Finding the Divine in the Ordinary

Sometimes it’s hard to know if someone takes their job a little too seriously or if their disposition is just generally disgruntled.

In the middle of a skinny street in Rome I encountered a woman who I think could have been a member of the pasta patrol. Or perhaps she was part of the national noodle guard.

Whatever her culinary affiliation might be, her demeanor made it quite clear that purchasing pasta was no laughing matter.

The guide of my foodie tour group had told us we’d embark on an excursion to a shop in the neighborhood to buy fresh-made pasta for our lunch.

She made it sound like fun as we walked along Rome's streets to the pasta store, discussing the delicious meal we’d soon be cooking back in her kitchen. But as our group crowded inside the tiny storefront, we grew quiet.

Presiding over the pasta counter was an imposing lady with a stern expression, wearing an official-looking white lab coat.

I wasn't sure if she owned the store, made the pasta or just sold it, as she stared unsmilingly off into the distance as our guide talked about homemade noodles and how this store was one of the few in Rome that still carries on the tradition of making and selling fresh pasta.

Our guide placed her order in Italian and the pasta-lady weighed and wrapped it.

I stood off to the side and snapped a few photos as unobtrusively as I could with my big-girl camera {instead of my iPhone} and managed to capture the lady as she handed over the pasta.

She looked directly at me and my camera for a minute, then said something to our guide in Italian.

I expected to be told to destroy the photos immediately of this super-secretive mission to purchase a pound of pasta.

Who knew Italians were really this passionate about their pasta?

But instead the pasta lady walked behind the counter and motioned to us.

Not sure what she meant, none of us dared to move until our guide said she was inviting us to step closer to the pasta machines so we could take better photos.

As I carefully stayed behind the doorway where signs were posted prohibiting entrance, the pasta lady pulled out fresh paper then grabbed a handful of spaghetti noodles and posed for us in front of the pasta-cutting machine.

As we snapped photos, I might have imagined it but it seemed as if she cracked the slightest hint of a smile.

Or at least tried to look a little pleasant.

I didn’t know her story but I imagined that her job might get a little monotonous. I'm sure standing on her feet all day, measuring out pasta and wrapping it for customer after customer can get a little tedious and have its mundane moments.

I didn’t know anything about her except that she showed up at her job that day to operate the noodle-slicing machine.

And then she decided to help a few tourists take some photos so they’d remember their trip to a pasta store in Rome.

In author and speaker Holley Gerth’s new book Fiercehearted, she invites us to enjoy the treasure of our authentic selves as we experience the momentous along with the mundane, finding joy and purpose in our lives.

Sprinkled with personal illustrations of her own journey through successes and failures, the book shares her heartaches and challenges as she yearns to live a fiercehearted full and brave life, as so many of us also hope to do.

She spends an ordinary day in her kitchen cooking and ponders the loveliness of small things, like the sizzle of vegetables in a pan and the aroma of garlic filling her kitchen.

She remembers that God can still be enjoyed, still be seen, still be experienced, as we prepare meals and go about the millions of ordinary moments that make up our days.

When we lose sight of ourselves and focus on these seemingly small gifts, we follow the way that leads us to God, who has been there all along, just waiting for us to find him.

Back at the kitchen in Rome, I cooked with my foodie tour group as we sliced puntarelle {chicory}, peeled artichokes and sizzled meat on the stove.

We boiled hot water and cooked up the noodles we purchased earlier that morning from the pasta lady.

Everything we did that day was rather ordinary. We shopped for ingredients. We prepared food. We gathered around the table to eat.

But hidden within all that's so very ordinary, I think I can catch a glimpse of something divine.

I was provided a complimentary copy of the book by the publisher in exchange for a review, but the opinions are all my own.

I'm having coffee with my friends at Holley Gerth's place at Coffee for your Heart.