A Good Start

I woke this morning knowing it was a carrot juice kind of day.  Don’t ask me how or why.  It just was.

So I crawled out of bed, stretched out leftover stiffness, and shuffled through the house to the extra refrigerator. I opened the door, and an oversized bag of giant orange roots greeted me.  These imposing Goliaths of the carrot family were grown organically for just this purpose, and had waited on that top shelf next to the fermented sauerkraut for a long time. To be masticated.  And pressed.

Today was their day.

After giving them a quick wash, I retrieved the juicer from its hideaway in the laundry room, and pushed the orange roots down the chimney-like chute, one-by-one.

Out came salmon-colored liquid gold.

I’ve been sipping juice throughout the day.  The good news (which surprises me every time) is that it’s so satisfying.  This stuff is serious nutrition.  Some folks say it’s almost like a blood transfusion, allowing the body to soak up lots of goodies with almost no digestive effort. 

Man cannot live by carrot juice alone, and yet it’s a darn good start.

 

Between

I stop walking, aware of being sandwiched between the sun’s trail and a tree’s shadow - erect and yet fully hidden, an intruder in one-dimensional reality.

Snap a picture, turn, snap again. I'm in-between.

Small Moments

The narrow back roads were graciously fringed with uneven, new grass and barely-budding trees this morning - all softly patted down and personal beneath the sky’s heavy gray cloak. 

I slowed the car when passing a familiar cottage-like house with sleeping perennials waiting to blanket the front yard with wild sprays of uneven color.  It invited me to pause and value clarity and simplicity, and inspired a vision for straightforward, meaningful life – realistic significance when courage faces inevitable enigmas and discipline minimizes wasted time.  Simple living.  Intentional living.

My life seems full of such small moments these days - precious gifts of grace and opportunities for piety.  They mirror larger realities, and lead the way out of hollow, futile vanity and narrow shortsightedness: portals of discovery and belonging.   

Soul Without Words

“The Lord loves us so dearly that it passes description. Through the Holy Spirit alone can the soul know His love, of which she is inexpressibly aware. The Lord is all goodness and mercy. He is meek and gentle, and we have no words to tell of His goodness; but the soul without words feels this love and would remain wrapped in its quiet tranquility forever.”  – St. Silouan

Fish Stuff

I’m absolutely crazy about the young man with the horseshoe-shaped scar on the side of his head.  I love that guy.

Yesterday I took dinner to his family, my “fish stuff” (wilted spinach and poached cod slathered in sauce made with coconut milk and goat feta).  His mom texted me: “N is in ‘food coma’ – he thinks he has never eaten so much.  The fish is a hit!”  

My young friend always praises my atypical contributions - we're in this healthy diet together.  For me, preparing food is about more than just offering practical help.  Supporting him in this way is a matter of investing in his life and the lives of his parents - supplying what seems to be my best at the moment, for their best. This is especially poignant when a life hangs in the balance.

A month has passed since his brain surgery.  The remaining inoperable portion of aggressive malignancy has not shown signs of growth, which is phenomenal.  Miraculous.

In the last few days this courageous guy has received helpful counsel from various reputable sources, including a brain cancer specialist.  His emerging treatment plan includes alternative therapies (among them continued careful nutrition and aggressive supplementation), as well as radiation and chemo that begin next Monday.

I want so much for him: health and strength and life.  And yet all I can do is feed him. Although some might not understand this, it a great gift to me to be able to do something.  So much better to offer myself through edible gifts (even "fish stuff") than just sit idly by, passively waiting for destiny.