Juice-making: A Reflection

Well, it's that time of year again. The sun is high in the summer sky, the chicken kabobs are outside grilling, and the smell of sunscreen and chlorine are floating off my skin as I smell my armpits to check if I need to shower or not.

And I am craving juice.

So, a few hours ago I trotted down the cool basement stairs to find my favorite $6 Salvation Army find: a Hamilton Beach home juicer (by far the best ever "AS IS" thrift store gamble that I've ever made). I washed it off, turned it on, and started making some fresh juice. Three hours later, I think I should be good on juice for... basically forever, actually. 

But as it turns out, after three hours of being home alone on a Friday night, dancing around your kitchen to OneRepublic and telling your speaker, "Alexa, VOLUME UP!", you tend to get pretty introspective. I think it's because the repetitive motion of chopping apples and shoving them into the top hole of the juicer brings back all the memories. As the juice flowed out the side of the machine, I just stood there for a few seconds and looked at all the colors. Scents of mint, lime, pineapple, and beets (I had to put something semi-gross in there, or else it's not even homemade juice, right?) wafted up to my nostrils. I breathed in deep.

The last time I used this dusty juicer was over three years ago, in the Summer of 2019.

My life was pretty radically different back then. So much has changed and shifted, and so many things have been lost and found along the way. But thankfully, I still love juice. 

Back in prior juicing times, I lived alone in this moldy basement studio apartment. I was dating someone who is now married to someone else. I was managing a coffee roasterie and living in this new and exciting "big" city, which now feels like my forever home. I was in a stage of learning the art of "adulting," and all things considered, was rocking it. Except, of course, for the fact that I was desperate for others' company and approval, and hated being alone. I cared way too much about what people thought about me, and felt so much shame and regret for my actions and interactions, almost constantly. I felt that my identity was inextricably linked to successes at work... or what others perceived to be successes, anyway.

By contrast, I am now living in a beautiful home less than 10 minutes away from all my favorite things. I'm married and the (sometimes) proud mother of an Irish Doodle. My ex and I broke up, and these days our interactions are limited to the occasional run-ins at church, or the nights like last night where he came to my house for a party we hosted for our out-of-town friends. By the grace of God, I'm feeling a lot less like a slave to others' approval, and the shame and regrets have no home in me anymore. I'm teaching in the public schools and welcoming our newest neighbors to Cincinnati through my work with English Language Learners, which is honestly a dream come true. 

From time to time, I find myself thinking about those days a few summers ago. It's the moments like tonight when I'm juicing or this morning when I made a latte when I'm reminded of how things used to be. I realize simultaneously how much has changed, and how much has also stayed the same. I'm still "me," and I still love juice. I still don't like reading very much, but Tina Fey's autobiography has be feeling like maybe it's not the worst thing in the world. I still love experimenting with new recipes in the kitchen. (This usually means I still fail miserably the first few times that
I "experiment," but I'm still okay with it, because it's all a process, okay?!) I still love writing and dancing. I still maintain a deep appreciation for Latin-American culture and the Spanish language. Thankfully, Jesus is still the Lord of my life, and my identity is rooted in Him. I still fight the temptation to place other people on the throne, and I still don't love being alone, but it's nights like tonight where I'm able to take deep breaths, pause, and reflect. And yes, it's only 9pm on a Friday and I'm definitely going to bed soon, but I've never been too cool for indulging in a good ol' lame Friday night in. 

My heart still hurts from the loss of what I dreamed for when I was living in that basement apartment. Strong, deep-seated memories hit me out of nowhere sometimes, and I wonder how long it will be until I can just let them pass by. But maybe I shouldn't long for that-- for the ability to let memories fade quickly.

Maybe it's good to sit down with some freshly-juiced juice and just remember.

It feels so strange to recognize how different my dreams are today. It's like I am a completely different person, but I'm still me.

I believe in my core that the transformation I've undertaken has 0% to do with me and 100% God's providence over my life. He is always watching out for me, protecting me and guiding me like the Good Shepherd. And I, a mere wandering sheep, have been training to hear His voice more clearly, and follow where it leads. 

Thanks be to God for the long-lasting, eternal care that He has for His people. He's not a short-term God, nor a God of conditions. He is perpetually ever-present and His grace never fails, even when we do. He has plans for our lives that extend far beyond what our dreams can imagine. And they're so, so good, y'all. 

If you're still reading this, well done! I hope you're encouraged to trust Jesus a little more than you do right now, or at least inspired to go out and buy some juice.

For now, I'll say goodnight and hope that my stomach agrees with all the healthy things I gulped down like a thirsty dog in the desert. Peace!