The potential makes us smile, doesn't it? We stand a bit taller, perhaps - hold our heads high - and rise to the hopes and eager expectation of such possibility.

Now imagine what would happen if we hid from God, resisted Him when He chose us, and protested to His recipe? What if we fought to keep to our own little corner of the kitchen and the ingredients on either side of us, and never met the spices on the other side of the room that would release our flavour to its fullest potential? How would that affect the end result? I can hardly bear to think of it, it makes me so sad.

One final imagining, please: what would it look like if we decided to simply... be? To be available, to surrender, to allow ourselves to be carried and moved by the Hands of Grace? Is it possible that a tremendous joy and fulfilment awaits beyond our wildest dreams? I dare say... yes.

"The Meaning of That Waiting... Will Dawn Upon You"

2011-12-11T09:21:00.001+02:00

"In the eyes of him who takes his stand in love, and gazes out of it, men are cut free from their entanglement in bustling activity. Good people and evil, wise and foolish, beautiful and ugly, become successively real to him; that is, set free they step forth in their singleness, and confront him as Thou...

"Love is responsibility of an I for a Thou. In this lies the likeness - impossible of any feeling whatsoever - of all who love, from the smallest to the greatest and from the blessedly protected man, whose life is rounded in that of a loved being, to him who is all his life nailed to the cross of the world, and who ventures to bring himself to the dreadful point - to love all men...

"Believe in the simple magic of life, in service in the universe, and the meaning of that waiting, that alertness, that 'craning of the neck' in creatures will dawn upon you. Every word would falsify; but look! round about you beings live their life, and to whatever point you turn you come upon being." - Martin Buber, I and Thou

I never thought a German philosopher could make me cry, but there you have it - the writing is so beautiful, so profound, I cannot help it. It washes all of the dust and dirt out of my clouded vision to see the world through the freshness of the air right after it rains... The reflection of the world can be seen in the raindrops still standing on the leaves of trees and flowers which soaked in the nourishing liquid and now give back to the earth in whispers of Grace, and I am deeply touched.

A Journey Through Counterpoint X

2011-12-07T14:02:00.001+02:00

A passacaglia is a form of counterpoint that originated in early 17th century Spain. Watch how the two instrumentalists interact with each other, and listen to how the melodies join together and then separate. Look for consonance and dissonance, and try to see it in the context of the whole song (Oh, and drooling over the Stradivarius cello is optional, but just so you know, it doesn't bother me in the slightest!).

Thoughts on Feet, Freud and Grace

2011-12-06T09:28:00.001+02:00

I think that most of us can say there are things we don't like about ourselves, things we'd like to change if we could. How many times have we said, "I wish I were more _________?" or "I hate that about myself!" In an effort to compensate, we put our best foot forward and try to hide the parts of ourselves we don't like. We stuff them down into deep, dark corners and hope they will remain quiet and hidden.

That doesn't work so well, though, does it? Those hidden weaknesses or flaws often rear their ugly heads, and while we may be blind to our own faults, others around us are not! I believe it was Freud who noted that the things we refuse to acknowledge actually increase in power and influence because of our very failure to accept them. In other words, the things we avoid are the things that most tyrannise us.

As Christians we are admonished to "crucify" the "old" nature, but I think we often interpret that by denying its existence, stuffing it down, hiding it away, and again, putting our best (dare I say false?) foot forward.

This morning, I read something profound: "Until we are prepared to accept the self we actually are, we block God's transforming work of making us into our true self that is hidden in God...We must receive it with hospitality - not hostility. No one - not even your own self - can be known apart from such a welcome...

"You can never be other than who you are until you are willing to embrace the reality of who you are. Only then can you truly become who you are most deeply called to be." - David Benner, The Gift of Being Yourself

What would it look like if we were more honest about our "feet" - if we didn't try to hide our worst foot, didn't try to force our best foot forward all the time, and just acknowledged our mismatched shoes? I think (though I can't prove it) we might just take ourselves a little less seriously, accept each other more lovingly, and maybe - just maybe - we'd come across Someone who has a matching shoe for us. Grace cannot give what we refuse to accept.

(and yes, those are actually my shoes)

La Verbe du Jour

2011-12-05T11:13:00.001+02:00

Sustain, v.
1. To strengthen or support physically or mentally.
2. To cause to continue or be prolonged for an extended period or without interruption.
3. To bear (the weight of an object) without breaking or falling.

ORIGIN: From the Latin sustinere, from sub- 'from below' + tenere 'hold'

"Listen to Me, you whom I have upheld since your birth... Even to your old age and grey hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." - Isaiah 46:4

Flying by the Instrument Panel

2011-12-04T20:23:00.001+02:00

I am privileged to know a man named Roald. Roald plays the violin in our worship band, but he is also a pilot (and a former pilot with the South African Air Force). Every week for sound check Roald plays "Guess-This-Piece-of-Classical-Music". Every week Roald is bursting with enthusiasm, encouragement and a heart of gratitude. Roald is also the oldest guy on our team, so we appreciate his wisdom and experience, and very much look up to him.

Today Roald told me the most amazing story. He said that when he was learning to fly, they would put a black cloth over his head that snapped onto the dashboard of the cockpit so that he could not see out of any windows; he could only see his instrument panel. This was to teach him to rely on his instrument readings and make decisions based upon those readings rather than his own perceptions of what he saw. I asked him, "But can't the instruments be wrong? Isn't what you see more accurate?" Here is his reply:

"No. If your aeroplane is tilted to the side even 5% and the air is bumpy, pretty soon your ear and your brain will tell you that you are flying level. When it comes time to make a turn, you will turn too sharply and the aeroplane will fly in tighter and tighter circles until it nosedives to the ground and crashes." I said, "Just from a 5% tilt?" He replied, "Even less than that. That's why you can't rely on your perceptions. You have to trust the instruments."

I could come up with a hundred applications for this, as could you, but the one that stands out to me most prominently is this:

How often do we become disorientated because we are looking at our circumstances and letting them guide our decisions rather than looking to God Who knows all, sees all, and promises to help us? How often do we put our trust in ourselves rather than in Him, thinking our own perception of reality to be more accurate? What would it look like if we could only see Him, trust Him, read Him? What if we always weighed our limited perceptions against the readings of the Divine "instrument panel"?

I can't help but think we'd avoid a few nosedives.

... And a Little More Buechner

2011-12-04T05:30:00.000+02:00

Worship
Phrases like Worship Service or Service of Worship are tautologies. To worship God means to serve Him. Basically there are two ways to do it. One way is to do things for Him that He needs to have done - run errands for Him, carry messages for Him, fight on His side, feed His lambs, and so on. The other way is to do things for Him that you need to do - sing songs for Him, create beautiful things for Him, give things up for Him, tell Him what's on your mind and in your heart, in general rejoice in Him and make a fool of yourself for Him the way lovers have always made fools of themselves for the one they love.

A Quaker Meeting, a Pontifical High Mass, the Family Service at First Presbyterian, a Holy Roller Happening - unless there is an element of joy and foolishness in the proceedings, the time would be better spent doing something useful.

- Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking

Some Sobering Statistics

2011-12-04T01:16:00.000+02:00

A few years ago the World Evangelical Fellowship undertook a comprehensive research project on missionary attrition. This project was called ReMAP (Reducing Missionary Attrition Project). Their findings were startling -

The project found that among those working in missions and pastoral ministry:

• 90% report working between 55 and 75 hours per week.
• 80% believe that ministry has negatively affected their families.
• 90% feel they are inadequately trained to cope with ministry demands.
• 50% feel unable to meet the demands of the job.
• 70% constantly fight depression.
• 70% say they have a lower self-image now than when they first started.
• 80% of ministry spouses wish their spouse would choose a different profession.
• 50% of those starting out in ministry will not last five years.

Unbelievable. If you want to read the whole article to find out the why's and how's behind these statistics, click here.

It leaves me wondering - how much do we place unrealistic demands on others, especially those in positions of leadership (that is such a loaded word I almost hate to use it)? What if we just saw them as human beings with strengths, weaknesses, needs, quirks and fun sides (even, dare we say, irreverent senses of humour)? What if we gave back rather than taking all the time? What if we could encourage them rather than seeking our own encouragement? Would these statistics be any different?

*special thanks to Cat Nguyen and Mark Cathey for passing along the article.

A Little Buechner for the Weekend...

2011-12-03T05:57:00.001+02:00

Vocation
It comes from the Latin vocare, to call, and means the work a person is called to by God.

There are all kinds of voices calling you to all different kinds of work, and the problem is to find out which is the voice of God rather than of Society, say, or the Supergo, or Self-Interest.

By and large a good rule for finding out is this: The kind of work God usually calls you to is the kind of work (a) that you most need to do and (b) that the world most needs to have done. If you really get a kick out of your work, then you've presumably met requirement (a), but if your work is writing cigarette ads, the chances are you've missed requirement (b). On the other hand, if your work is being a doctor in a leper colony, you have probably met requirement (b), but if most of the time you're bored and depressed by it, the chances are you have not only bypassed (a), but probably aren't helping your patients much either.

Neither the hair shirt nor the soft berth will do. The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet.

- Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking

Teddy Bear Surgeon

2011-12-01T20:28:00.001+02:00

When I was little I wanted to be a chemist -
mix potions, invent new vaccines to
save the world.

When I was little I wanted to be a ballerina -
dance on my toes, gracefully
arabesque across the stage.

When I was little I wanted to be a musician -
sell out concert halls, pierce the air with
flying cadenzas.

But I grew up...

Traded hands of ambition for
hands of a mother,
shelved childhood dreams.

I never did invent new medicines but
I have soothed the brow of a feverish child
late at night.

I never did learn port de bras but
I have elegantly reattached the spinal column
on a teddy bear.

I never did play the cello but
I have musically rocked a baby to sleep,
prepared a mealtime symphony.

And when my children grow up, forget me,
my wrinkled hands shall dust that red cape,
tie on childhood dreams,

go save the world.

Thoughts on Sewage, Worship and Christmas

2011-12-01T17:41:00.001+02:00

Last night when I walked into rehearsal, the auditorium was a mess and half of the chairs were missing. To make a long story short, it turns out a storm drain had leaked sewage, which seeped up from the ground through the building's foundation and somehow soaked the carpet. I don't know the why's and how's behind this, but I can tell you that it smelled really, really bad (and I grew up around dairy farms, so I'm quite tolerant of the smell of manure...)

We began rehearsing the worship songs for Sunday. It was a bit hard to concentrate due to the smell, but about halfway through the first song I suddenly had a realisation:

This is amazing! Christmas is coming up, Jesus was born in a stable (most probably), and it must have smelled a lot like this. What a fitting backdrop from which to sing worship! If the smell of (forgive my English) crap was not beneath Jesus, then why should it be beneath me? How can I have the arrogance to expect a clean, sanitised and comfortable environment? Do I really need such confined, narrow parameters in order to praise God? I was humbled once again by the great lengths to which He went in order to love me.

I stood in the auditorium, breathed deeply, and actually came to a point of feeling grateful for the sensory experience. I closed my eyes and let my mind take me to that night which began the Incarnation - the embodiment of God in human flesh. And though I am not sure, I think the worship was a beautiful fragrance last night.

A Journey Through Counterpoint IX

2011-11-30T12:05:00.001+02:00

Imitative Counterpoint
I saved the best for last (a purely subjective analysis, of course)! I can just imagine you've been wondering, "But what about a round? A canon? A fugue?" These, as well as the stretto, passacaglia, chaconne, fantasia and the ricarcar, are all rooted in imitative counterpoint. They are probably the most well-known types of counterpoint.

In imitative counterpoint, the melodies do not begin all at once but enter at staggered times. When they enter they usually begin with a repeated version of the first melody. They may imitate precisely (such as in a round) or they may start by imitating and veer off into original melodies, or a combination of the two. Imitative counterpoint is a fun game between the melodies in which they playfully copy each other, run away from each other and then try to catch each other. The possibilities are endless.

I had all these wonderful ideas to share with you about imitative counterpoint and its many forms. I may yet do that in future posts, but I'd like to first share a very personal narrative with you:

This is my son, Benjamin (who graciously gave me permission to share his story). Ben is missing about 20% of his brain. Ben's neurologist said that most kids with his same MRI scans are non-verbal and non-ambulatory. Yet Ben not only walks and talks, he received academic colours at school this year.

The interesting thing about Ben is that he learns through imitation. He doesn't seem to be capable of original or creative thought. He repeats everything until he's memorised and contextualised it. There are days when it's incredibly hard to be patient with him; his repetition drives me crazy. I have to remind myself that this is how he learns. And he does learn.

So what does this have to do with counterpoint? Perhaps through imitative counterpoint we learn... We learn melodies. We learn how to navigate tricky rhythms. We learn how to relate to one another. We learn how to live in community. We repeat these until we've mastered them and then we veer off to experiment and try things based upon our own original ideas. We grow up. But maybe, to some extent, we still learn by imitating.

I'll let you come up with your own application for this one... I'm still formulating my own, which involves a 10-year-old boy with gorgeous brown eyes.

A Journey Through Counterpoint VIII

2011-11-29T14:17:00.001+02:00

Dissonant counterpoint
This is what I like to refer to as the "Let's be different for the sake of being different" counterpoint. Dissonant counterpoint, which originated in the 1920's, takes the confines of species counterpoint and reverses them so that dissonance rather than consonance becomes the rule. Charles Seeger, former chairman of the Music Department at the University of California at Berkeley is largely credited as being its main proponent.

Dissonant counterpoint sought to create a new musical point of view by avoiding musical conventions and the "norm." Perfect octaves (consonant) are generally shunned in favour of major sevenths (dissonant). Where species counterpoint "steps," dissonant counterpoint "skips" and "leaps." In general, dissonant counterpoint does the complete opposite of traditional counterpoints.

So let's take a closer look at this curmudgeon in our cast of counterpoint characters (I couldn't resist the alliteration... sorry!):

Dissonant Counterpoint is contrary and negative. He is revolutionary and would like to stage a coup de grâce to put an end to consonance. If he can't accomplish that, he can at least banish consonance to her room and only let her out for mealtimes and bathroom breaks. He sees his melody as a New World Order - a "pure" melody of strength, power and victory.

Eighth application: Why bother? I do not mean to say this in a facetious manner. I am absolutely serious: why bother with dissonant counterpoint? Is there any value to it? Can we, in fact, learn something from it? Our first inclination might be to throw it out the window; who needs such negativity? But upon closer examination, is there perhaps a benefit to it? [Here's a thought to get your philosophical juices flowing - can light exist apart from darkness?]

A Journey Through Counterpoint VII

2011-11-28T20:17:00.001+02:00

Linear Counterpoint
Like its name suggests, linear counterpoint focuses more on the horizontal lines of the individual melodies rather than the vertical lines of harmonic connection. The individual melodic lines are, shall we say, a bit inconsiderate of one another. Linear counterpoint made its debut in the early 20th century (Stravinsky was quite fond of it).

Linear Counterpoint moves freely and sings his melody without much regard to the effects he may have on the melodies around him. At best he is seen as a "free spirit" - spontaneous and living with careless abandon. There are times when his haphazard and carefree nature contribute to some playful, memorable and brilliantly creative experiences. He can be a LOT of fun.

Linear Counterpoint is a fair-weathered friend, however. At the first sign of conflict - if you should cross his path or have a differing view - beware! He can be quite the megalomaniac, self-centred and rigid in demanding his "rights." He has to do things his way and if that means walking all over you, so be it.

Seventh application: The case for linear counterpoint is conflicting; there are strong points both for it and against it. How do you sustain a melody against such high levels of dissonance?

A Journey Through Counterpoint VI

2011-11-28T17:36:00.001+02:00

And now we come to the big "So what?" These are nice little ideas - you're a melody, I'm a melody, and together we make a cute couple, right? Not entirely... It turns out you're full of stylistic assumptions, contour, motives, accent, neutral lines, voice leading and ornamentation (and you thought your life was boring!)

This is where counterpoint really starts to get fun. There are different types of counterpoint: species counterpoint, linear counterpoint, dissonant counterpoint and imitative counterpoint (which includes melodic inversion, retrograde, retrograde inversion, augmentation and diminution). It sounds scary, but I hope to have you laughing by the end. I'll try to explain each one but be thinking about the stories they tell and see if you can find parallels to human relationships.

Species Counterpoint
Species counterpoint is the oldest and "strictest" form of counterpoint (originating in the 16th century). It was actually developed as a pedagogical tool to teach students how to write counterpoint by taking them through different "species" that increased in complexity. It doesn't allow for much freedom because it always consists of a Cantus Firmus (Latin for "fixed melody").

Our protagonist, Cantus Firmus, doesn't change. Se doesn't like change, refuses to change, and doesn't even see the purpose of change. She is fine just the way she is. In fact, if anyone needs to change it's YOU. And so you do.

You sing a melody in an effort to engage Cantus, but she doesn't move. You try another melody, but still, she won't budge. After a third and fourth melody, you pause for a moment and reconsider. Maybe if you try the first melody again, she'll respond differently this time? You try all of the melodies you know but Cantus Firmus is a solid wall of immutability.

Sixth application: You can pull and stretch against the constraints, resist and even complain, but that will probably just add more dissonance. So what must you do? Must you find a way to be content with the melody as it is, look for those harmonic pillars and accept the confines? Or must you walk away to find a melody that's more homologous and reciprocal?

A Journey Through Counterpoint V

2011-11-26T20:32:00.001+02:00

3)The Move Towards Connection/Resolution

If dissonance were the end of the story, I'd be pretty depressed. It may add emotion and life to the song, but it can also be pretty overwhelming! Thebeautiful thing about dissonance in music, however, is that itleads to resolution. The tension has to resolve. Dissonance need notbe feared but rather embracedbecause we know a point of connection - resolution - is coming.

These points ofconnection in counterpoint are almost sacred moments where the two melodies toucheach other and connect in a beautiful collision of harmonies. Theseconnecting points act as pillars of stability. In between thepillars there is freedom of movement between the two melodies. It isas if the two melodies are engaged in a conversation: theycommunicate with each other, stimulate each other, challenge eachother, and yet they do not overpower one another. There is acoherence and continuity as both melodies move together in a forwardmomentum. They stretch and pull against each other, yet theyregularly connect at these points of resolution.

Fifth application: Is it possible to sit back, relax, and enjoy the tension and dissonance in relationships? Can we let the connection and resolution come rather than try to force it? Can we see dissonance in the context of the whole song - the whole relationship - rather than as an isolated event? Would that change our perspective?

A Journey Through Counterpoint IV

2011-11-26T20:16:00.001+02:00

2)The Importance of Dissonance

In life, wetend to avoid tension or dissonanc (I do, at least, but I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one out there who does the same). We see it as harsh, undesirableand to be avoided at all cost. In music, however, tension anddissonance are not only accepted, they are welcomed and embraced. Why?

Asong without tension is a happy song – it’s true – but it’salso an incredibly boring song! If you are telling a story and youstart with “Once upon a time” and move directly to “...and theylived happily ever after” you have nothing. You have no story! The story is everything that happens in between the anchors of "Once upon a time" and "...and they lived happily ever after," and what is in the story? Drama! Comedy! Adventure!

Tensionand dissonance add emotion to a song: excitement, mystery,suspense, passion, intrigue, fury, heartache and life. It is in the dissonance of a song that the melody truly comes alive.

Fourth application: By avoiding tension and dissonance, are we missing out on a large portion of life? Are we avoiding the necessary emotions that tell our story? Are we "happy but boring"? Why are we so afraid of dissonance?

A Journey Through Counterpoint III

2011-11-26T19:57:00.001+02:00

So... I would like to share three things about counterpoint that absolutely fascinate me. The first one is:

1)The Beauty of the Dance

Itis hard to write a beautiful song. It is even harder to write twosongs that, when sung simultaneously, sound more beautiful as awhole. In other words, the sum of the two melodies is greater thanthe individual lines. 1+1 does not equal 2 but rather 4 or 5. It isexponential. What is amazing about counterpoint is that while thetwo melodies work together to contribute to the counterpoint as awhole, the counterpoint is reinforcing and affirming the individualmelodies. Each melody must in some way sacrifice itself to work toward the common good of the whole, and yet what it gains is more than it could ever create on its own as a single melody. There is an ebb and flow as the direction moves in multiple ways and creates abeautiful dance that not only enhances the song as a whole, but each individual melody participating.

Third application: What if, in losing ourselves, we actually found ourselves? I'm not suggesting anything new here, for Jesus said the same thing nearly two thousand years ago (only He was much more eloquent than I am!)... "Whoever wants to be My disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow Me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for Me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?" - Matthew 16:24-26

A Journey Through Counterpoint II

2011-11-26T19:36:00.001+02:00

Counterpoint,by contrast, is polyphonic. That means there is more than one melody playing simultaneously (you canactually have up to six melodies). Each melody can stand alone; thatis to say, they are both legitimate melodies in and of themselves,but when you put them together they perform a sort of dance. Thereare points where the two melodies intersect and cross each other, andpoints where they move away from each other, creating a tension ordissonance.

Counterpoint is hundreds of years old. It was established in the Renaissance Period and reached its peak in the Baroque Period of music. In the 20th and 21st centuries, however, counterpoint has largely disappeared from music in the Western world.

Atfirst glance this looks a bit chaotic. It seems like it might justbe a lot of noise. It looks messy. So... why is counterpointimportant? In other words, what’s the point of counterpoint? Why should we careabout something that is hundreds of years old and not really usedtoday?

Second application: Does the fact that counterpoint has all but disappeared mirror an individualistic, Western society? Have we lost a sense of community, a sense of interdependence?

A Journey Through Counterpoint I

2011-11-26T19:23:00.001+02:00

Counterpoint,n. Thetechnique of combining two or more melodic lines in such a way thatthey establish a harmonic relationship while retaining their linearindividuality.

Ihave a confession to make: I love studying and learning about counterpoint; I think there are so many parallels to life and practical applications beyond the musical beauty of counterpoint itself, but I don’t like this definition. Most definitions of counterpoint have reduced the art to a clinical and sterile "science" in describing it. They use a lot ofbig words that doesn’t really explain much. I understand, to some extent, but I also believe that music should be fun and inspiring; it is a way of telling stories. There is nothing clinical or sterile about it.

I am telling you this because I want to share what I've been learning about counterpoint and how it applies to human relationships. I have been so challenged and inspired of late. And the good news is, you don't have to be musical or have a prior knowledge of music to understand counterpoint and how it applies to every day life. So let's dive in!

Modernmusic – most of what we hear today – is largely homophonic. Thatmeans it has only one melody which is supported by chord structuresand rhythms. If more than one singer is singing, you will perhapshear some harmony.

Harmonycan be sung above or below the melody, but it must follow and conformto the melody. It cannot stand alone. It is only there to support and enhance the melody.

First application: Do we see others as legitimate melodies, or do we force them to sing "harmony" to our own melody? Do we respect other peoples' songs or do we see them only in terms of how they support and enhance our own song?

Slogging Away...

2011-11-13T21:13:00.001+02:00

I keep waiting for some earth-shattering revelation to occur to me so I can blog about it and inspire you. This is a bit delusional, I realise, but one of my greatest joys in life is to encourage people, and I really do wish I had something inspiring to share.

Unfortunately, most of life is lived in the "uninspiring" times - the times when we slog through the day and hope we have enough energy to finish it. Most of our time is spent in the valleys where our (drumroll, please) character is developed. And yes, it sucks.

Every now and then, however, we catch a glimpse of the triumphant, a glimmer of something beautiful that inspires us to keep going and persevere despite the odds, despite what the naggers and naysayers would tell us, and despite the protests of our tired muscles. Every now and then a spark of courage kindles the fire within us that begs us to dig deeper and find new reserves of strength and resolve.

So put on your red cape (perfect for saving the world), put on your wellies (perfect for slogging), and keep at it! Eventually, you're bound to move some mountains.

Thoughts on Glamourisation

2011-11-11T22:23:00.001+02:00

My husband is fundraising in the States for two months (the joys of working for a mission organisation...). I miss him terribly. To look on the bright side I thought, hey - it will be an adventure living in Africa for two months by myself, raising the three kids and surviving without my man. I had visions of a female David Livingstone at best, and at worst I thought this will at least make a good story someday. And then reality settled in...

I have to mow the lawn every week. I have to figure out how to change halogen globes and gas tanks and fix towel racks that have fallen off the wall and still manage to cook, clean, do laundry, iron, parent the kids - oh, and do my regular job as well!

Today my daughter was on a school trip and on the way home the bus was involved in an accident. It was minor, but it reminded me that tomorrow is not promised (nor is the remainder of today, for that matter). I attended a meeting in which everyone decided to pick on Americans, for some reason. They mocked my accent, asked me if I ate fast food every day "like a good little American" and even dared to suggest that Americans don't know what a stove is or how to cook. For the rest of the meeting I was "The American." I felt angry. I felt humiliated. I felt hurt. I wanted to scream, "I have a name and it is not 'The American'; it's Annie!" On the way home the car started to make funny and scary noises. Sigh...

I came home, needing a shoulder to cry on, but the house was empty. My husband is 17,000km away, and there are still five weeks before he comes home. So much for adventure. What I need is a hug.

Thoughts on the Joy of Discovery

2011-11-09T22:02:00.000+02:00

"We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time."

- T.S. Eliot, in his poem Little Gidding

I love this quote because it's about seeing things from a different angle - a different perspective - and rediscovering it in a whole new light. The joy of discovery shouldn't cease with the onset of adulthood... but it often does, doesn't it?

I wonder sometimes if we bought into a false idea that "growing up" and "maturity" don't allow for dreaming, imagining or creating, which all lead to discovery. Somehow the "What do you want to be when you grow up?" question stops getting asked around age 23. We replace the dreams and creativity with convention, the burden of expectations and pressure to conform to some sort of societal norm because to dream at this point would be considered foolish. But why?

I am not suggesting that we shirk our responsibilities, but I am suggesting that maybe we got it all wrong. Maybe we should care less what other people think and listen more to the passion within that's begging to be let loose. Maybe we should pursue the things we're actually good at and not the things that bring in better salaries. Maybe we should listen to those childhood dreams and invite them in as old friends.

I'm 39 and I there are still things I want to be "when I grow up", and I hope I still feel that way at 89 because the truth is, I hope I never stop learning.

Thoughts on Perseverance

2011-11-08T21:45:00.000+02:00

"So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—
Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l'entre deux guerres
Trying to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate—but there is no competition—
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.

For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business."

-T.S. Eliot, East Coker (No. 2 of The Four Quartets)

Thoughts on Relationship

2011-10-30T11:08:00.000+02:00

They say a musician becomes one with his instrument, an artist becomes one with his paintbrush and a poet becomes one with his words. I think it is also true to say that a chef becomes one with his kitchen tools.

I got a new frying pan for my birthday. It is beautiful and red and enamel-lined cast iron. Perfect for cooking. And yet, it is a stranger in my kitchen. I do not know how it responds to heat, how much oil it needs, how it behaves when I am sautéing or simmering or caramelising.

I must observe, and through trial and error (which means taking a step backwards - burning a few things, undercooking a few things, and unintentionally destroying a few things) learn how to cook all over again. I must learn the personality of the pan if we are to work together.

If I expect my new pan to behave as my old pan did, then I not only have no need of the new pan; I also have unrealistic expectations. If I am impatient with the new pan, I will never reach the level of cooking to which I am accustomed. If I skip steps and try to rush the process, I will not value my pan for what it can do and will overlook some of its capabilities. It takes time to learn all the nuances of a new pan.

If, on the other hand, I take the time to build relationship with the pan, to observe and study it, find out where it excels and how to work with it, then I will have no need to think the next time I cook. We will perform a beautiful dance in the kitchen - my pan and I - that comes from knowing your partner so well it is hard to tell where one leaves off and the other begins. We will have become one.

In Between Two Worlds

2011-10-27T19:07:00.000+02:00

I forgot about Halloween. I forgot about the baseball World Series. I even forgot that October is autumn for the Northern Hemisphere. I guess four years of living in South Africa will do that to an American.

There are days, though, when I still feel very much like a foreigner, days when I wonder if I'll ever fit in. My accent identifies me as a foreigner. My lack of knowledge of slang words (i.e. I learned yesterday that "dicing" is informal drag racing) gives me away as an outsider. There is usually something to remind me that, despite the strides I have made, I did not grow up here and therefore, will never fully belong.

I keep wanting to say that I'm homesick, but the truth is, South Africa is home now more than America. Maybe what I am is "family sick."

A Flavourful Dream, Part 5

2011-10-23T17:41:00.001+02:00

Roasted Butternut, Bacon and Peanut Butter Soup

500g butternut, peeled and diced
2 cloves of garlic, diced
olive oil
4ml Moroccan spice rub
4 pieces of back bacon, cooked and diced
1 med. onion, diced and caramelised
chicken stock
1 Granny Smith apple, peeled, cored and diced
80g peanut butter
freshly squeezed juice of one lemon
2.5ml curry powder
125ml fresh cream
60ml fresh coriander, chopped

1. Preheat oven to 190ºC. Toss butternut with garlic, olive oil and Moroccan spice rub. Place in an oven proof dish and roast for 40 minutes. In the meantime, cook bacon and set aside. Caramelise onion and set aside.

2. Heat 1.5 litres of chicken stock in pot. Bring to a boil, add apples, and simmer for 30 minutes or until apples are tender. Add the roasted butternut, bacon and onions. Simmer for another 10 minutes.

3. Remove from heat and blend until smooth and there are no lumps. Return to the stove on low heat. Add peanut butter, lemon juice and curry powder and stir until heated through and mixed well. Thicken soup with cornflour mixed with water, if desired.

4. Turn off heat, add cream and fresh coriander. Stir to blend and serve.

A Flavourful Dream, Part 4

2011-10-23T16:56:00.000+02:00

I woke up in the middle of the night (again), still thinking about bacon, peanut butter and lemons. This isn't just about food, I realised. This is about all of life - how to deal with seemingly impossible situations, how to push through, how not to give up and walk away. If I can figure out a recipe that incorporates bacon, peanut butter and lemons, then I can be encouraged to work through other difficult situations in my life.

I come from a culture of quick fixes, instant results and limitless options. If something is not to our satisfaction, we ditch it and find something that is. Divorce rates are high. Homes are broken. Friendships are severed. Materialism is rampant. Obesity is reaching dangerous proportions. Why, if I come from a culture that has everything it could possibly want, are people so unhappy? Is there actually something to commitment, to making due with what one has, and to finding joy in facing the challenges?

The Bible says there is. It says that through our trials we are refined as gold and that the challenges of life lead to perseverance, which is necessary for our maturity. I would agree, but the funny thing is... those of us who profess to be followers of Jesus don't often live as if we believe what we say we believe. There is a disconnect between our words and our actions. Are we really so selfish that we can't handle a little discomfort?

And then it hit me. Butternut squash, a Granny Smith apple, and a little inspiration from Western Africa. I went into the kitchen. I knew exactly what to do now...

Play the notes, Annie. Play the notes.

A Flavourful Dream, Part 3

2011-10-22T20:39:00.000+02:00

Fritz made the most amazing dark chocolate sculpture with a strawberry reduction glaze. It rose high off the plate in intricate swirls that resembled a cross between the Eiffel Tower and Belgian lace.

Jürgen made a mustard glaze, cut up the pretzels, basted them with the glaze and grilled them to make something like croutons. He simmered ostrich meat in the beer and, together with the mustard pretzel croutons, put together a fabulous meat pie of sorts. "I'll have to see how he did that," I thought. (except... this is my dream... so did I just make up that recipe or did Jürgen?)

I just sat there. Play the notes, Annie. Play the notes. Can I actually make something with bacon, peanut butter and lemons? I've made a citrus glaze for ham (which is not exactly bacon and lemons, but at least I was getting somewhere). Peanut butter... Thai cooking often utilises a peanut sauce... Can the two be combined?

I suddenly woke up from my dream. It was 04h20 in the morning. I don't usually put much stock in dreams but this one stuck with me. Does it mean anything? Is there a parallel that relates to real life?

For two days now all I can think about is bacon, peanut butter and lemons. Sometimes my circumstances feel a little bit like getting bacon, peanut butter and lemons. I look around and think that everyone else got chocolate and strawberries or pretzels and beer. I want to complain.

Sometimes my relationships feel a little bit like bacon, peanut butter and lemons. What on earth am I supposed to do with them? I'd often rather chuck them in the dustbin than try to find a unity or synthesise them into a coherent counterpoint.

Play the notes, Annie. Play the notes. What chord is it? Is it actually just an unexpected chord and not "wrong notes" at all? Would it help to look at it as an amazing possibility rather than a burden? And is there in fact fun in conducting a symphony of bacon, peanut butter and lemons?

I can't get this out of my head. When I figure it out, I'll let you know.

A Flavourful Dream, Part 2

2011-10-22T15:04:00.001+02:00

Suddenly Benjamin Zander* (conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra) appeared like a ghost at my kitchen station, clapped his hands in delight and said, "What amazing possibilities!"

I looked at him rather crossly. "You may be an expert on the art of possibility, but even you never had to conduct a symphony that involved bacon, peanut butter and lemons."

"True", he replied, "But if I ever get the chance, what fun I shall have!" He grinned like an excited schoolboy, which only made me feel more irritable.

"Are you always this happy?" I growled.

"Think about it, Annie. What chord are you playing? If bacon is one note, and peanut butter is another note, and lemons are a third, what chord would that be?"

"It wouldn't be a chord at all," I replied emphatically, "but three wrong notes played together and believe me - even the audience would hear that mistake."

"But even wrong notes constitute a chord, though it might not have been the chord you intended to play. Think hard - what chord is it?"

I was angry. I didn't want to play this game, so I said the worst thing I could think of - "A C# augmented with a minor 7th." Take that, I said in my mind, but to my surprise Benjamin Zander winked and said, "Sounds delicious!"

He began to fade out of the game show and said, "Play the notes, Annie. Play the notes. Even if they weren't the expected ones."

[*note: this has no reflection on the real Benjamin Zander, of whom I have nothing but the utmost respect. I'm just relating my dream, although I'd like to think that if I did meet Benjamin Zander in person he'd say much the same thing]

A Flavourful Dream, Part 1

2011-10-22T14:47:00.000+02:00

counterpoint, n. The technique of combining two or more melodic lines in such a way that they establish a harmonic relationship while retaining their linear individuality.

I had this dream the other night. I was on a game show called "Culinary Counterpoint," in which three contestants were each given two unusual ingredients and had to combine them into one dish. They had one hour to complete the task, and then judges would decide which contestant had done the best job, thus determining the winner.

As I said, I was one of the contestants. The other two contestants were "Fritz" from Switzerland and "Jürgen" from Germany.

The game show host pulled out a card and said, "Okay, Fritz, your two culinary counterpoint ingredients are chocolate and strawberries."

I looked at the host. "You're giving the Swiss guy chocolate as an ingredient? I thought this was supposed to be challenging! Chocolate and strawberries aren't an unusual combination!"

He continued, "Jürgen, your two culinary counterpoint ingredients are pretzels and beer."

Again I protested, "You're giving the German guy pretzels and beer? Those aren't even ingredients; they're food!"

He looked at me, "Annie, your culinary counterpoint ingredients are... huh! This is strange - you have THREE ingredients to incorporate. Well, no one ever said counterpoint was restricted to two voices, so I guess you have an extra challenge ahead of you. Your ingredients are bacon, peanut butter and lemons!"

I lost it. "What are you smoking? This is so unfair! There's no way I can combine those ingredients!"

He ignored me. "The clock starts... NOW!"

Fritz ran off to his kitchen station and began melting dark chocolate to pipe into intricate, lace-like sculptures.

Jürgen ran off to his kitchen station, ate some pretzels and beer, and was deep in thought as to how to incorporate them into a unique dish.

I shuffled over to my station, complaining the whole way. "He could at least have stuck with the nationality thing and given me hot dogs, potato chips and Coke. There's no way I can do anything with bacon, peanut butter and lemons. No way."

Thoughts on Faith

2011-10-20T19:45:00.001+02:00

"When Love beckons to you, follow Him,
Though His ways are hard and steep.
And when His wings enfold you, yield to Him,
Though the sword hidden among His pinions may wound you.
And when He speaks to you believe in Him,
Though His voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as Love crowns you so shall He crucify you.
Even as He is for your growth so is He for your pruning.
Even as He ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall He descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn He gathers you unto Himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then He assigns you to His sacred fire;
That you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast."
-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

If you knew that the pain would make you more beautiful, refine you as gold, would you still run away from it? If you knew that amazing treasure lay on the other side of the mountain, would you still refuse to climb it? If you knew that the death of your desires would lead to new passions teeming with life beyond your wildest imagination, would you still demand your rights and destroy the altar?

Our scientific minds have caused us to lose our sense of faith. We only undertake the journey whose end we can foresee. But to step out in faith - not knowing anything beyond the first step - takes a courage our culture would disdain and even call foolish.

Here's to the fools of this world, for they are often rewarded with an intimate relationship with the King of kings Himself while the rest of us have only the solace of our limited knowledge and understanding.

Thoughts on Domestication, Part 3

2011-10-20T06:00:00.000+02:00

I propose to you a new list –

How to Return the Domesticated to Their ExoticState of Being: A Step-By-Step Guide

1. Remove all cages, boxes, and man-madeconstraints.

2. See it as inherently valuable andextraordinary by its mere existence.

3. Ask yourself, “What can I learn fromit?” Put yourself in the position of aneager student.

4. Learn to be comfortable with thatwhich is different.

5. Value every encounter as a sacredencounter, something that has the potential to change your life forever.

6. Appreciate it for who or what it is, not for what it can do for you. In fact, don’t even begin to analyse itsusefulness to you.

7. Have no expectation that it will bethere tomorrow, for tomorrow is not guaranteed. Therefore, consider every interaction with it to be a precious treasurethat you guard carefully.

8. Remove the word “just” from yourvocabulary. Nothing - and no one - isever “just” this or that. A piece ofpaper is not “just” a piece of paper: it has endless possibilities, frombecoming a medium in which to write down thoughts and ideas to becoming a bird,even a bird that can fly.

9. Look for the Divine fingerprints onit, remembering that there are Divine fingerprints all over you as well. Tryand figure that one out and when you can’t, marvel and laugh at a Plan that isgreater than you could ever imagine.