beach bound.

The first week in June, my family makes their yearly trek to the beach, and for the first time in ages, I'm taking off the entire week. That's right. An entire week of nothing. My parents trained me well. I need no entertainment. Just a few good books, beautiful sunshine, walks in the sand, and the sound of the ocean. And maybe these deliciously beach-y items:

Truthfully, I probably have enough book totes. But I'm really digging this one.

Let me ask you: where can I find a pair of exquisite leather sandals for $40? Etsy, of course.

I'd also take the Old Navy shorts in any color.

Isn't this hat cute? I'm sure I could get more than just beachwear out of it.

Other beach necessities? Good books, Neutrogena sunscreen (would you believe that sunscreen is the ONE THING in this world that I am allergic to? I get a rash every year), Burt’s Bees lip balm, and board games. This year, we’re going to be without wireless, and you know what? I’m okay with that. I need a break. Seven days of sun and surf sounds just about perfect.

Happy summer! See you in a week!

i can't stop listening.

This makes me want to quit my job and re-learn how to play the piano.

Thanks, Naomi!

ink.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a love affair with the written word. I can’t really trace it back. I just remember reading, reading, reading. All the time. Anything I could get my hands on.

And that’s still how it is.

I believe it’s why I majored in journalism. And despite the fact that I don’t get to live out my dreams of being the next Anna Quindlen* (although, hey, it’s never too late!), I still feel very tied to my major of choice. So it broke my heart this week when I overheard coworkers talking about how they never read the newspaper anymore.

Granted, our local newspaper is awful. I mean, really pathetic for a capital city’s source of news coverage.

But still. It hurts a little.

I feel the same sinking feeling when people choose Kindle over paperbacks.

Websites over magazines.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the NYTimes.com, and I’ve started listening to NPR. But there’s something about a newspaper in my hands. The inky residue that remains long after the paper hits the recycling bin. The connection I feel to the writers, publishers and editors who spent countless hours putting it all together.

It’s why I plan to renew my subscription to Newsweek magazine. I know, I know. Money is tight. But $20 is a pretty small price to pay in support of one of America’s few lasting news institutions. (And a subscription to the Times is way out of my price range.) Not to mention the fact that their complete redesign has my little heart just spinning. I’ve simply got to support that kind of bold move.

And, lest my uber-conservative brother be reading this post, I openly confess: Newsweek is a pretty left-wing publication. But I love it nonetheless.

I read it to stretch my brain. To figure out what I really think. To determine what my beliefs really are.

Plus, most of the time, it’s great writing.

And great writing just gets me every time. Quindlen’s final column practically had me in tears.
So, in the name of the written word (and the feeling you know you get when you open your mailbox and see something other than bills), subscribe to a magazine. Buy a good book. Shell out 75 cents for a newspaper.

Then celebrate the ink on your fingers. Because that's what Gutenberg would want you to do.

*Oh my word. She's married to an attorney. Maybe there is hope after all.

how lovely was my weekend?

Quite lovely, as a matter of fact. I find it absolutely amazing what an extra day off will do. Just some of the many reasons I’m a proponent of the four-day workweek:

- A trip to Thomasville, Ga.
- A tied game of Scrabble
- Some serious bookstore love
- A family cookout
- A heartbreaking marathon
- Visiting with my maid of honor
- An online discovery that is going to turn our finances around
- The opportunity to serve others and see how rich I am
- Finding the perfect bed for our new place
- Some much-needed time with the husband
- Dreaming about what the future might hold (D.C., perhaps?)

Of course, I’m also discovering that a three-day workweek would be even better. Is it just me, or is life getting busier by the minute? Jordan and I move into a new home in five weeks, and we need all the days off we can get.

Speaking of which: anybody looking for a cute rental in Tallahassee?

“Even when the rain comes
Even when the floods start rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water.”

--Needtobreathe

Ten years ago today, I made the best decision of my life. Perhaps the only decision I’ve never regretted, never second-guessed. A decision that has brought more challenges but more joy to my life than I ever thought possible.

I chose to become a child of the King.

And ten years after my decision, the above song lyrics describe exactly where I am in my walk with Him.

I’ve led a blessed life, and the past few months have been no exception. But becoming an adult brings on more responsibility, more heavy loads—loads I didn’t previously have to bear.

Physically and mentally, I’m becoming a grown-up. And it can be tough.

The same seems to be true spiritually.

I'm establishing new priorities.

I'm renewing my commitment to the One who loves me most.

But most of all, I’m learning to trust more.

To trust that those waters that overtook that little girl ten years ago are still cleansing.

To trust that His grace reaches me.

That His hands are holding me.

Trust.

Faith.

Belief.

At ten years of age, I’m finally starting to figure it out.

What it means to be washed by the water.

Happy birthday to me.

what a day.

So, six months ago today...

...Was the best day ever...

...Wouldn't you agree?

Happy six month anniversary,

Best friend in the world.

I hope I'll be laughing with you for many months to come!

{All photos by Kimel Photography}

dear people who think you have money issues.

You do not.

If you call “saving” not visiting Starbucks every day, you don’t have money issues.

If your definition of pinching pennies is only seeing one or two movies a month, you don’t have money issues.

If you call “scrimping” choosing discount instead of designer, you don’t have money issues.

If your savings account has enough to put down on a home, you don’t have money issues.

If your splurge this month was a $200 pair of sunglasses, you do not have money issues (but you probably will one day).

Now…

If you’re on first-name basis with your bank’s customer service department, you have money issues.

If you eat lunch at home every day and still run short on cash each month, you have money issues.

If you post wish lists on your blog just to get it out of your system, you have money issues.

If your savings account has been depleted by legitimate emergencies, you have money issues.

If your splurge this month was takeout from Whataburger, you have money issues.

Guess which category we fall in?

bye, bye mac. hello new place.

Well, folks, we got the apartment.

You’d think I’d be happier.

And, really, I am.

Unfortunately, I had to use my entire Macbook fund to pay for the security deposit.

Stupid realtors and their dirty tricks.

Anyway, my dreams of a world where Husband and I do not have to share a laptop have been indefinitely put on hold.

But at least we have new digs.

Or will have, come July 1.

To get myself back in the spirit of things, I’ve compiled a brief wish list of items I’d like in time for move-in day. (Wish lists are a favorite of mine lately; have you noticed? Seems to make reality a little more bearable...)

An outdoor table, for our dining pleasure. (Or for plants; it looks pretty versatile.)

These are a tad expensive, but I have a feeling Craigslist searches may provide cheaper look-alikes.

I think I could make one of these. I don't know if it will complete satisfy my chalkboard fetish, but it's definitely a place to start.

I've got wallpaper to deal with in the new place, so why not just replace the old with some new?

I love this concept. Sign me up for plenty of clipboards, please. Maybe even as art?

I'm a sucker for a good coffee table book, and combining grammar with beautiful illustrations? GENIUS.

Okay, I feel much better now. Amazing what a little wishing will do. For more decoration inspiration, check out these previous posts.

it's not about dave.

About two months ago, I read this book. Remember? I told you about it. How it gave me a new perspective on a population of people I too often ignore.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. When I told you about my husband’s encounter with a homeless man and how it made my breakfast cold. But how much I loved my husband for reaching people like that.

What I forgot to mention was that my husband invited the homeless man to go to church with us.

And that he came.

That’s right.

Two Sundays ago, we picked Dave up from McDonald’s (his favorite hang-out spot) and made the drive to church, all the while entertained by his rather frightening stories of life in the shelter, all the while wondering how exactly this was going to work. Because, I'll be honest here, Dave is different from me and you.

The smell.

The clothes.

The cough.

The rather insistent chatter.

But then again, Dave is the same.

The struggles.

The frustration.

The hope.

The desire for something more.

And, wouldn’t you know it? Our congregation embraced the similarities.

Because, two Sundays ago, we walked into our church building several minutes late with a dirty, broken man. And he was greeted with smiles, hugs, welcomes.

Kind of like I think Jesus would have done.

I was a little in awe.

Because, I won’t lie: Dave makes me uncomfortable.

After all, he dipped snuff during the Lord’s Supper. This is a little unusual for me.

I’m not really into snuff.

But I’d read that book, remember? And so I looked at Dave with new eyes.

I think this whole time, God was preparing me.

Preparing me to love and accept like never before.

He must have been doing the same to the people at Timberlane.

Because they loved and accepted too.

And this week, Dave came to church with us again.

This time, a little cleaner.

With nicer clothes.

And combed hair.

And no snuff.

It’s pretty amazing actually. But not for the reasons you might think.

Yes, it is pretty amazing that Dave is coming to church with us.

But it’s not about Dave.

Dave sleeps though the sermon.

And asks us for cigarettes.

And complains about lunch.

And isn’t much for religion. (Although, may I remind you, he is voluntarily coming to church.)

We’re not quite sure what kind of impact this will all ultimately have on Dave.

But we know the impact it’s making on us.

And on the people around us.

Because, like I said. It’s not about Dave.

It’s about the incredibly awesome, all-powerful God we serve.

I almost get teary thinking about how God has worked in our lives in the past month.

How this one homeless man who may or may not care one bit about Jesus has taught me so much about Him.

How God is allowing us to see His power. Actually see it.

How God is using Dave.

To show me how to love.

To show my husband the meaning of sacrifice.

To show my brother the church’s potential.

To show my dad and mom what the church looks like in the eyes of another.

To show Timberlane what can happen when someone different walks in the door.

To show others the Jesus we know.

To show our friends what it really means to step out of the box.

To love the unlovely.

The first Sunday Dave came with us, God showed His power again.

Our minister spoke about Jesus and the leper.

You might not know the story. And that’s okay.

It’s just about this guy. Who was dirty. Filthy. Sick. Untouchable.

And my Jesus touched him.

Loved him.

Accepted him.

Saved him.

And while our minister was talking about Jesus and the leper,

I was thinking about me and Dave.

And how the God I serve touches the untouchable.

And calls me to do the same.

we love the office...

...so this video rocked our world. Enjoy!

Who else is on pins and needles for season 6? Or at least the season 5 DVDs?

trailblazing.

Me and Jennifer, by Kimel Photography

I’m an eldest child. Even if you had never met me and randomly saw me on the street, a few moments’ observation would probably give it away. I’m an eldest child.

I have a “little” brother (now 20 years old), and I also happen to be the oldest in a group of cousins. I’m used to being large and in charge. The leader, the trailblazer. I set the example.

Unfortunately, I didn’t always have one to follow. It’s the downside to being the oldest. You’re kind of on your own. The trailblazing is fun, until you come to a fork in the road and realize you’ve got to choose. No older sibling to take hints from; no bigger footsteps to follow.

But there has always been someone in my life whose footsteps were right in front of me; whose path I could trust.

See, on the other side of the family, I’m not the oldest. I’m actually the middle child (it’s a role I’m not sure I always fit). I am the exact middle sibling in a group of five cousins. And my “big cousin” Jennifer is the oldest.

We never lived anywhere near each other, but we were close. We saw each other during the summers, and, when lives got too busy to visit, we wrote letters. That’s right. We were good, old-fashioned pen pals. Still are, actually.

But this past weekend, Jordan and I decided it was time to pay Jennifer and her husband a visit. We’d been out to Little Rock on one other occasion, right after Jenn and Jarred got married and Jordan and I were first dating. The trip has fond memories for both of us, so we figured another trip out there would be well-worth our gas money.

It was.

It’s funny how despite time and distance, family members can be so much alike. The similarities I find between myself and Jennifer are almost comforting, like the big sister I never grew up having. We finish each other’s sentences, carry around color-coordinated planners, and smile until our eyes disappear. We laugh at the same things. We have similar tastes in music, movies, TV shows, and, yes, I’ve found, even men.

And while this weekend was just an all-around good time, it was also a lesson. A glimpse into the future.

Because Jordan and I are both eldest children. We’re it. We’re going on this married thing by faith alone. We’ve got no older siblings to give us advice, no role models to set the pace.

Except, maybe, Jennifer and Jarred.

They’re just one step ahead. At 26 years old, they’re right in front of us. They’ve been where we’ve been and are headed in the direction we want to go. Seeing them this weekend was a comfort, a reminder. A reminder that we will someday be done with school. That we will be able to pay off our debts. That we will eventually be able to purchase a home and welcome others into it. That fulfilling careers are on the horizon. That marriage can be tough, but it’s fun. That we can make a difference in the lives of other children until we have our own.

It was nice to be reminded, to see a little bit of our future selves in Jennifer and her husband. It was nice to have an example, to be encouraged to press on.

Our visit gave us just what we needed to come back home, refreshed and ready to be the oldest again. Ready to be trailblazers and to leave footprints.

the bedroom.

I’m skipping around, but here’s the plan for our new master bedroom (again with the crossed fingers and whispered prayers).

Paint in this lovely color:

Quincy Tan by Benjamin Moore

Our current bedspread will remain:

Don’t worry; we used brown as our accent color instead of Martha's recommended pink. I wasn't going to succumb me or Jordan to that kind of torture. I was starting to wonder about the matchy-matchy-ness of it all, but I think if I pair it with a modern headboard, I’ll get over my fear. I’m looking at these two:

Both from West Elm.

I like them both, and I figure pretty much any headboard will eliminate the cricks in our necks we get from trying to sit up in bed without one.

The artwork we already have in our bedroom will remain; lots of Italy prints… I really miss that place.

More inspiration to come!

reality strikes.

My thoughts are all over the place today; we’ll call it “vacation brain.” Or maybe the more proper term would be “reality brain,” since that’s what hit us the moment we got home from our mini-vacation. (Actually, if we want to get specific, reality struck about five hours north of home: thank you, flat tire.)

Upon arriving home, Jordan and I were greeted with termites and holes in our apartment that, despite repeated promises, have not been removed and/or fixed, and legally, our lease isn’t up until July 1. What seemed like a short wait is proving to be more than my patience can handle. This morning we had to have four new tires put on my car, and a freelance design project keeps coming back to haunt me; plus I’m still waiting to receive payment from two previous projects. All this in addition to having to schedule a doctor’s appointment (perhaps my least favorite thing in. the. world) before the end of the month.

Let’s just say I’ll be glad when the weekend arrives.

Until then, here’s what I would be spending money on if a) I had an inexhaustible supply, and b) I wasn’t spending it on tires.

I think this is a man’s watch, but I really don’t care.

I love this cabinet. I'm not sure what I'd do with it, or where I'd put it, but I love it.

I actually have something similar to this that I picked up at a yard sale; now I'm thinking of replacing the current mirrored piece with a chalkboard.

I love every piece of artwork in this shop, but I think I’d hang this one in our home.

My Target sandals are falling apart, and these would make a nice replacement.

These are just what I’m looking for to put in the windowsill of our new kitchen (still crossing fingers about that, by the way), though maybe in blue and yellow. I think I’ll find them for much cheaper…

This lamp is overpriced, but the style is perfect.

that's what she said.

By the time you read this, Jordan and I will be in Arkansas, half-way through our road trip. I didn’t want to let Mother’s Day go by, though, without saying—again—just how much I love my mother. I won’t get all mushy, but I will leave you with eleven (I can't come up with just ten!) things my mother has taught me. Take a look, and then, tell me: what lessons did your mother teach you?

From the mouth of my mom:

1. Fake it ‘til you make it. (I do. Almost every day.)

2. Clean your house before you go out of town. (Check.)

3. Have an opinion about things. (Not a problem.)

4. Never be out and about without at least $2 in cash. (I don’t follow this one, but I should.)

5. Change your sheets after you’re sick; you’ll feel better. (I always do.)

6. Don’t talk bad about your husband in public. (After all, I picked him.)

7. Read. Read. Read. (Done. Done. Done.)

8. Finish your education. (I didn’t need any convincing.)

9. Surround yourself with the people you love; ignore the mean ones. (Trying.)

10. Schmooze when necessary. (Easier said than done.)

11. Talk to God on a regular basis, and don’t be afraid to talk to Him like a friend. (Amen.)

I love you, Mom! Thanks for all you’re teaching me!

see ya.

{via Flickr}

The husband is done with finals (hooray!), so we are headed to Arkansas on a little road trip. I think we might hit Memphis and some other fun "hotspots" on the way to Little Rock. This is a much-needed vacation for us both, and we are pumped! I'll be back next week, hopefully with some pictures and happy memories to share.

Enjoy the weekend!

room-by-room

So, we’re filling out the application and attempting to rent the townhome. Cross your fingers, folks. We just might be movin’ on up. And if we don’t… Well, that will be okay. Although, I have already done a room-by-room transformation of our potential home-to-be. Would you like a peek? I thought so.

KITCHEN

Did I mention the kitchen was wallpapered? With harvest gold countertops and appliances? It’s a good thing I have vision (and a DIY gene). As I mentioned, I’ve been given permission to have my way with this little place, so here are my plans.

Remove all traces of wallpaper, then paint with:

Buxton Blue paint by Benjamin Moore

I know, blue might seem like an odd choice. But I’m thinking it will offset the yellow countertops. And, to tie the look together, curtains in this fabric:

Paddock Shawl-Mineral fabric by Waverly

DINING ROOM

That’s right. We’ll have our own little dining area instead of the combined living and dining space in our current residence. The dining room has a chair rail along the bottom half, which I’ll be painting white. The remainder of the wall, along with the living room, will be painted this subtle color:

Mercury Glass paint by Sherwin Williams (and Martha, of course)

If my wish came true, I’d replace the 70s light fixture with this little beauty (or a theme and variation thereof):

$40 at Ikea

Add this Etsy artwork (only $15!):

The artwork plus our wood dining table and antique chairs in all different colors should keep the overall look fresh and fun.

What do you think? I must say, I’m pretty pumped about the whole project. And, I love a good before-and-after, so you can bet if/when moving time finally comes, I’ll be posting with updates.

Stay tuned for a look into my plans for our living and bedrooms! Because you know I've got ideas for those too...

oh, felicity.

As we’re going to bed each night and getting ready each morning, the husband and I enjoy some TV on DVD. We’ve watched every season of The Office at least three times, covered two seasons of the Mary Tyler Moore show, and watched the top five episodes of the first five seasons of Friends. I also attempted to share with Jordan my love for the Gilmore Girls, but alas, it was a product he wasn’t buying. I think he suffered through two seasons before I finally gave up. (I believe his words were: "They talk too fast.")

So when a friend of mine offered up season 1 of Felicity, I didn’t have great expectations. I figured it would be a show I’d watch alone while ironing or folding clothes. And it was. For about two episodes.

Don’t ask me what makes Felicity a less-emasculating choice than Gilmore Girls, but the husband seems to think it is. Or so I assume when he asks me what Felicity’s been up to, or if she’s chosen between Ben and “that other guy” yet.

Of course, I realize that mostly, Jordan’s just watching each episode because I’m watching. Self-sacrifice—whether it’s TV shows or something bigger—is just what married people do for each other.

But I also think he may actually be enjoying himself.

Each night we laugh over the 90s hair and the “social issues” episodes. We predict who’s going to get with whom. And we laugh over poor Felicity’s canny ability to mind everyone’s business but her own.

So this morning, when I had to leave for work in the middle of a crucial scene in the season finale, I knew Jordan felt my pain.

He’s already asking if season 2 is available.

apartment adultery.

For the past couple of weeks, Jordan and I have been debating resigning our lease (which is up for renewal in July). The lack of outdoor space and, more importantly, the noticeable absence of a washer and dryer, had us seriously considering a move.

Just to clarify, I hate the moving process. I feel like I just. did. that.

And yet… (Isn’t there always an, “and yet”?)

During my lunch break, the mod and I have been exploring, just looking for rent signs or checking out the riff-raff to be found on craigslist. (Seriously. All advertisements should be required to post un-edited photographs.)

One day, fate found us.

Jordan and I were checking out a little townhome community we looked at a year ago, and lo and behold, not one, not two, but three townhomes were for rent. Cute, brick, classy townhomes.

So we placed a few phone calls.

Too much.

Too much.

Then came our big break. Something just slightly out of our tighter-than-the-belts-I-wore-in-elementary-school budget.

Today, during another lunch break extravaganza, the husband and I went to go check it out.

There was wallpaper.

And weeds.

And yellow countertops.

And yet… (There it is again)

I loved it.

The two stories.

The washer-dryer hook-ups.

The space for friends and family.

The windows.

The fireplace.

The little patch of land to call our own.

Then, fate found us again.

Thanks to a little bartering from my soon-to-be-lawyer of a husband, they knocked $50 off the rent, which already includes cable (our current rent does not).

As if that weren’t enough, my little heart skipped a beat when the realtor uttered these fate-filled words: “The homeowner says you can take down the wallpaper, paint, whatever.”

You mean… I can make my little house a home? Visions of blueprints and paint colors danced in my head.

Where do I sign?

Of course, guilt set in just a moment later.

My quaint, old, charming, midtown apartment. In a neighborhood. With children, and families, and dogs, and lemonade stands. And character. Lots of character.

Ingleside Avenue. Just like Anne.

Our first place together. Our treehouse.

And it hit me: I had cheated.

I was the old man with the young blond. The midlife crisis with the red Ferrari.

I was actually considering trading in my first love for a newer model.

Granted, a newer model that needs a lot of tender loving care, but still... The guilt remained.

I cheated on my apartment today.

Now I think it might hate me.

But—I can’t believe I’m typing this—we might sign the paperwork anyway.

Bring on the boxes.

breakfast for your head.*

Of all the sacrifices I’ve had to make as a newly-married person, I think the biggest might be breakfast.

The first meal of the day was standard in the Butterworth house growing up. In fact, it was above standard. While other Americans were stuffing their kids’ faces with Pop-tarts and Lucky Charms in a cup, my dad was scrambling eggs. Assembling sausage biscuits. Generally behaving like Ward Cleaver. (Or was it June?)

The four of us prayed together, then ate together. Discussed our upcoming days together.

Or, at least, Dad and I discussed. Mom and Chet didn’t always have their eyes open. They were a little slower to enjoy the breakfast ritual. But Dad and I… we were early-bird-gets-the-worm types.

When I moved back home post-college, I discovered Mom and Chet no longer took part in breakfast time. At least, not like we all used to. So Dad and I began a new tradition. Every morning, he would wake me up, and we would eat breakfast together. Read the paper. Maybe not too much talking, but then… Dad and I aren’t really the big talkers in the family. Our mornings were quiet, but pleasant. After we finished, we’d both go off to work to bring home the bacon.

Then came marriage. Now don’t get me wrong. I like a good Special K bar as much as the next person. And Jordan brings me some breakfast item each morning as I’m getting ready. He’s good like that. But it’s just not the same.

No newspaper.

No sausage biscuit.

No Dad.

But in my family, we adjust. We don’t let change defeat us.

So, on occasion, my dad and I meet for breakfast.

I love it.

We talk about grown-up things. Like work. And news. Sports. Good restaurants. Or the fact that my dad doesn’t like raw green peppers. (I know. It’s mind blowing.)

Sometimes, as we sit and chat, I’ll get déjà vu.

Because about ten years ago, Dad would take me out to breakfast for dad-daughter dates. It’s just what we did.

And I liked it back then too.

It’s nice, isn’t it? When old and new collide. When adulthood and childhood decide to intermingle for a little while.

I’m glad it happens at breakfast.

*Another family ritual in which breakfast was eaten as dinner. We Butterworths like our breakfasts.