a year of blog posts.

So here it is. What I've been writing about for the past year can apparently be summed up in the words above. I get the impression I like to write about books... a lot. And I also get the impression that the life I lead and choose to blog about is very full indeed.

I've been thinking about this year. What it's meant to me, the adventures it's held. Here's a summation, for posterity's sake:

speaking opportunities

my first married birthday

snowing in Montgomery

travel

a Macbook

a new apartment

a new job

getting used to married life

friends

dinner parties

design jobs

book club

the beach

family

tears

laughter

good movies

(I think "State of Play" and "Julie & Julia" were my favorites)

attempts at cooking

editing

getting my hands dirty

This year has been full of life: of ups and downs, comings and goings. I have loved it. But I'm ready for 2010. I'm ready for simpler living. Ready to slow things down a bit.

I have a vision for 2010 (and a new project) that I can't wait to share. First, though, I need to say goodbye to this year that has been oh-so-good to me. Then it's out with the old, in with the new. I am hopefully waiting for God to reveal just what it is He has in store.

yes, virginia.

Merry Christmas, friends! Enjoy this beautiful piece. It gets me in the Christmas spirit every time. (And as a believer, I can't help but see the parallels between a Santa unseen and a God unseen. What wonderful reminder of what faith is all about!)

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Eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York's Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history's most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps.

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in the Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

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mystery vacation.

As promised, pictures of this momentous occasion.

a metaphor.

Friday, as Jordan and I were traveling to Birmingham to embark on a "mystery vacation" with his family, we began to talk about our future.

Not in a fun and exciting way, but in a "what in the world are we going to do" way.

What comes after May is blank to us. Empty. Scary. Unknown.

Which brings me to my metaphor.

Upon arrival in Birmingham, Jordan's parents shared with us our previously unknown destination: a 90-foot high zip-line and course in North Georgia.

Now, I don't consider myself to be scared of heights.

I've climbed to the top of the duomo in Italy, stood atop a rock in Huntsville, and have enjoyed the views from the Empire State Building and 30 Rock, never once feeling even the slightest bit queasy.

But one look at that zip-line had my stomach tied up in knots.

The Joneses were so excited, and I was paralyzed. Not just out of fear, but out of anger.

"Why are they making me do this? Who thinks of this as fun?"

As we strapped on gear and began to climb, the knots in my stomach became bigger, and the anger grew.

My father-in-law said not to feel pressured, but I did. I wanted to make everyone happy, to not ruin the first vacation I've ever taken with Jordan's parents.

So I kept climbing.

And then I flew.

I'd like to be able to tell you it was life-changing, an experience I want to relive again and again.

I wish I could tell you I fell in love with the rush of air in my face and adrenaline in my body.

But I didn't.

For three-and-a-half hours in 45-degree temperatures, I was scared. Smiling, but scared. There were moments of fun, of course, but when your feet are 60-feet above ground, and a rushing creek threatens to swallow your life, those moments of unadulterated fun were brief and often followed by pain or terror.

But I did it.

I pressed on.

The girl who only rides roller coasters with her father took a leap alone.

Not for me, by the way.

I could easily have enjoyed a morning curled up in the lodge, drinking hot chocolate and reading a good book.

Not for bragging rights.

It is a well-known fact that Annie Sue Butterworth (now Jones) doesn't care what people think.

I did it for Jordan.

For Jordan's dad, who despite his insistence, I think would have been really disappointed if I didn't jump.

For Jordan's mom, who I'm pretty sure has been planning this trip for months with us in mind.

And as I climbed on tight ropes, through trees, and over water, I began thinking:

Sometimes, God asks us to climb. To leap. To trust.

It's painful.

It's scary.

But He promises us we will be blessed.

Now -- and here, I think, is the part we forget -- He doesn't promise safety.

He doesn't promise fun.

He doesn't promise that the leap will be painless.

But He assures us it is worth it.

And that leaping is better than staying.

I don't know what May will bring for me and Jordan.

God may call us to stay put.

Or to start a new adventure in D.C. or Athens.

Or to build on a foundation set in Montgomery.

All three options will require leaping.

All three options are, in a sense, a little painful and a lot scary.

Thank goodness, the metaphor ends there.

Because, in zip-lining, I was all alone.

Each step I took was timid, careful. I was self-reliant (albeit with lots of ropes and harnesses).

Leaps of faith are different.

They are scripted and guided by our Father, who promises He will leap with us.

Our steps and our leaps will not be faulty, because He never leaves our side.

And so we will leap.

Not because it's fun.

Not for bragging rights.

Not even for the sake of adventure.

We will leap out of love for our Father, who so often leaps on behalf of us.

{Photos of the highly anticipated mystery vacation soon to come.}

a Christmas recipe.

If you're like me, and incredibly behind in gift-giving this year, I've got a solution for you.

Cinnamon honey butter.

36 jars and 24 sticks of butter later, I have the cutest (and most delicious) gift for coworkers and family.

The recipe below {thanks to this lovely lady} made four 6-oz. jars. Seriously, try it. The stuff is amazing.

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Cinnamon Honey Butter

2 sticks of room temperature butter (the room temperature part is important)

1 c. of powdered sugar

1 c. of honey

2 tsp. of cinnamon

Whip together butter, then add remainder of ingredients. A standing mixer is helpful.

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I've got to say, I was pretty pleased with the results. The recipe was super simple, and the packaging isn't too shabby either. {Labels available from Truly Smitten.} Highly recommend if you're looking for a last minute but thoughtful Christmas gift.

christmas makes me messy.

There are parts of our house that are beautiful right now.

Like our couch, with its comfy pillows and soft blankets.

Or our tree, glittering in all its glory.

Our front entry, with its welcoming wreathe and tall, skinny snowman.

Even the study is pretty in its own way, covered in wrapping paper and ribbon.

But our bedroom.

Our bedroom is another story.

This one photo gives a pretty accurate picture of our lives around here lately.

Christmas, I need you to come. I need some time off work to do laundry.