The tiny seed

Something is forming... a tiny little sprout. A small seed, almost unseen with a speck, just a speck of green.
It seems lifeless and barren when looked at from the side, but at the right angle you can see just a small, just a tiny, miniscule speck of something green.
I don't know where it came from, and I don't know how it started to grow.

I thought I had been alone here, in the dark formless earthiness of my world. I hadn't known I was sharing this space with a seed, though it had been small and lifeless for so long.
What has caused it to burst into song, I don't know and for I moment I hold my breath. I don't want to rejoice, lest the movement of the air will cause a stir and this little speck of green will curl up and disappear like an illusion. I am afraid to imagine that this could be a sign that maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of a space filled with life and movement, blossoms and greenery. I am much too scared to preempt that kind of result from my tiny little bud of green.

So I watch with disbelief, kneeling in the earth of my formless space and holding my breath with tears in my eyes at this sign, this tiny miniscule sign that there may be life... there just might be hope... there could be something more.

A comeback

Blogging used to be something I really enjoyed, yet something I mostly did when I was encountering difficult times and wanted to express myself.
My journalling of all kinds has waned over the past year, and I now do no writing at all.

My creativity has been coming out in my jewellery (www.mirrabelete.weebly.com) which is VERY enjoyable, but not really a type of all round expression. I love having an outlet for my creativity in general, yet only expressing myself in that way leaves so many words and thoughts swimming inside me.

I'd like to start blogging again, but I'm not quite sure where to start.

I suppose my thoughts over the past few weeks can be summed up by the word "purpose".
The eternal search for real purpose.
I have been questioning myself since I began a B. Early Childhood and Primary Education at university this year as a "mature-aged" student. Ha. To me, even that term creates the illusion of wisdom.
I question myself. Do I REALLY want to be a teacher? Could I handle the pressure of marking, timetabling, critisism, deadlines, discipline of challenging children and a strict curriculum?
What do I really want to be doing?

A friend of mine just posted a challenging blog... not particularly that she MEANT to be challenging, as she was only recounting her experiences and other events, but I felt challenged by her perspective.
She is a woman of so much faith and has learned how to listen to the voice of God to her. She moved from Australia to the U.S recently because she believed that God was telling her to, and judging by the experiences she has had so far, she is onto something profound.

When I read her post, I asked myself... if the world ended in the not too distant future and all of a sudden Jesus came to us... what am I working towards? What am I meant to be doing? What would I like to be doing?

Even someone who does not believe in God can be challenged by holding that perspective.
And so I yearn inwardly, deeply for a voice, a purpose and defined "something more" that will call me into the place that will be the culmination of all my talents, experiences, personality, character and knowledge.

What it is, I do not know.
Yet, I still yearn.

The Albino Strassburg

Unfortunately, it's an in joke...

Ethiopia?!

It's 10:12PM on a Monday night and I've been intending to write a blog for quite some time now.
Unfortunately, all I feel able to do is punch in a headline and paste up the compilation of photos I arranged earlier before the fatigue hits me and I realise it's time for bed. I've been meaning to do so many things, but all they remain are good intentions, so much so that I've been hoping since YESTERDAY to wash my hair and give myself some freshly pressed sheets!

But even in these moments when I feel that there is so much undone, one thought of Ethiopia whisks my heart away to this place that feels untouchable. I feel that I can almost smell Addis Ababa, remembering each noise and sight and taste. I anticipate being there again and can almost hear the traffic and sense the dust on my skin.

As I type this up, knowing that I really should go and begin my hairwashing venture before I lose my sleep totally, I'm juggling plans to go to Ethiopia in late September for a friend's wedding.

While it's not yet a solidified plan, I hang in the balance like a dog licking his lips before an unguarded chocolate cake.

We'll see what happens... but this could be Hello Ethiopia!
For now, I wait.

A scattering of snow

On Wednesday night, a sound began playing on our roof. It was a soft pattering that I heard and I paused for a moment, trying to figure out what it was.It was lighter than rain, a lovely soft sound.
Safi and I were getting ready for bed at the time, but I whispered to him and we grabbed our jackets and headed outside.
When we opened the backdoor, we were met with the delicate falling of snow!
Safi had never seen snow, and I hadn't seen it for quite a while, so we just stood out in the backyard, our collars up and faces to the sky, watching the white snow silently tumble from the sky.It was beautiful and serene.
I can tell you, there is something so restful about the sound of falling snow. It seems musical to me. It's mesmerising.
We went to sleep that night with ease, lulled to bed by that pittery pattery noise on our roof.





The following day became as warm as 3 degrees (37.5 degrees farenheit), just a little too warm for the snow to stick around. Still, we took our chances that evening and drove up the forest track into the mountain in the hope of catching some snow.

We drove into my favourite part of the forest track and as we headed up the slope, there the snow was lying about3 inches deep in some places and scattered on every surface.Safi threw the inaugeral snowball and we consequentially fought back with our own handfulls of snow. He may not have been aware of the war-like ramifications of throwing the first snowball.

I stood back and looked at the pure white powder and felt such peace. It's so white. So fine and delicate. It made me think, just for a moment, of purity and other beautiful things.
Just for a moment.

Meiche.

There is so much that I have but don't do anything with.


This hit me with true force today as I looked at my life during one of those rare and sobering moments. It not not frequently that we stare at our own lives with eyes wide open, fully able and ready to soak it all in, both the unattractive and the welcome.
I am sure that were I consistenly able to reflect in this manner however, I might not be a fully stable person because I'm sure it may just be too much for my human mind to be able to reflect in this way all the time.


I do reflect often in my ever continuing desire to change and be shaped into more than I currently am, into a bolder and more graceful woman. There are many things I aspire to be, but I know I can not will myself into being them all. I know that through grace the process of change will begin to overwhelm me and change me from the outside in like a spring that has sprung from the dusty bottoms of my heart, out.

I believe that change is possible and I believe that I am yet to be the best of what I can be.

I believe this, but in my reflection I realised how much I have chosen to leave by the side of the road on my journey, how much I have laid down unnecessarily.There is so much I have that I do nothing with.

I can write. I have loved writing and at a certain time I would write long stories, poems about every desire of my heart and every dream worth writing about.
No, I don't do that anymore, although when I do I feel like there is such beauty flowing out from my heart.

Anybody else who reads it may not feel a thing, but I, when I write I feel it. I know that I am making something that comes from the heart.

There is so much that I am able to do, yet I feel that I am wasting it all. To me it feels just the same as wasting other precious restorces. I have turned on a tap and left it running, watching the ater flow down the drain. I have prepared a plate of food and watched it go cold before throwing it in the bin.
This is how it feels.

Yet, I believe that all things change.
Lord, change me from the inside out.
How tired I am of feeling that I am wasting so many of the gifts you placed inside my heart. Don't let me spend this life unlived, burying it like a talent under the ground. I want to use it all.

When I pass away and meet you in heaven, I want to proudly show You my well-worn gifts. Help me now.

From this life,
Meiche.

Ethiopia

Ethiopia, my Ethiopia.

People packed into blue & white taxi vans, coffee, traffic, cafés and juice bars, staring children, staring adults, laughing people, foreign Amharic words tingling my ears, injera with doro wot, avacado juice, groups of joggers running around Meskel square at sunset, lines of soldiers along the street, friends, festivals, stomach pain, markets, bustle and incredible beauty.

What can I say?
Sometimes I miss Ethiopia so much, I think about it with such eagerness and tenderness.
I remember standing out so much but I remember fitting in so well. What can describe such a place?

One day I will go back and enjoy it's beauty again, journey through it's difficulties and experience the new things that will come.