Mixed-Berry Emotions

When it comes to money, I am equal parts saver and spender. I like to live a balanced life, saving money here so I can spend it there. So, naturally, when presented with an opportunity to snag an unbelievable bargain or smartly save some dough by jumping on the DIY train, count me in. That’s why my interest peaked when I heard how brewing your own kombucha was pretty simple, produced better flavor, and only cost pennies per bottle. 

This strange beverage is consumed quite a bit in our house. Apparently fermented black or green tea is full of probiotics, and antioxidants, and helps manage blood sugar and cholesterol. You know, all the healthy things I should probably be getting from all the vegetables I don’t eat. We also read along the way that kombucha is recommended for cancer patients. Well, since we have one of those in the house these pricey bottles were on our weekly grocery list. But that was all about to change. Because I was becoming a brewer of kombucha. 

Order a SCOBY on Amazon. Check. 

Google “SCOBY” and learn that it stands for “symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast.” Check. 

Gag a little bit. Check. 

Watch a step-by-step video and print the recipe. Check. 

Purchase large glass jugs, swing-top glass bottles, and funnels. Check, check, and check.

Before I knew it I felt like a modern-day homesteader. Or a lab scientist, I’m not sure which. I had the brewing process down. I was tracking each phase and which fruits tasted better or produced more fizz. My Amazon SCOBY was multiplying faster than rabbits during a full moon. The kids couldn’t name them quickly enough. The original one was Scooby-Doo, in case you’re wondering. My glass jar SCOBY hotel was at full capacity and I was cranking out bottles of delicious fermented tea every other week. 

For about one whole year. 

My brewing career came to a screeching halt the day of the explosion. It had been a hard week. I got distracted and neglected one very important step during phase two. In this phase the bottles sit for several days in a closed container before transferring to the fridge, ready for consumption. They need to be “burped” periodically during this time to release pressure buildup. Hence the bomb-proof plastic container.

What happened next was inevitable given the circumstances. 

I started moving each bottle to the fridge and as I placed bottle number three on the shelf, I heard what sounded like a gunshot and my vision turned red. It was everywhere. Bright mixed-berry-colored kombucha. Or was that blood as well? Sweet mercy. Everything was covered in red; the inside of the fridge, the floor, my white dress shirt, my face, and my hair. I frantically wiped my eyes and tried to see if I was bleeding from anywhere. If there was blood involved in this berry crime scene, I knew I had about three seconds before my vagus nerve started constricting and I hit the floor.

No blood was shed, thankfully. But once I started cleaning up the mess which took two hours to complete, I felt hot blood rushing to my cheeks. Dismantling and cleaning the innards of an entire fridge is not for the faint of heart. And mine was faint after the week I’d had. That was it. I was done. I henceforth relinquished my title of kombucha brewer. 

I immediately took all the bottles, along with the bomb box, and threw them in the trash. Standing in my driveway, looking like a butcher after a hard day's work, my cheeks flushed once again. But this time with a humble realization. I had been literally hit with the visual of bottled up emotions. 

Brewing bitterness.

…do not let the sun go down on your anger. (Ephesians 4:26)

Fermenting fear.

…fear not for I am with you… (Isaiah 41:10)

Steeping anxiety.

…casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:7)

We weren’t made to stay bottled up. We were made to burp.

As you may have guessed, I am back to shopping for grocery store kombucha these days. It may not taste quite as good or cost as cheap, but it safely gets the job done. Oh, kombucha. Such a strange drink with an even stranger name. Who knew it could provide more than just physical health benefits?

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