Day 2 - Wonder

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

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

Living in the Present

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

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

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...

"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

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.