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Teach Us, Lord

Teach us, Lord, to be humble. To put the spirit above the letter. To give you thanks for every little thing you offer us. To thank you for the priceless gift of life.

Teach us to be faithful. Faithful to each other, faithful to ourselves and faithful to you.

Teach us to have a positive outlook on life, to see the rose rather than the thorns, and the rainbow rather than the storm.

Teach us to love and to forgive. Show us a new kind of love - selfless, kind, willing to give rather than receive.

Teach us to have no fear. Cause love conquers fear.

Teach us to dare, cause daring is the emblem of faith.

Teach us to open our eyes and our ears to the miracles around us.

And teach us to search your will in everything.

AMEN

Caramel Cream

So often, caught up as we are in the cobweb of life, we forget to thank God for all the gifts He's given us. So many times we ignore the simple things, the little joys He has prepared for us. So often we take them for granted. Today I want to thank Him for something very simple and easy to make but very... delicious...Caramel pudding. It's amazing how such simple ingredients can be combined into something so special. If you haven't tried it yet, here is my recipe: 

CARAMEL CREAM

Ingredients:
1 pint of milk
5 eggs
5 tbspoons of sugar + 7 tbspoons for the caramel syrup
vanilla sugar

1. Heat the 7 tbspoons of sugar in a saucepan, stirring continously until it's fully melted (it becomes brownish and liquidy). Pour the syrup in an oven-proof bowl and turn it around to coat inside the bowl. 
2. Mix the milk with the 5 tbspoons of sugar and the vanilla sugar and bring it to the boiling point. 
3. Beat the eggs and pour the hot milk gradually
4. Pour the composition in the bowl you coated with the caramel syrup.
5. Put water in a tray and place the bowl on the tray in the pre-heated oven.
6. Cook at 180 degrees for about 35-40 minutes (or until the composition becomes like a pudding).
7. Let it cool down a little and put it in the fridge.

Enjoy cooking it and eating it!

The Little Girl Who Wanted To Save The World

The confession of a girl whose daily routine included praying for everything and everyone.

When I was a little girl, my greatest wish was to bring everything inside, where it was nice and warm. Every night after going to bed, I used to close my eyes and pray for all the people and the objects I could think of, begging God not to leave anything out in the cold. The very thought that I might have forgotten something was unbearable. I desperately tried to think of everything – people and trees, dogs and street lamps, grass and buildings, toys, cars, elephants and birds.

It was like an exercise of memory. I did it with passion and conviction, as if it all depended on me, as if it was my duty to make sure everything was fine. I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, because once the door was closed, it would never open again. There were no second chances. I had to make sure nothing was forgotten. I can still remember the anguish coming with the realization that it was humanly impossible to think of everything, that it took just a little flaw in the memory, a little gap in the mind to lose something forever.

The world was a huge place and I loved all the things and the people in it. I didn’t want any of them to be lost, no matter how little and insignificant. The night out there was cold and lonely and the wind was blowing like a restless soul, but in my room it was warm and cosy. In my room, there was love.

As I grew up, I started losing more and more. The old anguish of leaving things out in the dark has never really left me, but it took another form. Every time I lost something or someone, it kept creeping back into my soul, as sharp as a knife, tormenting me. It spoke of unknown tortures like the power of remorse, the blow of despair and the thought that, no matter how hard we tried, it was not within our power to save the ones we loved. The world became a scary place, where everything seemed out of control.

Even now, after so many years, I’m still fighting in my mind to save as much as I can of the people and the objects around me. To protect them from the wind and the cold. It is so important to become aware of things, to touch them, to love them, to redeem them. In many ways, I’m still the anxious but determined little girl who wants to bring everything inside. The thought of leaving anything out still hurts me, and so does the realization that one day the door will close forever and there will be no second chances.

My Earliest Memories

The first objects and people, tastes, sounds and dreams I can remember.

My earliest memories go back to the time when I was two or three years old. The first thing I can recall is a vague, indescribable sensation that I later associated with my conscience. The best way to describe it is a huge tasteless and shapeless sea I carried inside, the virtual space where all the future shapes and concepts were going to be formed.

The first objects: My toys. The plastic bear in a pushchair. A white rubber puppy seal with a red ball on its nose. A little doll dressed in red – later my mother said it was Little Red Riding Hood. A clown lifting weights. A Chinese cyclist on batteries (my dad’s favourite). Those toys do no longer exist. Or if they do, I don’t own them anymore.

What happened to them? The bear in a pushchair: I threw it out of the window of our second floor apartment. By the time I went down to get it, it had already gone. The puppy seal (a lovely toy): I lost it on a snowy winter day. I took it with me on a sleigh ride with my mother. By the time we returned home, we realized it had mysteriously gone.

The first sounds: My mother’s high heels on the pavement – music to my ears. The fairy tales on my old vinyl disks – ‘Puss in Boots’ and ‘Diamonds and Toads’. My father’s voice singing old folk songs. The sound made by the clown when he was lifting weights – a horrible crunch. My father trying to teach me to say 'r'. A dull, repetitive sound I kept hearing in my ears after going to bed. Later I found out it was my own heart.

The first people: My mother gently rubbing my forehead when I was lying in bed with fever. My father letting me walk on his back –a good massage for his rheumatism, he thought. The two little girls next door. The younger so sweet, the elder a monster – she used to terrorize both me and her sister. The nurse coming in to give me penicillin injections.

The first tastes: the rubber taste of the teat – one day I suddenly decided I hated it. Semolina pudding. Spinach. Effervescent Vitamin C.

The first book: “Mother and child”, a huge book with red hard covers – a guide for young mothers.

The first nightmare: a man with a black hat trying to break in.

And many, many more – but I will stop here before I get too carried away. The one thing they all have in common is that they arose from the same shapeless sea... If I asked myself how much that sea had changed over the years, it would be very hard to answer. I can still feel it inside, the way it was then, but I can’t tell whether it belongs to the present or to the past, whether it is still there or it's just the memory of it haunting me from times long gone.