Figs and Death

So, about the time my mother tried to kill me. . .

We were riding our horses home from the rodeo and cut through the apple orchard growing along the road.  My mom grabbed a couple figs off of this mammoth tree, that grew in the corner of the orchard.  It seemed harmless enough.  We were all plodding along, tired from a full day, racing barrels and chasing pigs.  (Did I mention I grew up in the country?  I'm a small town girl, in every way.)  Then my step sister, who just happened to be sitting behind me on our old palamino pony, decided that she wanted to try a fig.  My mom nosed her horse until she was next to us and just as she reached out her hand to offer the rich purple fruit, her horse bit mine, and my little pony who was more fire than nice took off like a shot.  This may seem harmless enough, but I had begged my mom to keep her horse away.  You see, I knew my horse hated my mom's and that this would end in tragedy.  Luckily it was my hand and not my life. My sweet dad, raced his horse to stop the charging little beast, only to have her come to an abrupt stop and send both of us tumbling over her head.  Not my best moment in horsemanship.  We both sent up a howl of agony, someone twisted a finger, another smashed their head against a rock.  No one ate the offered fig.  We climbed back on the damned pony, more tired and sore than before.  It was many years before I ate an offered fig.

Now, that I have survived my childhood, I find them to be one of my most favorite treats.  I don't eat them often, but when they come in season, I must fill my plate with their delectable goodness.

Today I enjoyed a fig salad.

~recipe

I mixed about two cups of mixed greens with about 2T cherry vinaigrette. (3/4cup cherry balsamic vinegar, 1/4cup olive oil, salt and pepper to taste, blend in a blender.  Store in the refrigerator.)  I chopped up about three figs and mixed them with the lettuce and dressing, then topped with a tablespoon goat cheese, two tablespoons roasted pistachios, and two more chopped figs.  It was heaven.  If you are wondering what to do with those beautiful little fruits, please try this.  You will not regret it.  :)

To this, my love.

There is something in the air.  The magic of a fall day.  The crisp, clean air that swells with mystery and promise.  It has been more than a while, since I have felt the click of keys under my fingers.  Since my heart has felt the weight of something to share.  A sliver of life to reveal with you.  Perhaps more it has been the overwhelming sense of a need to work through the cacophony of life, to find the sweet harmony of peace.

For the last year I have desperately sought to better myself, the sting of failure more often my fate than any sense of success.  I have strived desperate to break through this wall.  To be worthy of this life.  To be accepted.  Loved.  To not only know my value, but for it to be know.   Day after day I melted, lost, broken, discouraged.

Only to land in this place of peace, where I stand face to face with myself and realize that I am exactly the me I was created to be.  To find my life is worthy, not for any other reason then that it was handed to me.  I was created for purpose.  While that purpose may not always connect in my mind, it is in no way diminished.  My lack is never from reality, but because my eyes have not yet been opened to the abundance surrounding me.   I have chosen to live desperate for others to value me, because I did not value myself.  I was hungry for love because I could not see the one who embodies love and I would not receive the love he so desperately longs to pour out.

I was invited into the throne room and rather than enter in my rags, I first sought to better myself.  To clean off the dirt, to prove my worth.  That when I entered I would not be shunned or ashamed.  Only to be brought in, with dirt on my face.  To bite into the apple of grace and as the pure juice of life dripped down my chin, watch as my being transformed.  The clothing I once spurned as rags, change to white and the dirt, to gold.  Eyes to see and ears to hear.

I have come to realize that the reality in which I have lived, was not to what I was born.  I was called to destiny and purpose and yet I could only see it as servitude and lack.  My eyes were blind to the true gift of which I am blessed to live.  The joy that I can find in every day.  As I see clearly for the first time.

How desperate I am to fill my lungs with the purity of air.  To see the value of my life.  To pour out my blessing and worth upon my children.  To teach them to live, perfectly pleasing their Creator who is so eager for their joy.

I live each moment, each day, eagerly gulping the extravagant good to which I have been birthed.  Free of fear and worry.  To not desperately seek the pleasure of those around me, but that of the one who formed me.  Who has known me and who calls me, from deep to deep.


Walk soft on your way, drink deep of cream and spice, live with wild abandon.  Whisper gentle, laugh loud and dance in the falling of leaves.  Herald the season of change.