Blog Post #32
As an infant, I was like the ingredients for a recipe—scattered at random on the table…waiting….just waiting. Although I was only an incongruous assortment of parts and pieces, all the parts and pieces were there, present—watching, waiting, trying to make sense of all The Maker was busily preparing. A work surface and bowl, measuring spoons, measuring cups, a mixer, preheated oven—all necessary tools were gathered together in preparation and anticipation of the recipe and warmth of environment that would contribute to the future me.
Meanwhile, the ingredients that were me were collected into a grocery bag of infancy. I sensed my individual parts all gathered together, but they were still in a state of disconnect. All properties of mind and body, all inclinations, talents, ideals and feelings coexisted, but didn’t have an understanding of the unity and inclusion they might one day enjoy.
Ideas about life, about political, social and worldly philosophy, about rearing children, faith, and charitable feelings (as well as ‘non’) were uncertain—vague in a clueless void of infant ignorance and bliss. I simply “was,” somewhat recklessly advancing day by day without a strong rudder for direction, except that which I daily encountered in the hearthstone of family.
Then The Maker took of my individual ingredients and began combining them in the bowl of youth and accountability—stirring them together, measuring and blending the various parts. This stirring caused changes to take place—sometimes extreme discomfort and awkwardness, sometimes elation and wonder—but always testing to see if the parts would blend and coalesce, or if they were spoiled and rotten, and in need of discarding.
I remember this part of my development. I remember that most of what I think, and feel, and am today was present at that genesis time of combining the ingredients and stirring them together. Those thoughts and feelings, those impressions and tendencies, were vague and blurry in those early times—much as the difficulty one has in identifying separate ingredients when stirred together. Though the salt was still salt, and the egg, still egg, the process of combining and mixing them together created some ambiguity. Questions about who and what I was arose, as did distress, embarrassment and a little confusion. (All these—perfectly natural and useful in influencing and blending the ingredients—caused some consternation due to their changing forms and functions.) Still, I must admit, there was a measureable certainty about some things,—e.g. 4 tablespoons of devotion to family, 1 cup of faith in God, 3 teaspoons of honesty—the immutable values inherent to my soul.
Power of expression developed incrementally during this period of change—raw and unrefined as it was—adding to the discomfort and blurriness of the early times.
As new challenges, trials, and experiences helped define, refine and mobilize all the separate ingredients that were “Cynthy” by stirring, they began to swirl, glob together, and turn into something more substantial. Though not hardened or solid by any means, the reception of new truths and experiences, inspired by the process of stirring, caused the proper blending of the ingredients, becoming decidedly firmer—taking on mass, shape and resolve.
The Maker continued the process by thoroughly kneading the ball of dough– working it over to reshape and refine it. When at last the dough was soft and pliable, blended and glutinous, The Maker gently laid it in a baking pan and put it in the oven. The oven had been pre-heated to just the right temperature to bake the loaf without overcooking or burning it. It was hot in the oven, and I felt the intensity of the heat as trials and tests did their work of melding, further refining, and shaping my loaf.
Exposed to heat, my individual parts blended into a unified whole. Whether they became good, or whether they became distasteful was entirely up to me—to the choices I made. Did I discard the rotten, spoiled parts? Did I keep only the fresh and sweet ingredients? Did I allow The Maker adequate time to knead and let me rise, to allow the gluten to provide elasticity, shape and texture that would strengthen me? Or did I stiffen and rebel, deflating the leaven, creating a tough, dense consistency?
As I baked in the oven of adversity, all former choices came to a head. All thoughts, ideas, philosophies, values, and qualities formed and bonded into a solid loaf, a united whole—for good or for evil. (One or the other—it couldn’t be both. Either the loaf would be good, or it would be bad. It was that simple.)
Now, out of the oven, I have been allowed time to set and cool, merging all the ingredients and heightening their flavor—the further refinement of The Golden Years. When others taste of the warmth and wholesome loaf that is me, will they find me delicious or bitter? They may add sweet honey, or slather on peach preserves, savory melted cheese, or other things to bring out and enhance the plain and wholesome goodness that is, hopefully, there. (Or perhaps to cover salt that has lost its savor. They may discard the whole loaf, declaring it bad.) The Maker may decide I need reheating—another warming through—to further soften and make delectable.
If I have chosen well, the recipe of life will have created a loaf, the sum of its parts being greater than each individual ingredient—a delicious, healthy, pleasing whole that others may enjoy, while partaking of the aroma, and the sweetness and goodness thereof. And I will enjoy the satisfaction of having filled and blessed the needs and wants of others, while fulfilling my mission and eternal destiny as a follower of the true Bread of Life.
From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, dear friends, for reading.