Beautifully Imperfect

A Year to Breathe and Become

2012-02-01T07:44:00.001-05:00

I'm sure it seems a little late to be posting a hopes-and-plans-and-dreams-for-the-new-year post given that January is gone and we're staring down February already.

But all the folks talking over the last few weeks about their word for 2012 got me to thinking about my own.

2011 turned into the year of the unexpected. When I sat down to reflect on the year at the end of December, I thought there wasn't much to think on. I didn't think much happened. But then God started whispering to my heart...

2011 was the year you opened your heart and built the greatest friendships you've ever had.

2011 was the year that took you on an adventure halfway around the world.

2011 was the year I provided for your family.

2011 was the year you figured out your purpose in life is to bring me glory and make me famous - regardless of what you are actually doing.

2011 was the year you finally felt content, satisfied, at rest and at peace with your life, with yourself and with Me.

I hardly knew so much happened. But He is right. I can honestly say I loved who I was and what I had done at the close of last year.

And the crazy thing is, I planned for none of it. It all came when I wasn't looking, when I least expected it.

So this year I am hesitant to put any plans or goals on this year. Sure there are things I want to do, places I want to go. But I'm reluctant to say, "At the end of 2012, I will have done....." or "At the end of 2012, I will have gone..." or "By the end of 2012, I will be..."

To do that would feel like I am stifling and suffocating the coming months.

So that brings me to my word - well, actually my words.

2012 will be the year of breathing, the season of becoming. Whatever that may look like. How ever that turns out.

And I think it's going to be a good year.

We Could Be in London

2012-01-23T20:07:00.000-05:00

To quote a friend of mine, tonight feels like foggy London. It is dark and chilly and a fine mist hangs in the air.

It's a good thing the inside is bright and warm, and my company is cute and sweet.

2011 Christmas Tour of My Home

2011-12-14T23:32:00.003-05:00

I know I am being terrible about posting these last few weeks, but there's been something terribly appealing about simply living life as it comes and not feeling pressured to document it every moment.

But I will say that one of my favorite things about blogging is The Nester's annual Christmas tour of homes. I love seeing all the lovely, house-y things - especially the lights. So here is a peek at my own home and how we've settled in this Christmas (snow picture borrowed from last year). Then click that Nester link to see even more homes!

Foyers are the first thing seen when someone come in from the cold. And as my momma says, folks need to know Jesus is first in this house. So you'll find the account of His birth along with my beloved Willow Tree nativity set on the front table.

Next to the family room, I think the dining room is my favorite this year. The shiny silver and bright red might just have to remain into January. It looks a little winter-ish right?

There's nothing fancy or coordinated about our tree, but it's full of ornaments that hold special places in our hearts - from the ones my great-grandmother made to ones given to us as children to our first Christmas ornament together. It's simple and pretty and just right for us.

Candle light and an Advent countdown grace our mantle. This year the countdown holds not only people treats but mini dog bones as well. Dogs love Christmas, too!

So there you have it. A look at our cozy little place. And in the words of Michael W. Smith:

Oh the happiest Christmas is a home coming Christmas

with the snow fluttering down til the world seems new.

Bright candles burning. Old friends returning.

The wishes of children coming true.

And the happiest wishes are just old fashioned wishes.

May your days be merry. May your sorrows be small.
May the ones you love be near you.

That's the happiest Christmas of all.

Merry Christmas to you and yours. May you know the love, joy and peace given only by the One who took on the skin of a babe to redeem and restore your heart and mine.

Our Adventure Begins

2011-12-08T07:13:00.001-05:00

Well, it's been a month since we've gone and come back from Italy, and I haven't really written a word about it yet. I think some of it is because it's been such a busy month. And some of it is because I didn't really walk around during those nine days thinking of things in terms of my blog.

It might make me a bad blogger or a bad writer, but we really and truly lived every moment being fully present exactly where we were. It was wonderful.

That being said, I do know there are some folks who read this thing who might like to know a little more about how the trip went. So here we go: let's start at the beginning.

*******

We woke up Saturday, October 29 anxious and excited. After making sure the last of our things were safely tucked away some friends whisked us to the airport where we checked in, made it to the gate and waited. And waited. And waited.

Turns out the first of our adventures was going to be simply getting to Italy. A major storm was dumping the earliest snow in years in New York City and a ground stop was ordered at all airports in the area. It was beginning to look like we'd have to go home and come back the next day - losing precious time in Rome.

And here's where I give you some traveling advice: if you have to fly anywhere in the world, pack lightly.

This is everything we took for nine days - a small, carry-on suitcase, a backpacking-style bag and an actual, school-style backpack. Taking only what we could easily carry was the best thing we did. We could switch flights in a heartbeat without worrying about whether our checked luggage would make the transfer, and once in Rome it was easy to keep track of what we had with us as we traveled by taxi, metro, bus, train, ferry and more.

And here's my second piece of advice: fly Delta if you can. We had a great experience with them. The second our flight to New York was canceled, the Delta staff was figuring out how to get us to Italy as soon as possible. It turned out the best way to get us there was to fly from our city to Atlanta.

Then in Atlanta we boarded a flight for Madrid, Spain. Nothing like adding an unexpected country to your passport. Yes, we were in Spain for all of two hours. And yes, the most we saw of the city/country was the highway on the bus from one terminal to the next, but we were there nevertheless. And it was beautiful and it was fun.

From Madrid we made it to Rome, getting to our hotel just six hours after our initial arrival time. I'd say we did pretty well. We checked into our hotel, then ventured out to find some dinner (fresh tomato and mozzarella sandwiches...yuuum) and wander the streets a bit, finding the famous Trevi Fountain.

After oohh-ing and aahhh-ing over the prettiness and tossing a coin over our shoulder into the water, we made our way back to our room and collapsing into bed at 7:00 p.m. - exhausted after over 24 hours of travel. We slept for 12 hours before waking refreshed and ready to get on with the adventure.

And that's where we end today. To be continued.

Out of His Goodness and Grace

2011-12-06T07:32:00.001-05:00

Hubby and I finally made a decision on the debate we've had since our first Christmas. Every year we've tossed around the pros and cons of a real tree vs. a fake tree. And every year we've agreed that a fake tree would be so much easier in so many ways. But every year we haven't had the time to shop around for one or wanted to spend that much at once.

This year we decided early on in the holidays (like before Thanksgiving) that it was the year for a fake tree. So we found one we loved, did some comparison shopping and then pulled the trigger. It came home with us Sunday afternoon and after just a few minutes, it was sitting pretty in the corner of our den.

We spent the evening with football on mute and Christmas music wafting from the speakers while we carefully unwrapped each ornament, remembering fondly stories from childhood and thinking of friends and family.

Izzie didn't seem to care too much about the nostalgia. After curiously sniffing and nipping at an ornament only to be reprimanded, this is about as excited as she got for the rest of the night. She was perfectly content to snooze and occasionally open an eye to peer at what was going on.

I don't think I've ever enjoyed putting up our tree as much as I did this year - finding just the right place for each ball and hanging toy. For whatever reason the simple act of decorating and remembering made me more aware of God's goodness and grace. For by His grace alone our family has much - so, so much - to be thankful for this year. He has given us a lasting peace and joy. And abiding in Him has made me more content for these last six months than I can ever remember being.

I think it's going to be a good Christmas this year.

*******

Joining with all those unwrapping this Tuesday over at Emily's place, Chatting at the Sky.

The Dog Days

2011-11-30T08:16:00.001-05:00

Well, our life has changed a bit in the last week. Actually it's changed a lot. Geeze, that makes it sound like we had a kid or something. Just for the record - we didn't.

We did get a puppy though. Some friends of ours found her and rescued her. When they couldn't find a family to claim her, they decided to find her a new place to live. So Hubby and I went to meet her, fell in love and brought her home. So meet Izzie - our sweet chow mix.

And the last five days with her have been quite an adventure. Fortunately she's very well behaved - except when she's bored, which isn't often but has happened twice now. She's managed to eat/chew a couple things when we had to leave her at the house, one of which we had to force her to regurgitate. But I suppose that's just a day in the life of a dog owner, now isn't it?

At least she's housebroken already, doesn't mind sleeping in her kennel (though we haven't gotten to the point of shutting her in it yet), stays downstairs, hasn't chewed any furniture and doesn't mind kids or other dogs all around here.

We're already quite fond of her, and now that the vet's given her a clean (mostly) bill of health we're excited to be a little family of three.

Today

2011-11-29T10:21:00.001-05:00

Today marks a nearly ended month full of ocean-crossing and continent- hopping and house-preparing and family all over and a new, furry creature in our home. A month full of good and contentment and peace paired with a little bit of thrill and exhilaration and I can hardly breathe for the quickness of it all.

I suppose in time I will tell you the stories of it all. The stories of wandering the shadows of Ancient Rome and riding trains through the Italian countryside and seeing the sun pour breathtaking light over cliffs of the coast. The ones of filling our house to the brim with the life and love and light of family and then squeezing in room for one more.

But for all the adventure and excitement, all the comfort and sheer joy, today I am happy for the trees in my yard, baring themselves for the coming of winter. I am happy for candles in my living room, offering their soft light to warm the evening and filling the air with the smell of Christmas. And I am happy for the husband who stands with me and for me and takes up the seat next to me on the couch.

Today life is good. My heart is full. And I am choosing to treasure all these things.

Time and Space

2011-11-08T06:29:00.000-05:00

There are some places where you could sit and watch the morning forever. Where there is all the time in the world to just be, and there is so much space for your soul to breathe.

And this is one of them.

Keep Holding On

2011-11-04T06:30:00.000-04:00

It looks like fall in our house.

The Harvest candle is burning, and it smells like fall, too.

But outside these babies are keep holding on.

It makes me sad it uproot them. But if I'm going to have pretties in the dead of winter, I need to get the pansies planted. Sigh.

Maybe I'll keep holding on for just a couple more days.

Happy Anniversary, Home Sweet Home!

2011-11-03T06:30:00.000-04:00

Well folks, today marks a year since of home ownership. I had a post full of before and after pictures planned, but then I realized that would be a very long post. And actually, it probably wouldn't be terribly interesting since most of the afters are of paint color changes and furniture that's been put into place.

But even without drastic remolding or reconfiguring, it's been a good twelve months of figuring out how to take care of our own place without a landlord to call. Hubby and I have enjoyed this year of adventure, and we look forward to many more!

{Day Thirty-One} :: Pulled Toward Home

2011-10-31T06:30:00.000-04:00

Want to know what I'm most looking forward to about tomorrow? Not that the 31 day challenge will finally be over - though I suppose I'll probably take a break for a day or two.

I'm excited that November 1 means the coming of the holiday season, the part of year I get to see my families (mine and Hubby's) the most. It's great.

You see my families have taught and are still teaching me many things: that I am significant and secure, that my relationship with Christ is most important, that the language of love is sacrifice and service and that there are many practical and fun things that are useful to know. And the list goes on.

I know I would never be the same without them - both the things I learned and the people I love.

Which brings me back to why I'm excited about November. As an out-of-the-house, with-her-own-family kid who lives in another city, this time of year reminds me of a lesson I learn every time I walk across one of our family members' threshold.

You are never too old or too grown up or too far away to go home.

Thanks, kind friends, for walking through these 31 days with me. I've loved telling you my stories and hearing yours. I hope you've had time to think about what you've learned from your growing-up family and what you hope to teach your right-now or someday family, too.

And as we all go into this holiday season, may you always remember:

Families are precious things and far though we may roam, the tender bonds with those we love still pull our hearts toward home.
- a German saying -

*******

That marks the end of the 31 lessons I've learned from my family. Read the whole series right here.

{Day Thirty} :: Lessons You Learned

2011-10-30T06:30:00.000-04:00

Well, we're winding down here. It's hard to believe the month of October went by so quickly. I feel like I could keep talking on this subject for a long, long time. But don't worry - after tomorrow we're done for a while.

And today I'd rather hear from you than talk (er....write) myself. When I planned this day of story sharing, I had grand visions of a nifty linky tool. But I still haven't figured those things out yet. So the comment section will have to do for now.

So how about it, folks? What lesson did you learn from your growing-up family? What lessons do you hope to teach your right-now family? Only you can tell this story today. I can't wait to read it.

*******

Get caught up on the last twenty-nine days here or here.

{Day Twenty-Nine} More Than Just Money

2011-10-29T06:30:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I touched on the margin-in-money issue. That we should do our best to leave room for offering to others if we can. But I realize that there will be seasons - or perhaps your life is one long season - where we live paycheck to paycheck, penny to penny. Margin in this area is impossible. And I think that's okay. I think there are other ways to leave margin in our resources.

Here's a great example from my growing up years: my parents opened their house to those who needed it. I can remember when some family friends were finishing their last support-raising push before they left to be missionaries in Spain. They no longer had a place to live, but they weren't quite ready to make the move yet. The young family of three lived in a make-do bedroom in our basement (heated and cooled, don't worry!) for many months.

Mom and Dad where always coming up with ways to give what they could to others: meals, rides, a place to stay for a night or two....or many, a note written on a handmade card, a baby or bridal shower. People around them always felt loved and served, regardless of what it was that they were being given.

So here's the question for today: how can you make margin in your life? With your time? With your finances? Or with other resources available to you?

And don't forget - tomorrow I'd love for you to share with me a lesson you learned from your family or one you hope to teach.

*******

We're nearing the end of 31 lessons I learned from my family. If you've missed any, you can catch up here.

{Day Twenty-Eight} :: It's Not Ours To Begin With

2011-10-28T07:44:00.002-04:00

I think this can be a touchy subject, but I feel I have to at least mention it, because it was a huge lesson I learned growing up. So I'll just dive right in and say it: having money and getting stuff isn't the end goal we should be striving for.

As much as we like to think it is, what we have and what we earn are not ours to begin with. I truly and fully believe God breathed life into us for the purpose of bringing Himself honor and glory. And the things around us? What's in our bank accounts? Those are meant to help us reach that end.

So we just as we should leave margin in our time, we should leave margin in our finances so we can give with open hands to those in need. And we should leave margin in what we have so we can provide for those who just might be going through a tough time and could use some encouragement.

Granted, there will be times when margin in your finances just isn't possible, when margin would mean a bill doesn't get paid or a mouth isn't fed. And in that case, I'm not speaking to you. I think there are other ways to build margin into your life, and we'll talk about that tomorrow.

But if you can afford some room to spare, are you leaving it there to be available to someone else when God calls for it?

**********

Just a heads up: on Sunday I'd love for you to share a lesson you learned from your family - or even one you are hoping to teach your family too!

{Day Twenty-Seven} :: Colored Lights and the Sacrifice of Time

2011-10-27T07:44:00.001-04:00

There was no hint at what would set this Christmas morning apart from the rest as I peeked around my bedroom door frame. My younger brother peered back at me from around his door frame and we stifled giggles, anxiously waiting the call from the living room that would assure us Santa came.

The house was still and quiet. Low murmurs could be heard as my parents caught a few, quick moments alone before we barreled in. Full of curiosity and trying not to get caught, we inched our way down the hall, our footsteps lost in the carpet. The quiet voices abruptly gave way to silence and we stood still, holding our breath and hoping our sneakiness hadn't been discovered. In that moment, breath frozen and heart pounding, I noticed the strange glow lighting the shadows.

He came! Bellowed my dad. It was a cue we knew well. And it was all the permission we needed to bound into the living room where we stopped short, eyes full of wonder and mouths gaping. I couldn't believe it. Colored lights, candy canes and red bows bedecked a glorious Christmas tree and it was placed exactly where our refined, grown up Christmas tree once stood. Santa had brought us what we asked for.

It didn't take long for the joy and excitement of the colored-lights to fade into the piles of wrapping paper and new toys. The candy canes were taken off the tree and eaten one by one. And eventually the bows and ornaments were wrapped up and tucked away for the next December. Christmas had come and gone.

It wasn't until years later that my brother and I learned the truth. Little did we know (being young and believing in the magic of Santa, of course) our parents hardly slept a wink that Christmas Eve. Instead they spent the night removing every ornament, taking down the white lights, replacing them with colored ones, re-hanging the ornaments, tucking in candy canes and tying up ribbons.

It seems like a small example of how my parents allowed wide margins with their time and how that communicated love and importance to those around them. I could tell you countless stories of all the hours spent with parents and kids in the youth group or all the time given to the church beyond what the job description called for.

But this is one I will always remember. I don't recall a single gift I got for Christmas that year, the year of the colored lights. But I will never forget Mom and Dad's love and sacrifice - all packaged in a perfectly childish Christmas tree.

*******

Catch up on all the other lessons I've learned from my family right here.

{Day Twenty-Six} :: Cut Wide Margins

2011-10-26T06:52:00.001-04:00

I have to admit to borrowing today's title from a sermon our senior pastor preached this summer. It was one in a series on generosity, and while I'd love to give you a point-point-by-point breakdown of the most challenging sermon I've heard in a while, I'll give you the basic point: generous people cut wide margins in their lives.

They leave enough room for others. They don't hold so tightly to things that they can't offer with an open hand what others need. They don't schedule life so fully or completely that there isn't time to offer to someone who really needs a shoulder to lean on. They don't control so much of life that they can't go with the flow when God calls.

A lot of the lessons I learned from my family were ones I'd seen modeled but couldn't really define until I grew up. And this is one of them.

Mom and Dad know the language of love is sacrifice and service. They also know the heart of a servant is the fruit of abiding in Christ. And they know you need wide margins - in your time, your money, your other resources - to live out those things.

Though I didn't know exactly what they were doing when I was a child, I can see now how obvious, how wide their margins were. And I pray my husband and I have the same attitude toward our own home, resources, time and even money they have toward theirs.

In the next couple days I'll share with you ways I've seen wide margins in my parents' life. Before then, consider this: do you cut wide margins in your own life? If so, tell me how. If not, what margins could stand to be a little wider?

{Day Twenty-Five} :: The Heart of a Servant

2011-10-25T07:24:00.001-04:00

Sacrificing and serving. Two tough things to do. They kind of go against my natural desire to be selfish, to do what I think is best for me. In fact, I think sacrificing and serving goes against everyone's nature - our sinful nature.

But Jesus called us to these things, and he modeled them with his life. So when I think of Mom and Dad and how much they sacrificed for us and served us (and others), I always wondered how they did it. And it all goes back to something I talked about two weeks ago: abiding in Christ.

A servant's heart cannot be produced under our own will no matter how hard we try. Oh, we might appear to be servants on the surface. We might look nice and seem giving. But there will always be the undercurrent of a self-serving attitude: we do for others so they will do for us, and when they don't we get angry or bitter. Or we do for others to gain approval or status and the list goes on.

But the very same resting, remaining and dwelling in Him that produces love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control also transforms hearts and minds. And it can mold us into true servants who live and sacrifice without strings attached and with a deep understanding of our lasting value as His children.

Tomorrow I'll cover one more thing that sets us up for a life of sacrifice and service, a life living the language of love. But first I challenge you to take stock of how you are serving. Does it come from selfish desires? Or are you rooted in Him so deeply it is a natural overflow of the Spirit's fruit in you?

{Day Twenty-Four} :: The Language of Love

2011-10-24T07:30:00.000-04:00

Goodness! I can't believe we're already staring at day twenty-four.

I have to be honest and say I wasn't sure exactly what was going to come of this when I pressed publish on day one, whether I'd really have 31 days of things to say. But so far so good. We talked about how my parents assured me of my significance and security and how they shaped my relationship with Christ. Last week I shared some fun, light things I learned from my family as well as a few lessons my husband and my in-laws taught me.

This week I want to talk to you about the lesson that had the greatest impact on me (aside from developing my relationship with Christ) and it is this: how to love.

Not just the mushy, gushy, warm-fuzzy kind of love. But the deep-down, from-the-heart, biblical kind of love. The kind of love that is greater than faith and hope. The kind of love that covers a multitude of sins. The kind of love that imitates the Father.

Months and months ago one of our pastors defined that kind of love in a sermon. He said:

Love is the purposeful commitment to sacrificial action for another.

In ten seemingly simple words, he gave voice to what I have known for years and years. The language of love - true, good, Christ-pleasing love - is service and sacrifice. All for the benefit of another with no regard for yourself.

My parents modeled this tirelessly in the way they loved each other, my brother and me and others who came into contact with our family.

In the next few days, I'd like to show you how this kind of love is possible and ways it was put on display in our home day after day after day.

But first, tell me this: how would you define love? What would you say is the language of love?

{Day Twenty-Three} Sometimes You Need to Rest

2011-10-23T20:08:00.002-04:00

Despite all the hard work my parents did with my dad's job at the church - or perhaps because of it - Mom and Dad knew how to relax and play with my brother and me.

It's something I think of on this Sunday, a day typically reserved for rest.

So today I simply have a question for you: do you know how to relax and play with your family? If so, what do you like to do on your days of rest?

*******

23 days down and 8 to go. Read them all right here.

{Day Twenty-Two} :: There's Always Room for One More

2011-10-22T07:55:00.001-04:00

Every other year Hubby's mom's family - the whole family - meet at his grandparents' house to celebrate the holiday. Over twenty people in a sweet ranch for just about a week.

My first married Christmas was an Oak Ridge Christmas. So we packed our bags, piled gifts for family into the car and made our way through the mountains and over the state line. We arrived late in the evening, and the scene that unfolded was like something out of a holiday movie.

The door was flung open, bags were dropped right in the hallway, hugs were passed all around and we were ushered from the cold night into the cozy warmth of a house full of family.

In the days that followed, it could have been easy to feel left out. The cousins had traditions that were built over years and years, ones I knew nothing about. There were games played and tea cakes baked and movies watched. All thing that had been done every other year for a lifetime. But I don't think there was a time I didn't feel like I belonged. They showed me how the games worked, taught me how to mix up the dough and made sure there was room for me with everyone else piled into the living room to watch White Christmas.

And Granny and Granddad along with the aunts and uncles were the same. They asked questions to find out who I am and what makes me that way. They included me in dinner table conversation and made sure I felt as at home with their family as I did with mine.

The Oak Ridge house was already full to the brim with life and laughter, love and joy and peace. They didn't need to include me to make it all complete. And yet they welcomed me with open arms. They intentionally pulled me in and made me feel every bit as loved as their blood relatives.

They proved something I learned in my own home growing up - there is always room for one more.

Have you ever been the "one more?" Was there ever a time you welcomed one more into your home with open arms?

**************

Hard to believe, but we're three weeks into a 31-day series on lessons I've learned from my family. If you're missed any, you can catch up right here.

{Day Twenty-One} :: People Need Second Chances (A Love Story, Part Two)

2011-10-21T07:30:00.000-04:00

If you thought yesterday's post should have ended with "And they lived happily ever after," think again.

I wish I could say that we high school sweethearts stayed together through thick and thin until the day we got married five years later, but that just wouldn't be true.

So before I tell you the how of today's lesson, let me tell you the what: people need second chances.

Of course what seems like the biggest decision of your life has to be made during your senior year of high school: whether to attend college and which one.

Hubby and I did our best to choose our college independently of one another. And I think I did a pretty good job considering I definitely didn't want to be that girl that followed a guy because everyone knew high school relationships didn't usually last in college (way to set up myself for failure!). Even so, we ended up at the same place - The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, home of the finest college basketball team anywhere (sorry, couldn't resist).

Spring semester held many conversations about whether we wanted to stay together into college or not. And with some hesitation on my part and great confidence on Hubby's part, we decided to go as boyfriend and girlfriend and just see what happens.

What happened was a disaster. For lots of reasons - some reasonable and some nuts - I broke up with Hubby by October. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It even seemed like the right decision. And I felt pretty final about it.

Unit three or four weeks later when I was sitting with him and some friends in an economics class we shared. I can't remember exactly what it was that he did - I think he was treating a slightly awkward girl who sat near us with a kindness no one else showed her - but I do remember thinking That is the kind of man I'd like to marry someday.

Right then and there I knew I had made the biggest mistake ever. Right then and there I started begging God for a second chance. For the next four months I hung around Hubby and our friends hoping he would notice I was still interested. Hoping he would see the mistake, too. And when he did notice, when he did admit his own lingering interest, it took another two months to convince him I had no desire to hurt him ever again, to convince him if he gave me another shot I was in it for the long haul.

Sometimes I still can't quite understand why, but he gave me the second chance I had desperately longed for. He asked me out - for the second time - six days before my dad's stroke. And in the weeks following he was my greatest support.

Now here's where you get to say and they lived happily ever after. But that would still be a little bit untrue. Yes, we did continue dating right into our engagement and marriage with no other interruptions. But we're learning this life - and especially marriage - is about second and third and fourth and fifth chances. Chances that go on and on and never stop. Chances that come with whole and complete love and forgiveness.

And every single day I'm so grateful to be learning this lesson with him for the rest of my life.

**********

Here for the first time? This post is part of a 31 days series of lessons I've learned from my from my family.

You can read the whole thing right here.

{Day Twenty} :: Unexpected Can Be Best (A Love Story, Part 1)

2011-10-20T07:30:00.000-04:00

While I've learned the most from my parents, my family's expanded in the last three and a half years. And I've learned a few things from them, too. So the next couple of days are things I've learned from my husband's side of the family. And simply being married to him has taught me sometimes the most unexpected things are the best things that could ever happen to you.

*******

When people ask me when and how I met my husband, there's usually a moment of strange silence before I slowly answer that I don't know. He was just always there.

His family was already attending the church where my dad took a job as a youth pastor when I was just six weeks old (and he's still a pastor at the same church 25 years later!). So Hubby and I were in the nursery, the crawler room and eventually Sunday school together.

We even went to the same elementary school for a couple years, and we were in the same Kindergarten class. I vaguely remember him putting worms in my best friend's hair.


Hubby and me in kindergarten - we're the middle two with the matching red turtlenecks in the middle row.

But eventually my mom and dad took me out of that elementary school in favor of another one, and in middle school we moved across town into another school district. Hubby and I continue to see each other at church, but I don't really remember ever noticing him or being friends with him. He was just one of the boys that were around on Sunday mornings.

Right before our sophomore year of high school, the city decided to re-draw it's school districts, and since Hubby lived in a neighborhood about 10 minutes from mine, he was moved to my school along with two other girls I knew well from church and my old kindergarten best friend. The five of us (we called ourselves "the girls, plus B") were in lots of AP classes together and quickly formed a study group.

Hanging out at the lunch table with our friends

Still Hubby was just a guy a knew - and not very well at that. Other than meeting to write IDs or study for exams or the occasional movie night with all of us or a quick chat at youth group (the five became six in our junior year when one of the girls started dating another guy), we didn't really spend time together or talk much.

But I watched him from afar, noticing how cute and funny and sweet and really, really smart he was. Now and then I would let myself think how fun it might be to go on a date with him. But he hardly paid any attention to me, so it was never a long-lived thought.

So I was a little surprised - albeit pleasantly - when he started emailing me some at the beginning of our senior year. I was thrilled when he asked if I wanted to get something to eat one evening after hanging out with our friends. And I was swooning when he mentioned there was a total lunar eclipse happening if I wanted to see it after our dinner.

And yet, it still seemed he wasn't interested in me more than a friend. So I steeled myself and tried not to give even a hint of my interest lest I feel the sting of rejection. When he called to check on me and tell me he missed me after I left youth group a little early because I wasn't feeling well, I almost shouted for joy. Maybe there was hope! Maybe he was interested in me after all!

I never imagined expected him to show up on my doorstep the very next day to ask me to be his girlfriend. I told him I didn't have a problem with it (what an eloquent way to say yes!), and we were dating. My senior year with him was the best school-year of my life.

Hubby and me before Senior Prom

If you had asked me during my sophomore year if I would be dating this boy two years later, I would have laughed at you, called you crazy and walked away.

Just goes to show that sometimes the very best things that can happen to you might be the most unexpected.

What unexpected things have turned out best for you?

**********

This is part of a 31 day series on lessons I've learned from my family. To read the other nineteen, click here.

{Day Nineteen} :: Pray Scriptures

2011-10-19T07:30:00.000-04:00

Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates. (Deuteronomy 6:5-9)

Just this weekend I discovered my mom started praying these words for my brother and me in 1989. I think she and Dad, with the Lord's provision and guidance, did exactly this - impressing God's Word on us, making it the foundation of our family.

But more than that, this new knowledge confirmed something I've noticed here and there - my parents often meditated on specific verses and prayed them over themselves, their children and their home. And it made a huge impression on me, showing me the life and the power - and the practical application - in the Word of God.

Now I find myself doing the same thing in my own grown-up life and in my own home. For months, I've parked myself in Colossians 3, praying those verses over and over and over again, especially verses 12-14.

So what about you? Do you find yourself praying particular Scriptures for your kids, your spouse, your family, your home? Yourself? If so, would you mind sharing?

**********

Like what you are reading? See the whole series here.

{Day Eighteen} :: Traditions are the Spice of Life

2011-10-18T07:19:00.001-04:00

I'm pretty sure our house never smelled better than the first weekend in December. That was the weekend every year that Mom started making Christmas cookies by the dozens. When I was old enough, that was the weekend we spent a lot of time together in the kitchen, measuring and mixing and rolling and flattening and baking. Every year. Without fail.

It was a tradition that stood for as long as I could remember, and there was a sort of comfort in knowing the cookies would come. I just had to be patient.

There were lots of traditions in my house. Dyeing eggs at Easter time. Choosing dinner on my birthday. Carving pumpkins in October. Watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Eating off Spode Christmas dishes from Thanksgiving to New Year's Day. Putting out the Dicken's Village houses. Decorating the tree together. Attending the Christmas Eve service and having a great big spread of appetizers for dinner afterward. Finding a can of black olives in our stockings on Christmas morning.

I've come to learn traditions are important - not just to me, but to everyone I've ever talked to about them. They seem to break up time and give us something to look forward to. They added a little pizazz, a little spice to life. They mean connection to our pasts since often traditions are passed along from family member to family member.

But more than that, traditions mean time spent with people we love. Even as I got older and started college, every year I could count on these moments to bring me together with those most important to me.

What traditions did you love most? What traditions do you have today?

What does tradition mean to you?

***************

This is lesson 18 in a 31-day series. Read the first 17 here.

{Day Seventeen} :: Gather Around the Table

2011-10-17T07:20:00.000-04:00

Not long after Hubby and I got married and moved into our first place together, I found one of those vinyl-letter quotes that you rub onto a wall. It was perfect, and I couldn't wait to put it up in our home. But once I realized it was a one-use deal, I couldn't bring myself to use it in our apartment. I wanted to save it for somewhere we'd be a while. So I held on to it for two and a half years, and when we moved into this house, it went up over the bay window in our kitchen.

I love it because it's true. Many of my favorite memories were formed in the kitchen (or dinning room). Of course, my parents had a lot to do with that. Family dinners were a priority when I was growing up. Even if it meant we had to eat at 4:30 p.m. because of ballet classes or soccer games, Mom and Dad made sure we sat down together for as many dinners as possible each week.

Yes, there were years when conversation was sparse (what teenager really wants to tell all to Mom and Dad?), but my parents figured out ways to get us to open up a bit. High/Low was a game often played at mealtime - a game where each person had to share the best and worst thing that happened that day. It didn't always bring about elaborate or deep conversations, but it got the job done. It made sure we knew what was going on in everyone's life, and it communicated we cared about each other.

But my table memories aren't limited just to my parents and my brother. Since my dad was a pastor, folks were constantly coming and going, and if you happened to drop by around meal time there was a place for you at our table. Once a month there was a Saturday morning staff meeting during which breakfast was served to Dad's volunteers. Mom hosted countless parties, teas, dinners and desserts for all kinds of people - neighbors, ladies at church, and friends. And family reunions at Thanksgiving or Christmas were always full of yummy eats and funny stories.

A good meal around the table - or gathered in the living room or on the back deck - always seems to put people at ease. It always manages to make folks feel welcomed and at home. It always manages to communicate care and love. And it's something I've carried into my marriage. Whether it's pizza on the couch, a full meal at our kitchen table or a birthday dinner on the china in the dining room, Hubby and I try our best to sit down to eat together each day. We hope to continue the tradition as our family grows someday.

Now it's your turn. Do you make it a point to share meals with your family and friends? Tell me your fondest memory made around the table (or the living room or porch or whatever).

*******

I can't believe we're more than halfway through this 31 Days series. I've really enjoyed sharing with you and seeing what you share, too. If you're just joining us, why don't you catch up over here?

{Day Sixteen} :: Plan Some Spontaneity

2011-10-16T12:30:00.000-04:00

It was a Wednesday night, and our parents were picking up my brother and I from Awana when they nonchalantly asked if we wanted to go to the beach for the weekend. If we wanted to leave that second.

Of course we answered affirmatively. But being the planner I've always been, I worried about traveling without our bags packed or missing a couple days of school. Little did I know the trunk was full of our stuff and Mom and Dad had already arranged our absence with our teachers. And with that, we were whisked away for a few days of sun and sand.

My parents always had a knack for making well-planned things seem spontaneous. And those moments of planned spontaneity were often the most fun and the most memorable.

Want to make someone you love think you're the greatest? Plan some spontaneity.

Have you every planned spontaneity for someone else? Have you ever been surprised with what appeared to be spontaneity only to find out there was a plan behind it all?

*******

All fifteen of the previous lessons can be found here.

{Day Fifteen} :: Christmas Music After Thanksgiving

2011-10-15T08:00:00.000-04:00

Whew!

We're now through two full weeks of this 31 days challenge. I'll be honest here. When I first started this thing, I was a little worried I'd reach this point and be sick of the whole thing. I worried you'd be sick of the whole thing, too! But I'm still having fun, and there's plenty more to share with you.

We've been through two heavy - and what I believe to be extremely important - weeks. In the first week, I told you how my parents worked to help me understand my significance to them and my security in my relationship with them. Over the last week I've explained how my parents assuring me of my significance and security was to imitate the kind of love Jesus has for me and the kind of relationship He wants with me. And I've talked about a lot of ways they've helped me develop into a follower of Christ.

So this week we're taking a little break. I'll be sharing some slightly lighter things I've learned from my family growing up. Some I've put into practice already with my own family and some I hope to use with my someday-kids.

And since this thing is already getting pretty long for a Saturday, I'll make this one quick: Christmas music is better after Thanksgiving.

You see, this time of year - when the mornings are rather chilly and the geese are squawking south for the winter - I get an itch to listen to Christmas music. And I have to admit to sneaking a song now and then when Hubby's not around.

Growing up, Dad made a rule that Christmas music couldn't be played in the house until December 1. Over time the rule got fudged a little bit, and it eventually became a day-after-Thanksgiving rule.

When I became a grown-up with my own home in which I could make my own rules, I did something a little crazy (well, not that crazy, but it was breaking a rule. so it felt crazy). I started listening to Christmas music here and there in early November. And it was a full-fledged addiction by the week before Thanksgiving.

By Christmastime, I was actually sick of listening to Christmas music. It was hard to believe but the songs weren't quite so exciting and special after already hearing the same 30 songs over and over for two weeks. By the time Christmas Day actually arrived, I was hardly listening to Christmas music at all.

So it turns out my dad knew best. Christmas music really should be saved for after Thanksgiving. And while I still might sneak a song or two in the next few weeks, the anticipation will make the day when the radio stations start their 24 hours of Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Perry Como and James Taylor that much better.

What about you and your family? Do you have a Christmas music rule?

*******

Want to catch up on the last two weeks? Read 'em all here.

{Day Fourteen} :: Live In His Overflow

2011-10-14T07:30:00.000-04:00

I am the oldest child of a pastor and his wife. At an early age I became keenly aware that people were watching me, and I learned quickly what I did reflected on my mom and dad. It didn't take long to figure out if I did or said the right things, grown-ups would be happy with me and in turn, with my parents.
And even though I accepted Jesus at four, even though my parents did a lot to assure me of my significance and security, even though there was grace in my house, a people-pleasing perfectionist was born.

I carried that through high school and college, into my married life and even into my job. I wanted everything I did to be just right. I never wanted to be rejected. And I never wanted to fail.

For the last three years, I was exhausted.Walking around full of love and joy seemed impossible. My daily prayer to be clothed in compassion, humility, patience, gentleness, and forgiveness (Col. 3:12-14) felt like a burden. Peace and contentment seemed so far out of reach. All the things I knew I should do and be and feel as a follower of Christ dragged me down in stead of lifting me up.

Then about six months ago, I started reading Emily Freeman's Grace for the Good Girl, and I accepted her challenge to let go of the try-hard life in favor of receiving grace and restoration from Him. I chose to rest and remain. I chose to dwell in Him. I chose to abide.

And a funny thing started to happen when I did.

The love and joy that seemed impossible? The compassion, humility, patience, gentleness and forgiveness that was a burden? The peace and contentment that was so elusive? They started to come easily. Almost naturally. Well, actually, supernaturally.

I began to understand that sweet little verse in Galatians 5:22 - the one kids memorize while pasting pictures of grapes and bananas on the Sunday school classroom walls? It's true. And it all hinges on the first seven words. "But the fruit of the Spirit is..."

Everything I had ever strived to produce on my own was a colossal bust, because of one thing: I forgot I am a branch, not the vine (John 15). I was never designed to produce fruit on my own. I was designed to root myself deeply in Christ. To allow Him to fill me to the point of overflowing, and to live in that overflow.

It's another thing my parents never explicitly taught me. But in retrospect, I see it. They served, taught and raised children all at the same time and they did it with love and joy and peace that couldn't have come from themselves.

They knew what it mean to abide in Jesus. And it filled them to overflowing, producing the supernatural fruit that pointed all who saw it to Him.

Abide in Christ. Then live in His overflow.

*******

Read the first two weeks of the 31 Days challenge here.

{Day Thirteen} :: Abide in Him

2011-10-13T07:30:00.000-04:00

I don't think my parents every actually talked to me about this one - what it means to abide, to remain, to dwell in Him or why it's important.

In fact, abiding is something I've only recently (in the last couple of months) been studying and learning and beginning to understand. But as I have, I realize that I've known about abiding for a long time even if I couldn't exactly define it or call it that.

Abiding is about believing He is enough, believing He is better. It is about resting deeply in His goodness and His faithfulness. It is about knowing His Word and being in constant conversation with Him. It is about living and serving out of the overflow of the Spirit producing fruit in me.

And abiding is a choice. Day in and day out, it is a choice. It is a choice to make time to study the Scriptures. It is a choice to love and serve and sacrificed. It is a choice to trust Him even when you can't possibly see how He could provide. And it is a choice to believe He is enough when your world as you know it is crashing down around you in an ER.

I have seen Mom and Dad choose to abide in Him over and over and over - even when I couldn't put a name to exactly what they were doing. And I have seen how it's the only way to live with the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control that is the fruit of the Spirit.

Make the choice. Abide in Him.

*******

{day twelve} :: His Word is A Lamp For My Feet

2011-10-12T07:24:00.000-04:00

My mom doesn't like clutter. And she really doesn't like things left laying around the house. Now that I'm grown and have a house of my own, I can understand and appreciate that. I'm sure she got really tired of getting after us to take things to our rooms or put them where they belong.

But of all the things two kids and a husband managed to leave out every day, there was one thing she never put away: my dad's Bible and his study notes. And she often left hers out as well.

I think she liked seeing the evidence of a husband and father who was chasing after Jesus' heart. And I think she wanted my brother and I to know we had parents who believed in the importance of knowing and studying God's Word. Yet another example of the way my parents not only told us how to live as a follower of Christ but also modeled it day in and day out.

But more than simply allowing us to watch from a distance while they allowed God's Word to guide our family, they invited us to dig in with them. The summer after I graduated from high school my mom challenged me to complete a Beth Moore study with her. Not only did those two hours with Mom each week produce some of the best conversations, they also gave me a love for studying, understanding and truly knowing what He has to say to me. And it taught me His Word really is a lamp for my feet. It really does guide me through life. And hiding it in my heart, having it at the ready when I'm struggling for direction really does show me the way to go.

How can a young man keep his way pure?

By guarding it according to your word.

With my whole heart I see you;

let me not wander from your commandments!

I have stored up your word in my heart,

that I might no sing against you.

Blessed are you, O Lord;

teach me your statues!

With my lips I declare all the rules of your mouth.

In the way of your testimonies I deight

as much as in all riches.

I will meditate on your precepts

and fix my eyes on your ways.

I will delight in your statutes;

I will not forget your word.

- Psalm 119:9-16 (ESV) -

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Care to read the first eleven lessons I learned from my family? You can find them here.

{day 11} :: God is Faithful. Trust Him.

2011-10-11T08:10:00.000-04:00

It's been difficult to get started on this one today. Not because I'm running out of words or anything. Rather because there is so much to be said. So much I want to make sure you understand. While I'd love nothing more than to come up with some profound thought here, all I can say is this: God is faithful. Trust Him.

If I started writing examples of all the times He's been faithful to me and my family, I'd never finish this post. Suffice it to say He's provided means to pay bills and ways to take simple vacations and houses and jobs and life when death seemed certain. In times when we had no idea what to do or what was going to happen, He's shown us Himself in ways big and small.

But lest you think life has been easy, lest you think I believe He's faithful only because it seems He's given us everything, let me assure you that's not been the case. I have faced death, cancer, loneliness, purposelessness, invisibility and times when it's been a struggle to believe He is good.

Still, through it all He has been steadfast and sure. His Words have been true. He has never failed. Even when His provision and His promise didn't look like I thought it should, He has been worth believing.

It's as true for you as it is for me. So today, whether things are bright or all looks bleak, let reminder you that God is faithful. Trust Him.

*******

Want to see more of these 31 days? You can find them here. Want to see more from the 700 other folks joining this 31 day challenge? You can see all of them here.

{Day Ten} :: God is Better

2011-10-10T07:16:00.000-04:00

This is an exact repost of something written on May 3, 2011 - only because it so perfectly explains how living through certain events with my family taught me God is not only bigger, but He is better. And He is more than enough for me.

*******

In case you were wondering, it takes six years for a date to fall on the same day.

Case in point: on Tuesday, May 3, 2005, my father suffered a massive stroke the day after his 46th birthday. Now, six years later, it's Tuesday, May 3 again.

You would think that after six years this day might not hold the power it does. You would think I and my family might just pause in momentary reflection and celebration before carrying on.

And for a while I wished a time would come when I could breeze through May 3 with no more than a passing thought at what we endured those years ago.

But this day is more than just a defining moment in my family's history. It is the defining moment in my walk with Christ.

I was finishing my freshman year of college - a time when I was learning how to own my faith, how to truly choose it as mine and not just what Mom and Dad taught growing up. I had just finished the first day of spring-semester finals when I got the call from Mom in the hospital.

Over the next few days the realization of just how bad this could be sank in and along with it settled an intense fear. I spent every waking moment - and even some sleeping ones - begging the Lord for my family's deliverance from fear, from worry, from sadness, from death.

My mom and I clung to the words of Psalm 46 during that week. But I couldn't help also finding myself in Daniel 3 where Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego are facing death by fire because they won't worship King Nebuchadnezzar and his statues.

Daniel 3:17-18 says this:

If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God whom we serve is able to save us. He will rescue us from your power, Your Majesty. But even if He doesn’t, we want to make it clear to you, Your Majesty, that we will never serve your gods or worship the gold statue you have set up.

These three guys knew and believed in God's power. They knew He was bigger than King Nebuchadnezzar could ever even hope to be. They knew He could deliver them in a heartbeat if He so chose. And quite frankly they could have left their speech at that.

And yet they added these words: but even if He doesn't.

Deliverance would be a piece of cake for God, but Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were resolved to choose Him even if He didn't take that route. They determined not only was God bigger than King Nebuchadnezzar, He was also better.

And thousands of years later sitting on my dorm balcony, laying in my loft bed, taking exams, impatiently driving home and flying into the hospital room to see Dad for the first time, I was faced with the same decision.

I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, God could deliver my dad - from death, from permanent brain damage, from side effects. Oh yes, I knew God was bigger than what we faced by far.

But I had to decide whether to choose Him no matter what the outcome.

So I did. I chose. And I clung to the belief that He was better - even if He didn't.

The choice didn't keep me from praying and begging and pleading for a miracle every moment of every day for a week. It didn't keep me from sadness and even a little fear.

But it did bring peace. And it opened my heart to what the Lord had to teach me in the summer that followed, the summer in which I grew closer to Jesus than any other time in my life.

Fortunately for my family, God did. He did choose to be bigger that May. Not only did He rescue my father from the edge of life and death, He restored Dad almost completely. Only those who know him best can glimpse even a hint of the lasting effects.

So while you might think we should be over May 3 by now, and while for some time I wished I could be, I know that will never happen. Too much has changed since then.

I have seen the power of God. I have tasted the goodness of the Lord. I have known the closeness of Jesus.

I have witnessed how He delivers and restores. I know that He is bigger.

But I have choosen Him no matter what. I have declared Him to be better - even if He didn't.

I will never be the same.

And if for no other reason than that, I will remember and I will celebrate every May 3 for the rest of my life.

*******

Care to read the lessons I've learned from my family from the beginning?

{Day Nine) :: God is Bigger

2011-10-09T15:06:00.001-04:00

If you've been around here before - namely in early May - you've probably seen a post about May 3. And you probably know it's an important date in both my history and my family's history.

It's the day that forever cemented my belief in a God who is bigger than my circumstances, a God who is capable of doing tremendous things.

I will never, as long as I live, doubt that I have a God who can work miracles and save lives.

*******

Read a little more about May 3 and what it means to me here.

See the first eight of the 31 lessons I learned from my family here.

{Day Eight} :: Jesus Loves Me

2011-10-08T08:58:00.005-04:00

Jesus loves me, this I know.

Not just because the Bible tells me so, though that's a large part of it.

But also because my parents told me all the time. More than that, they modeled it. Their assurance of my significance and my security, and their actions to back up their words, weren't simply to reinforce their love for me, but also to provide a physical example of how Jesus loves me. Completely. Just because I'm His. Not because of anything I've done or haven't done.

Jesus loves me, this I know for the Bible and my mom and dad tell me so.

*******

Read the first week of this 31 days challenge right here.

{Day Seven} :: We Do Grace

2011-10-07T07:22:00.002-04:00

One of my favorite wall decals is the family rules one I've seen popping up on blogs and various other internet spaces lately.


Source: My Friend Matilda

But if I could add one thing, I would add We Do Grace.

You could argue grace is covered in the second chances and forgiveness lines. But I think there is a greater element to grace. True grace is unconditional. It is in no way dependent on what I do. How good I am. What I can accomplish.

There was lots of grace in my house growing up.

Sure, there were consequences for our actions when we made unwise choices. But while we knew Mom and Dad didn't really like our behavior, we still always knew they loved us for no other reason than because we were their children. And nothing we could ever do or say would change that. Nothing.

Significant kids know their value. Secure kids know about grace.

What about you? Did you know about grace growing up? Does your family know about it now?

*******

Am I really a week into this series already? Today is day seven in a 31 days series on lessons I've learned from my family. To catch up, click this:

{Day Six} :: Dream and Pursue

2011-10-06T07:30:00.000-04:00

Soft and dainty white powder floated through the air and landed on the stage, their toes drawing lines and spinning circles in the dusting of "snow". White and icy blue tutus flared as they swirled. Sitting wide-eyed in my seat, The Nutcracker's Waltz of the Snow flakes had to be the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. And I knew I had to be a dancer.

From that moment, it was a dream I clung to for a couple years, and one day, my parents found a way to make it happen. I began to train with the school of the local professional ballet company. My first performance of The Nutcracker was thrilling.

For nearly eight years, Mom and Dad spent hours driving me to and from classes and rehearsals. They attended every parent observation day, watched every performance. They supported and encouraged and loved through it all.

When, in my senior year of high school, I decided that perhaps a professional ballet career wasn't in the cards for me, that perhaps I wanted to study writing and journalism at a university instead, they supported and encouraged that, too.

There was never any pressure to be or do anything in particular. But for me part of feeling significant was knowing my parents thought it was okay to dream, to aspire. And even better, they challenged me, encouraged me and helped me pursue them if they could.

Did you have a childhood dream your family encouraged and nurtured and helped you pursue? What ever came of that dream? Do you still have it? Are you achieving? Or was it a dream that had its time and place?

*******

I'm wading through 31 days of lessons I learned from my family. See the first five here.

{Day Five} :: The Marrying Kind

2011-10-05T07:30:00.000-04:00

When I was little - in elementary school - Dad started to take me on dates. The earliest one I can remember was taking a disposable camera to a national park commemorating an important revolutionary battle and taking pictures while I climbed on the statues and in trees and such.

I'm sure he had all sorts of reasons for taking me on dates through the years, but looking back on them I remember most how special and important they made me feel.

The dates with my dad assured me of my significance and my value. They taught me a lot about how a gentleman treates a lady. Dad modeled what a good man should be, and it wasn't limited to just our dates. He did it in every day life, too.

In middle school, one of our dates was a visit to the local bookstore where Dad let me pick out my favorite journal. Then he sat me down in the cafe and asked me to start writing out the kind of man I wanted to marry someday. He told me he wanted me to keep a running description, so I would always know what to consider when a guy asked me out someday.

It wasn't hard to make that list. Most of the characteristics where ones I saw in him - the way he treated Mom, the way he treated me and my brother, the way he treated others, the way He loved the Lord.

When Hubby and I started dating, I knew it was a good idea because - whether or not a wedding was actually in our future - he was someone I could possibly marry. And when he did propose in the very same park of my first date with my dad, I was confident in saying yes.

It's been said countless times in numerous parenting books and by tons of parenting teachers, but it is so very true. Dads need to spend time with their daughters, if for no other reason than because how he treats her is how she learns to define the marrying kind.

******

A continuation of my 31 Days series which can be found here. To see all of the 31 Days participants, visit here.

{Day Four} :: Family First

2011-10-04T07:30:00.000-04:00

Growing up I was a pastor's kid. But not just any pastor's kid. I was the youth pastor's daughter.

For as long as I can remember, there were senior high students coming and going from our house. As a little kid I thought I was cool when my parents would let me stay up a bit later to say hi to them. It was kind of like having 100+ (and sometimes 200 or 300) brothers and sisters. And they were different every year.

So you can see - with everyone constantly around, Dad going on trips with the students, and Mom leading a small group or helping in any way she could - how it would have been easy for my brother and me to feel insignificant, unimportant, invisible. It might have even been understandable.

But that never happened. In our house, family came first. And Dad made sure we knew it.

No matter what was going on, he always found time for my ballet class' parent observation days and my Nutcracker performances. He took me out on dates (more on that later) when I was little. He gave me a hug every morning when I was finally in high school and going on trips with him - and I never cared who saw. During my senior year, he made time for coffee at Starbucks every Wednesday morning, and before I graduated, we spent a day together learning to do something new - snowboarding.

He coached my brother's club soccer team for years (my brother was a great soccer player). One year when practices conflicted with a freshman guys' small group Dad was teaching, Dad made the greatest public announcement of his priorities I've ever seen.

He wrote a letter to the parents explaining he wouldn't be able to teach their sons for a little while because he wanted to be with his own.

Even with all those other kids around, I never for a day in my life doubted our value to my dad.

Is your family that important to you? Do they know it? Or are they left to wonder where they stand on your list of priorities?

If you want kids confident in their significance - or a wife or husband, for that matter - they need to know without a shadow of a doubt they are most important in your life. And they need to see that others know it, too.

Family first. No matter what. All the time.

*******

This is part of a 31 days series on lessons I learned from my family. Read the first three here.

{Day Three} :: Significance and Security

2011-10-03T07:00:00.004-04:00

Before we get to the next few posts in this 31 day challenge, let me make this disclaimer: I don't have kids of my own yet.

I have no idea what it's like to have little ones dependent on me. I have no idea what it's like to make sure their needs are met while molding them into people who will become responsible, respectable, productive adults.

But I was blessed with two incredible parents. And over the last few years - especially my (few) adult years - I've realized they did some things in ways that had a monumental impact on the kind of person I became, on who I am today.

So from the perspective of a kid who's left the home and has come to really appreciate her parents, can I share with you some lessons I learned that I think are really valuable? Ones I hope to emulate in my own family someday?

Okay. Good. Here's the first thing - people need to be confident of their significance and their security.

Another disclaimer: I didn't come up with those exact words myself. I heard my dad say them in a parenting class he taught at church. And another but - he finally put words to something I knew my mom and dad did for my brother and me all the time.

Growing up I never doubted that I was important to and loved and valued by my parents - I was certain of my significance to them. And I never wondered about the stability and steadfastness of that significance.

Sure, there were moments as a kid - especially when I had done something wrong - I thought man, I've really gone and done it this time. But there was no point in my life when my parents ever gave me reason to believe they would stop loving me. In fact, quite the opposite. They constantly assured me they would love me no matter what. Security.

But not only did my parents tell my brother and me we were loved and valued and important, and not only did they assure us it was completely unconditional, they showed us day after day.

Now that I'm out of the house, I see that my parents assured us of those two things not just for our sake or theirs, but to model that kind of relationship God longs to have with us. One that offers love and grace and peace that is in no way dependent on what I do or how I perform or the things I achieve.

And I see that it's not just kids who need to be certain of their significance and security. It's everyone. Adults included.

So let me ask you this: are you certain of your significance and security? Do you treat others in ways that assures them of theirs?

{Day Two} :: For Love of a Green Thumb

2011-10-02T07:34:00.006-04:00

It all started behind - and in front of and all around - a white house in a small township in Pennsylvania. I owe my love of growing things to my grandparents, because for as long as I can remember, their yard always was in full bloom when we visited every summer.

Grandma lovingly tended to row after row of begonias, bleeding heart, morning glories, roses and more. She wandered the yard constantly, dead-heading plants and explaining how things grew to the grandkids who followed behind her. And Grandpa's little plot around the shed produced snap peas and cucumbers, zucchini and tomatoes and lettuce. And mint had managed to take over the side of the space.

Mornings were the greatest, waking up in cool air and rushing out to see how many more morning glories bloomed and to pull fresh snap peas off the stems climbing the fence. And summer dinners almost always included some fresh bounty plucked earlier in the afternoon.

My mother learned to plant and care and grow from the best, and she put her knowledge to good use in our own yard - raising up perennials, changing the annuals with the season and coaxing crops of tomatoes out of the ground.

Spring was never really spring until a trip to the local nursery and an afternoon that ended with dirt pushed so far under your fingernails you were certain it would never come out. It was an exciting day the year Mom gave me my own little space to grow whatever I wanted.

This summer I continued the tradition in my own first house, bringing up lettuce, spinach, cucumbers, pole beans, tomatoes and jalapenos in the back yard and lining the front walk with mexican heather, dusty miller, and vinca. And I look forward to passing it along to my own children someday.

For tending a garden taught me the wonder of life from a seed. It made me realized nothing looks prettier or tastes better than something grown with your own hands. And it gave me cherished memories of time spent with my family.

Did you grow up planting things? Do you plant now? If so, how does your garden grow?

(Grandma's garden photos borrowed from my sweet cousin. Except the last one. That's my own garden.)

31 Days :: {Day One} Lessons I Learned From My Family

2011-10-01T07:31:00.008-04:00

When whisperings of being able to join the 31 Days challenge this year began to trickle through the blog world (or at least my blog world) in August, I was really excited. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to write about. But as the month came and went and we marched deeper into September, I began to feel God wasn't finished working through the particular topic with me. Instead of writing for others, I needed to be listening to Him.

So as of the beginning of this week, I was all but resigned to simply being a reader, commenter and encourager of others in this process. And I was perfectly content with that. Until Emily asked readers if they could write anything in the whole wide world what would it be. My immediate answer was some sort of memoir about the lessons I've learned from my family.

And there it was - two days before the beginning of the challenge, and I had a topic. One I'm really excited to share. So folks, here's what you're going to get:

At 25 years old, I know I still have a lot to learn. But at a little over three years into my grown-up life, I've realized I have a pretty solid sense of who I am. And it's all because of my family.

These people molded me and shaped me in ways that will impact me forever. They gave me a green thumb. They nurtured my imagination and encouraged my dreams. They instilled in me a sense of significance and security. They pointed me to the Life found in His Word. They taught me the language of love is sacrifice.

So over the next 31 days, I hope to share with you some of the lessons I've learned from some of the greatest people I've ever known. I hope you find some value in them. I hope you can find ways to use them in your own life. And I hope you'll share with me somethings you've learned along the way, too.

Ready? Go!

P.S. Links to each day can be found in a list here.

On Friends

2011-09-30T07:25:00.000-04:00

Five minutes. No over thinking. No editing. Just writing.

And go.

*******

I have two great friends, soul-sisters really. The ones who (aside from my family) know me best. In fact, they practically are family.

They took a chance on me. Peeled back my layers and got to my heart. And when they saw it in all it's realness and rawness, they didn't run screaming for the hills. They stayed. They settled in and made a home and loved me like Jesus.

And I did the same for them.

The last year and a half has been filled with almost weekly meals, plenty of girls' nights, dinners shared with families, a birth and then a first birthday party, and so much more.

These two have been a gift. One straight from God. I know it in my soul.

And in six weeks one is going to move almost sixteen hours away. We've known about it for a while now, and I've done my best not to focus on it. But these days just the momentary thought of it makes it hard to breathe.

I know God is good. And I know He gives and takes away. But why this? Why now after praying so long and so hard for it?

We know this isn't the end of the friendship, that it will just look a little different from now on. That there will be more work involved. But I know without a doubt I've never cared so much about putting in the effort to keep a friendship alive.

*******

Stop.

This is a sore spot today. So I don't have any cute wrap up. Just to tell you visit Gypsy Mama for more thoughts on friends.

Light

2011-09-28T07:41:00.000-04:00

This sun rose this morning. And I could see it happen. Ordinarily it wouldn't seem like a big deal. The sun rises every morning, doesn't it?

But after nearly two weeks of foggy, cloudy and rainy mornings, this is the first truly clear one. And just like so many other things, actually seeing the sun rise is easy to take for granted until it's been taken away from you.

It's just a subtle reminder not to take for granted the Light I am free to walk in day after day.

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." (John 8:12)

This Life I Live

2011-09-27T08:39:00.002-04:00

Yesterday morning I sat down to jot down a quick recap of a great weekend - two and a half days of completely uninterrupted time with my husband after endless weeks of long, long work hours; cheering on our college football team together (we lost - so sad); catching up with some friends while celebrating the first birthday of a sweet baby girl; a date-night dinner followed by wandering through two favorite stores (Restoration Hardware and Crate and Barrel) - all done voluntarily by my man. I felt more refreshed after so much time with him than I have in a couple months.

But after a few lines, it didn't really seem worth writing about those things. They aren't particularly exciting to read about. It wasn't a weekend out of the ordinary. There was no great revelation. Just average life. And a line I heard once at a writer's conference was ringing loudly and clearly in in my head as I pecked out the words:

There's always something to write about. If not, you need to live life with a little more aggression.

As I questioned whether my weekend was something to write about, I questioned, too, whether my life in general is aggressive enough.So I didn't post (obviously). Instead I spent the day mulling over the idea - what it means to live an aggressive life and whether I was doing it. And after a day of pondering I've come to this conclusion: I loved my weekend, and I am loving my life - in all it's simplicity.

And if reflecting on it exactly how it is doesn't bring the masses to this little spot in the internet landscape, so be it. I wouldn't change a thing about this life I live. Not for a blog. Not for anything.

Present Living (And a Poem)

2011-09-23T08:16:00.006-04:00

And so it is here - the first day of fall. The beginning of the season that's long been my favorite, the season that brings with it all things family and cozy and delicious and colorful and Harvest-y.

Usually I crave these coming months with great anticipation - wishing away the days of August. Yet today I'm finding myself quiet pleasantly surprised by fall's arrival. I could say it's because the summer seemed to fly by so quickly. But I think it's because for the first time in a very, very long time I've been perfectly happy to live in the here and now. To be fully present in every moment and to cherish what it brings.

There has been an incredible peace and contentment that's come with this present-living. A peace and contentment I'm not ready to give up yet. So now that my favorite season is here, I plan to embrace it fully. To pull out all the decorations. To cook all the recipes. To burn the Harvest candle until it can't be burned any longer; then to get another one and keep on going. To breathe deeply the crisp, clean air (which is actually muggy and rainy today, but whatever) and to admire the Father's lovely creation. To live fully in each moment when it comes, just as I did the last.

Anyway...the is the fourth fall during which I've been blogging. And in what has become a bit of an annual ritual, I'm choosing to welcome this day with words I've dearly loved since I was young. A poem from a little Thanksgiving magazine my mom would pull out with the turning of the leaves, one that has always marked the coming of this favorite season of mine. So here it is:

Come, walk with me along the way
Where lanes are Autumn dressed.
Come drink in all the colors fair
And let your heart be blessed.

Come, see the flaming sumac plumes
Life banners to the sky
As golden rods and asters nod to
Us as we pass by.

Come, walk with me when leaves turn gold
And hills wear crimson hue
Where pumpkins grow in amber fields
'Neath sky of matchless blue.

Come, walk with me this misty morn;
There's splendor to behold.
Along the country lanes we'll see
God's miracles unfold.

--Beverly J. Anderson--

Happy Autumn, my friends. I hope this is a season of present-living that brings peace and contentment far beyond what you can imagine.

31 Days?

2011-09-22T08:07:00.002-04:00

Several of the blogs I read regularly - The Nesting Place, Chatting at the Sky and more - are about to begin what seems to have become the annual ritual of writing on a specific topic every. single. day. for the entire month of October. There are some really great ideas being covered, and you can find a list of them - as well as who's writing what - here and here.

This year they've invited everyone and anyone to join them in the adventure. And there are great topics being poured out in the comments. I can't wait to see what kinds of posts come of them.

I'll go ahead and put this out there - I'm not sure if I'm going to join the fun. I just can't seem to land on an idea I feel I could write about for an entire 31 days...such a daunting task! But I did want to share the concept with you in case you haven't seen it and might want to get it a go.

So tell me, if you had to - or wanted to - write for 31 days, what would you share with us?

On Home and Dreams

2011-09-21T08:00:00.000-04:00

Fall is coming. Soon. I know it not just because of the date on the calendar, but also for the gloom outside my window. It seems summer can never go quietly. It must kick and scream and heave great, dying gasps in thunder clap and lightning flash. Every year, always the same.

I always love the coming of fall despite all the clouds and rain. There is something particularly cozy about this season. There is something about it that makes me want to swing wide my front door and usher the world into my kitchen and plop down a steaming bowl of pot pie and a plate of apple crisp.

Actually, just about every season makes me want to do that - share my home and a meal. And when we moved into this place I had grand dreams of all the people we would make welcome in our home. But as dreams often do, this one didn't quite turn out the way I had...well....dreamed.

Don't get me wrong. We did have family and even a couple friends come stay. We've hosted a few couples here and there. Sports have been watched. Games have been played. But the visions of regular dinner parties and game nights and backyard barbecues didn't exactly pan out.

For a short time, the unrealized goal felt like a bit of a failure. Like I hadn't accomplished the things for which I felt this home was given to me. And I told myself it must have been because I wasn't gracious or generous or selfless enough. But the truth is, this house really does have an open door. It is here for anyone who needs it, and we meet those needs as we can. And just because 50 people haven't been packed in at once, and we haven't had a standing weekly dinner for folks doesn't mean it isn't full to the brim with love and hope and peace that rubs off on those who have come.

So this fall, I will remember that the few are as important as the many. For my true dream is to use this place as just another tool to share the light of the gospel - regardless of how many are here.

A Purple Pen Kind of Day

2011-09-20T08:33:00.002-04:00

I have that old Vanessa Carlton song stuck in my head. You know, the one that goes: Just a day. Just an ordinary day. Just trying to get by.

Today is going to be like that - an ordinary day.

At least as far as I know, it is. There is nothing exciting, no departure from the routine on the docket. I will go to work, run a few errands on the way home, straighten the house, make dinner and then read a book or possibly watch a season premiere or two. Just your average, run of the mill Tuesday.

There's nothing wrong with ordinary days. They make the exciting ones that much more....well, out of the ordinary. But sometimes it's nice when there's something to add a little magic - not matter how small or seemingly inconsequential - to the usual.

Enter the purple pen.

There's nothing particularly special about my purple Papermate pen. In fact, it's quite ordinary in and of itself. But there's something about writing everything in a color that isn't normal that adds a little pizazz to the day.

So I'm thinking today, this ordinary Tuesday is a purple pen kind of day.

What brightens your ordinary days?

Speak to Please Him

2011-09-19T08:15:00.002-04:00

I sat down this morning with every intention of writing about the coming of fall; about how sixty degree weather brought out my crock pot and Saturday afternoon the house was filled with the scent of pot roast simmering; about how yesterday evening I got my first fall decorating itch (it came late this year!) so I quickly threw a few things on table tops here and there.

But then, in a few moments of pre-routine quiet, I misread the words of an entry in Jesus Calling. "Seek to please me today..." was written on the page. What I saw was "Speak to please me today..."

The misreading hit me harder than the words that were actually there. You see, I'm one who struggles with her tongue. I say things I regret - I know the power of words and don't always use it for the best. On the flip side, I far too often keep my mouth shut instead of defending what I know to be right. James had it right when he said it's something no human can tame.

And yet Paul exhorts believers with these words:

Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.
(Colossians 4:5-7)

So if my words to others should be full of grace, but I can't tame my tongue on my own, I think it stands to reason I should be in constant conversation with Him. That way I speak out of the overflow of His words to me.

I wonder, what would my day look like if I lived it in continual awareness of His presence? If I spoke with the intention of pleasing Him?

Our Refuge and Strength

2011-09-15T08:09:00.000-04:00

A reminder for the day:

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. Selah.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.

God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at the break of day.

Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah.

Come and see the works of the Lord, the desolations he has brought on the earth.

He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear, he burns the shields with fire.

"Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."

The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah.

--Psalm 46 (NIV)

for the good girl

2011-09-13T08:59:00.002-04:00

In just six sentences of her book, Grace for the Good Girl, Emily Freeman manages to define me, to call out the way I lived for a long time.

If my story were a planet, then your rejection of me would be my nuclear holocaust. This fear of rejection drives me hard, eating away at my courage. And so I am cautious in my love. I am timid in my faith. My life tells a small story. I long to be seen, but I feel safe when I'm invisible. So I stay a good girl. And I hide.

-Emily Freeman, Grace for the Good Girl (page 17)

For the next nine chapters, Emily continues to define a good girl, peeling back the layers to reveal how she hides and why. And even though Emily used personal anecdote and narrative from the lives of fellow good girls, it felt like she had been listening to my own thoughts as she wrote these pages.

The fake fine, the strong and responsible act, the rule-following and even the indifference are excellent masks for the fear and insecurity and worry this good girl often feels. And just when the old shame and guilt and anxiety of hiding set in once again, Emily spends the last half of the book pointing the way to the freedom found when I give up my striving in favor of resting and remaining in the One who gives peace and grace in abundance.

While I knew, as a recovering good-girl, Grace for the Good Girl would have something for me, I never could have imagined just how much reading this book was like looking in a mirror. And I never could have imagined just how immediately relevant its content was, how I could put it into practice even before I turned the last page.

Living the life of a good girl is exhausting. It is peace-stealing, joy-robbing and rest-depriving. And with great honesty and authenticity, Emily's writing pours out the same freedom and grace she invites the reader to receive, offering a better way - the way of a life hidden deeply in the heart of Christ.

So here's the question: are you a good girl? If so, I encourage you to pick up Grace for the Good Girl. It's available at your favorite bookseller this month, September 2011, from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group. I promise it's worth your time.

***Revell graciously provided me with a copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.***

In Real Life

2011-09-09T08:47:00.001-04:00

Another Friday means another five minutes. And in celebration of Incourage's reveal of InRL (in real life), Gypsy Mama gave the following prompt: in real life.

You know the drill by now (or in case you don't): no thinking too much, no back-tracking, no editing. Just raw, real writing all on a five minute clock.

So here we go...

*******

We moved to this big city right after we got married because Hubby got a job here. That meant I didn't have a job. And since we moved right as the economy tanked, I spent a long time looking - six months.

That left me with long days on my own. When I wasn't running around handing out resumes and practically begging for interviews, I was at home. By myself. I lived for the evenings when Hubby would come home.

So I started blogging. I posted every. single. day. And before I knew it I found myself in a sort of community - one in which I felt like what I had to say was valued. It started to become where I spent most of my time. And for a while it worked to fill the void that came with moving from a place where you knew practically everyone and practically everyone knew you to a place where no one could say a thing about who you really are.

But it couldn't help when Hubby started traveling. It couldn't help when he would be gone for two weeks at a time. It couldn't help when - with no daytime job and no true friends - I could go days without human interaction so I would find things to pick up at the grocery store or at Target just so I could talk to the checkout clerk.

I craved in-real-life community. I craved people who wanted to know me and wanted to let me know them in return. But making real-life friends was scary. I was terrified if I shared my heart with someone, they would turn and run for the hills.

Eventually I did get a job - first with a financial services company and then with our church. I got involved in Bible study with a small group of women. And then one day I managed to be brave enough to ask a fellow Bible-studier to meet me for dinner. In time we were joined by another girl.

And let me tell you - these in-real-life friendships are the most beautiful I've ever had. We've shared countless meals, shed many tears, talked through some tough stuff and supported each other in ways I couldn't have imagined during that first dinner together. And today we celebrate the first birthday of one of the two soul-sister's only son (Happy Birthday, Buggy!). I can't believe I was holding his newborn little body 365 days ago! But that's beside the point.

I've really, really enjoyed the online community built by bloggers. But I've found nothing substitutes for having those one or two people who know you. I mean really know you. Have seen you in sweats with tears running down your face and love you anyway. Have baked you a cake for no reason. Have stood in a hot kitchen to help you cook when you get home late from work and the meal we're going to share was supposed to be ready 20 minutes ago. Have loved on your family and let you be part of theirs.

I honestly have no idea where I would be without them.

*******

Okay, so I'm pretty well over five minutes here. But it seemed to keep coming. And I promise I followed all the other rules.

For more five (or more) minute thoughts on what in-real-life means, visit the Gypsy Mama's place.

To learn more about (in)courage's big in-real-life reveal, go here.

Fall Traditions

2011-09-08T08:35:00.000-04:00

We've had deliciously cool mornings all week in my neck of the woods. Upper 50s with plenty of glorious sunshine. Such a relief from the suffocating heat and humidity of the summer. You can breathe again and practically taste the coming fall.

And I indeed tasted the coming fall today.

Facebook's been awash in statuses proclaiming the arrival of Starbuck's pumpkin spice latte. And as has become a sort of annual tradition, sweet Hubby took me on a morning date today so I could sip my very own before we had to dive headlong into a busy day. Such a wonderful thing to sit and just be with him when we'd usually be rushing to pack lunches and get out the door. It was a perfect way to usher in the season.

Do you celebrate the coming of fall?

Perfection vs. Excellence: A Difference?

2011-09-07T07:58:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I put down some words that felt a little brave to write out loud:

And being one created for His glory, I should do all to see Him glorified. So I lean hard into Him, begging for daily grace that I might live as a sweet fountain, overflowing only as I have been filled.

And the being and the doing become one, for giving my best does not have to be mustered or manufactured when it is the result of resting securely in His vast mercy and grace. And pursuing excellence - despite the rain - becomes the response of a soul that has found its deep and lasting satisfaction in Him alone.

They are words that have been near and dear to my heart for a while, but I realize this writing can make me seem so contrary to myself. These new words can seem to conflict with all my talk of giving up the search for worth in doing and achieving and performing in favor of resting and being and abiding. But I don't think it is, really.

As I've mulled it over, I've come to the conclusion this idea of excellence for His glory is one worth unpacking a bit more, because there is a sort of tension that exists in the pursuit of it. I think there is a fine line between doing my best in order to point others to a Kingdom vastly different from this world and chasing perfection for my own benefit.

So before I continue my thinking out loud here, tell me this: What is perfection to you? What is excellence? Is there a difference between the two? If so, how do you live out that difference?

For a Rainy Day

2011-09-06T07:44:00.001-04:00

I have a feeling it's going to be difficult to leave the house today. The rain comes down fast and furious and just as quickly as it starts, it stops and then begins again, coming in torrents.

I am convinced this morning could hint at the coming fall were it not for the sticky wet. It feels as though there is a layer of cool tucked away under this thick, gray sky. So I lit my harvest candle, sat at the kitchen table and pondered the weather outside my bay window for a while.

Today is the kind of day that is best for going back to bed, pulling covers over head and remaining for hours. It is the kind of day that can make hearts grumble and souls fitful.

Still there are things to be done, routines to follow, tasks to accomplish. And being one created for His glory, I should do all to see Him glorified. So I lean hard into Him, begging for daily grace that I might live as a sweet fountain, overflowing only as I have been filled.

And the being and the doing become one, for giving my best does not have to be mustered or manufactured when it is the result of resting securely in His vast mercy and grace. And pursuing excellence - despite the rain - becomes the response of a soul that has found its deep and lasting satisfaction in Him alone.

Five Minutes on Rest

2011-09-02T08:19:00.001-04:00

It turns out writing in just five minutes is a challenge for me. But it's a challenge I enjoy. Despite the goal being to simply put down words and see what comes out, it's an exercise that makes me far more intentional with my thoughts.

So see as it is Friday, it's time to join Gypsy Mama for another five minutes. The goal is to write on a single-word prompt for five minutes only. No editing. No rewriting. And for me, I have to add no chickening out (sometimes it's hard to post raw, unrefined work).

Today's word is rest.

Go.

*******

Rest. It's a simple word really. Something I think most folks long for. Not the sleep kind of rest - though that might be something craved, too - but the lack of striving, the surrendering, the being still.

But I think in the last couple of weeks, resting has been about so much more for me.

I'm reminded of the words of Jesus in John 15:3. He said, "Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me."

Abide.

To remain. To rest. To live in. To dwell.

But this abiding, this resting doesn't come naturally to me. I'm much more inclined to rush around like a crazy person - trying frantically to do this and to get that finished and to perform and to achieve - than I am to rest.

But here's the trick: all that striving and doing and trying? It accomplishes nothing. I can produce nothing of true, supernatural value on my own. Jesus said it himself - a branch doesn't bear fruit unless it abides in the vine. So it's only when I rest, remain and dwell in Him that the accomplishing happens, the doing has worth. And even then it is not of my own doing; rather it is an overflow of Him in me.

I suppose that's what rest really comes down to for me - the daily decision to remain in Him, a constant surrender to Him at work in me, a choice I have to make again and again, over and over.

*******

So that's the end for now. I encourage you to head over to The Gypsy Mama's place and check in on the community of writers there.

This Is The Day!

2011-09-01T08:08:00.000-04:00

Normally my September 1st post would be entirely about how I can't wait to sip a pumpkin spice latte and smell my Harvest candle wafting through the kitchen air.

But today there are more important things to say.

Like how it is the official release day for my sweet friend Emily's book Grace for the Good Girl: Letting Go of the Try Hard Life.

I could never, never do the book justice. But Emily can.

So visit her place today. Check out her release video. Maybe even comment to congratulate her and have a shot at having your very own copy.

I promise the freedom and grace to be found there will be more than worth your time.

For When I Feel Adventurous (And Anxious)

2011-08-31T07:22:00.006-04:00

Neither Hubby or I are particularly inclined to take risks. We like things that are safe and sure and well-planned. We like things that aren't likely to kill or maim or hurt us. We probably aren't going to go far from the places we know.

But we like to pretend to be adventurous. Every few months, we look at each other and say we should go here or we should go there. We've picked places across the country and on different continents. But always our adventures would die in the daydreaming stage, and we'd be perfectly happy to remain at home.

Now all that has changed.

Sometime early this summer we decided if there was ever a time to actually be adventurous, it's now - long before we have other, more grown-up responsibilities (like kids and stuff). We tossed around ideas - Asia, an exotic island, somewhere in Europe - before finally landing on a place neither of us had ever been: Italy.

Right now I'm pretty excited - all the culture and amazing food! I can't wait to wake up and see thousands of years of history right outside my very own window. Being in a place like that would be such a dream come true.

But I'm also really quite terrified and even a little anxious. Something about being in the air over the ocean for hours at a time doesn't really thrill me. Nor does having to find my way around a place where I can't understand the language (thank you, pocket dictionary). Nor does making hotel reservations over email and praying there's actually a room for us when we get there. And it certainly worries me that at some point, all our plans could go up in smoke, and we won't be able to go at all for some unforeseen reason.

Fortunately we have a while to figure out as much as we can. But it doesn't hurt to remember when I am feeling adventurous, there is One who is in control of it all - despite my best laid plans. And when I'm feeling anxious, I should absolutely remember there is One in control of it all - even if I don't know the plan. The same hands that molded heaven and earth hold me, and how I feel doesn't change that Truth no matter where I am.

If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
(Psalm 139:9-10)

For When I Am Forgetful

2011-08-30T08:07:00.003-04:00

I started awake at 4:30 a.m. with only one thought in my head - I had forgotten about the draft for my office's fantasy football league. I missed my chance to get the players I wanted, to ensure a repeat of my regular season title (I won that last year) and to actually clinch the play-off championship. I could already hear the teasing I would endure from fellow league members, and in that early morning moment, I felt like I had failed.

It's silly, really, to find myself so concerned about what my co-workers would think of me while lying wide awake in the night. But it's just another example of the crazy - and truly meaningless - successes and failures I let dictate my worth.

One day it will be whether I managed to keep the dishes off the counters and out of the sink. The next it will be whether the laundry was actually folded and put away instead of left in the basket to wrinkle. Sometimes it's whether dinner is exceptional rather than eating the same things over and over. And week after week it is whether or not I get my facts straight and my words spelled correctly in church communications.

But no matter how much my brain likes to trick my heart into thinking my value is based on my achievements (or lack thereof), it will never be true. I rest securely in Jesus. He has called me by name, and I am His (Isaiah 43:1). There is nothing that can I do or forget to do that will change that.

Not even drafting (or not) a pretend football team.

For When My Heart Gets Ugly

2011-08-29T08:39:00.003-04:00

Blogger ate my post - the one about rule-following and how it can make my heart ugly as all get out. The one about how grace and mercy, kindness and gentleness always manage to find the nearest window and fly out when I, in my pride, try to fit others into my self-made, rule-following box.

And since there is no time to re-write it. I'll just leave you with the conclusion - I need Jesus. All the time, every moment, over and over again.

I need Him to remind me that He is gracious and merciful. Slow to anger and good to all (Psalm 145:8-9). And I need Him to teach me how to put on a compassionate heart, humility, meekness, patience, forgiveness and above all love (Col. 3:12-14).

Because without Him, my heart gets awful and it forgets what it's meant to do - be salt and light, point others to His Kingdom, give Him all the glory.

Amen.

Five Minutes On Getting Older

2011-08-26T08:01:00.002-04:00

Often I see folks posting as part of Gypsy Mama's Five Minute Fridays - where you set a timer and write on a topic for only five minutes. Then you post what you wrote. No editing. No back tracking. No over thinking.

It seemed like a fun thing to try, so today I'm giving it a shot. Wouldn't you know it today's topic: Older.

So here it goes.

Start.

**************

It just so happens school started in my city yesterday. And first-days-of-school seem to tick off the years I get older more than birthdays ever do.

It's been four years (not long to many of you, I know) since I had a first-day-of-school. And in those four years, I've gotten married, moved to a big-ish city, gotten my first job, gotten another job, bought a house and happily settled into the life of a grown-up. Or so it seems.

Most of the time I feel like I'm still a high-schooler playing house. I always thought being a grown-up meant feeling more confident and in control. But as I get older, I realize that couldn't be farther from the truth. If anything, you find bigger things to worry about, uncover more insecurities you never thought you had.

But one thing that hasn't changed as I've gotten older (and in some cases more worrisome) - God is still my refuge and strength, my safe place (Psalm 46:1). And He still sings over me in delight. (Zeph. 3:17).

**********

Annnnddd....stop.

That was kind of fun. It's weird not to re-read or edit or go back and figure out how to say it better. But it was good to see what comes out of my head in the raw. I just might have to try it again next week.

For more five minute thoughts, head on over to The Gypsy Mama's place.

I Felt the Earth Move Right Under My Feet

2011-08-24T07:06:00.003-04:00

It was one of those things I never realized I really wanted to experience until I had experienced it. And it was one of those things I knew without a doubt I had no desire to experience with greater intensity than what I did.

An earthquake.

Yesterday a 5.8 earthquake shook the east coast, and despite being several hundred miles from the epicenter, I felt it.

Now if you happen to be living out west, you probably think all of us east coasties are crazy for making such a big deal out of such a minor tremble, but seriously. Think about it for two seconds. Nothing like this ever happens here. I think the last time something registered greater than 5 was in 1944.

It truly was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for us. And it was bizarre and weird and totally cool.

I was sitting in my boss' office going over a few projects and I happened to be leaning on my elbow on the side of his desk, trying to get a better view of his computer to review a graphic. Pretty suddenly I felt like the desk was moving - his monitor swayed ever so slightly and almost imperceptibly. So I asked him if he was tapping his foot or kicking it against the desk to which he replied he wasn't.

The desk stopped moving momentarily only to resume, this time making it seem like my entire body was swaying with my chair. While for a quarter of a second I entertained the thought of the sensation probably being what it feels like to be in an earthquake, I chalked it up to a dizzy/vertigo-type episode and moved on.

Three minutes later my boss' wife texted him to say that evidently our city just experienced an earthquake.

And that's how I discovered I wasn't going crazy or imagining things.

Looking back on the sensation I know now that it couldn't have been a dizzy spell simply because it didn't feel like the typical room-spinning that comes when you are off-balance like that. It honestly felt like I was sliding back and forth - with the whole room. It was a very unsettling and disorienting feeling. And as I said, while my mild version of the sensation was really neat, I never want to feel something stronger or more destructive.

I can check this one off the list of experiences I've had and leave it at that.

So how about you? Did you feel yesterday's earthquake? Have you ever felt an earthquake before? Do tell.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way.
(Psalm 46 1-2)

Morning of Hummingbirds

2011-08-23T07:28:00.003-04:00

As I type, there are three hummingbirds in the tree just off the deck. Sitting at the kitchen table, as I do in the quiet of most mornings, I have a perfect view of them.

One has been perfectly content to sit and groom himself. The other two have been chasing each other to and from the feeder, around the branches and into the yard for the better part of the last thirty minutes.

I've never seen a hummingbird at rest, and as magnificent as they are in flight, they are quite fascinating to watch while still.

It's been difficult to focus on reading His word with this display going on outside my window. And in the first few minutes of watching them, I felt a little guilty that I wasn't getting my daily verses in.

But then I am reminded that since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen (Rom. 1:20). And what first appeared to be a distraction is really just another way to see the wonder of who He is, another opportunity to give thanks and praise for what He has done.

I wonder how many moments like these, how many little gifts I miss because I am so focused on the task at hand, convinced that the good-girl, rule-following way of doing things is the only way.

Have you taken the time to notice a simple gift lately?

On the glorious splendor of your majesty and on your wondrous works I will meditate. They shall of the might of your awesome deeds, and I will declare your greatness. They shall pour forth the fame of your abundant goodness and shall sing aloud of your righteousness.

(Psalm 145:5-7, ESV)

The Hope I Have

2011-08-22T07:53:00.006-04:00

Last year a co-worker friend gave me a necklace for Christmas. A simple silver chain, a tiny gold heart and the single word hope engraved in a circle.

Since receiving it, I've worn it often, but I've been putting it on more and more lately. It feels bold to wear this word around my neck. In some ways it feels like making a statement - I have hope. I want the same for you.

As brave as it feels to carry this proclamation, no one's asked about it yet. But it doesn't mean no one ever will. And given that 1 Peter 3:15 commands believers to always be prepared to give a defense to anyone who asks for a reason for the hope in me - or in this case, on me. And in these times of uncertainty, it feels especially important to be able to do that.

So here it is:

For followers of Christ, hope is so much more than just wishful thinking. As Beth Moore puts it in her study Living Beyond Yourself: Exploring the Fruits of the Spirit, the Greek word for hope is elpis and it means "the desire of some good with the expectation of obtaining it." She goes even further to say, "The biblical concept of hope is a positive outlook toward an expected end. Biblical hope is not what might happen but what must happen" (pg. 115).

I wear hope around my neck, because I have chosen to put my hope in Christ, trust His provision and believe He will take care of me - no matter what my circumstance. I wear hope around my neck, because I am looking toward an expected end, toward what I know must happen - the result of which is peace and rest and so much freedom to live fully.

So today, with market volatility and political insanity seeming to be the order of the day. I challenge you to stop and take stock of your hope. Are you full of wishful thinking, or are you looking toward good with the expectation of receiving it? And if you wore it around your neck, could you give an answer for the reason you have it?

And when all seems lost and the fear and the worry seem too much to bear, remember this, my friends.

Our hope is steadfast in Him. And hope always wins.

O my people, trust in Him at all times. Pour out your heart to Him for God is our refuge.
Psalm 62: 8 (NLT)

Without wavering , let us hold tightly to the hope we say we have, for God can be trusted.
Hebrews 10:23 (NLT)

What is faith? It is the confident assurance that what we hope for is going to happen. It is the evidence of things we cannot yet see.
Hebrews 11:1 (NLT)

This is a reworking of some material written years ago. If you'd like to see the original you can find it here.

More Than Just An Appliance

2011-08-18T07:55:00.007-04:00

There's something I've had my eye on for a couple years. Something I initially noticed thinking, "Isn't that pretty?"

Then I realized it really does have practical application. It isn't just something that sits and looks nice. You can actual use it. And using it can be really fun.

So after saving up though a freelance job this summer, I finally ordered one on Sunday. And yesterday it was sitting in a great big box on my side porch when I came home from work. I wasted just about no time getting it out, putting it on my counter and admiring it from afar. And then up close.

Folks, I just have to say I don't think I've ever adored an appliance more than my KitchenAid stand mixer. And it's red! Can a kitchen fixture get any better than that?

When I had thoroughly read the instructions manual (I'm nothing if not a rule-follower after all), I set to work figuring out what would be the inaugural recipe. It was pretty easy to settle on oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

After a quick trip to the grocery store (can't make cookies without brown sugar!), the stirring and mixing was under way. And I tell you what, I've never seen anything cream butter so fast! I think it took me longer to put the dough on the baking sheet than it did to mix it up (okay, slight exaggeration...but only slight).

This morning I have several dozen cookies on my counter. Cookies Hubby and I have no intention of finishing off ourselves. So a plate of them is destined for the kitchen at work. Hopefully other folks will have no problem helping us with our over abundance of sweets.

Actually I have a feeling that work folks will regularly be helping us with an over abundance of goodies, because this thing? It works like a dream, and I'll be putting it to good use time and time again. Of that I am sure.

Something else I'm sure of? This stand mixer is more than just an appliance to me. It's yet another tool - just like a hand-written card or a place to rest in my home - to show folks they are loved. If it isn't used to that end, if it isn't used to make folks feel comfortable and welcome so I can point them to the love and grace and freedom of Jesus, then the pretty, red mixer is just another thing to look at. Saving for it would have been for naught. And that just won't do.

So if y'all ever come over, I hope you come hungry!

It's Not About Me

2011-08-17T07:45:00.008-04:00

I first wrote about this encounter with my wise, writing friend back in February.

To recap: we were sitting on the floor of a Boarders, between the stacks of books with our own words on pages spread out around us. My wise friend had challenged me to consider the life of Abraham, to consider how he was willing to offer God his son Issac - the miraculous fulfillment of an incredible and impossible promise - without any guarantee He would return him.

After recounting the story, she looked at me and asked the question I've asked myself hundreds of times in the year since: Is God enough? Is He enough in and of Himself? Enough without any promise, no guarantee He will do anything in return?

At the time of our discussion, she was asking the question in the context of writing. Did I believe God was enough for me even if he made no promises regarding my dreams?And when I wrote that February blog post, I was mulling over the challenge still thinking it applied mostly to my future as a writer.

But the thing is, it's doesn't. The question is much bigger than that.

The question is: is God enough in and of Himself even if He makes no promises...at all?

And that's where I'm pretty sure I've been going all wrong in my wondering and wandering about purpose. I did a pretty good job making it all about me, making it all about what God had for me to do or accomplish. I was great at making it all about whether I mattered, whether I was destined to live a great story.

In reality, it's not about me one bit. It's about Him. It's about knowing and believing and clinging to Him alone - not some defined purpose. It's about believing He is enough regardless of whether or not He has a plan for me (which He does, by the way, but that's not the point).

Now let me tell you this: letting go of the focus on myself is a really difficult thing to do. And it's still something I wrestle with on a daily basis. But choosing to surrender to Him every single morning, and choosing on a daily basis to walk in the knowledge that He is enough goes a long way toward helping me remember it's not about me.

As I've mulled over that February post this summer, I've found when I'm no longer fixated on myself then I stop wandering in circles, the bass drum in my head stops pounding, and I am free to discover the good that comes from putting my focus where it truly belongs.

Where is your focus this morning? Do you struggle with putting it in the right places?

The One in Which I Talk About Me

2011-08-16T07:00:00.001-04:00

Before I say anything else, let me just tell you this: I'm sitting on my back porch; there's the faintest breath of a breeze; it's 81 degrees outside; and the humidity? It's at 48%.

Ya'll it feels glorious out here. I won't say much more than that lest it feel like rubbing my beautiful weather in the face of those who are still hot, hot, hot. But suffice it to say, today is such a relief. After weeks and weeks of highs at or near 100 with dew points in the 70s, I feel like my soul can breathe again.

Such a delicious taste of what awaits us every day in just a month or so. Oh come soon, Fall. Come very soon!

*****

Anyway, purpose. On to more thoughts about purpose.

So yesterday I mentioned purpose - the reason for, the reason behind my existence - was something I struggled with. A lot.

I'm pretty sure I've always wondered what I am destined to be or do. And I always hoped it would be something spectacular. But I think the true wrestling began sometime after I graduated, got married, moved to a new city, got a job, quit said job for another one and discovered my life wasn't really what I thought it would be.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade the life I live. I wouldn't dare trade the man I love more now than I did when I married him. And I wouldn't trade the job I enjoy with the boss who's taught me more about my craft than any professor ever did. No, I wouldn't give up this simple, beautiful life for anything in the world. It just doesn't exactly match the world-traveling, hustling and bustling dreams of grandeur I had imagined when I was in school.

I wasn't taking the world by storm. It didn't seem like I was obviously making lives better like I always thought I would. And it didn't look like that would be happening anytime soon.

And so I wondered if I wasn't going big, did I even matter at all.

Then I started reading books like Don Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and Seth Godin's Tribes. I managed to take those out of context, to twist and misconstrue these excellent reads, convincing myself I should be doing something incredibly great. If I wasn't, it was all my fault and it was entirely up to me to fix that. Because after all, if I'm not telling some life-changing, world-altering story then I'm not really living; I'm not really achieving my purpose. Am I?

For two years I felt like I was running around in circles inside my head, banging a great big bass drum and shouting, "I! I! I! Me! Me! Me!" It was exhausting. It made me miserable. And it's certainly no way to go about living.

Little did I know a friend was about to pick me up, turn me around and set me on course to the very purpose I'd been searching for all those months.

I just had to do one little thing: give up my focus on me.

Purpose

2011-08-15T08:21:00.004-04:00

Purpose.

It can probably be most accurately defined as the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. And it is with this very thing that I have wrestled and struggled for most of the last three years.

But before I launch into a ridiculously long story about my wandering along the path to purpose, I wonder this - do you ever wrestle with or worry about your purpose? If so, have you come to any conclusions? Or are you still walking toward the end with no clear direction where it may be?

Going Home

2011-08-12T08:04:00.003-04:00

They say home is where the heart is. My heart is never in a specific place. No, my heart is with people, with my family: my husband, my parents and my brothers (the in-law ones, too!) - every single one of them.

So it's no wonder that pulling into the drive of a house that wasn't ours and being greeted by my parents and my brother felt like going home.

Hubby's been gone so I took the chance to head up to a family friend's lake house and spend a day swimming and boating and knee boarding and wake boarding with my family. And today so many muscles protest the hours and hours of play, and my face looks like a raccoon's, a red rim the evidence of a lack of enough sunscreen while wearing sunglasses all day.

But my soul is content. My heart is so full. And I look forward to the next time I get to go home - wherever that may be.

From the Heart

2011-08-09T08:46:00.001-04:00

This morning I sat at my kitchen table reading through today's part of Romans when I came across this:

But thanks be to God, that you who were once slaved of sin have become obedient from the heart to the standard of teaching to which you were committed... (Romans 6:17, ESV)

It's nothing new - the idea that obedience isn't just going through the motions of following the rules, that true obedience comes from the heart, a result of our attitude toward Christ and His Word. It's something I've heard over and over again.

But for some reason I noticed that one phrase as if I'd read it for the first time; perhaps because I've never seen it worded exactly this way: obedience from the heart.

And it causes me to pause and consider whether I could be called obedient from the heart, whether Paul's words could have been written about me.

Some days the answer to that would be a resounding no. Some days I grudgingly love others and force myself to grin and bear being patience or kind or merciful or gracious. Some days my obedience is kicking and screaming and dragging my feet.

So I suppose if my desire is to be obedient from the heart, I'm going to need Jesus to give me a new one.

And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. (Ezekiel 36:26, ESV)

The Best Kind of Gift

2011-08-08T07:13:00.004-04:00

I watched the sunrise this morning.

I'm not sure how long it's been since I watched the sun creep over the horizon. It's usually up by the time I get out of bed, or if it isn't, I'm too busy with my routine to notice.

But today I rose with more than enough time to sit quietly at the kitchen table, to watch the new day filter through trees and bay window, to read words that remind me to put on a compassionate heart and wear kindness, humility, meekness and patience, to feel thankfulness swell within me.

And I know this chance to be still in all its simplicity, to watch the world come alive in all its beauty is the best kind of gift.

The Summer Experiment and a Dilemma

2011-08-04T07:48:00.006-04:00

This summer we got rid of our cable. We're down to the free broadcast channels we can get by plugging the digital TV directly into the cable jack and the old seasons we can stream through Netflix.

At first I thought this little experiment would prove to be difficult. But that hasn't really been the case. I haven't missed our DVR as much as I thought I would, and I find it doesn't really bother me if I miss episode of So You Think You Can Dance because I'm spending time doing something else with Hubby or with friends.

The last couple of weeks have sort of opened my eyes to and convicted me about how much time I usually spend immobile and mindless during the year. I've really enjoyed how productive I've been able to be in the evenings, the reading and writing I've been able to accomplish and the time I've been able to spend with Hubby. And as September, with it's new TV seasons, approaches, I'm beginning to wonder about whether we'll reinstate our cable package.

Last week another dimension was added to my dilemma. I had happened upon the first season of Mad Men - a show taking place in a New York ad agency during the golden years of advertising. For a communications geek like me it seemed interesting. But I found it to be a show riddled with the belittling of women, countless affairs and endless innuendo. It was about the time my husband started hinting perhaps it wasn't the best thing to be watching that I came to the same conclusion myself.

Unfortunately Mad Men's questionable content isn't an exception when it comes to television shows. It's often the norm. And as the pursuit of holiness has been impressed on my heart with more and more urgency in the last month, I question whether to resume watching many of the shows I spent so much time watching last year.

After all in Philippians Paul does command us to fill our minds with things that are true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent and praiseworthy. And so much of what is on TV doesn't pass the test.

But if you've read much of this blog, you know if my love for sports - especially football. And in case you haven't done any research on getting rid of cable yourself, live sports is the single thing it's nearly impossible to find anywhere other than a cable package.

So, to renew our subscription or not to renew our subscription. That is the question. And I have a feeling the tug of sports will probably answer it for us. But I do know I will go into this fall season with a much greater awareness of what I watch.

Tell me - what are your TV habits? Do you have cable? What, if anything, factored into your decision?

The Pursuit of Holiness

2011-08-03T07:46:00.002-04:00

I managed to get myself into a rut over the summer. Who knows what caused it. Perhaps it was the extreme and unending heat. Or maybe the lack of real routine or schedule. It could have been a perceived slowing of general productivity that came with these vacation months as folks came and went. Whatever the case, I've certainly been in some weird funk.

Spring seemed to bring with it such personal progress: an acceptance that God is enough even when there is no promise and an understanding that bravery doesn't come only in the big things. So when sitting down at the kitchen table to spend time with the Lord began to feel a bit like an obligation, I felt like lost my forward momentum, like I stalled dead in the water.

At some point halfway through July I found myself writing these words in my prayer journal:

Another morning means the start of another day, and it feels like these days are melting together...something of an endless monotony - going one by one toward who knows what.

I was going to leave it at just that. But then came something more - something I'm quite convinced didn't come from my own heart or mind.

Holiness - that's what. Moving ever onward toward a life lived more like Christ. Moving closer to obedience to His will, to producing more and more fruit. Moving toward the heart of a servant.

I've been thinking on those words the last couple of weeks, and I think they are quite true. These thoughts seemed to be reaffirmed when our pastor was wrapping up a summer sermon series on Ecclesiastes. After chapters spent declaring the meaninglessness of life, the writer of Ecclesiastes uses one of the last verses to declare this:

The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commands, for this is the whole duty of man. (Ecclesiastes 12:13, ESV).

For someone who's constantly wondering about her purpose, trying to figure out what she's meant to do or be these sentiments sort of remove some of the pressure. Because I don't have to wonder any more. I think my entire purpose can be summed up in a few words: pursuit of holiness and the glorification of God in all I do.

I'd like a nice tidy conclusion here, but I don't have one. And honestly, I don't think there is one to be had. Learning the pursuit of holiness is a life long quest. I certainly have more thoughts about it, and I have a feeling I'll be unpacking them more and more over the next days and weeks. But I wonder this: what does the pursuit of holiness mean to you?

Here and Now

2011-08-01T21:35:00.005-04:00

There was a time when dread came with the first of August, a time when the first of August meant the waning days of carefree summer and the rapid approach of a new school year (though that bit of dread never really lasted very long - I've always been a bit of a nerd, and the bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils along with stacks of fresh notebook paper and the smell of new schoolbooks was enticing).

Then there was a time when the first of August was bittersweet. It meant the end of weeks spent with my family and the beginning of another year of steps away from the friends who knew me and loved me at my best and worst.

Eventually there was a time when the first of August brought such a longing for what was to come - the September that lay just on the other side of the following thirty days. The end of searing heat and the return of sweaters and jeans, steaming pot pie and peppermint hot chocolate, football and my Harvest candle.

And you'd think with the intense heat (try at or near 100 degrees daily for the last three weeks) and the odd out-of-routine rut I've found myself in this summer, this year wouldn't be much different. That I'd find myself in the usual state of craving this August 1st.

But that hasn't really been the case.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, the first of August has come with a great sense of contentment. I am not looking with longing on what has been or what will be. I am fully rooted in the present moment. I am delighted to be living on this day of this month.

And while August is, and probably always will be, a month of transition for me and many others, I am quite pleased to find I have every intention of thoroughly enjoying every second as it happens.

Saying Goodbye

2011-07-26T07:02:00.005-04:00

This is my dog. She's been my dog for thirteen (almost fourteen) years.

I can remember my parents showing my brother and me the puppy they adopted at the pound, and I can remember the day she came home to live with us. I can remember chasing her around the backyard, taking her on walks after school and trying to teach her tricks (she only got "sit" and "lay down"). And I can remember seeing her through the front storm door as she waited for us when we came home from trips.

That front door will be strangely empty the next time Hubby and I visit home. Yesterday we had to say goodbye as my parents needed to end her decline with grace and love.

She was always definitely our pet, and we didn't treat her as a person. But last week I realized she's still part of the family. And I was a little caught off guard by how sad I felt. Oddly enough today is the first day I don't feel a sense of aching for her - perhaps because now we can simply remember her as the wonderful companion she was.

So all that's left is to say is this: thank you, Maggie, for thirteen years of loving us well. We'll miss you, sweet girl.

The Best Seat in the House

2011-07-12T07:27:00.008-04:00

Since we moved into our house in December, I've been taking my time in making each space what I want it to be. Mostly because I'm trying to think a little more intentionally about what I want the room's purpose to be, how I want people to feel when they are in it.

One space I've most looked forward to finishing is the screened-porch side of our deck. When we were considering the purchase of our house, this outdoor space - the deck, the porch, the yard - is one major thing that sold me.

But since we moved in at Christmas time, it was just too cold to merit fixing up that space first and given that we wouldn't be able to use it for a few months, we moved on to more important things.

At the first hint of warmer weather, I began to think hard about what I wanted for the porch, and the experience I wanted to create for those who would be in our home. It didn't take me long to decide I wanted it to be an extension of the den/family room. I wanted it to be a space where folks can relax and rest, where they can put up their feet and find a little space to just be.

So I scoured the interwebs for the right furniture, added some extensions to the curtains I used on the porch at our apartment, found a few knick-knacks to hold soft candlelight and threw some Lowe's pillows on the seats.

Over time our beautiful screened-in porch evolved from this:

to this:

Too bad it's felt like well over 100 degrees every day for the last week or two (with no change in sight), and we've practically needed gills to sit out there in the humidity.

But I think I accomplished exactly what I was going for - a nice quiet and peaceful place to sit and breathe deeply. We've already had a couple opportunities to share it with friends, and I can't wait until cooler evenings (at least) allow us to enjoy it even more.

Where do you think folks are most comfortable in your house?

The Color Drama

2011-07-11T07:50:00.008-04:00

Remember my 2011 home goals? I wanted to make our master bedroom a comfortable space with a small reading nook.

Well, seven months later I'm finally getting started.

When we moved in the room was an olive green color that was neither comfortable nor peaceful for either of us.

In the weeks before our move, we threw a painting party and put up what we thought would be a lovely, soft blue.

Unfortunately, it turned out much lighter and much bluer than we though it would. For months I felt like I was sleeping in a baby boy's nursery, and we chatted often about what we would eventually like to do with the color.

A few weeks ago, I decided it was finally time to make the change. So we set out to home improvement store after home improvement store, pulling paint chips and finding nothing that really lived up to what we were imaging. Eventually I wandered into a local paint depot to pull Benjamin Moore paint chips - lots of them.

I settled on two that seemed closest to the color we discussed, and I took the chips to Lowe's where they color matched them to Valspar paint samples.

We wasted no time painting a couple sample blocks on various walls in the room since the light changes pretty drastically throughout the room during the day. We wanted to make sure we knew exactly what it would look like everywhere.

And after staring at the samples for a couple days, we've made a decision: Smoke by Benjamin Moore, color matched to Lowe's paint (the color on the left).

I even managed to pick up a few paint chips of accent colors we're hoping to use as part of the room's color palette.

Now the trick is translating the vision in my head into a real-life room. We'll keep you updated!

The Trail and Error of Backyard Farming

2011-07-07T07:27:00.008-04:00

This year I eagerly anticipated spring. I couldn't wait to get past the last hard frost.

Yes, I was tired of the dreary cold and gray of winter. But more than that, I just wanted to get my hands in the dirt, plant a few veggies in the planter in our new backyard and maybe - just maybe - have something fresh to put on the table come summertime.

So when April rolled around, I took myself to the regional farmers' market, bought up some jalapeno plants, lettuce seeds, pole bean seeds, tomato plants and cucumber plants. And I lovingly tucked them into carefully prepared soil. Then I watered and waited.

And I never could have imagined how this garden would turn out.

The jalapeno plants are hanging on, but barely. Their leaves looked withered and tuckered out, but they keep producing here and there. I can't pick the beans fast enough. The tomatoes are heavy with round, green deliciousness. I should start seeing pops of red any day now.

And the cucumbers. Oh, the cucumbers.

I knew their vines could get big. And I knew they were climbing plants. But I had no idea how wild and crazy they can be. These things seriously have a life of their own. They've just about taken over my garden.

So note to self: do not try to grow six tomato plants and three cucumber vines in the same planter next year.

Note to self #2: buy a couple six-foot trellises and train the cucumbers to grow up those. It will save you some grief.

Of course, the best part of this little backyard farming experience has been picking things off the vine and taking them straight to the dinner table. Although that has been an adventure in trial and error all on its own.

It took a while for me to get the hang of knowing when to harvest my cucumbers. The first few had a slight yellowish tinge and the seeds were overdeveloped and hard. I only had to eat one slice to know this was over ripe and I definitely needed to pick them sooner.

And in the weeks since, I've been enjoying at least one - if not two or three - of these beauties each day. I could eat cucumbers for the rest of my life.

Before the season is over, I'll have to remember to jot a few of these thoughts into a notebook. I want to remember them when it's time to tackle a new garden next year!

And We're Back

2011-07-06T07:56:00.004-04:00

It's the beginning of July. The middle of summer.

Not the literal middle of summer given that summer officially began only...three weeks ago (ugh). But the proverbial/metaphorical/whatever summer that began when 90 degree temperatures, palpable humidity and almost daily thunderstorms became the norm. For those of us in the South, that happens in late May, you know.

So anyway, back to my beginning of July thing...

For us June was a crazy month. Don't get me wrong, it was pretty perfect, full of classic lazy days of summer. We vacationed, stopping for a day in Disney and spending endless hours lounging by the pool and on the beach.

We visited family, getting to see some folks we get to spend time with only once or twice a year. We shot hoops in our driveway, worked in our garden or walked along the greenway most evenings, timing dinner to go with the late-setting sun.

But needless to say, our schedules have been all out of whack.

Actually, scratch that. Anything that even sort of resembles a schedule? No where to be found.

And in some ways, that's been a really good thing. I've enjoyed the time to kick back and relax. I've enjoyed the chance to slow down with Hubby, live life at a snail's pace and be in no hurry to get anywhere in particular.

I want to hold on to that freedom for as long as possible.

But I'm also really excited to get back into some kind of rhythm of life. July - the middle of summer - always finds me craving that. It also finds me craving 80 degrees with no humidity, but a girl can only ask for so much.

So as we move into this month, I look forward to settling into a flow again. But I'm sure it will be one laced with moments in which I pause to see the gifts in the little things, the treasure in the slow and unscheduled. To give myself room to breathe. To receive grace and mercy in abundance.

Happy Birthday, Momma

2011-06-17T07:49:00.004-04:00

Today is my momma's birthday.

So it seems only fitting to use this space to celebrate her.

It's been interesting to see how our relationship's evolved since I graduated high school. As I went through college, got married and began my own grown-up life, there's been a steady move from a strict mother-daughter relationship to a kind of friendship.

I mean, she's still my momma. And she's good and kind and wise and everything a momma should be no matter how old you get. But she's also one of my greatest friends. And I love every minute I get to spend with her.

So happy birthday, momma. I hope today you feel as loved as you are.

Love you!

One Sentence for Today

2011-06-01T07:45:00.001-04:00

Today is the only guaranteed opportunity to live justly, love mercy and walk humbly with my God.

Written in response to the #Trust30 day two prompt.

Leaving the Railing

2011-05-31T07:45:00.006-04:00

Though it was nearly ten years ago, I can remember that summer afternoon just like it was yesterday. It's such a cliche, but it's true.

I remember the sting of the metal railing baked in summer heat as I sat 36 feet above the lake. I remember the slightly pungent scent of the water, and I remember the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I remember the cheers as I tried to work up the courage to laugh in the face of my intense fear of heights.

And I remember the deep breath. The flying leap. The screaming, the rushing and the plunge into the deep.

Even more than that, I remember the exhilaration, the overwhelming sense of bravery and accomplishment.

It's a feeling I will never forget. It's one I hope to experience over and over again in my lifetime.

But let me fill you in on a little secret - I don't think I ever would have done something that crazy if it wasn't for my dad.

You see, before I ever climbed over that railing, he jumped first. When I was ready to give it a try, he laid out careful instructions for how to push off and how to position my arms and legs to enter the water. And while I sat debating the absurdity of what I wanted to do, he patiently swam at the bottom, holding a red rescue can, ready to save me at a moment's notice.

He didn't take away the danger, and he never promised I wouldn't get hurt (in fact, it did sting a little). But he did give me guidelines, and he did guarantee he would be there if I needed him.

All I had to do was trust his word. And jump.

The last few months of trying out this bravery thing has been a lot like jumping off Fontana Dam that summer.

It seems silly to say, but I'm not sure I would have been able to tackle my first vegetable garden or open my home to make new friends or share my small bit of art with the world if it wasn't for Jesus.

He doesn't take away the danger, the risk inherent venturing out of my comfort zone. And He certainly makes no promise I won't get hurt.

But He has gone before me. And He does give me guidelines, requiring me to remain in Him whatever the circumstance. He does assure me my worth does not lie in what I can accomplish or achieve. And He guarantees He will be there to rescue me even if I fall, even if I fail.

All I have to do is trust Him. And jump.

And even if the jumping means nothing more than finally having a pretty garden and salads full of backyard veggies, I still have a much better story to tell than if I'd stayed on the railing.

Written as part of the Domino Project's 30 day writing challenge. In response to the Day One prompt.

The Peace of Christ

2011-05-26T08:16:00.002-04:00

I've been largely absent over the last several days simply because I haven't been able to still thoughts long enough to make a single coherent sentence.

There has been much worry and prayer and ultimately relief over things that are not mine to share.

But if there is anything that's come from the last two weeks, it is a deep, deep understanding of the truth of this:

He is before all things and in Him all things hold together. - Colossians 1:17

And an understanding of the practice of this:

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. - Colossians 3:15

If you find yourself in situations like mine, I hope you can remember these things.

The Sound of Music

2011-05-14T21:29:00.003-04:00

There is music in my house tonight.

My husband walks the floors of the kitchen, the living room, the hallways picking out a new tune on his guitar or perfecting an old one.

Evening after evening he creates despite the fact he often gets to share with no one but me.

I think it is brave - making art even if only for an audience of one.

And I love him for it.

On Defining Risk

2011-05-05T08:00:00.003-04:00

I think there's a misconception about risk floating around these days.

Somehow we've come to believe that unless our risks change hundreds of lives or alter the course of the universe, unless our risks feed starving child, house the homeless or cure diseases then they aren't really risks at all. They aren't worth celebrating. Perhaps they're not even worth taking. And they certainly don't make you brave!

May I remind you Merriam-Webster's dictionary defines risk as the possibility of loss or injury?

It might be easier to see the possibility of loss or injury associated with jumping out of airplanes or doing pharmaceutical research.

But what about the loss or injury associated with inviting the neighbors to dinner or sharing your art with those who know you best or choosing to live in community with others?

What about the possibility of failure or rejection?

It is a risk to try your hardest and do your best. It is a risk to paint your room another color. It is a risk to cook something new or grow something green. It is a risk to write or to sing or to draw or to paint. It is a risk to give of yourself, to love another.

Sometimes it's a risk just to get out of bed and face another day.

I'm not saying risks on a large scale aren't important or valid. They are. And someday I hope to take them. But for now, I need to start small.

And when I strip away the notions of grandeur and glory so often associated with risk, when I get down to the bare-bones definition, I find myself surprised by the risks I take day in and day out. I think if you took the time to think about it, you would be, too.

And when you consider all those risks you take, perhaps you'll discover you're a little braver than you thought.

But Even If He Did Not

2011-05-03T07:04:00.009-04:00

If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God whom we serve is able to save us. He will rescue us from your power, Your Majesty. But even if He doesn’t, we want to make it clear to you, Your Majesty, that we will never serve your gods or worship the gold statue you have set up.

Last year in celebration and remembrance, I wrote and posted a recollection of those May days. You can read it here.

*************

Sharing as part of Imperfect Prose at Emily's place today.

On Feeling Invisible

2011-05-02T08:11:00.003-04:00

I spent the two years after moving to this city feeling unseen, unknown - invisible.

It wasn't the first time in my life I'd felt that way. I can remember feeling it when I started college. After spending four years of high school as one of the best and brightest, I was surrounded by thousands who achieved the same, if not more, and suddenly I was average.

When we moved to a city larger than any I'd ever lived in, I felt my invisibility when I spent six months with no job, no friends, no real purpose it seemed. I was just another face in the crowd. I was no one special. It felt like there was no one who really knew me, or anyone who cared to find out.

And in the last couple of years I felt it when I saw the woman with the great blog; the one who sews the latest fashion accessory; the one who can perfectly decorate her home with her eyes closed; the one who creates magic in her kitchen; the one who is a better Christian, wife, woman.

But of all of this, I think I felt my invisibility the most when I could walk into a room of people and easily fade into the background because there was nothing about me that caused me to stand out.

Invisibility is feeling too small and too ordinary to be seen or noticed. It is feeling unaccomplished, unimportant, unworthy and unknown.

But as much as I hated it, my invisibility became comfortable. You see I was deathly afraid if anyone took the time to really know me - to learn my heart, to see who I really am - they would turn and head for the hills. Fear, especially fear of rejection, is a powerful motivator. And invisibility, worn like a cloak, is a safe place. One with no need for vulnerability. No need for courage.

And yet, the Lord never intended for me - or anyone - to live that way. He created us to crave community, to crave knowing and understanding and living life with others. Before I knew it that craving became too much for my invisibility.

So I invited a girl in my Bible study to my house for dinner.

Little did I know I was taking the first step to being brave.

On Being Brave

2011-04-27T07:30:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago a dear, sweet and trusted friend looked me in the eye and told me I am brave.

I stared at her, speechless for the wonder and disbelief at hearing such words given that for most of my life I've felt anything but. Had she said them to me sixteen months ago, I would have - without a doubt - laughed out loud. Well, maybe not. I wouldn't have been brave enough...

But she didn't say them sixteen months ago. She said them three weeks ago. And despite a nagging and lingering doubt that rears its ugly head now and then, I know them to be true.

Or at least, I know this to be true: I am braver.

I am braver than I was when I moved to this city. I am braver than I was when I first started journeying through life with my small group. I am braver than I was when I began my job at our church.

I am braver than I was before I started trusting the He is before all things and in Him all things hold together.

Because of that I find that I'm living more, loving greater, growing deeper.

And since this is my space - the one in which I get to say or do whatever I want - I'd like to tell you about this teeny bit of bravery. About how it came to be. About how it is continuing to grow in me.

About how I'm learning to live a better story....

But first tell me this, if I looked at you and said "You are brave," what would be your response?

On Habitual Writing

2011-04-26T07:30:00.000-04:00

Goodness gracious! It's amazing how quickly I can pick up the habit of writing often and how I can fall out of it just as fast.

Lately putting pen to paper seemed to be too trivial a task to fit into what have been busy, busy weeks. Of all that must be done, writing was the least important. But that is wrong thinking.

Writing - in any form or fashion - is a vital part of who I am. It is largely how I make sense of all that has happened, it happening and will happen in my world.

But more than just a stress reliever, or a processing method, writing is one of the ways I create. One of the ways I make art. One of the things that makes me feel most alive.

And if for no other reason than that, I must find time for it.

Based on the last few weeks, it's glaringly obvious I haven't been fantastic at making time. I'm in the middle of a period of resistance. And I need to just do the writing.

Whether it be here or in a journal or on a scrap piece of paper that's been hiding in my desk, I will write - no matter how unimportant it seems.

In All Circumstances

2011-04-18T23:59:00.000-04:00

Today was a day when morning came all too quickly after a fairly sleepless night. A day when focus was elusive and the kind of intense productivity I longed for couldn't find time for me.

So I went to care for herbs and vegetables in hopes of a bit of calm only to be bitten at the hairline by an unknown, unseen something - hard enough to draw blood and stain the collar of my favorite yard t-shirt.

And when Hubby came home discouraged by endless work and needing me to muster grace and comfort, and all I knew to do was go for a walk with him.

Then dinner was late and my zucchini was wilted and beginning to rot.

Today was the kind of day when gratefulness wasn't easy to come by.

But give thanks in all circumstances isn't a suggestion or even a request. It is a command, and one that, when followed, makes pray without ceasing and rejoice always come a little more naturally.

So even on this day when it seems nothing can go right, I will choose to give thanks....

22. An evening wandering sidewalks and admiring art on a date with Hubby.

23. Two sweet friends who love and encourage.

24. The first "harvest" from our garden - basil to go with dinner.

25. Backyard roses in full bloom

26. Safety in weekend storms

Nothing Beats Fresh

2011-04-13T07:41:00.000-04:00

I tend to get adventurous in the kitchen when spring rolls around.

I think it happens every April or May, but it seems to be happening more this year. I've been reading cooking books like novels (right now The Flavor Bible and Ratios are my favorites). And I've been trying my hand at making things without recipes - even baked things like cookies.

Perhaps it's because for the first year we have a grill, and it opens a new world of cooking possibilities. Or maybe it's because we planted our very own garden and I'm anticipating the arrival of summer veggies.

Whatever the case may be, I'm having a blast. And I've learned one big thing already.

Even though it means a few extra minutes of prep work, nothing beats fresh ingredients. Nothing. Especially when it comes to the ingredients that flavor and season.

My personal favorites? Lemon juice, garlic, ginger and rosemary. Hands down.

Yum.

And I Can Hear Him Sing

2011-04-11T07:30:00.000-04:00

It is loud around our house in the mornings - all sorts of creatures stretching their lungs and singing their songs - and no wall or window can drown out the sounds. When spring first came, they woke me early with all their chattering. Now I hardly notice until I sit at the kitchen table with my breakfast and some reading to do.

It's moments like these - sitting in the light of another day, eavesdropping on the conversation of creation - when I most feel His presence.

I didn't get many moment like these last week. In fact, I didn't get any. And it made for several long, hard days.

But today I'm back at my kitchen table, admiring the fresh green on the trees and contemplating bringing in a few of the roses painting their color in the corner of my yard. Today there is quiet joy.

And I can hear Him singing over me.

*****

Counting my way to a thankful heart.

17. Benefiting from the wisdom of parents and grandparents as we learn to care for our home.

18. Mexican heather, dusty miller, vincas, double impatients, and the sky pencil rooting in our soil.

19. Tiny specks of green as lettuce and spinach begin to grow.

20. Another successful culinary adventure - lemon poppyseed cookies made without a real recipe.

21. A husband who loves an encourages, even when I'm my grumpiest.

*****

From the Market

2011-04-04T08:09:00.005-04:00

Perhaps one of my favorite things about the beginning of spring is the slow return of delicious, fresh produce to the many local farmers' markets.

Saturday morning I took the first of what I know will eventually become weekly trips to one nearby. This week we'll be enjoying fresh lettuce, cucumbers, potatoes, onions, green beans and a few apples (I know these aren't in season and probably aren't local, but they did look yummy).

I also picked up starter plants for sweet basil, rosemary and mint. If you have any plans to plant herbs or veggies - really any kind of plant - I would encourage you to find your local market and visit. Many of the farmers' offer started plants or seeds. And they are a wealth of knowledge. The folks that sold me my herbs spent quite a bit of time talking me through how to transfer them, how to care for them and the best time and way to harvest them.

I'm looking forward to going back in a week to pick up snap beans, cucumbers and maybe even some peppers - continuing on in my risk-taking adventures as a first-time homeowner.

*****

And I continue giving thanks on another Monday morning.

12. Time wandering through the people of my city, chatting with farmers and gathering veggies for our week.

13. Days of warmth and endless sunshine.

14. Hours turning dirt, planting seeds with the hope of growing new life.

15. Friday date night with Hubby

16. New cooking books to read

I have often been inspired by Ann Voskamp's dedication to daily gratitude - one that gave birth to her book One Thousand Gifts. I do encourage you to visit her place and join the loving community that lives with thankfulness in their hearts.

And We Begin Again

2011-04-01T08:28:00.004-04:00

Several things begin again today.

A new month, for one. It's hard to believe we are already through March. Whoever said it comes in like a lion and leaves like a lamb has it backwards. This year it came in quietly, mildly with beautiful, warm weather. And for the last week it's been fighting us in lightning, thunder and incessant drizzle punctuated by torrential downpours.

And that brings us to another beginning - the start of what will hopefully be a period of lovely blue skies and beautiful sunshine. I'm very much looking forward to this break in the rain. I will finally be able to get outside and start turning the beds, prepping the soil and planting the seeds for my leafy greens.

All of which is only possible because it is the beginning of another weekend. Can you believe that? Well, maybe you can. Maybe this has been a long hard week for you. But I feel like it was just Monday. Now two days to do what I want (within reason...there's still a house to clean!) stretch before me.

New beginnings are beautiful things. I'm quite glad they come as often as they do.

What begins for you today?

No Stones to Throw

2011-03-31T07:31:00.001-04:00

It's been raining - sky gray and air cold - for days and days. I don't think the earth can take much more, and I feel the same way myself.

This week has been a long one. Full of frustrations born of living life with broken people. And I sigh and grumble and think I'm over this world when I am reminded I have no stone to throw.

April is almost here - the month of Easter. The time to celebrate hope and renewal and freedom from sin.

I've found you cannot rejoice in that freedom until you are convinced how much you need it. For a task-oriented over achiever, it's easy to believe you can check-list your way out of brokenness.

But my way - the way of doing and trying instead of being and receiving - is wrought with failure, worry and guilt. No freedom, no grace, no joy ever comes through this endless cycle.

And so I find myself praying through the Penitence and Deprecation prayers of The Valley of Vision - begging Jesus to remind me day after day of my need for Him and to "give me a broken heart that yet carried home the water of grace." (Valley of Vision, Paradoxes).

*****

Joining a bit late, but joining nonetheless. Over at Imperfect Prose. Come, too?

Sit Down at a Typewriter

2011-03-29T06:30:00.001-04:00

There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewrite and bleed.
- Hemingway

Growing up most girls wanted to be teachers or nurses or lawyers or mommies.

Not me. I wanted to be a novelist. Or a poet. Or best of all, maybe a journalist. In a crazy, smoky newsroom. In the 30s or 40s.

I can remember taking a trip with my family to Key West the summer after my senior year of high school. I already knew I'd be attending UNC Chapel Hill, and my goal was to graduate from the university's esteemed School of Journalism (which I did). So I couldn't have possibly been happier than I was the afternoon Mom and I spent walking through Ernest Hemingway's house. I got to see his writing desk and his typewriter. And the six-toed cats.

But the really exciting part? A wall lined with shelves full of his first editions. Sheer literary beauty.

So when I was talking through decorating ideas with my mom and her friend back in February, it only made sense to try to incorporate vintage literary items into the house. And I decided to turn what is supposed to be the formal living room into a library of sorts - with a bit of an old-school newsroom/print shop feel to it.

And leave it to my grandmother - the one who bought me beautiful porcelain dolls and took me to tea rooms during my years of obsession with the Victorian - to continue fostering my love of all things old by finding the perfect early birthday present for Hubby and me.

Meet the latest addition to my living room library.

If you thought I adored my food processor, you haven't seen anything yet.

Honestly, I could have fallen over and died happy the moment Mom handed pulled it out of the front seat of the truck this weekend. This baby is gor.ge.ous!

A Royal Quiet DeLuxe - as near as I can tell its likely this one is from the early 40s. And the best part? This model was one of Hemingway's favorite typewriters. He wrote some of his most famous novels on something just like this.

I couldn't possibly be more thrilled!

Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa! You sure know how to make a writer-girl's heart pitter patter.

For the Love of a Food Processor

2011-03-28T07:30:00.005-04:00

After almost three years, I think I finally understand cooking folks' obsession with food processors. I can't remember whether it was a bridal shower gift or a wedding gift, but I suppose at this point it doesn't matter. What does matter is that I kid you not when I say we unpacked it into the pantry closet, and there it sat for nearly three years. I was never brave enough to play with it, and no recipe I've made ever necessitated using it. Until yesterday.

In the last eight months or so, I've found I really enjoy cooking - more than that, I really enjoy learning about flavors, techniques and how to make the most of food.

I've started making artisan bread from scratch. I've been experimenting with fresh and natural ingredients. I even have plans to grow my own herb and vegetable gardens all because I want to have my favorites at my fingertips.

While planning out meals for the week, I was perusing White on Rice Couple for some inspiration when I ran across a recipe for sweet pea pot stickers with ginger-soy sauce. Seeing as I had been craving Asian food for some time, it seemed appropriate to try to tackle these things on a rainy, Sunday afternoon.

So I did.

Hence the new found love of my food processor. What fun it is to see peas, ricotta cheese, seasme oil and olive oil turn into beautiful, green mush.

I never thought I would say that - beautiful, green mush. But I just did. And I never thought I would adore a kitchen appliance. But now I do.

**********

And with that, I'll continue to count my blessings:

8. realtively successful cooking adventures

9. dressing up and going out with Hubby

10. unexpected, early birthday gifts

11. seeds for lettuce and spinach

My Boogie Shoes

2011-03-25T07:30:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I had my first brush with fame.

Well, actually that's probably a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like a peek at fame. And it was totally accidental.

I was in a local Macy's on the hunt for a cute pair of black peep toe heels (Hubby has a semi-formal event for work tomorrow), when suddenly I encountered a mob of screaming women (and a couple men) in the middle of the store.

Little did I know that Clint (what's his last name?) of What Not to Wear was in the store to give fashion advice, sign autographs and have 8,000 pictures taken. Evidentally I could have gotten in line for a shot at getting a little one-on-one chat time. But given that I was in one of my frumpiest outfits, there was no way I was going to do that.

So I skirted the edge of the crowd, squinted for a glance at a famous person and made a bee line for the shoe section.

Unfortunately Macy's didn't have much for me. Honestly had I known there was going to be a crowd of crazy in the store, I probably would've spared myself the awkwardness.

Anyway, three stores - and a growling stomach (did I mention I went right after work with no dinner?) - later, I found the perfect ones at Off Broadway.

Leave it to a new pair of shoes (and a gorgeous, borrowed cocktail dress) to take me from a little wary of an event to being pretty excited to dance the night away.

We'll see how it goes.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

2011-03-23T07:30:00.000-04:00

I love the outside of my house.

I had to love the house itself - you know the rooms and walls and all the good stuff on the inside - too or we wouldn't have purchased it. But it was really the backyard that sold me on the place. I mean, who doesn't love having a screened in porch (with recessed lighting and a ceiling fan) and an open deck?

Not to mention all the space there is (did I tell you we found a place with nearly half an acre in the city?) for our (someday) kids to run and play.

To top it off there are oodles of beds and planters. When I saw those I couldn't wait to see how spring and summer would make them beautiful. But as we near the end of March and edge into April, I can tell that spring and summer might need a little help.

Aside from a few random hyacinths, one cluster of daffodils at the edge of the yard and a lone tulip there isn't a single sign of life or color in the entire yard (unless you count the purple weeds).

It is abundantly clear if I'm going to have to roll up my sleeves, get a little dirt under my fingernails and plant some beauty for myself. Which is fine, you know. Both my grandmother and my mother are amazing gardeners, and I spent much of my growing-up years on my hands and knees in flower beds. Hopefully some of what they taught stuck. And maybe if I'm lucky some of their deep green thumbs wore off on me!

Regardless of whether growing ability is genetic, I am starting a yard from scratch and I do have a thing or two (or two thousand) to learn about planting and gardening and harvesting (I really want to grow veggies and herbs in our raised planters). So I made a trip to the library and came home with Reader's Digest's Illustrated Guide to Gardening.

Man, this thing is huge! It's like an encyclopedia. Literally. Anything you ever wanted to know about any shrub or flower or fruit or vegetable or tree or herb or grass is in this book - including when and where to plant it and how to care for it. Really, it's the perfect reference book for a first time gardener.

So this weekend my adventure begins with lettuce and spinach - cool weather veggies. Yet another risk I'm taking in (well, technically outside) my home.

I'll keep you posted on the progress.

In the meantime, tell me - how does your garden grow?

Following Through on Taking a Risk

2011-03-22T07:00:00.007-04:00

I did it. I followed through with last Wednesday's declarations. I took a risk, and I painted the cabinets in my den.

I'd like you to think I was extremely brave and tackled these all on my own. But the reality is I needed a little support and encouragement; someone to act as a sounding board and assure me I was making a good decision. So one of my dearest friends, a sweet soul-sister, spent Saturday afternoon helping me sand, prime and paint these babies.

It's a pretty big difference, and while it may take a while for me to get used to the change, I think I like it.

Perhaps I should take a risk or two more often.

I'm linking up over at the Nester's place in celebration of National (Not Really) Take a Risk Day. Join us!