reflection on the story of Joseph

God with us in our fears
in our confusion, our darkness
in our humiliation and shame
in our loss and grief
in alienation and isolation.

God with us
not to make sense of things,
but to assure us that though we can’t see, He can;
though we have no control, He does;
though it looks very bad, He is at work to do good for us.

God with us as we question
as we cry out in hopelessness
as we search for a way out
as we grope for a bit of light in our present darkness.

God with us to instruct us
not so that we’ll be able to map out our future and feel secure,
but so that we’ll see the next step and know that we’re part of God’s story.

God with us in Jesus
born in human history and family drama
born as 1 of us so that we can be with him
born to die for us so that we might live.

God with us
not always in the ways that make sense, but surely for our salvation.

God with us in our own stories
in our families
in our past
our present
and our future.

God with us 
             as He promised.


this morning

curled up
coffee cup

christmas lights
city sights

worries here
so is fear

not home
but not alone

could cry
but why

advent wreath
and underneath
                        I’m happy


what he said

I don't have time to write a blog today because I'm busy staring at the beach from my balcony.  My friend, Denis calls that 'gaining wisdom'. I like Denis.


don’t just catch your breath. stop running.

Trying to catch my breath after weeks of running life at high speed, I realize that I’m at it again. I’m chasing activity.

That’s nothing new. But that’s the problem. After years of consciously working to develop a different kind of life, I’m back to my old crazy ways.

I want to say it’s because I’m feeling comfortable in my new city.
I tend to think that it’s just the logical – and desirable - consequence of reaching some level of competence in a new environment.
I like to believe that it’s because I finally feel free enough to get things done.
But I know better.

So why do I over-busify myself? Because over-activity makes me feel better. It’s a security blanket. A pacifier. And while those things are fine for a baby, a 54 year old should not have to suck her thumb to feel that all’s right with her world! Yes, they’re good activities. Yes, I’m capable. Yes, they need doing.

Oh really. Who am I kidding? This ‘freedom’ to make things happen, to get stuff done, to bring about change, blah, blah, blah, all too quickly becomes a burden, a trap, the very opposite of ‘free’ as I entangle myself in oh so many activities.

Ever since I can remember I have been compelled to transform ‘what is’ into ‘what could be’. 10 years ago I took an extensive motivational assessment as part of a job interview process. It accurately summarized my prime life/work motivation: “to impress, impact, make a mark, shape, effect lasting change”. Yep. That’s me. The assessment was on target, stating that my transformational motivation is triggered by the “unknown, unexplored, untried, risk, hazards and adventures” and is kept alive by “challenges, tests, and the chance to be creative”. So true. So it’s no wonder that in every new place (and there’ve been many!) I find myself chin-deep in activities that demand high-level commitment. I confess I love it. And I hope some of it’s made a difference.

But coming to Dubai was supposed to be part of a different adventure. One requiring an even greater level of risk and creativity. Not denying my primary motivating force, but viewing it from a higher vantage point; embracing a deeper kind of impact that has little to do with my areas of competency and my love of – or need for - activity.  But under the on-going stresses of this risky adventure it has felt oh so good to avoid the oh so many out of control bits of life by chasing activity. But it’s not how I want to live.

So today I remember…
…not everything needs to be changed. Some things just are.
…not everything worthwhile requires intense high level activity.
…not everything can be made better. At least not now. And not by me.
…some things are simply to be enjoyed or watched from a distance or ignored altogether. Not because they’re unimportant. But because…
…value is not measured by busyness and…
…fears are better faced than fended off.

I’m beginning to breath again. It’s a relief to be free to sit on the balcony of my 42nd floor apt. and simply enjoy the view. Or to write a blog without worrying whether or not it will change the world.


there's no place like home

“I’d say ‘Welcome home’ but I know this isn’t home to you anymore.”
Wrong, Joel. It’s still home.

For years I trained overseas employees, warning them that the best way to derail their cultural adjustment was to go back “home” before their 2-year anniversary on an overseas assignment. I should have followed my own advice and not come back here now.

4 weeks ago, as my husband drove me to the Dubai airport I had a sudden urge to call this whole trip off. I didn’t understand it at the time. But I see now that I was afraid I wouldn’t want to go back after coming “home”.  We’ve met a lot of people this past year – people from all over the world. People who’ve lived in Dubai for a lot longer than we have. And everyone we know goes “home” every year. Because the desert is not a place to put down roots.

When I stepped off the plane in Washington DC I had an experience I’ve never had in my 54 years of moving and travelling – my feet felt different as I stepped onto U.S. soil and I almost cried as I thought, “I’m home”.

Walking towards customs, there were 2 signs: “US citizens” and “non-US citizens”, with arrows pointing us in 2 different directions. The people in both lines looked the same: all kinds of faces, many races, various colors, classes and ages, all standing in a long line after a long flight, headed for somewhere. As I looked around at the people in line with me, I couldn’t help it – I cried – as I thought, “These are my people”.

When I arrived in the U.S. and it was my turn to be inspected by the officer in Washington D.C. a smiling young man looked at my passport and greeted me saying, “You’ve been gone a long time! Welcome home! And have a happy birthday next week!” 

Everyone everywhere is looking for that same sense of belonging and shared identity. That’s very evident in Dubai. All kinds of people are born there. People from all over the world continue to go there. But no one really seems to belong to the place. People huddle in ethnic and language groups; they live in neighborhoods designed and built for “their people”; they work in jobs assigned according to country of origin. And eventually most of them leave.

But as I’ve shared meals with old friends here, I’ve thought about Carrie’s fabulous dinner parties and thoughtful conversations over coffee with Dawn and Christine. As I’ve worshipped with my big church family in Madison, I realize I miss singing, laughing and praying with my little choir in Dubai. As I’ve delighted in the beauty of autumn leaves, I remember with delight mornings with Dorett and afternoons with Nick & Jane.

I confess I don’t love Dubai as a city. But I do love the people I’ve met there. And the life we’re beginning to create in this unique city.

On the way to the U.S. 4 weeks ago I thought perhaps nowhere was “home” for me right now. But today I know that I belong wherever there are people I love and who love me. So today I leave home to go home.


from my journal

July 4, 2010

looking down on Bangalore from the plane window
I remember the first time I landed in India. June 1988. I cried for joy then. And now. It's been 14 years since the last time I landed in India. I've missed it more than I knew.

on the drive to Jindal
The roads are new. But the driving is still the same old adventure.
Signs advertise new technologies. But it's still the same old Indian English.
This is a new season of life. But I've got the same old love for India.


we're not in kansas anymore toto OR welcome to nakedness

There was a sign on the walking path: "Naturopathy requires humility, sincerity and discipline."

No joke. I had just been more humiliated than ever before in my whole life. And it was only day 1. 

I was proud of myself. I didn't flinch that first morning while being weighed and interropgated about my health and habits by strangers. I endured an enema (my first, but not my last during those 3 weeks). And now I was looking forward to 1 of the reasons I'd said "yes" to this whole thing: a massage. 

1 of the "pros" on my shall-I-really-do-this list had been massage. It was 1 of the luxuries I left behind in the U.S., along with a steady paycheck. Here at "The Farm" massages were classified as part of the daily medicinal "treatment". Thinking it would be like the massages I'd experienced in the U.S., I was totally unprepared for what came next. 

From the spa-like reception area, I was escorted to a private room by a tiny smiling woman who told to "take your clothes off and lie down, madam", as she closed the door behind her. Thinking I must not have understood her properly, I wrapped myself in the sheet from the massage table and waited for her to return. I was startled when a gruff-faced woman who looked more like a prison guard than a masseuse walked in. Giving me the once-over and mumbling something in broken English about "no clothes", she defrocked me with a simple tug. Crawling onto the massage table, boobs to the ceiling, I wondered what happened to India. Where was that unquestioned modesty in a society where women can bathe and change saris in public showing barely a bellybutton? During that first hour-long massage, I understood something of how abused children dissociate from their physical self; how prisoners of war are systematically broken.

I know that sounds dramatic. And my therapist friends may be inviting me over for unlimited free sessions after they read this. But getting naked several times a day in front of strangers was the toughest part of my whole experience. My mother didn't raise me like that. I'm one of those girls who in jr. high changed my clothes in the toilet stall. I'm still one of those girls! For the first 3 days I had to muster all of my willpower and inner strength just to go through the motions of my "treatment plan" while I tried to figure out a survival strategy for 20 days of nakedness. 

And you can bet I had a lot to say to God about it! If this was His gift to me, then why the trespass of my values? Why the assault on my sense of self? Why this pain of humiliation? I'm still not totally sure why humiliation was necessary (or perhaps the question is, why I was so humiliated by it!) But by the end of those 3 weeks, something came together for me. Perhaps it's a no-brainer for others who are more in touch with the physical. But it was a revelation for me: that pain is not the end of the road, but a gateway to a place of freedom. 

God has tried before - at least since 1997 - to get me to face my physical self. But I couldn't - wouldn't - believe that "the real me" is not just soul, mind and heart, but body as well. But this time, for some reason I've yet to fathom, when God brought up this touchy subject with me again, I was ready. A concerned family member offered to pay for 3 weeks in India at the Jindal NatureCure Institute. India - I'm always ready! Fat farm - hmmm...not so much. It took me 3 days to make a decision. Another 3 days to adjust to the Jindal routine. And now, 3 weeks after the experience, I'm still sorting out what it all means and where to go from here. I haven't figured it all out yet. But I'm still moving forward - soul, mind, heart AND body.


closet gnostic OR "blue pill or red pill?" OR too old to deny it any longer

I started this blog last year
  • to process my latest transition
  • to share cross-cultural insights that might help others
  • to have a format and some motivation for writing.
But a couple of months ago I couldn't do it anymore.
Maybe I was adjusting to life in Dubai.
Maybe I was finding other ways to satisfy my craving to teach.
Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a blogger.


I wrote lightspot as a cross-cultural journey blog with a bit of spiritual insight thrown in. But my writing urges were taking a different direction. Something less cross-cultural and more spiritual. And I wasn't ready to go there on a blog. At least not on this blog.

Gradually, I became conscious that something else was going on, too. Something hidden. Something I couldn't quite wrap my brain around. Something wasn't sure I wanted it brought into that Divine lightspot. So deep and disturbing that I could not blog about something else. 

One day in May I realized that this journey was taking an unexpected turn. And I didn't like where it was going.

Like it or not, God used 4 strangers, an art project, an in-law, and a 3-week stay in an Indian naturopathic clinic to get it through my thick skull that I am not just mind, emotion and spirit. I am also body.

It's been 2 weeks since I returned from what proved to be a difficult and enlightening physical-spiritual experience in India. But already I see myself moving away from the light, longing for the darkness of denial, wanting to go back to the path I'd been on. But there's no going back. 

So I think it's time to tell a bit about it all. Time to bring not only my mind and heart and soul into the light, but my body as well.

I wanted this art project to be the introduction to the things I'll be blogging over the next few weeks. You can find my piece on the top row, center. 

I have a body. That conclusion should have been easier to come to in my nearly 54 years of living. But like so many other things, assenting to a truth mentally is no guarantee that that truth is connected to ones heart, soul and body.

What do you "know" or "believe" that is not evident in how you live?
What parts of 'you' feel disconnected from the rest of you?
What aspects of life or self do you tend not to pay attention to or shy away from?


spoiled. but not spoiled rotten.

It's been a year since I left the organization I'd worked for for nearly 30 years. There's been a lot of water under the bridge since then. But not enough. Lately I've been shown - again - that there's still a lot to forgive and a lot to be healed from. But it's also clear - every day - that I have a heck of a lot to be thankful for, too.

I knew my years in InterVarsity had shaped me. But I didn't realize how much I had learned both on purpose and by osmosis. I knew we'd been given many good gifts through the people and the organization, through our experiences and our opportunities. But we had no idea how very useful it all would be in our new life and work here.

My husband and I talked about it again last night as we walked through the Ibn Batuta Mall. (Some last minute shopping before my trip to India today.) We have been spoiled. Spoiled by decades of outstanding teaching, high level training, strong work ethic, expectations of excellence, commitment to personal development and intentional learning, and by so very many people of integrity and character, not only in the US, but all over the world through our precious relationships in the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students.

Being spoiled like that makes moving to another country and a different kind of work environment and worldview challenging. (To put it nicely.) We realize here that what we took for granted as "normal" is not normal at all. Far from it. Our standards and expectations - some that we weren't even aware of - must be constantly evaluated and revised for our own sanity as well as for the sake of others. We are committed to living lives of grace and freedom here. (Something which everyone needs but seldom finds.) So we are trying to use the wonderful skills and exceptional experiences we've been given in ways that bless and release others rather than condemn and shame them.

We came here thinking we had nothing in our hand to give. We've been caught by surprise at the rich treasures that are being made visible as we open our hands and hearts to others here. Thank you, InterVarsity, for blessing us richly. We are trying to be good stewards in our new life, passing on to others all the good that we've been given. And forgiving the rest.

InterVarsity Christian Fellowship is 1 of over 150 indigenous national student movements affiliated with the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students, working and praying together to see God transform students, campuses, communities and cultures.

I feel a bit like the disciples who were given a tiny sack lunch by a tiny boy and who watched Jesus turn it into a banquet for 5000 families! You can read the story in the Bible in the book of John, chapter 6. 


we've turned a corner

After my husband became a U.S. citizen 6 years ago, I occasionally preface remarks to my family with, "So, Peoples of America..."  A few days ago I said it again to my 16 y/o son. To my surprise, he corrected me saying, "Mom, I'm a Dubaian, too! So make that 'Peoples of America AND Dubai!"

8 months in and we've already turned a corner. It feels good.

I recently joined an online artist community - No One Way Arts. (Just one more unexpected outcome of the visit from the 4 amazing artists I wrote about in the last blog.) It felt like a huge risk to me. (I'm not an artist. And I'm don't fit the demographic of this online collaborative arts community.) But it also felt like 1 more invitation from God to move towards prayerful reflection, creative expression, and cross-cultural relationship. Our first project - Daily Bread - is due later this month.

Identity is shaped not only by our family of origin and our past, but by our present relationships, environment, and choices.
Who do others say you are? How do you feel about that?
How does your environment provide space and opportunity to be or to discover yourself?What choices are you making today to expand your world, your worldview, your capacities, abilities, relationships, and your confidence in who you are - and are becoming?


the last word is love

I picked up 4 strangers at the airport Tuesday night. I had no idea I'd fall in love.

Friends of a friend, these 4 artistic-types had a long layover in Dubai and wanted a (free) place to catch a few hours of shut-eye. But they never made it to bed. Stopping for a bite to eat, we fell in love over shwarma. Talking, laughing, telling stories and sharing our passions, we drank in every word - along with a lot of coffee til with big hugs and sincere promises to meet again, they climbed into a taxi to catch their next flight.

It has been a while since I pulled an all-nighter. 14 months ago, in fact. Then Jo Parfitt's inspiring writer's workshop kept me up all night. Creative energy came uncorked, spilling words on to paper. Like blocks tipped out of a toy box or colors splashed by a child learning to finger paint, ideas and snatches of stories tumbled out all night long in uncontrolled phrases and messy pages.

Jo and my 4 new friends are, I believe, Divine encounters. Arranged by Someone with more creative power and artistic passion than me, for my good. These artists have unlocked treasures in me I didn't even know existed. And probably wasn't ready for til now. I'm still recovering from this week's all-nighter. (I'm not as young as I felt on Tuesday night!) But I don't plan to recover from the love connection I have with these folks or the gifts they've given to me by just being themselves. 

One of those finger-painted ideas following Jo's workshop was a book: The 31st House. I had not yet moved from Wisconsin to Dubai, but had already begun the grieving process. Writing about some of the places I've lived and the cross-cultural and life lessons I've learned in each place is 1 way I'm helping myself create a new life - again - now in my 31st house. 

Here's an excerpt from 1 of the chapters that tumbled out that night.

25th House
Durga Kund, Varanasi, India

There was no way we could sleep. Not when it was 100 degrees inside and 130 outside. Not when the electricity went off - again - and you felt the muggy stillness closing in on you in the darkness. Not when you had to lie naked under a silent fan in a sweaty puddle. 

Groaning and exhausted, we slid out of bed. Air. We need air. Hoping for some breeze, we stepped out onto the balcony.  The skin-sizzling heat and clinging humidity blasted us and  the only thing moving was the mosquitoes. At least the mosquitoes were enjoying themselves! As the hordes moved in for the kill, I started to cry. Tears of tiredness were followed by great big sobs of despair. I couldn't even go to Roy's arms for comfort. It was too damn hot.

"Damn it. DAMN IT!" (Even Roy's angry tirade couldn't scare off the mosquitoes.) "I'm sending you away from this hell," he fumed. "You can go stay with my parents til the hot season is over."

The thought of leaving my husband of 4 months made me cry even harder. "I'm not leaving you! If you stay, I stay" I said between sobs. 

We survived that summer in Durga Kund. Together.

Why put up with unimaginable heat, without fans and running water? Why endure fiery flesh by day and stupid flesh-eating creatures by night? Why do any of us tolerate the million hardships, inconveniences and frustrations of living in another culture? For love. Love of a person. Love of a people. Love of adventure. Love of a way of life. Love of God.  Some days the love factor is all you've got when everything else is turned off. It's love that lasts when the heat is on. 

More was said that night on the balcony in Durga Kund, between mosquito bites and cursing the heat. But the last word was love.


a psalm of the desert

The desert.
The desert rises up.
The desert rises up in waves.
The desert rises up in waves to greet you.

You, Lord of the desert
       of sand
       of wave upon wave of amber sand.

Camels come, too, to meet their Master.
Turning their faces at the sound of your approach
Bowing knobby knees in recognition and honor
Even while you are still far off.

Desert shrubs release their blooms.
Wishing they could be something other than they are
(Majestic redwood or scented cedar)
So they, too, could bow.

"It is enough", you say.
       for you made them as they are
       and they are yours.

Those living in the desert do not understand
These rising sands and sudden blooms.
"A change of season", they say.
And so it is.

They wait for the rain.


it may not be a job. but it's still work. and it's definitely meaningful.

My work over the past 30 years has brought me into relationship with a lot of amazing people. Many of those people, like me, no longer work in the same organization. They have gone on to teach, counsel, pastor, train, advocate, rescue, and do business in the U.S. and in many parts of the world. It’s a joy to still be in touch with many of them – thanks to the wonder of technology.

1 of those amazing people from my past life contacted me recently for an interview. Brent Green and his wife Stephanie are now career consultants and life coaches in the U.S. and Eastern Europe. You can hear my interview - about pursuing meaningful work - on Brent’s website, Pursuing Meaningful Work.


moving forward in reverse

Some people live in the past.
Stuck in old dreams. Old loves. Old regrets.
Reliving past glories and triumphs. Taking satisfaction in achievements long forgotten by everyone but them.

Some people run from the past.
Blinded by the pain. Confused by the questions.
Looking for new loves. New purpose. Something to make them feel alive.
Or at least to fill life till, still running, they drop dead in their tracks.

I could be those people. Perhaps I am.
I think that's how I ended up in this lightspot. Unable to make complete sense of the past. Unable to grab onto anything tangible in the future. God's way of getting me to pay attention to Now. To God. To me.

I had a flash of insight last week in the lightspot. And I'm not sure I like it.
In fact, I'm sure I don't.

After the stress of moving to another country and starting over in a new kind of life; after submitting the manuscript of my first book to my editor (that's another blog), I have space and time to sit and pray and to wonder, "What's next?" Instead of some beautiful plan revealed to me (which is what I hoped would happen), I see something else: Me. The ugly me. The bitter me. And a flash of clarity that the only way forward is in reverse.

Sometimes, looking back on the past decade, instead of feeling gratitude for a job I loved (which I did), joy in the wonderful relationships I had (and there were many), and satisfaction with what was accomplished (both the visible and the invisible), I become a seething mass of painful memories, volatile emotions and vengeful inclinations. I've been surprised at the level of pain I've experienced in those recollections. Not because I was unaware when it happened. But because I thought I’d forgiven.

So I've been looking backwards. Not just at what others did. But at how I responded. In the light I have, I see that I did forgive. And forgive. And forgive. Not because I’m just that good. But because I had to. (I've learned the hard way what unforgiveness can do.) Forgiveness has proven to be critical for my own health and my own capacity to do the things I love to do with any measure of integrity. It’s been necessary for relationships that matter to me, including my relationship with God. It’s been the only way to move towards the destiny I believe I was created for. So I’ve worked hard at it, persisting, with God’s help, even when I thought at times it was impossible. (And, humanly speaking, at times it was.)

But this time, it’s different. Harder. Because I see that there’s another kind of forgiveness needed. One I've never learned to give. So I have to go back and forgive a few folks not just for what they’ve done, but for what they are.

When I forgive doing I can somehow hope that they will stop doing it. That they will change their behavior. If not with me, then with others. But when I see that I have to forgive being…well, that’s a different story. A story I don't know how to write. A story that feels as if it will not have a happy ending. But how do I know? It's not a story I've told before.

After a lifetime of experience in forgiving, I realize that I don’t know how to forgive like this. This demands a different kind of self-reflection and learning, another type of prayer and faith. Vindication, transformation and repentance are not necessary outcomes. Ever. And I begin to get that bitter taste in my mouth again... Until a flash of light startles me and there I am - in the light, with God, seeing that this is the kind of forgiveness He's given me. And that bitter taste in my mouth begins to fade...

So. Moving forward in reverse. It’s 1 more new challenge – a never before attempted feat – in this new life of mine. In this lightspot I see my future options: I can look back and let go, walking into the future as I, by God’s grace, forgive not just behavior but being, without expecting those forgiven to be sorry or to be different. Or I can stay where I am and continue to mentally and emotionally wrestle with my past in some sad and twisted effort to fix it.

That's not really a choice. I may be bitter. But I'm not a fool.

My friend, Dr. Gayle Reed, has a professional practice that includes forgiveness workshops, individual forgiveness recovery consultation, and classes at the University of WI extension. Gayle’s forgiveness workbooks are also available for those entering into the forgiveness process related to either personal or professional relationships.

Whether you’re on a cross-cultural journey or
the journey of following Jesus,
1 of the inevitables is that
on the road to where you’re going,
you will have to face yourself.

If you don’t have the guts for that, better to stay home.


ode to mom

When I was just a little girl
All blonde and dressed in blue
I felt your love and watched your life
And hoped to be like you.

When nearly grown at seventeen,
You wondered what you'd spawned.
Unknown to you I watched you still,
Your trust and faith so strong.

At 24 you cried for me.
At 32 you trusted.
At 36 you took us in
Though your world had just combusted.

Even when you made mistakes
Or I sadly let you down,
Forgiveness and a living hope
Just turned it all around.

You've loved me, served me, shown me how
And offered motivation.
You've never said, "I told you so!"
Though I've given you occasion.

So now you're turning 76
And I am 53.
No longer little golden girl
Who sits on Mommy's knee.

But in every place and every stage
Your life has taught me more
Of womanhood and motherhood
And prayer and faith in God.

So on your birthday, my dear mom,
Rejoice in what's to come:
More love, more faith, more time to show
Your daughter how it's done.

by becky dodds stephen


write a blog? me? what was I thinking?

From Afghanistan to Zimbabwe the world's a mess. And here I sit trying to write a blog. Today it seems very self-absorbed and petty.

Well, at least it's not a tweet.

Knowing people who live in A or Z makes my world bigger and encourages me to pay attention to something beyond my tiny little life. Have you met anyone from A or Z lately? It’s easy to be content to hang out with “my people” (however we define that). It takes some effort to move across boundaries – whether geographic, social, economic, racial, religious, or generational – to learn about and from others. To listen to and care about their concerns.
Make the effort.
And don’t tweet me while you’re doing it.


now we're cookin'

My husband is famous for his metaphors. Maybe it’s being Tamilian. Perhaps it’s his brainy ability to see how seemingly random ideas or events are related. Or it could just be a manifestation of his own unique perception of reality. Whatever it is, I’m always amazed – and sometimes amused – by the metaphors my delicious husband dishes out. 

Last summer, just before he left for Dubai, he was cooking dinner. (Yes, an Indian man who cooks. He’s amazing.) Leaning on the counter, watching him happily chop vegetables and prepare spices, we talked together about the uncertainty of the future, the undefined roles, the seeming randomness of what we were stepping into, and our fears that this was more foolishness than faith. 

He said something then that I’ve held on to all these months when our life has been chaos, when we don’t have a clue what we’re doing, when it looks like we’re just wasting our time and nothing will ever come of the risks, the losses, and the hard work. 

“It is like having all the vegetables chopped and all of the spices prepared. It’s the prep that takes the time. When it’s time to eat, all you have to do is heat the oil – dinner will be ready in 1/2 an hour because all of the real work is already done. “

So right now we’re chopping. Sometimes the onions make me cry. And I still think we’re missing some of the spices. But the point is that we’re cookin’. And at the right time it’ll all come together. 


My husband can tell when I’ve cooked a meal in a rush just to get something on the table and when I’ve taken some care to do all of the necessary steps. Slowing down a little so ingredients can be cut to the right size, added in a certain order and served in a beautiful bowl transforms a chore into a feast.
It’s a metaphor.