View From My Front Porch

On days like today, I’m reminded why I love where I live. It’s the perfect, cozy spot for my family of three (my husband, myself, and our Westie) and honestly, I can’t imagine living anywhere else as of right now. 

What I see when I drive to work!

A year ago, literally to the day, my husband and I started house hunting with the idea in mind that we were just getting our feet wet. We had no intentions of actually finding and buying a home. Of course, no one can really “test the water” in house hunting. I remember my husband coming home from work one day and saying that his coworkers laughed at him when he told them that we were “just looking around” and “getting ideas.” I laugh too, because a month later we had put an offer on a house that had foreclosed earlier that year. Our offer was lower than the asking price and in no way did we suspect that the bank would actually accept our first offer, but they did. The tedious process of buying a foreclosed house is long and definitely will test your patience – which I am lacking of – but, three days before Christmas 2012, we were moving boxes and furniture into our new home (new as in new to us).

Years ago, before the man I married came along and even after we made plans to spend our lives together, I had this fantasy that I would always live in a big city. Growing up, I had always lived in a somewhat smaller town. Up until the 8^th grade I lived in the country on the Cumberland Plateau where it would take thirty minutes to get to Wal-Mart, longer if the 127 Yard Sale was going on. And then after moving down the mountain to the college town where my parents grew up, the area was still too small scale for me. Sure, I loved the farms that my grandparents and uncle owned, the fact that I could smell wild honeysuckle outside, and that my siblings and I could ride our bikes three 

miles down the road to the little corner gas station to get fresh scoped icecream. But, I longed for the tall skyscrapers, the busy streets, the professional atmosphere, and the coffee shops early in the morning.

Beautiful front yard view (all but the power lines).

Three months before I said “I do,” I found out that I would be moving three hours away from my home in Tennessee to a city for my husband’s new job. I thought, “Yes! Finally the big town girl I’ve always wanted to be.” Boy, was I wrong.

We got a two bedroom apartment in one of the nicer sides of town. I literally had two grocery stores less than five minutes away. Restaurants even closer. The houses were gorgeous, the shopping was great. And the traffic was terrible! And the railroad that literally was less than two minutes from our complex was driving me crazy. The train is extremely active where we live, there is no escaping the mile long trains – I think my husband and I counted 140 cars on one train when we got stuck at a railroad crossing.

So when it came time to choose a house, we debated long and hard on which side of town to move to. The developed, overly crowded west side, or the rural and spacious east side. We went with the east.

To a lot of people, our place might not have the most ideal setting. We live on the outskirts of town in a more rural, country area. However, we don’t find the twenty minute drive that bad, although some people dread it. We have an acre of land compared to the little squished yards in other parts of town and the Flint River runs not five minutes from our house. Some people might climb out of the car, see the view and immediately think with a grimace, “the outdoors,” but we love it! I actually don’t have to look out the window and see in my neighbor’s house! To some, close quarters is perfectly fine for them. But I discovered after living in a more city setting, the simple, country life is for me.                                                                      

Cotton fields cover the surrounding fields.

 

There is something in the simplicity of being able to wave at the people passing you on the road; the hills and farms that decorate either side of the street. The fact that when I go into the little diner in the town we live near, I see people who remind me of my late grandfather. At the school where I work, teachers and staff are friendly and a tight knit family, and the school’s events are practically the same as the communities. I love that I get to drive on the roads that are now less traveled. The gray ribbons that wind around the hills and valleys that are forgotten about when compared to the straight shot highways and interstates. It’s perfect!

I can sit outside on my porch in the rocker and just listen to the cicadas, smell the crisp sweet air, and soak in the colorful hills that are lingered with hovering clouds. Why and how can anyone not love it? I keep thinking that if people would just take the time to drive through the area or any area like ours, and they would discover that they too long to move to a secluded place. But then again, some of us do need to be lovers of the city, while a small portion of us need to be lovers of the space and outdoors. If everyone loved my home or ones like it, then there would no longer be the rural communities that are so precious and dear.

 

Wish I had gotten a picture of the early morning smoky fog.

To me, my home is a blessing. I have learned over and over, time and time again, that the plans that I have for myself – my old dreams and fantasies – are not at all what God has designed for my life. Instead, He has the perfect plan. Thankfully, He knew that I needed to be brought back into the simple lifestyle of rural living. And I am grateful that He knew to take control of some things and bring us back such a sweet life. I wouldn’t trade my front and back porch view for anything in the world!

Morning Wake Up!

When I was a kid I could never understand the lure of coffee to those habitual drinkers. Every time the Folgers commercial came on the television, parents smiling as they crawled out of bed from hearing the sound of the steady trickle of the dark drink filling the coffee pot, I would think, “Seriously, that doesn’t make you smile.” And the ending phrase, “The best part of waking up, is Folgers in your cup,” well I thought they were for sure off the mark.

Oh how wrong I was. Now, I don’t think Folgers is the best thing to fill my mug, I’d much more prefer the grocery store’s Starbucks, Gevalia, or Dunkins. But after I crossed over into adulthood, I quickly discovered that my distaste for any caffeine had suddenly became a necessity.

 

While in college, I avoided getting hooked on coffee, espresso, latte, or whatever. Occasionally, on the late nights while studying hard or working on lesson plans, I caved and ran by Poet’s on the Square to get whatever sounded good (something with a shot of flavor). But it wasn’t until I graduated, got married to a caffine-aholic, and started working that I realized “coffee is man/woman’s best friend.”

Now I understand the smile on those faces from the Folgers commercial. When my alarm goes off in the morning and I head to the shower, all I can think about is how I can’t wait for the aroma of the roasted bean to pierce through the veil of sleepiness. That invigorating odor is just as wonderful as the energy supplying drink.

It’s crazy to think that in just a short time I have gone from anticoffee to procoffee. And it doesn’t just end with one morning travel mug as I walk out the door to work. No, as soon as I leave school I’m heading home to either fix another pot or pulling through a drive-thru to get my second shot of caffeine for the day. And since I have become a coffee lover, my interest in the roasted-beans-drink’s history has grown.

Amazingly, the history of coffee goes all the way back to the thirteenth century. There are several “crazy” myths that surround the origins of coffee. One story in particular retells the tale of the 9^th century Ethiopian goat herder, Kaldi, who noticed his flock nibbling on some red berries from a bush. Interested, Kaldi tested them out for himself and decided to take the “berries” to a Monk nearby. But the religious men disapproved of berries and threw them into the fire. A tantalizing aroma billowed from the hearth, which drove the monks into investigation. Quickly the beans were raked from the fire and roasted into a liquid – the first cup of coffee. This story in particular is first known to appear in 1671, and is not known to be actual truth.

 

In 1582 the English word “coffee” enters the world. It is derived from the Dutch word koffee, borrowed from Turkish kahve, swiped from Arabic qahwa, meaning “wine of the bean.” I like that – wine of the bean. Fits perfectly, especially when you discover how the coffee bean is made.

When I first read the story of Kaldi, I was completely confused. Berries? I thought coffee was made from a bean. Well, actual both berry and bean are correct.

Coffee plants put off a red or purple fruit that resemble cherries. The “coffee bean” is actually the pit inside the berries, the seeds that are actually what we call the coffee bean. If you haven’t figured out by now, they are only called a bean because of their true bean appearance.

The most laborious part of the coffee bean production is harvesting. Coffee plants (trees) can  have both ripe and unripe berries at once, so the harvester must continually pick the tree. Before entering our coffee shops and grocery stores, the bean has to go through a second piece of processing. There are two options: wet processing and dry processing.

Central America and Africa are more known for using the wet processing. Similar to wine, the seed or bean of the berries is separated from the flesh and is left to ferment in water for around two days, dissolving any remaining pulp or sticky mess. Then they are washed and dried.

The cheaper and easier route is using the dry processing method. Brazil and Africa use this process on their lower quality seeds. For 2-3 days the berries are laid in the sun on brick or concrete. Afterwards, the dried pulp is then removed.

The last bit remaining is for the husks to be removed and the beans to be roasted. The finished product is what we see – dry, varying shades of brown beans.

Now, I know this is just a short bit of information for all you coffee lovers out there. But as I dug into the beans history, discovering that it is indeed a seed, it made me want to learn more about what I’m drinking two to three times a day. There is plenty of information out there to dive into. When my husband and I visit the coffee shop Kaffeeklatsch, the smell of its warm, comforting aroma bursting through the enormous roaster and brushing against my face as we purchase freshly roasted beans to grind at home, I’m going to have new found appreciation for the hard work put into restoring my energy with just a hot mug. And to all you baristas out there, like those at Angel’s Island Coffee, thank you for taking the time to prepare my favorite latte. Your service to restore my depleted energy is very much appreciate!

Worth, Love, and Beauty

Like all girls, I’ve fallen into the same trap time and time again. Staring at my reflection in the mirror and tallying up the measly accomplishments in my life thinking, “You’re not worth that much,” and “You’re not that great.” I see my likeness in the looking glass and I take note of my pear shape that I loath, the hair that never wants to style the way I want to, my pale complexion that makes the dark circles under my eyes stand out, my gummy smile, and dry skin that I constantly have to moisturize. And then, listing my achievements and talents – that I don’t find very amusing – I think to myself, “If only you could be so great.”

We’ve all been there. You’re lying if you haven’t. At one point in time, even if just once in your life, you’ve been in the scene I’ve just described. No matter how many times we pull ourselves up, dust off our pants, and tell ourselves to suck it up and you’re better than this, we continue to habitually step off that cliff again.

It’s a curse, just as bad as Mother Nature’s monthly plagues.

You get to the point thinking prince charming doesn’t exist. He’s a fantasy in a Disney movie that you’ve watched over and over as you’ve sat on the couch in your favorite pj’s, with a heaping bowl of chocolate ice cream in your hand – guilty, I’ve been there. You feel neglected. Depressed. Nobody wants your mistakes. No amazing changes have happened in the world or people’s lives because of you.

I’ll be honest. I struggle with those thoughts daily. Since I’m spewing this mess of our inner lives for us to come clean about, I’ll go ahead and admit my guilt. Even now, in my adult life, married and owning my own home, I wake up to days where all I want to do is stay in bed and let the world fade out. I’m a very insecure person, my husband will vouch to this truth. I’ve struggled since high school believing in myself and what I am capable of doing. I constantly compare myself to others: how happy they are, how they glow with attractiveness, and that they got a job and I still haven’t, etc. And I get to the point thinking my life isn’t that important, I’m not worth much.

And while all of us drown in our misery, convincing ourselves that we’re not worth it, we’re not beautiful enough, not loveable enough, or whatever the case may be – we are telling ourselves second to the biggest lie on earth.

 (I say 2^nd because the 1^st being that people lie to themselves that Christ is not real, because indeed he is.)

How wrong I am. How wrong we all for thinking those things.

I am lovable. I am accomplished. I am beautiful. I am worthy. I am powerful.

You are worthy! You are beautiful! You are loveable! You are powerful! You don’t need people to make you believe you are these things. SOMEONE already has found you to be everything he ever wanted.

Those imperfections staring at you in the mirror, make you believe that no man will find you beautiful. Wrong. Someone already has. He sees you SO beautiful that he couldn’t stand to have one so unique and lovely to not exist. In his eyes, you are gorgeous!

And I’m not talking about the feminist movement’s idea of powerful. I’m describing a power of inner change that can transform others around me. An inner beauty that can seep into the hearts of the ugly, morphing them to shine with radiance. We all have this capability – this superhero power to change the minds and hearts of others. We only need to believe in ourselves and unlock that gift.

We are loveable. Everyone is in their own unique way. We tally up those mistakes, counting them against us. No prince, man, or even dwarf would or could love us after all our mishaps. But what we fail to recognize is that someone already has proven to us his love, a love that is stronger than all sin and pain. He already slayed the dragon for us. He admires us, flaws and all, finding us to be so worthy that he gave up the ultimate sacrifice. He rescued us. Died for us, just so that we would be saved and rescued from our own demons. How can we say that no one would ever love us or find us worthy, when plainly someone already has.

So, don’t fall into that trap. Don’t lock yourself in that dungeon of self-pity and deceit. You hold a key to yourself that will unlock an abundance of confidence, grace, beauty, power, and worth. And if you don’t know what that key is let me share it with you: Christ.

He is the key to unlock your hidden radiance. 

Remember that your confidence in who you are can only be found in the One who made you to be who you are.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s easy to let yourself fall back into those crazy self-doubting thoughts again. But fight them, because each one of you is worth a love and power that was crazy enough to die for you. I say crazy, because to us it is crazy, but to Him, it makes perfect sense.

I end this rant with a video that inspired all of these thoughts. It’s wonderful and actually brought tears to my eyes as I heard the gentle, yet still powerful voice of the One who loves me, reminding me of how great I really am.