This morning I woke at 5:55 (I have a funny thing with numbers that repeat like that) and went for a run in the morning. It was cold enough that I wished I had brought a jacket along in the beginning, the air sharp in my lungs. I had goosebumps, from the cold yes, but mostly from the mist. It settled between houses and in front of the paths ahead, filled the land with a softness, a haze. The sun just barely shone through as it pulled itself from the horizon and as it rose, the landscape became murky and brilliant red, deep purple, all colored watery from the mist. The kind of beautiful thing that leaves your soul unsettled because of the unexpectedness.
I'm trying to be better at spontaneity - please, come over, even though the house is a tad messy. We don't have any sugar, but I would love to have coffee. I only have an hour, but it's yours to talk, listen, be. Beautiful Hayley, a through thick and thin friend who I've cried and laughed with equal times before, called me yesterday. "Let's get together. Tomorrow. We can just have coffee, make breakfast. Nothing fancy." Nothing fancy is my favorite. We were truly out of sugar, as I scraped the glass empty for iced chai yesterday, and she arrived in the morning with 1/2 a cup in a plastic bag. Unexpectedness. Grace.
With brilliant plans in our head to make a chai that was swoonworthy enough to satisfy even the most persnickety aficionado, we went to the store and bought the necessary ingredients. It only took us half an hour to find everything, cinnamon sticks, ginger, cloves, cardamom, black tea...and we realized we bought lemon black tea when we got home. Unexpectedness. Laughter. And a slight citrus taste.
We made chocolate chip scones (thanks to this recipe from my Maryland best friend), and talked over coconut flour and chocolate chips that invariably found their way to our fingers to be eaten by the handful. There's something so therapeutic and soothing from measuring ingredients, mixing the dough, spooning just enough sugar. A sort of settledness and quiet comfort preceding the hopeful goodwill that all will be okay. The dough will rise. The tops will brown. And it will be sweet.
The smell combined from the chai simmering on the stove and the scones baking in the oven was enough to imbue the air with a happiness you cannot find in even the most beloved coffee shop's atmosphere. I find that baking at home, especially with a friend, is one of the sweetest treats. Even more so than the finished product, there is a joy that comes from making food with your own hands with people you enjoy. Tidying the space afterwards, putting the spices in the cupboard, washing the dishes, wiping down the counters from spilled flour, are not seen as chores, but part of the ritual that comes from creating. The fact that we make and tidy, and then enjoy the goods we've prepared breaks down any awkwardness, inauthenticity, barriers. For how can you not be honest while covered in flour, as little boys run around clamoring for attention, and the mixing bowls aren't quite where they were last?
It must have been wetter from the dew, because we grabbed a beach towel faded from use and sat out on the grass. Chai in hand and scones crumbling on our plates. Conversation, rich and deep and wracking. We started out slow, talking about life, and waded into heavier things that it sometimes takes a good friend to help you carry. Nothing fancy, yet all the better, because being at home gives an honesty and authenticity it's difficult to find elsewhere. Somehow, the coconut flour came together and the scones rose. The chai, despite an undertone of lemon, tasted sweet over ice. And a morning meant to last an hour or so lingered into three. Things that we had trouble finding words for the other voiced and if anything, the afternoon spoke of God's goodness -- that He gives us friends who will look into your messy cupboard, into your messy heart, and find just the right words to say, the truest way to listen, the patience to be. They ignore the pepper and pick out the cinnamon. "It is good."
And sometimes, you have citrus chai tea, nothing fancy, a messy kitchen, and rest in the middle of busyness. Unexpectedness. All of it, gifts.
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