.turning pages.

thank you + a blogging question.

2012-01-30T08:30:00.000-05:00

I know everyone says their blog readers are the best, so I hope I don't seem disingenuous when I join the masses to say: I have the best blog readers. In fact, I don't really think of you as blog readers, I think of so many of you as my friends.

The past few months have been difficult, emotionally and spiritually, but your comments and emails have been so kind, so encouraging. I can't tell you what that means to me.

It's a little weird, I guess, to have so many friends across the country (and beyond!) who I have never met. But then I remember that the blood of Christ has the power to bring together all kinds of people, and the prayers and the encouragement I have received from you prove that friendship comes in all shapes and sizes and forms. Just because I don't know you in person doesn't make these friendships any less genuine or real.

So thank you. Thank you for your emails, tweets, comments, and cards. Thank you for sticking with me even when posting has been a little heavy on the grief and the sadness. Thank you for reminding me that blogging has the potential for ministry, both in the writing and in the receiving.

Because I do so appreciate our interactions with one another, I have a blogging question. My Twitter account has been overflowing with opinions on the new embedded comment system Blogger has installed. In the past, I've responed to most comments via email; that's how I prefer to be responded to, so that's how I've always done it. Rarely, if ever, do I go back to a blog to see if my comment has been answered or recognized.

I get the sense, though, that a lot of readers prefer to interact in and throughout the comments section, so I wonder: Do you prefer embedded comments (not just in general, but specifically for this blog), or do you like receiving email responses? My blog, I think, is a little bit different from others, in that I don't post about fashion or home improvement or food, at least not on a regular basis, so questions aren't frequently asked that would require a public response. I also am a blogger with a full-time job, so frequently interacting with readers in the comments section isn't always possible or practical. For those reasons, I've stuck with the same system I've used for as long as I've been blogging. I respond via email or Twitter to most of the comments I receive. Sometimes, if I have time, I'll visit a reader's blog and comment there. I'm willing to change, though, if it's important to the friends I so frequently meet here.

---

So, readers and friends, which is it: embedded comments, or are you as happy as a clam with the way things are?

for the birthday.

2012-01-27T08:30:00.001-05:00

Now that I've been blogging for a bit (nearly five years!), I try to avoid posting wish lists and my findings from the world wide web. Lots of other blogs do that, and they do it well. I make it a goal to stick to story-telling and to observation-making as much as I possibly can.

I hope you'll indulge me today.

Next week, I turn 26 years old, and for the first time in a long time, I just don't have much planned. I do, though, have a few things I wouldn't mind unwrapping this year, and I thought I'd share them here (despite my aforementioned editorial policy).

Without further ado, a birthday wishlist. 1. A Fabric-and-Handle bag that can transition from winter to spring. 2. A new pair of tennis shoes to run and exercise in (with bright orange laces, please). 3. A Falling Whistle necklace. More on the heartbreaking cause can be found on the organization's website. 4. A classic signet ring from, where else, J. Crew. 5. Gold flatware perfect for parties. I visited a West Elm store last weekend in Jacksonville, and I've kind of been obsessed ever since. 6. An exercise mat to use during my Bar Method DVD (more coming on this next week). 7. I'm thinking I maybe want an iPhone (and this pretty case). Here's the thing: I want to have an iPhone without becoming an iPhone person. Is it possible to have a smart phone without constantly whipping it out during dinners and conversations with friends? 8. A lovely pair of earrings. 9. A FashionABLE scarf. I got an infinity scarf for Christmas that I love, but I'm kind of digging the stripes on this one. 10. This shift dress is both trendy and timeless. 11. I've been ready to read An Altar in the World since I finished Leaving Church back in November. 12. It's time for a new wallet, and I think this one would do the trick nicely.

It's the iPhone that's the most unrealistic, and ironically, it's the wishlist item I'm still a little hesitant about (I think I get some sort of pride out of not having a smart phone just yet), but I have to admit: There are times it would certainly come in handy. Otherwise, I think this list pretty much covers my current wants (and a couple of needs).

---

So you've seen the wishlist. Now forget the gifts, and tell me: What's a girl to do to celebrate her 26th birthday?

inspired week 62.

2012-01-26T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Milton Martinez}

"That is part of the beauty of literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings,

that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

in which grief looks like heartbreak.

2012-01-25T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Annette Pehrsson}

I have been thinking lately about how grief is a lot like heartbreak, though I don’t speak with much experience, because my life hasn’t held a lot of either.

But everything the movies and the books say about breaking up — the lounging on the couch, the urgent need for Ben & Jerry’s, the songs on the radio that trigger spats of uncontrollable tears, the desperate desire to be surrounded with people you really love or to be alone in a dark room — that all sounds like grief to me.

So I guess you could say my heart is going through a break-up right now.

And I’m wondering if that term is a little easier for people to understand, because the horror and the pain of a break-up seems to be pretty universal. But losing a grandparent? I think that’s hard for a lot of people to fully grasp, and the grief that follows is equally difficult to comprehend.

Some days, I am filled with renewed energy, with excitement for the plans on my calendar and the life that lies ahead.

Other days, I want nothing more than to sit on the couch and watch mindless television while curled up under a blanket.

That’s just how it’s going to be for a while.

My grandmother was not a stranger to me. She did not live in some faraway land, hours away, reachable only by telephone. She was not someone I saw around the holidays and the occasional long weekend.

I grew up three houses down from my grandparents.

Until January 11, I saw my grandmother at least once a week, every week, even if it was only for a few moments or for a family dinner.

I share her name, and she is my role model.

This is rare, I know. My relationship with my family is unique, and it’s not something everyone can really understand.

That's okay.

What I am asking for, though, is a little patience. The same you might give a friend who's just lost the best boyfriend she ever had.

Because I’m going through a break-up, and I could use some Ben & Jerry’s.

Note: I've decided, if Ben & Jerry aren't available, a book is a wonderful substitute. Last week, a friend sent me a Starbucks gift card and a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid in the mail. Seriously, best grief gift ever. This entire process is teaching me what kind of friend I want to be. (Hint: The kind that sends books and thoughtful well-wishes to the people they love.)

comfort food.

2012-01-24T08:30:00.000-05:00

{image from Bippity Boppity Boo}

Sunday was our monthly supper club meeting, and while I had the grandest of intentions to bake this decadent-looking chocolate cake, reality struck at about midnight Saturday as we drove back into town from a business trip in St. Augustine. Chocolate chip cookies seemed like a suitable compromise, since this month's meal was designed around comfort food, and tell me: What's more comforting than a homemade chocolate chip cookie?

My mom graciously found me this recipe online, and although I wound up using a smaller amount of instant vanilla pudding, they turned out just fine. Better than fine, actually, especially considering my 1970s-style oven, which has caused many a heartbreak (and a smoke alarm) over the past couple of years. The recipe made about 40 bite-sized cakey cookies, enough for supper club and small groups and this week's lunches.

One note: Because of my aformentioned oven, I have to reduce the baking temperature by 50 degrees and the cook time by a few minutes. If you're like me and living in an older apartment, try preheating your oven to 325 or 350 and cooking for 8 to 10 minutes on a pizza stone rather than a baking sheet.

Absolute perfection. And comforting, to boot.

Ingredients:

1 cup butter, softened

3/4 cup packed brown sugar

1/4 cup white sugar

1 (3.5 ounce) package instant vanilla pudding mix (I used 2.5 oz)

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 cups semisweet chocolate chips (this is a lot of chocolate chips; you could easily use a little less)

Instructions:

1 - Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2 - In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugars. Add pudding mix, eggs and vanilla. Combine flour and baking soda; add to creamed mixture and mix well. Fold in chocolate chips.

3 - Drop by teaspoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheets. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until lightly browned.

* See full recipe and comments here.

lately.

2012-01-23T11:41:00.001-05:00

{via}

listening: to First Aid Kit and Florence + The Machine

reading: The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, Boundaries, and Salvage the Bones.

watching: Downton Abbey, Gossip Girl reruns, and The Bachelor. (My justification can be found here.)

planning: Galentine's Day and Jazz Fest 2012.

thinking: about a new writing endeavor, the understanding of good friends, and the blessing of regular Bible study.

---

What have you been up to lately?

starting over.

2012-01-20T08:30:00.000-05:00

It hasn't been the 2012 I envisioned, not at all.

Here's the thing about a new year and fresh starts: Sometimes the old stuff has this way of following you around. The cloud of distractions and frustrations that began in November tiptoed along into December, then rallied their way into January.

Last Wednesday, my grandmother "peacefully exited this life and entered the arms of her Lord." That's how I wrote it in the obituary, because that's what I believe happened. Her fighting for life here finally stopped, and I have to believe that peace and celebration followed.

I am hoping that is what follows for those of us left behind, too.

We are ready for peace. We are ready for celebration, yes, but I'm convinced that won't really come until later. For now, all I am asking for is peace.

Due to circumstances outside of my family's control, my grandmother's funeral wasn't until Monday. That left the family with four full days to wait and to grieve, four long days on top of the 20 or so we'd spent waiting and grieving since her December fall. I had a beach trip with girlfriends planned, and after some consideration and prayer, I decided to go. It was a trip cut short -- I knew I needed to be with family, so I spent one night instead of two -- but just that one night spent away felt like just what the doctor had ordered.

I sat with precious friends and talked about my grandmother, about marriage, about friendships and life and happiness. We spent an hour or so wandering the local bookstore, ate chicken salad by the beach, set feet in cold sand until it felt like our toes might fall off. I sat outside in the frigid morning air and breathed deeply, covered in blankets on the pink porch swing. We laughed and shared and read, and more than once, we looked at each other and said, "Why can't real life look like this?"

It could be depressing, I guess, if we compared our real lives with our vacations. But if we use those vacations as a starting point, if we count on the beach air to bring us back to ourselves, sometimes real life becomes a little easier to bear.

This week has been hard. Grief is not easy, and the real world doesn't wait for the tears to dry. But my time spent at Seaside -- even those few, brief hours -- reminded me of the things that make this life so spectacular: gorgeous sunsets, good books, delicious meals, fresh air, and the company of dear friends. Those few hours gave me the new start that January 1 just couldn't.

Sometimes all we need to press on is just a change in perspective. For me, that change often coincides with a trip to the water. I'm glad I listened to my gut last week, glad I made that trip, even though the circumstances were less than perfect.

I hope I can carry that feeling with me during the coming days, even when water and fresh air might be a little hard to find.

The truth is, it's time to start over. It's time to seek peace and pursue it. It's time to leave the past behind, to press on to what's ahead.

Celebration will follow, but for now? For now I'll happily settle for peace.

inspired week 61.

2012-01-19T08:30:00.001-05:00

{photo by Cynthia Henebry}

"All of us are better when we're loved."

- Alistair MacLeod

her legacy.

2012-01-18T08:30:00.000-05:00

My grandmother passed away a week ago today. I wrote this two weeks ago, when my grandmother was still struggling to breathe from her room at the local Hospice House. My absence from the blog has been due to grief, to not quite being able to shake the cloud over my head, to a loss of words and, -- temporarily, I am sure -- to a lack of inspiration. I know my grandmother is celebrating in a place of beauty today, and I am reminded that the love she chose to show to others -- all kinds, all the time -- is my calling, too.

---

I've written before about my grandmother and her love for pretty things.

As she lays in her hospice bed, covered in a hand-knitted purple afghan, surrounded by stuffed animals of different shapes and sizes, I am reminded of that part of her, the part of her that relishes in colors and fabrics, in things that feel good and look pretty.

It is part of her legacy, and it has been passed on to me.

I, too, love handmade things, love pretty clothes and the perfect shoe. I like the colors of the rainbow and different textures and fabrics. I love the lovely things just like my grandmother does.

But my grandmother is special. Her legacy is that she does not just love the lovely things. In her wisdom and kindness, she has also chosen to love the unlovely.

My grandmother makes bears for children who are broken and hurting and aching. She knits blankets for veterans torn apart by war. She welcomes old and young, rich and poor, married and divorced, single and waiting, black and white... She loves every single person that comes into her life, and -- this is important -- she loves them all the same.

I know you're thinking that's impossible. But every indication my grandmother has ever given shows a woman who loves each and every person she comes in contact with. It doesn't matter your story or your past. She loves you -- all of you -- and she wants you to be a part of the family.

A couple of months ago, I sat next to my grandmother, showing her pictures of a recent trip Jordan and I had taken. As I scrolled through picture after picture, I reached photos of an event my younger cousin had participated in. I went through the pictures slowly, and when I found one last picture of my beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed cousin, I whispered to Mama: "Isn't she just so pretty? Aren't those girls pretty?"

My grandmother looked at me, and her smile alone stopped me in my tracks. It was the biggest, happiest smile I'd seen from her in a long time.

"You're pretty," she said. "You are such a pretty, pretty girl." I looked at her, and I felt like a million bucks.

My grandmother has this amazing way of making you feel like you are the most special person in the world, even if you're just one of her 17 grandchildren (and 20 great-grandchildren, if you're counting).

That's the legacy I want.

Yes, I want to love the lovely things. I want to have an eye for creativity and for beauty. But I have learned from my grandmother that it's the unlovely things that deserve and need my love. The unlovely people, the unlovely things?

They matter.

Everyone matters. Everyone deserves love, deserves to be shown and told love.

That's her legacy. I hope it's mine too.

inspired week 60.

2012-01-12T08:30:00.001-05:00

{photo by Family Living magazine}

"Refuse to pander to a morbid interest in your own misdeeds. Pick yourself up, be sorry, shake yourself, and go on again."

- Evelyn Underhill

28 days. (the importance of self-care.)

2012-01-11T09:57:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, I was supposed to begin the 28 Day Challenge: 28 days straight of at least 30 minutes of exercise.

I missed the first two days.

This is kind of how the new year has been, by the way. Full of ups and downs, goals both kept and unmet. Intentions overshadowed by life: by hospice visits and broken hot water heaters, by canceled plans and late nights. I waver between moments of gratitude and moments of exhaustion. My brain and my body simply cannot decide: celebrate and press on, or resign and curl into the fetal position?

Yesterday, I didn’t have much of a choice.

My first night of BSF was starting, and I had tutoring to do. There was a hair appointment on the calendar and a phone call to be made. Reality sometimes must be faced, and last night, when I got home, I remembered that stupid 28 day challenge.

Every day of exercise you miss, a dollar must be paid. (I currently owe $3.)

So I got off the couch and plugged in Just Dance 3. As a rule, I never dance anywhere that is not my car, perhaps not for lack of desire, but for lack of rhythm and grace. It is not something my body does well. But it was raining, and I refuse to enter the doors of the gym. So Just Dance 3 it was. You know what? I bet I looked absolutely ridiculous. But it didn’t matter. I was laughing and exercising and working up a disgusting sweat.

I had fun.

This is a breakthrough for me, this idea that exercise (because I am convinced it was exercise) can be fun.

And while Ke$ha blared in the background and my arms and limbs flailed separate from my body, I also remembered: This is important. Self-care is important. In the midst of grief and exhaustion and frustration, I cannot forget me. That’s not selfish; that’s smart. Every part of me — body, soul, and mind — needs care and attention so that I can conquer the days ahead.

Yesterday, that meant a haircut. A showing of The Bachelor. Bible study with fellow believers. The latest episode of Parenthood. Exercise. A hot shower.

Sometimes, yes, we curl ourselves into a ball and cry on the couch. (For all I know, I may do that today.)

But sometimes we have to press on. We have to keep moving so that when the phone call comes, when the routine falls apart, when life is replaced with a new normal... We will be okay.

i want blue ceilings.

2012-01-10T08:30:00.000-05:00

I want blue ceilings and a front porch swing where the sun hits just right in the magic hours. I want wood floors and a fire in the fireplace and light streaming in all the windows. I want to spend nights laughing in the kitchen and curled up with a good book. I want to wake up early and go to bed on time. I want to rest fully and fitfully because I live my days good and hard. I want to read more poetry and work with my hands and not forget who I was and who I am becoming. I want to listen to music that gets me lost in my thoughts and makes me happy. I want to write letters to friends and call when I say I’ll call. I want to offer up my stories as proof of my existence. I want to play the piano and let our clothes dry in the afternoon sun. I want friends who bring me peace and encouragement and comfort. I want a garden it looks like God grew and a house the whole neighborhood knows. I want to pray and not stop, to find Him in the loud and in the quiet. I want to sit and do nothing and go out and do something. I want to paint my fingernails and leave twinkle lights up year-round. I want family and adventure and a place to return home. I want the best this life has to offer, not because I deserve it, but because that is what I have been given.

{photo by Annie Coggan; post inspired by the Shauna Niequist quote I love so much.}

january.

2012-01-09T08:30:00.000-05:00

It hit me as I was driving down the road, warm gloves on my cold hands, breath visible and sky a crystal clear blue.

I love January.

It’s an oft-ignored month, I think. The month after the hustle-and-bustle of the holidays, the month before the shortest month of the year, the month when hearts and all things red and pink begin to sneak into the drugstore.

Poor January.

For some, it is nothing more than a few half-baked intentions scribbled down on a piece of paper and taped to the refrigerator.

But to me, it is new beginnings. Fresh starts. The hope of trying something new, of embracing the old parts of me but discovering the parts that are always changing, that are always up for an adventure.

It is a month full of hope and possibility. The days are short, but the nights are long, and I love walking the surrounding neighborhoods with Jordan each night, getting glimpses into homes where people have gathered nice and cozy with their families, taking it easy on the couch by the fireplace, reading good books and watching television.

I like the calm that January brings. The holidays are lovely, full of excitement and fun, staying up late and spending time with long-lost friends and family. But there is something to be said for the calm that comes after the storm, for the holing up in your house and the buying of groceries and the return to routine.

Every season brings with it its own magic, and for that I am grateful.

But it is January’s magic that has captured me now.

It has my attention, and I am devoted to it. I hope it will be kind to me in return.

* print by Lizzy Stewart

what i am learning from pre-grieving.

2012-01-06T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by A Bryan Photo}

I have been guilty.

That's what I want you to know first: I have been guilty.

And if this rather lengthy pre-grieving process is teaching me anything, it is that I have to become the change I wish to see.

If a friend grieves, I should make a meal. Send a card. Call to check in, even if my calls are greeted with voicemail recordings. Shoot a quick email.

Something, anything.

You know how I feel about Facebook. You know my thoughts on friendships and how I too often fail at being the friend I should be.

All of these thoughts have been stewing around in my head this week as I watch my family muddle through my grandmother's final days. I cannot tell you exactly what it feels like to be on this roller coaster; I can only tell you that it is, in one word, exhausting. I have a cloud over my head that just won't go away, not until my grandmother has been greeted into the next life and her loved ones have been granted peace.

What has meant the most in these difficult hours are the friends who have cared enough to show their love in even the tiniest of ways: a quick phone call, a meal for my family, an offer to help remove the burden of former commitments from my hands.

Unfortunately -- and I think this speaks less about my friends and more about the times we are living in -- there haven't been a ton of those small gestures. I think technology and busy-ness have hindered those things. Why send a meal when a family can just buy takeout? Why spend money on a stamp when you could send a Facebook or a text message?

Here is why: Because cards are meaningful. Handwritten words are special. They mean you took the time and effort to think about me, to think about my family.

Meals let me know you cared enough about me to share something you made. They mean that while you were cooking or after you were done, you looked at what you made, and you said: "I should give the rest to someone else."

Maybe we are too consumed with ourselves. Maybe we spend too much time online. Maybe we're just worried we won't be able to do enough, and so we do nothing.

But when friends are grieving, or they've had a hard couple of months, or a baby has just been born, it's time to step outside of ourselves.

This summer, I was reading Shauna Niequist's Bittersweet, and I remember having a discussion with my family about how we respond to hurting hearts. And although I can't remember Niequist's exact words, I'm pretty sure they were something like: "Do something."

Meaning? Stop waiting for permission. Please, for goodness' sake, stop asking. Just do.

And in this coming year, that's one way I want to become better.

I want to get better at the doing. (It's part of saying no to other things, so I can say yes to the important ones.) I want to make meals and send cards, not because I'm part of a church care group or because someone else told me to, but simply because I am a friend. And that is what friends do.

Right before Christmas, before my grandmother fell and things changed, a friend called to tell me she'd left a meal for me and Jordan on our doorstep. There was no reason for it. We were not sick. I am not pregnant. At the time, we were not in the midst of grief.

She just had a new recipe she liked, and she shared it with us by making a casserole dish of it and sending it our way.

I cannot tell you how much that meant to me.

That is what friendship looks like.

And these past few days have taught me: The world needs more of it. More meals, more cards, more phone calls. A little less texting, less asking permission. Fewer Facebook messages and casual "how are yous" and "what can I dos."

The world needs a little more doing, and when this season of time passes, I will know better. I will leave these days with a better understanding of what friendship looks like and how best to handle those who are hurt and grieving. And you know what? Maybe I won't wait until illness or death or pain to show someone I care. Maybe I will be the kind of friend who sends random cards and leaves casseroles on the front step, just because. Because they are worth it. Because it is my calling.

Because really, that's just what friends do.

inspired week 59.

2012-01-05T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Lisa Hubbard for Country Living}

"January is the quietest month in the garden. But just because it looks quiet doesn't mean that nothing is happening."

- Rosalie Muller Wright

it's a new year.

2012-01-04T08:30:00.000-05:00

It's a new year, so in the Jones' household, we are...

- getting up early.

- drinking green smoothies for breakfast.

- doodling in new prayer journals.

- bringing home groceries in reusable bags.

- taking long walks.

- making creative messes.

- leaving up our Christmas lights just a little bit longer.

- listening to good music and making plans for Jazz Fest.

- adjusting to new routines.

- cooking yummy meals.

- going to bed really, really tired.

---

What have you done so far this new year?

farther along.

2012-01-03T09:05:00.000-05:00

"Farther Along" - Josh Garrels from Josh Garrels on Vimeo.

Some songs really resonate with me, often becoming my anthem for days and weeks at a time; the words and the melodies pull me through when it doesn't seem like much else can. I firmly believe God works through poets and artists and musicians; their talents always point me back to the One who holds it all in His hands.

I discovered Josh Garrels' "Farther Along" last fall, but the words are still powerful to me; they are still somehow exactly what I need to hear.

I hope his words resonate with you today, too.

---

Farther along we’ll know all about it

Farther along we’ll understand why

Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We’ll understand this, all by and by

Tempted and tried, I wondered why

The good man died, the bad man thrives

And Jesus cries because he loves em’ both

We’re all cast-aways in need of ropes

Hangin’ on by the last threads of our hope

In a house of mirrors full of smoke

Confusing illusions I’ve seen

Where did I go wrong, I sang along

To every chorus of the song

That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates

Leading mice and men down to their fates

But some will courageously escape

The seductive voice with a heart of faith

While walkin’ that line back home

So much more to life than we’ve been told

It’s full of beauty that will unfold

And shine like you struck gold my wayward son

That deadweight burden weighs a ton

Go down into the river and let it run

And wash away all the things you’ve done

Forgiveness alright

Chorus

Still I get hard pressed on every side

Between the rock and a compromise

Like the truth and pack of lies fightin’ for my soul

And I’ve got no place left go

Cause I got changed by what I’ve been shown

More glory than the world has known

Keeps me ramblin’ on

Skipping like a calf loosed from its stall

I’m free to love once and for all

And even when I fall I’ll get back up

For the joy that overflows my cup

Heaven filled me with more than enough
Broke down my levee and my bluff

Let the flood wash me

And one day when the sky rolls back on us

Some rejoice and the others fuss

Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess

That the son of god is forever blessed

His is the kingdom, we’re the guests

So put your voice up to the test

Sing Lord, come soon

Chorus

awakening.

2012-01-02T08:30:00.000-05:00

"What we must bear in mind is that all these trials and tribulations that pop up in our lives, well, they serve a very useful purpose: They build character, as long as we can hold on to the lessons we've learned from our mistakes.

Remember, we can always start everything fresh tomorrow."

- Anne Shirley's beloved teacher Miss Stacy, Anne of Green Gables

---

This year is bright and fresh and shiny and new, with no mistakes in it just yet. Give me 365 more days, of course, and the story will be different; the year will be marred and marked and battered, just like the years before it. But for now, for today, it is a blank page, and I couldn't be happier.

2011 was a year to celebrate. That word encompassed so much of who I was and what I did during the past 12 months. I celebrated with every fiber of my being, and now? Well, now I am exhausted. I still want to fill my days with joy and celebration, but I know: This year requires something a little different.

My word for 2012 is awaken.

It is time to awake my soul, to delight in the Father and in my home and in my marriage. To find refuge and retreat. To set boundaries in my relationships and to reconnect with those who bring me peace.

This year, I want to go to bed earlier. I function better with eight hours of sleep, and that hasn't been happening on a regular basis for quite some time. For a girl who doesn't drink coffee, that's bad news. It's time to go to bed at a decent hour, to get up each morning in time for a shower and for breakfast, to start and end my days in peace instead of chaos.

It's time to establish boundaries. Not one, not two, but three people have recommended the book Boundaries to me, and I'm going to guess it's not because I'm so awesome at setting them. I think too often I confuse being Jesus with saying yes. Yes, I will do that for you. Yes, I will answer that phone call. Yes, I will exhaust myself to listen and to fix and to problem solve. As a result, I am so, so tired. I come home, and I work on graphic design projects when I should be enjoying my husband. I turn on my computer when I should be reading a book. I provide advice and counsel to friends when I should be directing them to licensed therapists. I've got to become better at setting boundaries in all areas of my life, particularly in my relationships with others and with the church.

I want to delight in God this year. Church clouded my relationship with the Father in 2011, and I'm sorry for it. I decided a few weeks ago to sign up for a Bible Study Fellowship class in my area, hoping that the accountability and a different group of believers might be what I need to reset my focus and renew my vision. For Christmas, Jordan bought me the book Praying in Color, and I can't wait to see what this imaginative form of prayer might do to my walk with Christ. I'm actually excited to sit down and commune with the Father, and I can't tell you how much that brings me hope.

This year, I plan to retreat. I want to retreat to my home at the end of the day. I want to plan a weekend of silence and rest and communion with God (maybe here?). I've got a beach weekend with dear friends planned toward the middle of this month, and another reunion of college friends scheduled for Labor Day. I want to get away into the quiet places this year; my soul desperately needs it.

In 2011, I chose to focus on celebration; I hosted baby showers and parties over and over again, and I loved it. But I also noticed that I gave a lot of myself. I missed conversations with friends who bring me peace and comfort. I want to make more time for that this year. I want to schedule Skype chats and phone calls with those who I know want the best for me. By saying no to some things, I want to be able to say yes to relationships that I know are mutually beneficial and uplifting.

I want to embrace my creative side. Sometimes, that's going to mean making a mess. Maybe it's going to look like praying with colored pencils and a pad of paper. Maybe I get home on Tuesday afternoons and keep the television off while I try my hand at writing poetry again. The tasks I perform at my job on a daily basis are not always creative, but they are time and energy-consuming, so much so that I don't always make time for what I love: reading and paper-cutting and gluing and creating. I'd like to see that change this year.

Exercise is the bane of my existence. I cannot find something I want to do and stick with it. Of all the resolutions I have made and tried to keep, this is the one that consistently eludes me. But as Jordan tries to make some lifestyle changes for the sake of his health, I want to join him. A couple of friends and I are attempting a 28-day challenge: 28 straight days of exercise of 30 minutes or longer. We start this Saturday. I get bored easily, so I'm hoping to fill my 28 days with walks and jogs around the block and maybe, just maybe, some Bar Method routines (oh gracious me). Stephen Covey says it takes 28 days to make a habit, so we're all crossing our fingers that the 28 days project will result in consistent exercise routines all year long.

2011 was a good year. I'm happy with the resolutions I made and the overarching theme that shaped my days. But this year, I'm hoping to restore a little bit of the me that got lost in the shuffle. I'm hoping to find God and His love. I'm hoping for refreshment and renewal.

I'm hoping for an awakening.

---

What are you hoping for in 2012?

looking back.

2011-12-31T08:30:00.000-05:00

Before we fully embrace 2012, I feel like it’s important to take a look back at the ups and downs 2011 gave us, to remember the resolutions that succeeded and the ones that failed, to relive the highlights and the less-than-perfect moments of the past 12 months.

In January, I wrote that I wanted our home to be clean and livable and full of color and life. I wanted to have fresh flowers and good-smelling candles and colorful accents that let people know our home is fun and livable and that our door is always open. I wanted to cook through Jamie Oliver’s cookbook and develop a usable, uniquely me closet. I wanted to bring music, joy, and color into our home, to celebrate milestones in a meaningful way. I wanted to establish a quiet time ritual, to make the most of our precious weekend hours, and to complain a whole lot less.

Overall, I’m so happy with how our year went.

We celebrated my 25th birthday and planned a spontaneous trip to Jazz Fest, one of the absolute highlights of my year. We welcomed two new babies into our midst and showered them and their mothers with love and gifts. We said goodbye to people we loved and chose to embrace our time here. We started a supper club and hosted weekly small group meetings. I gave up sugar for 40 days and learned a lot about myself, my body, and the Lenten season. We honored Advent and came to terms with some church issues that had clouded my walk with Christ. We held date nights most every Friday night, often taking “mini-vacations” to Thomasville, a small town nearby that just so happens to be the home of my favorite bookstore. I read 50 books and wrote an entire blogging series on celebration. I bought clothes I liked and began creating a useable, wearable closet. I established a face-cleansing routine that actually works. I hosted favorite things brunches and book club meetings and game nights and supper clubs and a pretty awesome dance party. We went to New Orleans and Captiva Island and Nags Head and the north Georgia mountains. We went to the beach over and over and over again, and each time it was just what I needed. We paid off my student loans and began to work on Jordan’s. I had two cancerous moles removed, and Jordan faced a few health scares of his own. Together we took steps to make sure the next few years we live are healthier than the last. We cooked more in our tiny kitchen; we subscribed to Netflix and watched Cheers and Parks and Recreation and The Wonder Years. I redecorated our bathroom and added meaningful touches to our home. I planned an entire wedding and reception without hurting myself or others. I enjoyed time with the fuzzies, and Jordan and I had our first reunion with precious friends from college.

Sure, there were hard times.

But this year lived up to its name.

I can close the door on 2011 because I truly believe I gave it everything I had. I like who I am starting 2012. I like what I accomplished this year, and, if I’m being honest, I like how I failed. The things that went well and the things that didn’t have shaped me, and I’m more equipped to face the days ahead.

Bring it, 2012. I am ready for you.

And 2011? Thank you. You were so good for me.

reading recap: december + book club.

2011-12-30T10:53:00.001-05:00

{print by Janet Hill Studios}

I read 50 books this year.

It seems like, finally, I adjusted enough in the real world to make time for the hobby I have loved since the day I could distinguish letters from numbers. I am so glad.

Here are reviews of the two books I managed to squeeze in this month; you can see past month's reviews here.

Book: Shopgirl
Finished: Mid-December

I've read three of Steve Martin's books, and although I've enjoyed them all, The Pleasure of My Company is by far my favorite. Shopgirl, with its witty dialogue and honest insights into the lives of some broken characters, just didn't grab my attention like Martin's previous works. Instead, I felt like it was a story I'd read before; Martin, I think, primarily writes about wounded, somewhat quirky women; most of his stories continually come back to that type. And while I find his writing enjoyable -- there's a portion of Shopgirl in which Martin depicts the thoughts of his male and female characters that is brilliant -- I also kind of get tired of the same portrayal of women over and over and over again. He's definitely a man writing about women, but if you can get past that and focus on the writing itself? Shopgirl manages to still be impressive. By the closing pages, I cared what happened to each character; it just took me a little time.

---

Book: Under the Table

Finished: Late December

I don't know why I'm continually drawn to books about food, but a friend loaned me Under the Table, an inside look into the author's culinary school experience, and I couldn't wait to get started. Maybe it's because my mind has been other places this month, but like Shopgirl, I had a hard time really turning the pages of Under the Table. Darling -- whose voice reminded me quite a bit of the author of Orange Is the New Black -- didn't come across as your best-friend-turned-chef (let's face it; I was counting on Sookie St. James); her background in the culinary world immediately marks her as an expert, and that, I think, prevented me from really loving Under the Table. I wanted to be guided through the experience of culinary school with a friend, and instead, I got a Julia Child wannabe. Under the Table is still worth a read, particularly if you're like me, and find yourself attracted to books about the world of food. Darling features some of her favorite recipes and offers some pretty funny anecdotes on life wearing a chef's hat.

---

I've also included a list of our book club's reads for the year. Book club is, as I have mentioned many times, a new year's resolution of mine that somehow managed to stick. For those hoping to start or participate in one in the new year, I'd encourage you to do so. It's been a nice way for me to read things I wouldn't normally, and to converse -- casually -- with other book lovers. These girls and the books we read have been a blessing since I moved back to Tallahassee; I'm not quite sure what I'd do without our monthly visits. A quick look into our book club: We meet on a monthly basis; we rotate houses, and the hostess selects three books that we all vote on via email. It’s been a great system, and it gives everybody a chance to select the genre of books that they prefer.

Book Club Selections, Year 3

January:

I'd Know You Anywhere by Laura Lippman (Rachel)

February:

The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin (Jenn)

March:

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout (Annie)

April:

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith (Kristen)

May:

Saving CeeCee Honeycutt by Beth Hoffman (Julianne)

June:

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho (Mandy)

July:

Little Earthquakes by Jennifer Weiner (Julie)

August:

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins (Jenn)

September:

Dog On It by Spencer Quinn (Dani Su)

October:

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (Laura)

November:
Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kaling (Annie)

December:
An Idiot Girl's Christmas by Laurie Notaro (Kristen)

So: What were your favorite books of 2011? Which should I start reading in 2012?

inspired week 58.

2011-12-29T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Alex Mazurov}

“Contentment is the direct fruit of having no higher ambition than to belong to the Lord at his disposal.”

- Sinclair Ferguson

we wait.

2011-12-28T15:56:00.001-05:00

Advent is over, but we are still waiting.

Not on the Christ-child, but on my grandmother. We are waiting on her to meet the King.

I can hardly believe I am writing that, can hardly believe that it’s true, but those are the words that have kept coming back to me each day in the middle of phone calls and prayers and tears and bated breaths.

While the world has been waiting on the gift of the Son here, I have been waiting for my grandmother to receive the Son there, in a world so great and so mysterious we cannot begin to fathom it.

It has been painful.

Sometimes, Christians make death and grief seem easy, as if we know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Heaven comes with streets of gold and mansions with our family’s names engraved on the mailboxes. (My honest hope is that Heaven does not look like that much at all.)

I do not know what sermons you have heard or what doctrines you believe, but I would like you to know: Saying goodbye is never easy.

The pain and confusion and sadness my family has endured this week have been excruciating. All of a sudden, 93 years does not seem like long enough, and we are not ready to say goodbye.

This Christmas, anticipating my grandmother’s homecoming has been just as important as celebrating the Christ’s birth. I hope that is not sacrilegious to say, because it is true.

This is a season.

These days are painful, but they are necessary.

We will look back and see His hands moving in all kinds of unusual ways. We will see His words in the doctor’s frequent visits and the strangers’ prayers. We will treasure the time spent gathered around a hospital bed, the time spent devoted to maintaining old holiday traditions and creating new ones. We will say whispered thank yous for the gift of family, and we will know — perhaps not now, but later — all is still grace.

It doesn’t always feel like it.

The God I serve does not always answer my prayers how I want or when I want. His ways are nothing like my own, and so our waiting has felt prolonged.

I am coming to terms with that.

Every day, I tell my mother: One day at a time.

Every day, I am repeating those words to myself.

My emotions are so confused, so twisted. I find myself crying in prayer, then laughing at shared memories and funny board games.

My words are not coming out like I want them to. This post has taken me far too long to write, and once it is written, I’m not confident it will at all say what I want it to say. (Because how do you write about pain? About the grief that comes before the death, not after?)

But that’s okay.

This is a season. And it is just as important as the last, just as important as the one that waits behind the curtain.

These days do not look like the days of Decembers past. I have cancelled my plans to attend a dear friend’s wedding out of state; a sequined top (I know; I caved) will remain unworn in my closet.

And that, this year, is how it should be.

The grieving moments are as important as the celebratory ones.

The memories and the tears will mingle together, and that is as it should be too.

In these days, I will treasure my family. I will treasure my name. I will treasure the thought that when my grandmother’s body leaves this life, she, quite simply, will not.

Her influence, her legacy is far too great.

Death will not overcome her. She will just arrive home a little earlier than the rest of us.

She will make it beautiful, and it will be her turn to wait. This time, for us.

I suspect her waiting will not be nearly as long or as painful as our own. This time, she will be waiting with the King.

inspired week 57.

2011-12-22T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Seasonal Love}

“Let yourself fall open to Advent, to anticipation, to the belief that what is empty will be filled, what is broken will be repaired, and what is lost can always be found, no matter how many times it’s been lost.”

- Shauna Niequist

trying.

2011-12-21T11:07:00.001-05:00

I'm trying to persevere today. To find joy when the joy has run a little bit dry.

Tonight we are going on a date. We are looking at Christmas lights, sipping hot chocolate, pretending it's cold.

Yesterday I bought myself a couple of pretty things on deep, deep sale from Anthropologie. (Still 50% off their sale items, folks!) Occasionally, retail therapy works.

Friday, if all remains the same, I'm hosting our family brunch, one of the highlights of last year's Christmas. I'm ready to attempt my dad's delicious sausage and egg casserole, ready to see the looks on my family's faces when they open the gifts I've picked for them.

I am reading a new book and letting myself cry when I need to.

I am listening to Christmas music, to Doris Day and Justin Bieber, to James Taylor and She and Him, to the Carpenters and Wham.

I am dwelling on this scripture: "When I said, 'My foot is slipping,' your love, O LORD, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul."

I'd like to paint my finger nails, to clean up my house, to sit still for just a few minutes in the peace and quiet of our living room.

But those things might not happen, and as we get closer and closer to December 25, I'm realizing that's okay. It's okay. I don't have to do it all. Christmas will still be Christmas.

Today is, literally, the darkest day of the year. But Shauna Niequist reminded me this morning: Things can only get brighter.

They will get brighter.

Baby steps, friends. Baby steps.

when the holidays don't go your way.

2011-12-20T11:29:00.000-05:00

I am queen of the holidays. I embrace the cookie baking and the present wrapping. I fight the crazy traffic and buy the perfect gift. I love making Christmas cards and decorating the tree. I celebrate old traditions and establish new ones. Although I am an unabashed admirer of autumn, the span of weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year's holds a magic I can't really find during any other season.

This year, though, has been absolute chaos.

I'm still waiting for two gifts to come in the mail.

Wrapping paper remnants cover our guest room floor, waiting for me to finish covering what's left of our family's gifts.

Christmas treats and homemade goodies for coworkers remain undone.

The weather is a balmy 74 degrees every day, making it hard to remember that it's actually Christmas time again.

I've only watched two holiday movies and have spent precious few minutes sitting peacefully in front of the happily twinkling tree. (Though I did request that Jordan and I sleep downstairs a couple of nights last week, just so I could enjoy our pretty tree in all its glory.)

Most of this, I suppose, sounds like whining.

But it's December 20, and my 93-year-old grandmother is in the hospital, and all of the stress and the chaos and the frustrations of the past few weeks pale in comparison.

I don't know what God is doing right now. I'm not sure what is up His sleeve, or what His plan is for me or my family.

I do know, though, that my family -- by His grace -- manages to function beautifully under pressure. I know that I have a husband who is determined to make our marriage excellent, to make Christmas special, even when it doesn't feel like it. We have friends who love us and care for us. They not only keep us in their prayers, they show their affection and concern in practical ways, with casseroles and books and phone calls and texts. I have a brother home from Nashville and fuzzins waiting to bake cookies with me. I have an understanding boss who allowed me to be at home with family yesterday.

Sunday, well before we could have predicted this turn in my grandmother's health, Jordan and I took a walk around one of our favorite neighborhoods. I was feeling hopeful, wishing the Father might redeem the days we'd lost focusing on some church struggles and health issues, but I was also tired. We had small group to host and a house that was (is) a mess and all I really wanted to do was wrap presents and watch Miracle on 34th Street. Instead, as we walked, Jordan and I took turns reminding each other what we were grateful for in 2011. It is so easy to lose perspective in moments of annoyance and frustration. It can feel like your world has caved in on you, like 2011 has been a complete and total bust.

It hasn't.

It has been wonderful, and I imagine that while I will undoubtedly look back on these months as an unusually stressful time in our lives, I will also look back on them with gratitude for what they're teaching me about marriage and family and priorities and true church.

This Christmas doesn't feel like Christmases past. Not yet, anyway.

But regardless of how I am feeling, He is born. He is come to earth for me. He is capable of redeeming all and bringing it back to Him.

And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

*An aside: I find these 50 ways to cope with stress both delightful and practical. Also? I plan to decorate cookies today.

a happier 2012.

2011-12-19T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Jory Cordy}

It is too early for me to begin to think too seriously about my resolutions and goals for 2012. For that to happen, I’d need time to sit and reflect quietly, and there just hasn’t been enough of that these past few weeks. Instead, my calendar has been full of commitments — fun commitments, but commitments just the same — and my mind has been full of thoughts: some frustrated, some angry, some hopeful, some sad. It has been a roller coaster, this last little part of 2011, and I am praying that when December 31 rolls around, I can shut the door on all the things that have produced tears and stress and hurt. Unfortunately, I’m not sure that the start of a new year means a completely blank slate. Instead, I will have to work to achieve the peace and happiness I’ve been craving. The door will not close without cleaning the things that are behind it first.

Nevertheless, I have been thinking of ways to prevent the baggage and the clutter from building up again. So to be happier — a vague term, I know, so I suppose you could also substitute “content” — in 2012, I’ve got some things up my sleeve. Not goals, not resolutions. Let’s call them plans. I have plans for 2012. Simple, practical, achievable plans. Plans that I believe will contribute to the overall health and well-being of my body and my soul.

To be happier in 2012...

I must read more and watch TV less.

I must exercise.

I must go to bed early.

I must get up early.

I must cement a regular quiet time.

I must establish a routine.

I must embrace my inner renaissance woman.

There will be more to come on these as I say goodbye to 2011 and turn my attention to 2012. For now, though, I’m going to be thinking on how to accomplish these, and what these simple changes might mean for my life in the new year. I have been mulling over a word that will direct the next 12 months in the way “celebration” lovingly dictated the past 12, been thinking about how I want to look and act and feel this time next year. Lots of thoughts are running through my head, but so far, it’s these seven overarching principles that keep coming back. These are the ones that really, I should have implemented long before now, the ones that will keep me sane when my world goes haywire.

What are you hoping for 2012?

we are not alone in this.

2011-12-16T08:30:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, the best way I know to cope is to take a few deep breaths and go someplace new.

That's not always possible, but when it is, it does the trick.

Week-long vacations, Saturdays spent in Thomasville, Sundays in a different pew. These are what sustain and help me press on when life starts to feel like just a bit too much.

The latter part of 2011 is, for lack of a better term, kicking my butt. It has been suffocating and gut-wrenching, and full of please-God-won't-you-do-something-to-make-this-better lamentations.

He has answered, and doesn't He always do it in the oddest, most imaginative of ways?

We are still torn, a little bit broken, and a lot confused.

But today, oddly, I feel at peace. I feel hopeful for our future. I feel grateful for the calm before the storm, for the two days in which God gave us a glimpse of that sometimes so very far away kingdom.

Last weekend, we met up with some friends from college in Farmersville, Alabama, of all places.

Down a couple of dirt roads, and I could already feel my chest loosening.

We played board games, spent late nights laughing our heads off, mornings cuddled on couches in blankets, singing our hearts out in worship.

Sometimes God gives us what we need even when we do not ask.

In the middle of our stress and pain at home, I had not thought to ask God to bless our time with friends, to bring us all back together in peace, to give us a balm in the form of Southern accents and college memories.

He did anyway.

That weekend already seems like a lifetime ago in this holiday season that has showed up out of nowhere and bombarded me with gifts left to buy and a messy house to clean.

But if I close my eyes for a moment, I can remember. I take a deep breath, and I realize that God is still present, that He is still working, and He still — still! — has my back.

Our friends helped us last weekend, more than they know.

And the letters and the calls and the texts and the casseroles I've received from people I love both near and far?

They serve as reminders that we are not alone in this.

This advent season has not at all gone like I had planned.

It has not been peaceful or calm or exceptionally bright.

My heart has been broken, and for a while there, I was at a loss.

But He has granted me perspective. He has opened my eyes.

Make no mistake: The mess is not cleaned up. The wrongs have not been corrected, and the beauty that is promised has yet to show itself.

Yet for some reason, today, I am grateful. I am reminded of good friends, of a calm retreat and a breathe-easy weekend. I am counting the twinkle lights placed around our home and the blessings they are reminders of.

I am, for the time being, choosing to look past what this month has held thus far, and I am placing my focus elsewhere.

On the child-king. On the redemption He offers to the messes and the outcasts and the broken. On the hope at the end of a long wait. On friends who love all of us, every part of us, even the parts we try to hide, even the parts that are insecure and vain and unsure. On a new year and a new beginning, but yes, on the past and the present too.

It all deserves our utmost attention.

I guess this is my long-winded way of saying: Thank you, friends. For loving us and breathing new life into us.

This weekend, may you, readers of this tiny blog of mine, surround yourselves with people whose love for you runs deep. They can be such powerful reminders of His love for us.

inspired week 56.

2011-12-15T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Joielala Photographie for Sitting in a Tree Events}

"And when we give each other Christmas gifts in His name, let us remember that He has given us the sun and the moon and the stars, and the earth with its forests and mountains and oceans – and all that lives and move upon them. He has given us all green things and everything that blossoms and bears fruit and all that we quarrel about and all that we have misused – and to save us from our foolishness, from all our sins, He came down to earth and gave us Himself."

- Sigrid Undset

my grandpa, kevin arnold, and me.

2011-12-14T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Bloto Angeles}

When I was 20, I had the opportunity to edit a book my grandfather wrote.

Both of my grandfathers were writers. They were men who believed in writing things down, in recording memories and spiritual truths and humorous anecdotes, in passing stories down through the generations.

My grandfathers took their writing seriously. Sure, some of it remained on yellow legal pads or in family vacation newsletters, but as they became older, they decided to do something with this passion they possessed. They self-published their books, and they sit on my shelves, just as important as the Tolstoy and the Lamott, the Sedaris and the Alcott.

A few weeks ago, I pulled down my grandfather's memoir, a book he'd titled Back Roads to a Better Life: Believe It or Not. That "believe it or not" portion of the title is important. During the months I spent reading and editing my grandfather's book, I'd come across passages that just didn't make sense. My five feet, four inch tall grandfather, a star on his high school basketball team? Capable of dunking the ball into a basket at a moment's notice? Unless height averages have changed -- and hey, maybe they have -- that just didn't ring true. When I brought that particular passage to my grandfather's attention, he winked at me: "That's why it's called 'believe it or not.' I want the reader to decide what's real or what's not."

Jordan and I have taken to watching The Wonder Years each night before bed. I take a little bit of pride in the fact that I introduced Jordan to little Kevin Arnold and the truths he learns in 20 minutes of memory recall each episode. In an episode we watched recently, Kevin remembers trying out -- accidentally, really -- for the junior high baseball team. Aside from one "lucky hit," Kevin's really not very good. But at the close of the episode, in his final moment at bat, he hits another one out of the park, and the crowd goes wild. He's hoisted on the shoulders of his friends and teammates, and you can hear adult Kevin narrating over the hooplah: "Maybe that's not exactly the way it happened, but that's the way it should've happened, and that's the way I like to remember it. If dreams and memories sometimes get confused, well, that's as it should be."

Even though it didn't make much sense to me at the time, didn't make much sense as I slaved away over commas and misspellings and technical glitches, I'm glad my grandpa was creative with his memories, glad he hid a few dreams throughout his life's narratives.

I'm glad, too, that he had a few dreams for me.

As I pulled his book down from my shelf the other night, I caught a glimpse of the first page. I'd forgotten, somehow, that he'd signed it for me, given a copy to every friend and family member for Christmas that year, so proud of what he and I had accomplished together. Not a year later, he passed away fighting a bout of lung cancer so quick and so sudden that he was gone really before we'd known what to do.

We're so lucky he'd taken the time to write it all down first.

And on that first page of my copy, there in my grandfather's handwriting, I'm reminded that he wanted me to write it all down too. He had dreams for me. He believed in me. He had confidence in me that I still don't quite have myself.

His legacy extends far beyond his written pages, but I'm glad my grandfather took the time to write it down anyway, glad he chose to express through the written word how much he had planned for me, how much -- in his own way -- he loved me and wanted my dreams to come true.

Not everything is eternal, I know. The paper of the books I love so will deteriorate and rot and be put to the flame one day. But words? Words, I think, last forever.

That's something my grandpa knew, and it's something he wanted me to know. He told me so right there in the pages of his book.

12 days of love letter writing.

2011-12-13T08:30:00.000-05:00

Remember this post?

A few weeks ago, Hannah emailed me with an opportunity to serve. To get outside of myself. To stop dwelling on my own issues and to be part of the 12 Days of Love Letter Writing campaign. I was hesitant, but I said yes.

It's a small gesture, to reach out and let someone -- an unknown someone -- feel loved and cared for, to send words out to people who need them the very most. Small, but at the same time, really really big. And for me, the opportunity to turn my own thoughts into actions for someone else came at the absolute perfect time.

From December 5-17, the World Needs More Love Letters organization is diving into their biggest love letter writing campaign yet, and they've asked for my help. And, as it so happens, your help.

Today, thanks to Hannah and her team's efforts, we have an opportunity to send words of peace and joy to someone in desperate need. So today, in the middle of your conference calls and meetings, in between Facebook messages and blog posts, pull out a piece of paper. Pick up a card at the drug store. Dig through your box of too-often-ignored stationary. And write a love letter to Anthony.

From Hannah:

"Anthony recently lost the love of his life and high school sweetheart to a 10-year-battle with cancer. The two were one anothers’ first loves and Anthony held her hand, fighting until the end. Anthony’s niece requested this letter for her uncle, writing, 'She was his best friend and soul mate. They had no children, just each other. The holidays will be really hard for him this year so I think he would benefit greatly from these love letters.'"

I cannot imagine the pain and the grief. To be perfectly honest, I am overwhelmed by it. I've heard so many stories like this in the past couple of months, and they are crippling. I was worried my words might not be enough.

But then I remembered that they don't have to be enough. Someone else is. I can just offer comfort and care in the best ways I know how: with words and time and effort.

Will you please join me in sending a love letter to Anthony this week? (You can find letter writing tips here.) The holidays, I know, are a difficult time to be without someone you love. Anthony could, I am sure, use the reminder that there are people out there who love and care. Sometimes, that is all we can do. Sometimes, it is enough.

If you're like me, there's plenty to distract you this holiday season. I am feeling pulled in all sorts of directions, and none of them seems easy or doable or right. But doing for someone else? Loving someone else? Well, that's something I can do. That's something that is right.

You don’t need to be a writer or a blogger to participate. Just let Anthony know you took the time to care.

Send your letter to:

More Love Letters

PO Box 2061

North Haven, CT 06473

At the end of the week, More Love Letters will gather all of our love letters and send them off to Anthony. I'd like to think that mail day will be a very good day indeed.

(Oh, and if you do choose to write a letter, would you be kind enough to let me or Hannah know? You can find me on Twitter here, and Hannah here.)

rory's reading list.

2011-12-12T08:30:00.000-05:00

{from bookfessions.tumblr.com}

A friend emailed me this list of Rory Gilmore's reads, and I've got to tell you: Even though I want to be, I'm obviously not the reader Rory is (I'm hoping that's because she's a fictional character, and I am not). Nevertheless, it was kind of fun to see what she read throughout the Gilmore Girls series, and I had a feeling you might enjoy it too.

It looks like I've only read 50 from the list (my completed reads are in bold, and my not-finished-but-started are in teal), and I'm ashamed to say I've seen a lot of the movies these books influenced. Looks like I don't always practice what I preach...

Now here are my questions for you: How many have you read? And, of these books, which are you shocked I haven't read? In other words, which do I need to read as soon as possible?

---

1984 by George Orwell
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon
An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser
Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank
Archidamian War by Donald Kagan
The Art of Fiction by Henry James
The Art of War by Sun Tzu
As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy
The Awakening by Kate Chopin
Babe by Dick King-Smith
Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women by Susan Faludi Balzac
Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie
Bel Canto by Ann Patchett
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Beloved by Toni Morrison
Beowulf: A New Verse Translation by Seamus Heaney
The Bhagava Gita
The Bielski Brothers: The True Story of Three Men Who Defied the Nazis, Built a Village in the Forest, and Saved 1,200 Jews by Peter Duffy
Bitch in Praise of Difficult Women by Elizabeth Wurtzel
A Bolt from the Blue and Other Essays by Mary McCarthy
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Brick Lane by Monica Ali
Bridgadoon by Alan Jay Lerner
Candide by Voltaire
The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer
Carrie by Stephen King
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White
The Children’s Hour by Lillian Hellman
Christine by Stephen King
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
The Code of the Woosters by P.G. Wodehouse
The Collected Short Stories by Eudora Welty
The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty by Eudora Welty
A Comedy of Errors by William Shakespeare
Complete Novels by Dawn Powell
The Complete Poems by Anne Sexton
Complete Stories by Dorothy Parker
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas père
Cousin Bette by Honor’e de Balzac
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Crimson Petal and the White by Michel Faber
The Crucible by Arthur Miller
Cujo by Stephen King
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon
Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende
David and Lisa by Dr. Theodore Issac Rubin, M.D.
David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown
Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol
Demons by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Deenie by Judy Blume
The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson
The Dirt: Confessions of the World’s Most Notorious Rock Band by Tommy Lee, Vince Neil, Mick Mars and Nikki Sixx
The Divine Comedy by Dante
The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells
Don Quijote by Cervantes
Driving Miss Daisy by Alfred Uhrv
Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
Edgar Allan Poe: Complete Tales & Poems by Edgar Allan Poe
Eleanor Roosevelt by Blanche Wiesen Cook
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe
Ella Minnow Pea: A Novel in Letters by Mark Dunn
Eloise by Kay Thompson
Emily the Strange by Roger Reger
Emma by Jane Austen
Empire Falls by Richard Russo
Encyclopedia Brown: Boy Detective by Donald J. Sobol
Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
Ethics by Spinoza
Europe through the Back Door, 2003 by Rick Steves
Eva Luna by Isabel Allende
Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
Extravagance by Gary Krist
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
Fahrenheit 9/11 by Michael Moore
The Fall of the Athenian Empire by Donald Kagan
Fat Land: How Americans Became the Fattest People in the World by Greg Critser
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
The Fellowship of the Ring: Book 1 of The Lord of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien
Fiddler on the Roof by Joseph Stein
The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom
Finnegan’s Wake by James Joyce
Fletch by Gregory McDonald
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem
The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Franny and Zooey by J. D. Salinger
Freaky Friday by Mary Rodgers
Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut
Gender Trouble by Judith Butler
George W. Bushism: The Slate Book of the Accidental Wit and Wisdom of our 43rd President by Jacob Weisberg
Gidget by Fredrick Kohner
Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen
The Gnostic Gospels by Elaine Pagels
The Godfather: Book 1 by Mario Puzo
The God of Small Things by Arundhati
Goldilocks and the Three Bears by Alvin Granowsky
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
The Good Soldier by Ford Maddox Ford
The Gospel According to Judy Bloom
The Graduate by Charles Webb
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
The Group by Mary McCarthy
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J. K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J. K. Rowling
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders by Vincent Bugliosi and Curt Gentry
Henry IV, part I by William Shakespeare
Henry IV, part II by William Shakespeare
Henry V by William Shakespeare
High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon
Holidays on Ice: Stories by David Sedaris
The Holy Barbarians by Lawrence Lipton
House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus III
The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende
How to Breathe Underwater by Julie Orringer
How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss
How the Light Gets in by M. J. Hyland
Howl by Allen Gingsburg
The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo
The Iliad by Homer
I’m with the Band by Pamela des Barres
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
Inferno by Dante
Inherit the Wind by Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee
Iron Weed by William J. Kennedy
It Takes a Village by Hillary Clinton
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan
Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare
The Jumping Frog by Mark Twain
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair Just a Couple of Days by Tony Vigorito
The Kitchen Boy: A Novel of the Last Tsar by Robert Alexander
Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly by Anthony Bourdain
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini Lady
Chatterleys’ Lover by D. H. Lawrence
The Last Empire: Essays 1992-2000 by Gore Vidal
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
The Legend of Bagger Vance by Steven Pressfield
Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis
Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them by Al Franken
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
The Little Locksmith by Katharine Butler Hathaway
The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
Living History by Hillary Rodham Clinton
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
The Lottery: And Other Stories by Shirley Jackson
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold The Love Story by Erich Segal
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
The Manticore by Robertson Davies
Marathon Man by William Goldman
The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter by Simone de Beauvoir
Memoirs of General W. T. Sherman by William Tecumseh Sherman
Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
The Meaning of Consuelo by Judith Ortiz Cofer
Mencken’s Chrestomathy by H. R. Mencken
The Merry Wives of Windsor by William Shakespeare
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
The Miracle Worker by William Gibson
Moby Dick by Herman Melville
The Mojo Collection: The Ultimate Music Companion by Jim Irvin
Moliere: A Biography by Hobart Chatfield Taylor
A Monetary History of the United States by Milton Friedman
Monsieur Proust by Celeste Albaret
A Month Of Sundays: Searching For The Spirit And My Sister by Julie Mars
A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
Mutiny on the Bounty by Charles Nordhoff and James Norman Hall
My Lai 4: A Report on the Massacre and Its Aftermath by Seymour M. Hersh
My Life as Author and Editor by H. R. Mencken
My Life in Orange: Growing Up with the Guru by Tim Guest
Myra Waldo’s Travel and Motoring Guide to Europe, 1978 by Myra Waldo
My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult
The Naked and the Dead by Norman Mailer
The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
The Nanny Diaries by Emma McLaughlin
Nervous System: Or, Losing My Mind in Literature by Jan Lars Jensen
New Poems of Emily Dickinson by Emily Dickinson
The New Way Things Work by David Macaulay
Nickel and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich
Night by Elie Wiesel
Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism by William E. Cain, Laurie A. Finke, Barbara E. Johnson, John P. McGowan
Novels 1930-1942: Dance Night/Come Back to Sorrento, Turn, Magic Wheel/Angels on Toast/A Time to be Born by Dawn Powell
Notes of a Dirty Old Man by Charles Bukowski
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Old School by Tobias Wolff
On the Road by Jack Kerouac
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Opposite of Fate: Memories of a Writing Life by Amy Tan
Oracle Night by Paul Auster
Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood
Othello by Shakespeare
Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens
The Outbreak of the Peloponnesian War by Donald Kagan
Out of Africa by Isac Dineson
The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton
A Passage to India by E.M. Forster
The Peace of Nicias and the Sicilian Expedition by Donald Kagan
The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
Peyton Place by Grace Metalious
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
Pigs at the Trough by Arianna Huffington
Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi
Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain
The Polysyllabic Spree by Nick Hornby
The Portable Dorothy Parker by Dorothy Parker
The Portable Nietzche by Fredrich Nietzche
The Price of Loyalty: George W. Bush, the White House, and the Education of Paul O’Neill by Ron Suskind
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Property by Valerie Martin
Pushkin: A Biography by T. J. Binyon
Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw
Quattrocento by James Mckean
A Quiet Storm by Rachel Howzell Hall
Rapunzel by Grimm Brothers
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe The Razor’s Edge by W. Somerset Maugham
Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books by Azar Nafisi
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm by Kate Douglas Wiggin
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Rescuing Patty Hearst: Memories From a Decade Gone Mad by Virginia Holman
The Return of the King: The Lord of the Rings Book 3 by J. R. R. Tolkien
R Is for Ricochet by Sue Grafton
Rita Hayworth by Stephen King
Robert’s Rules of Order by Henry Robert
Roman Holiday by Edith Wharton
Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare
A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf
A Room with a View by E. M. Forster
Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin
The Rough Guide to Europe, 2003 Edition
Sacred Time by Ursula Hegi
Sanctuary by William Faulkner
Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay by Nancy Milford
Say Goodbye to Daisy Miller by Henry James
The Scarecrow of Oz by Frank L. Baum
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Laura Hillenbrand
The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
Secrets of the Flesh: A Life of Colette by Judith Thurman
Selected Hotels of Europe
Selected Letters of Dawn Powell: 1913-1965 by Dawn Powell
Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Several Biographies of Winston Churchill Sexus by Henry Miller
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Shane by Jack Shaefer
The Shining by Stephen King
Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse
S Is for Silence by Sue Grafton
Slaughter-house Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Small Island by Andrea Levy
Snows of Kilimanjaro by Ernest Hemingway
Snow White and Rose Red by Grimm Brothers
Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World by Barrington Moore
The Song of Names by Norman Lebrecht
Song of the Simple Truth: The Complete Poems of Julia de Burgos by Julia de Burgos
The Song Reader by Lisa Tucker
Songbook by Nick Hornby
The Sonnets by William Shakespeare
Sonnets from the Portuegese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sophie’s Choice by William Styron
The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
Speak, Memory by Vladimir Nabokov
Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach
The Story of My Life by Helen Keller
A Streetcar Named Desiree by Tennessee Williams
Stuart Little by E. B. White
The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust
Swimming with Giants: My Encounters with Whales, Dolphins and Seals by Anne Collett
Sybil by Flora Rheta Schreiber
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
Tender Is The Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Terms of Endearment by Larry McMurtry
Time and Again by Jack Finney
The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
To Have and Have Not by Ernest Hemingway
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Tragedy of Richard III by William Shakespeare
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
The Trial by Franz Kafka
The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters by Elisabeth Robinson
Truth & Beauty: A Friendship by Ann Patchett
Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom
Ulysses by James Joyce
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962 by Sylvia Plath
Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
Unless by Carol Shields
Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann
The Vanishing Newspaper by Philip Meyers
Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray
Velvet Underground’s The Velvet Underground and Nico (Thirty Three and a Third series) by Joe Harvard
The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
Walden by Henry David Thoreau
Walt Disney’s Bambi by Felix Salten
War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
We Owe You Nothing – Punk Planet: The Collected Interviews edited by Daniel Sinker
What Colour is Your Parachute? 2005 by Richard Nelson Bolles
What Happened to Baby Jane by Henry Farrell
When the Emperor Was Divine by Julie Otsuka
Who Moved My Cheese? Spencer Johnson
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf by Edward Albee
Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire
The Wizard of Oz by Frank L. Baum
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

christmas favorites.

2011-12-09T08:30:00.000-05:00

Smell: Pine. My new Bella by Illume candle in Winter Berry (only $10 at Target; I couldn't find it online, but it would be well worth checking for at your local store). Orange and cloves.

Tradition: My favorite tradition Jordan and I started together as a family is going to the Anglican lessons and carols service on the first Sunday night in December. (You can listen to last year's service here.) It's a wonderful way to kick off the season, and I love that it's something Jordan and I began our first Christmas season as a married couple. Growing up, my family had lots of traditions, but the one I loved the most was cuddling up on the couch on Christmas Eve with my dad and brother while my dad read "Twas the Night Before Christmas." I understand that some believers aren't big fans of Santa -- I suppose they think his existence overshadows the true meaning of the season -- but I actually think he's a lovely reminder of the spirit of the holidays and of awe and wonder, mystery and faith. (My dad also read us this every year, and I think that must be where I get my appreciation for Santa and all he represents. "The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.")

Flower: I prefer greenery this time of year. Greenery and fruit. Which is why I made this. It now sits beautifully atop our dining room table, smelling of citrus and pine.

Movie: Miracle on 34th Street, the original with Natalie Wood and Maureen O'Hara. I absolutely love that movie. Christmas movies make me happy, though, so if you're looking for some others, I also enjoy It's Wonderful Life, Elf, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the original, please), White Christmas, and The Family Stone.

Hymn: "O Come All Ye Faithful." It's the hymn the Anglican service ends with every year, and the crescendo gives me chill bumps. I also love "O Holy Night," a favorite of my grandfather's. It tells the story of the Christ-child beautifully. ("I Celebrate the Day" by Relient K is also on repeat this time of year. The lyrics seem to say exactly what I'm feeling each December. "The first time that you opened your eyes, did you realize that you would be my Savior?")

Memory: My Christmases get all mixed up, because honestly? They were all so undeservedly wonderful. I am one very, very blessed girl, and my family has always made the holidays so much fun. I loved going to see the live nativity every year, when we'd load up in the minivan and pick up pizza to eat on the drive through. I loved decorating the tree with Mannheim Steamroller blaring in the backgroud. Crawling into bed with my cousins to watch It's a Wonderful Life together. One of my most favorite recent memories was last year, when my brother and I gifted my parents with a painting of their home. They cried, and it was awesome. Giving meaningful gifts is part of what makes Christmas so special to me.

Easy gift: I make this cinnamon honey butter for our coworkers every year, and it always seems to please.

Sight: The lights hanging from the trees in downtown Tallahassee. They make everything magical.

Dislikes: Dislikes? About Christmas? Fine, I guess I don't really love when people ruin Christmas songs by turning them into rap songs or by changing the words. I'm just a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas music.

What are your favorite Christmas things?

* Post inspired by Whitney from Elm Street Life

inspired week 55.

2011-12-08T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Thymournia via Bippity Boppity Boo}

“Vulnerability is the door to transformation and emancipation.

It is a false revival if our pains are not expressed and heard.”

- Walter Breuggemann

looking outside.

2011-12-07T09:31:00.001-05:00

Last night, Jordan and I got a little dressed up and went to a benefit dinner for a local women's shelter.

It's probably one of the best things we'll have done all holiday season long, simply because it caused us to step outside of ourselves. Plus I cried a little (which can, at times, be good for a stopped-up soul), and we bid on a silent auction item... and won!

All in all, it was a great evening.

Then, as the program came to a close, a dear friend of ours from church came up and asked if something was wrong -- I blame the leftover tears. It was a touching program! I cried! -- but right after he asked, I knew: Yes, something was wrong. And it has been wrong for weeks.

November was a hard month. Normally it is celebratory and joy-filled, but this time? It was stressful.

I try not to give away too many personal details on the blog out of respect for my husband and for our church and for our lives, but now that we're putting some things behind us, here's the deal: My husband had a minor health scare last month, and I think it's beginning to wear on me.

Twenty-five year old men don't typically have to do colonoscopies. This past month, Jordan endured two (sort of), which meant two rounds of fasting and prep in less than three weeks. Monday when we walked into the follow-up appointment, the doctor did a double-take. We thought it was because I was there -- nosey wife and all -- but turns out, he was just shocked to see somebody so young in his office. Awesome.

Thankfully, the tests didn't come up with anything too scary. Nothing a slight lifestyle change and more fruits and vegetables won't cure.

But spending the past month worrying and praying and crying? Oh, it has taken its toll.

On top of that, there have been church struggles.

If you regularly attend and -- this is key -- are involved and active in a local body of Christ, you know: It is hard work. And because Christ's body is made up imperfect, redeemed souls, words can get spoken and wounds can be opened, and the fall-out that ensues can be nothing short of painful.

We are enduring a painful time at our church.

I have experienced pain in Christ's body before, in particular, during a few hard months at my Christian college, when I published a "controversial" newspaper article that got me in a bit of hot water and resulted in a couple of tearful meetings in the university president's office. I'll never forget how hard those months were, how as a 21-year-old, I was trying to figure out that fine line between making a difference, taking a stand, and speaking the truth in love. It's a balance I still struggle to find, and as a believer surrounded by other believers I know: I am not alone.

As a college senior, I knew my university was experiencing what I termed "growing pains." My very small school was expanding, attracting new types of students from all walks of life, and it was struggling to know how to adjust.

I think our church is experiencing those same troubles, and that can take a toll on the members who -- for better or worse -- see all the wheels turning and the mechanisms spinning.

So yes, November was hard, and December has started off in much the same way.

It is advent, and I am trying so hard to wait, to be patient and quiet and prayerful while the wheels keep on turning. I am trying to think about practical solutions, to reduce the stress and anxiety that can invade our little home without our permission.

The waiting and the quiet is one solution. I also, though, think there might be another.

Because last night, as I turned my thoughts from outside myself to someone else, I began to feel better.

The wounds weren't healed, but I was distracted. I wasn't thinking about me anymore. Instead, my attention turned to the women -- of all ages, races, and economic statuses -- who will be spending this Christmas in a women's refuge shelter. Women who were beautiful and smiling because they felt loved and appreciated. They had found a home, and they had found hope.

For two hours last night, I didn't think so much about Jordan's health or about our struggles at church. I thought about how we could help this ministry in the coming days.

And I know this "think outside yourself" idea isn't new. I'm sure you've heard it so many times from Oprah that you think it's not true.

But it is. It really is.

And I wonder if sometimes, the problems that we think are so big would become a lot smaller if we'd just start to think a little more about others and a little less about ourselves.

It doesn't mean the problems would be any less scary. Jordan's appointments still would have stressed me out, and the church emails and meetings still would have been painful. Guess what, though? Worrying over those problems didn't solve them or make them less scary, either. But taking that worry and that trouble and turning it into empowerment and generosity and blessing for someone else?

That filled me with a peace I haven't known in a long, long time.

what is it with new year's eve?

2011-12-06T08:30:00.000-05:00

I am normally, as you know, all about the celebrating.

But I cannot, for the life of me, understand New Year's Eve.

I mean, I want to. Really I do.

Every year, I have these visions of me prancing around the city, a la Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally.

I love looking at pretty dresses and dreaming about parties and envisioning Jordan and I having fun with all of our friends dancing the night away.

And then I realize: My New Year's Eve never looks like that.

Mostly it's me and Jordan, sitting on the couch, watching Ryan Seacrest countdown to the ball drop.

In the past, it's included a handful of friends or family and late night battles of Nertz.

But not once has there been a fancy dress or a night on the town. (Admittedly, this is probably because we are not really fancy-dress or night-on-the-town people.)

I'm not sure what I think about that.

Part of me prefers the snuggled-at-home-on-the-couch version. I am happy there, and it is such a nice, calm way to start off the year.

There's another part of me, though, that likes -- of course -- getting together with friends, that wishes for a fun dinner out with those we love.

And yes, there's a part of me that kind of wants to wear sequins.

So sue me.

---

What do you do for New Year's Eve?

Do these fancy parties even exist, or are they some kind of bizarre marketing ploy designed by romantic comedy movie writers?

advent.

2011-12-05T08:30:00.000-05:00

I decorated this weekend.

Just a tree. Our stockings. Meaningful words draped across the ceiling, a la katiedid. And twinkle lights. Lots and lots of twinkle lights.

This year, I don't have a lot of parties to go to. I hosted my way through the month of November, and I need a break. I want to be quiet this season, and I can feel my soul being pulled in all kinds of directions, trying to steal that peace from me.

I am holding on with all my might.

Last night, Jordan and I attended the advent lessons and carols service at a local Anglican church. It is one of our favorite traditions, to go and sit quietly as we listen to the story of the Christ, how he came so humbly and so softly to a world that didn't even know they needed him.

I normally find myself identifying with Mary, waiting in anticipation for a child king.

This year, though, I noticed how God involved all of creation -- not just the young virgin girl -- in the coming of the Christ.

How he invited dirty shepherds and wealthy kings and messy farm animals and glowing stars to be present at the incarnation, at the beginning of the Word.

We make him so much smaller, I think, keeping him in the walls of our church buildings and refusing to admit that maybe, just maybe, the creator of the entire universe in concerned and consumed with everything and everyone he created: from the tiny inchworm to the stormy seas to the ruler of the free world. We are all a part of the Christmas story, the salvation story; he is in love with us all.

I make him so, so small, and I despise it.

I hate how my focus can be captured by an argument over semantics, by a broken church body, by enemies and hurts and pains and health scares and minor and major crises.

He is bigger than it all.

As I sat in that hard, wooden church pew, kneeling and standing and reciting prayers, I breathed in his bigness. I want him to know that I know.

I know he is big and powerful and mighty, and yet...

He chose to start small.

In a tiny stable, with a helpless baby.

My God chose to come to earth that way, and it both comforts me and breaks my heart.

I want to know his bigness and smallness, and in this season, I am desperately trying.

The twinkling lights and the voices of angels singing praise? These are the things that help.

reading recap: november.

2011-12-02T08:30:00.000-05:00

November was, happily, a busy reading month. I seem to be at my best when I have the time to read many books, which I think may be worth noting as I march through busy days: I should always make time to read. In any case, some of this will look familiar to you; I ran a few of these reviews in a guest post I did for Andrea earlier in the month. Not to worry, though, there are a couple of new titles I've read since then. Just scroll on down for details.

Book: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Finished: Early November

I'd been reading hype all over the blog world about this one, and a few months ago, when Borders closed (insert obligatory moment of silence here), I grabbed up my own copy. It took me until our recent vacation to pick it up, though, since I was a little daunted by the book's description. It sounded heavy, and it was, but in the best possible ways. As Jordan and I traveled from our home in Tallahassee to a tiny beach town down south, I became completely absorbed in the world Foer created, a world in which a little boy tries to survive post-9/11, post the death of his beloved father. The book is mesmerizing, and I didn't put it down during the entirety of our seven-hour drive. Foer is a talented storyteller -- you'll fall in love with the heartbreaking main character -- and I was happy to be his eager listener. I could not possibly recommend this one enough. (Another bonus? It's honestly unlike any book I've read. I don't know what I could possibly compare it to, and I think that may be part of Foer's magic.)

---

Book: Committed

Finished: Early November

I know a lot of women have mixed thoughts about Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love (both the book and the film version; you can read my thoughts here), but I found her to be an honest narrator, so I was more than happy to pick up a paperback copy of her recent release, Committed. Don't go into the book thinking it's another travel memoir; instead, inspired by her own plans to wed, Gilbert tackles the topic of marriage, interviewing and researching the institution from top to bottom. Although this isn't the page turner that Eat Pray Love was, I think that has more to do with the subject matter than the writer herself. I appreciate Gilbert's writing style and the effort she appears to put into her books; I found Committed to be historically fascinating and often would look up from its pages, detailing facts and stories to Jordan out loud. I like a book that challenges me, that makes me question what I've always thought. Committed did that. It made me ask myself tough questions and prompted a couple of really great discussions. In fact, I'd recommend reading this with a group of other women, maybe in a book club-type format. I think the discussion would be valuable.

---

Book: Backseat Saints

Finished: Early November

I think Joshilyn Jackson can do no wrong. I love Southern fiction when it's done well, and Jackson always seems to do it justice. I think Backseat Saints is my final Jackson book to read (until her new release comes out in January), and while I'm not sure it's my favorite, it certainly didn't fail to please. Her characters are vibrant and real; you just keep turning page after page because you care that much. I don't like when reviewers give away too many details, so I can't tell you what I found disappointing about the novel. The good news is that the disappointment was, of course, minimal, because Jackson is just an excellent fiction writer. I highly recommend gods in Alabama and The Girl Who Stopped Swimming as well.

---

Book: Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?
Finished: Early November

Another book the blog world has been buzzing about, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? is reminiscent of Tina Fey's earlier-released Bossypants, but it'd be a shame to compare the two too much. Kaling and Fey are both funny women, but they're also very different storytellers. Fey has had more life experience, so her essays, in my opinion, were more reflective, more well-rounded, more thought-provoking, maybe even just better written. Still, Kaling is likable and a more than competent writer; the book reads like a collection of blog posts or conversations with a friend. I was most impressed, though, with Kaling's thoughts on marriage. Like Fey's reflections about her father, Kaling's chapter on what makes her parents' marriage great -- they're "pals" -- had me in stitches and tears. It made me want my marriage to be great, and since there are so many people out there -- particularly in Hollywood -- who don't seem concerned with that kind of standard, Kaling's take was particularly refreshing. This was my book club's choice for the month, and while I think some were disappointed (some girls thought the book was "too random"), most of us -- all, admittedly, in our mid-20s -- thought it was highly entertaining. I finished my copy in a few hours.

---

Book: Leaving Church

Finished: Mid-November

My brother recommended this book with the quick disclaimer: "It's not what you think." Sure enough, I got some weird looks from passersby who saw the book in my hand -- I guess they thought I planned on renouncing my faith? -- but Leaving Church was really about just the opposite: It was about finding your place in faith and coming to terms with fellow believers. Taylor, a former Episcopal priest, expounds on why she left the priesthood, on how years of service to God had left her exhausted, burnt-out, and perhaps far too reliant on church, and not reliant enough on the Father. I love fellow believers who are honest and genuine about their journey of faith; Taylor joins a long line of narrators who I have come to love for their willingness to unflinchingly tell their stories. Like so many, I have been hurt and burnt-out by church. In fact, I have a feeling my brother made this recommendation based on some recent experiences of my own. Taylor, though, beautifully reminds us of what there is to love about church and the Creator. I have a feeling this is a book I'll be turning back to time and time again. I read it with pen in hand, knowing that I'll need those words imprinted on my soul more than just once.

---

Book: Sarah's Key

Finished: Late November

I wanted to like Sarah's Key. A co-worker lent a copy to me, and I found the subject intriguing. In fact, the opening pages immediately grabbed my attention and held on, for maybe the first third or first half of the book. I shared the story with Jordan, sucked into the mystery of this little girl and her tiny brother, separated by Nazi-controlled French soldiers in the throes of World War II. But then... The book started to fall flat. I found the present day events much less interesting than the past events De Rosnay described, and the novel's protaganaist, Julia Jarmond, began to wear on my nerves. Her story just didn't pull me in like Sarah's did, and towards the end of the novel, when the historical mysteries begin to reveal themselves, I felt like I'd been left out to dry. I was even more disappointed, I think, by the romantic aspects of the novel; those I could have done entirely without. Sarah's Key was worth reading for the history lessons alone, but the actual plot twists and modern day story left a lot to be desired.

---

Book: Orange Is the New Black

Finished: Late November

This has been on my "to read" list for ages, and Jordan finally bought it for me as a sort-of anniversary gift. (The way to my heart is books, always.) I love a good memoir, and I found Piper Kerman to be a pleasant narrator. I was worried she might turn her thoughts on prison into some kind of political statement (or, worse, sugar coat the whole experience), but she was wise. Her story is powerful enough all on its own, political opinions and sugar coating not necessary. The book reminded me a great deal of In the Sanctuary of Outcasts, which I read a few years ago and really, really enjoyed. (And, if I'm being honest, I'd probably recommend that memoir a bit more.) Overall, I enjoyed reading Kerman's take on life on the inside. I did sometimes find her descriptions of fellow prisoners a bit confusing -- there are just so many names and nicknames! -- and I would have liked a bit more description about how difficult it was adjusting to life in prison and after prison, but overall, a good book. I'd recommend.

inspired week 54.

2011-12-01T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Jules Falk Hunter via Snippet & Ink}

"The power of imagination makes us infinite."

- John Muir

dressing for the job: a self-examination.

2011-11-30T08:30:00.000-05:00

{outfit found here}

You know that saying, "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have"?

When I was in high school and college, I had visions of being this high-powered magazine editor, hailing cabs and tracking down sources, always dressed in some fabulous ensemble that inevitably included a black blazer and some killer heels.

Then I graduated, got married, and moved back to my hometown. I got a job working communications at a non-profit, where people innocently wore capri pants and flip flops on a regular basis.

I was determined to dress my best anyway. I gave up wearing suits -- which, if I'm being honest, never felt like me anyway -- and tried to just dress professionally. Nice tops, slacks, skirts. Those words, "dress for the job you want," floated through my head, and every time our public relations rep would visit our office, I'd make a point to see what she was wearing. If I wanted to remain in the non-profit world, I knew I'd need to go the public relations route (even if just the term public relations was a dirty word in my college journalism classes), and I figured modeling myself after a PR professional was the best way to make that happen.

My time in non-profit communications, though, didn't last long. I was hungry for more journalism experience, and despite the lessons that first position taught me, I knew it was time to move on.

I took a job at a local legal news publication, and I discovered: Journalists dress no better than non-profit employees.

What I mean is, unless a story requires a trip to the courthouse or a senate hearing, suits are out. Professional comfort is key.

Don't get me wrong; there is a dress code, and all of my coworkers dress professionally.

I just don't happen to dress very much like them.

Which is why, yesterday, when I donned boots and tights, khaki dress and floral sweater, I realized something.

I dress for the job I want, and I want to be an art teacher.

More accurately, I want to be an "education coordinator for after-school creative writing."

Is that too specific?

That's probably because I've been dreaming about it since 2009, when I came across this position description in my daily web wanderings.

Despite all my efforts to pursue a corporate life, I am decidedly uncorporate. I can't help it. Black suits just aren't my thing.

A few weeks ago, while traveling for business, someone asked me what my dream job was. It's a question I hadn't been asked in a long time, maybe because I'm finally, really, truly getting older, and no one asks that question anymore because they know what you know: That you've settled into a job that will pay the bills.

My job, gratefully, though, does more than that. It keeps my brain sharp, allows me to go home to my husband and discuss legal jargon and the U.S. court system. It has me researching and writing, using a hard-earned degree that so many of my fellow journalism grads aren't getting to use at all.

But it is not my dream job. And as I sat there, speechless, trying to answer this guy's innocent question, words came out that I knew just weren't true.

"I'd love to write for a magazine one day," I said. "I'd love to write for a lifestyle or home publication, like Southern Living."

That answer? False. I've been there, done that, and every day was painful because I felt like I was writing fluff. I was writing stuff that, when it it boiled down to it, just didn't matter.

So the answer that came out of my mouth that night wasn't entirely accurate. Sure, I'd like to write for a magazine one day. Ideally, I think that might be the next step in my "career." But I don't really want to write for a lifestyle publication. I'd like to write words that make a difference.

The truth is, my dream job changes on a fairly regular basis. I want to be a high school English teacher or a short story writer or an advocate for teen girls or magazine editor or a bookstore owner or a creative writing tutor. I want to pursue words, and I want to pursue them creatively. I'm not sure what that looks like, professionally-speaking, but I know I'm not quite there yet.

Turns out that picking out your outfit for the day can lead to all kinds of self-examination. Or at least that's the way it is with me.

---

So what's your dream job? What job do you "dress for"?

Am I the only one that analyzes about this kind of thing?

quiet and advent.

2011-11-29T08:30:00.000-05:00

"In a way, winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature."

- Edna O'Brien

---

I love this time of year.

Fall is my favorite, but each season brings with it something unique, something beautiful. It comes at just the right time and in all the right ways, and the impending winter is no exception.

The words are coming slowly to me these days, replaced with thoughts of fun holiday crafts and lazy days spent on the couch. I am thinking about 2012 and what I want those days to hold, trying to decide what I did well in 2011 and what I could do better. I am reflecting and pondering, and I like that, in the middle of this season, I am reminded that Mary took the time to reflect and ponder too.

I have mentioned before that the season of advent is not one traditionally recognized by my particular church. Instead, Jordan and I have created our own hodgepodge of rituals, attending a lessons and carols service here, opening up the daily hours there.

This year, though, I came across this post by Edie. I spent some time listening to the podcasts, dusting off my copy of The Book of Common Prayer, and it hit me just how special, how relevant, how crucial, this season is for so many people.

Jordan and I may never fully grasp the mysteries of the church calendar or the blessings of advent. But I am willing to give it a shot, perhaps because in these weeks, I have found myself waiting, expectant. I am longing for a change to take place in my heart, am praying that I might find, buried somewhere beneath the broken surface, a closer bond with the Father, a sense of peace and quiet that I have long been missing.

This season, I am hopeful. The days are short, and as a result, the tasks are few. I am trying to focus on the quiet, to let it heal my soul. I think I let the noises get too loud, and everything of importance has been harder to hear.

Because I am and will always be the girl that plans and purposes, my thoughts are already drifting toward January. I am trying, though, to keep those thoughts in the distance, to instead relish these final weeks of the year that is quickly passing me by. I hope that in this season, as one calendar ends and another, more mysterious calendar begins, I can embrace all that has been taking place in my heart this year. That like Mary, at the end of this season, I will have something to show for the quiet ponderings occurring beneath the surface.

---

Tell me: What do you do to engage in this season of advent?

photo by The Pioneer Woman

grace.

2011-11-25T08:30:00.000-05:00

The Church/Ephesus, Headphones of Grace from Journey Franklin on Vimeo.

Last week, a friend asked if salvation was a "free gift, no strings attached." I thought for a moment, and in my head, shouted a resounding, "Yes!"

In the same instant, someone else replied, verbally, with an equally resounding, "No!"

That bothered me, and later, Jordan and I talked about it, and it still kind of bothered me.

Sometimes, I think God knows what we need to hear, and sometimes it comes in forms we might not typically expect.

This time, He gave me reassurance in the form of a sermon by a preacher I've never heard of, at a church I've never attended.

I know that as believers, we are called to be holy as He is holy. We are called to live Spirit-filled, compassionate, loving, obedient, service-oriented lives.

But I also know it's all grace. It's all a gift.

The first-born, good girl side of me, doesn't always like that. I'd rather do something to make me worthy.

But I can't.

And so He bestows it freely.

Really, all I can do is say "thank you." And I don't do that nearly enough.

there are good things.

2011-11-24T08:30:00.000-05:00

I love my family, and I love this series of photos taken for my parents' Christmas card two years ago. We are a happy bunch, and I can't wait to spend an entire weekend with everyone.

This year, I am so grateful for...

- Quiet vacations

- The promise of an eternity full of good things

- A creative Creator

- A husband who is my very best friend

- Excellent marriages

- Friendship with my brother

- A home that makes others feel welcome

- Redemption

- Blogging-turned-real-life friends

- Writing as worship

- A peace-filled holiday season

- This very, very, very good life

Happy Thanksgiving, friends. May yours be full of the very best things.

potatoes, communion, and coming out of the desert.

2011-11-23T08:30:00.002-05:00

{photo for Country Living by Marcus Nilsson}

On Sunday, I went to worship the Creator with my husband at the church I have attended for, more or less, my entire life. I sang the songs and tried desperately to mean what I sang. I closed my eyes and ignored the distractions. (I am a people-watcher, so in church, there are a lot of distractions.) I paid attention to the sermon. I turned worn Bible pages in my hands. I said thank you in communion. I wished the cup was bigger, wished there was more bread to fill me up, but I communed and said thank you -- and meant it. When the last song was sung, I was grateful, because worship felt peaceful that day. I know some people really hate that word, the "f" word, the "feeling" terminology that sometimes I fall back into, but I just don't know another way to say it. Worship felt good Sunday.

And I sneaked out before Bible class, stopping to chat with friends and family before heading home to boil potatoes for our supper club that afternoon. I got home, lit a couple of candles, turned on my iPod, and got to work.

It felt like worship to me.

I think some people might say that skipping Sunday school that day wasn't in my best interest, spiritually-speaking. That maybe I should have stuck around, potatoes and supper club be... well, you know.

But as I teared up during the songs that played over iPod speakers,* as I gave my hand a cramp cutting up three pounds of potatoes, I felt close to the Father. The house was quiet, the dog was at my feet, and unspoken prayers left my heart instead of my lips. It was just as much worship, and it was good.

By 1:00, Jordan was home, and potatoes were in the oven. Friends trickled in bringing turkey and cranberry sauce, spice cookies and green bean casserole. We gathered around the table, giggled at the little ones, sighed over good food, exchanged compliments and funny stories. We celebrated homes bought and health secured, new babies and job opportunities. I felt so proud and so grateful.

I was watching answered prayers.

A friend graciously stayed behind to do dishes, and the last couple closed the door behind them at 4:30. I dashed up the stairs and under the covers, occasionally checking on the roast in the crock pot, because supper club wasn't the only communal activity we had going on that day.

At 6:00, more friends opened up the door and found their places in our living room, comfortably stretching on the couch and helping in the kitchen. We ate and talked about Jesus' prayer for the disciples He loved and for the world He hadn't yet met. We talked about how much He must love us, to pray for us like that, sight unseen. We talked about unity and what that looks like and if there is such a thing, if we can ever achieve what He asked for us and of us.

Our small group has been meeting for about 20 weeks, and it has been a blessing. Sunday night, as a few of us stayed behind to swap stories and laugh at jokes and share grateful thoughts, I realized, again, that my Father had heard the cry of my heart.

The community I am a part of is not perfect. I am constantly in want of more. More intimacy, more authenticity, more confession, more communion. I am not content with the way it has always been or the ways I have previously settled for.

But it does exist. Community does happen, with effort and with prayer and with purpose.

Sunday was a busy day. As I crawled under the covers, the exhaustion hit, and I realized that in the course of 24 hours, I had set two tables, opened my home to 20 people, cooked three pounds of potatoes and four pounds of roast beef. I am not saying I think that was wise. I'm not sure I'll want to host two fairly large gatherings in the same day ever again.

But it was what I needed that day.

I needed to be reminded that I have friends that love me, that communion with the Father can be found surrounded by leeks and heavy cream, that if you can learn to say no, the yesses can become so much more meaningful.

This spiritual desert I have been trudging through has had its moments, and it is my firm belief that He has been with me each step of the way, guiding me and pointing me toward the things of importance.

He has been showing me the way, although I have not always known it.

* If you must know, "A Page Is Turned," by Bebo Norman, and "I Am," by Nichole Nordeman.

three years.

2011-11-22T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo by Kris Kimel}

Three years ago today, Jordan and I said "I do" to the life that lies ahead.

I cannot believe that much time has passed since that cold November day, since friends and family graced us with their presence and their love.

A lot of people say that their wedding day was the best day of their lives. I have always kind of cringed at that, because if that is the best, what, then, is the rest? What about all of the other days that follow?

I do not know if November 22, 2008, was the best day of my life. But I do know that day did change my life forever. I know that I will never forget the gratefulness I felt that day, how in awe I was at how much people loved us, supported us, wanted to be there for us. I know that November 22 was the start of so many good things, and that is what I am celebrating today.

Happy anniversary, Jordan Jones. Thank you for agreeing to walk through this life with me. It has been the greatest adventure I could ask for.

out of the desert.

2011-11-21T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo via Bippity Boppity Boo}

This has been a difficult spiritual season for me.

The details are not important, but they have resulted in a stale, stagnant faith, a faith I barely recognize.

My Bible often goes untouched throughout the week. My heart is cold in worship, heavy with hurt and leftover pain.

This struggle has been personal, but the spiritual journey we take is also communal, and so my friends, family, and the body I worship with each week have felt the effects of this season.

It is worth noting: There have been bright spots, high moments atop the mountain. There have been gifts and blessings and prayers and moments in which I have felt finally back in tune with the One who created me.

But there have still been questions. Stomachaches. Tears.

And I am trying desperately to turn a corner.

I am using these last two months of 2011 to evaluate, to identify what exactly the burden has been during my time in this spiritual desert.

I want to know if it is possible for it to be removed, if I am finally reaching the edge, if water is near.

There are practical steps to be taken.

I must pursue community, not just by throwing party after party, but by being a friend. By feeding those I love and those who need a meal. By calling when I say I’ll call. By letting some things slide, by protecting my feelings and giving the benefit of the doubt to my brothers and sisters. Mostly, by putting myself in the other person’s shoes.

I must repair my church relationship. I don’t know how that is going to look. I don’t know if that will mean pursuing community and worship and fellowship elsewhere. Instead, I just know it needs to mean forgiveness. True forgiveness, the kind that doesn’t turn back, but instead marches forward.

I must learn to say no to the things I cannot do and say yes to the things the Spirit is calling me to. Often, I have given my yeses too freely, and the result has been a burnt-out, bedraggled mess. People become disappointed; the emails and phone calls and details become overwhelming, and I wind up doing absolutely nothing. That must change.

I must accept and bestow grace. I must see people — even the people who have hurt my heart or stomped on my feelings or spewed sarcasm my direction — as Jesus sees them. I must remind myself that once, so was I. That I have been mean, too. That I say things I shouldn’t say, too. That we are all in utter, desperate need of a Savior.

I must renew my love for the Spirit and for His Word. I am a rule-follower, a good girl who has read her “Bible through the year” enough times to know it is possible. But I don’t want to just read the Bible through the year because it is my resolution, because it is some rule I cannot break. I do not want this to turn into some panicked, legalistic pursuit in which I am, yet again, disappointed. Instead I want to study and pour over His words because I need to. Because His words offer both the mysteries and the answers I need to be reminded of. I want to surround myself with people who are not afraid of the questions, who seek Scripture not for their truth, but for His. I want Bible study with like-minded people, but people who are different enough to challenge me and help me grow.

I must not be afraid to acknowledge my weakness, to accept moments of rest. I must listen to the voice inside that whispers: It is time for quiet, for stepping back, for resting in Me.

This life is not meant to be spent entirely in the high places. The deserts, the valleys, the lowest of lows are His, too.

Almost exactly a year ago, I let the words of a fellow believer tear my heart to bits. I ignored the words, joked about them, and they festered into a wound that has been difficult to heal.

Like most wounds, this one was forgettable most days. But some days, the pain would become unbearable. Others who didn’t know or understand the hurt would accidentally rip the Band-Aid off, and the wound would become exposed again.

It has been this unbelievably exhausting process, this healing.

Lately, though, I have noticed a difference. Less bitterness. Less anger.

But I am concerned, because I have also noticed indifference. Apathy. Casual shrugs of the shoulder.

I think sometimes, we think healing means we stop feeling. We associate becoming better with passivity.

I don’t want to be passive. I don’t want to hide my gifts under bushels or my let my opinions rest quietly on my tongue.

I want to speak slowly and thoughtfully, yes. I want to give the gift of life and teaching purposefully and intentionally.

In other words, I want to be me again, but this time, better.

Not perfect. But better.

I want to come out of this desert renewed and rejuvenated, ready to breathe in fresh air and take in the water as if I’ve never drunk it before. I want to have learned something from this seasonal dry spell.

For now, I am resting. I want to return back to the One who made me whole and ask for His help in restoring me, in renewing my passions and my faith.

Soon, it will be time to come out of the desert. Time to take a deep breath, and press on.

I want to be ready.

pals.

2011-11-18T08:30:00.000-05:00

"I don't want to hear about the endless struggles to keep sex exciting, or the work it takes to plan a date night. I want to hear that you guys watch every episode of The Bachelorette together in secret shame, or that one got the other hooked on Breaking Bad and if either watches it without the other, they're dead meat. I want to see you guys high five each other like teammates on a recreational softball team you both do for fun. I want to hear about it because I know it's possible, and because I want it for myself."

- Mindy Kaling, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)

---

Of all the things I loved about Mindy Kaling's new book, the thing I loved the most may have been her obvious appreciation and respect for marriage. Not just any type of marriage, of course, but the all-elusive excellent marriage.

I've written many, many times before about marriage, about how valuable it is, about how I don't just want a normal one, a good one, but an excellent one.

Our marriage, I have said before, is hard, in the sense that sacrificing of yourself for the good of someone else is always hard. It is worth it, but hard.

What I maybe need to also mention is that it is fun.

Kaling writes over and over again about pals, about how her parents' marriage works because they enjoy each other, they enjoy doing things together.

Quite simply, they're friends.

Jordan and I are friends. Yes, we have our own friends that we enjoy spending time with. Jordan, oddly enough, does not particularly enjoy crafting, and I can only handle so much disc golf.

But we are friends. We like hanging out together, love watching shows and movies together. We crack each other up until our sides hurt and take turns on 17-hour car drives. We scare each other silly watching creepy movies and hiding behind doorways.

Last weekend, Jordan found me coming out of our hotel bathroom with a towel wrapped around my head. Typical behavior for me, but this time, he kept looking at me with this bizarre fascination.

"I've always wanted to know how girls do that," he said.

So I showed him.

And we laughed hysterically taking pictures of ourselves in the mirror. (Pictures I'm sure Jordan thought would never see the light of day, poor thing.)

The point is, Mindy, they're out there. Couples who have fun and who love each other and who enjoy each other? They exist.

Our marriage isn't perfect. We're only approaching three years, so I know we aren't quite experts yet.

But we sure are having a good time.

And I think, really, that might be half the battle.

inspired week 53.

2011-11-17T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo via Bippity Boppity Boo}

"For our hearts are not pure; our hearts are filled with need and greed as much as with love and grace, and we wrestle with our hearts all the time. The wrestling is who we are. How we wrestle is who we are. What we want to be is never what we are. Not yet. Maybe that's why we have these relentless engines in our chests, driving us toward what we might be."

- Brian Doyle

sisterly duties.

2011-11-16T08:30:00.000-05:00

I've often been asked if I ever wished I had a sister.

Aside from a brief period of personal history in which I had a minor obsession with becoming an Olsen twin, my answer has always been a resounding, "No."

The reason for that is two-fold: First, I have a brother whom I have grown to love dearly, who I wouldn't trade for a thousand sisters. My brother prepared me for marriage by leaving beard trimmings in the sink and dirty underwear in the bathroom floor. He used to tell me which shoes looked best with which outfit and would happily watch Meg Ryan movies with me without complaining. (I, in return, provided gift ideas for old girlfriends and have seen Dumb and Dumber and the entire Star Wars saga.) We both love to read, both love the written word, both have a passion -- I hope -- to think and be like Jesus.

So I have this brother who I consider a dear friend and sidekick. But there's another reason I've never really given much thought to having sisters.

I kind of already have a couple.

Sure, genealogically-speaking, they're called my "cousins," but really: They function more like a couple of little sisters. I've been their proud babysitter and party planner. I've attended countless chapel programs and soccer games. We've snuggled in twin beds, spent late nights giggling ourselves to sleep, shared in the joys of scary movies and Gilmore Girls.

This past weekend, I got the chance to do my cousin's hair for her first "date" (a term she hates and has deemed inaccurate, but which I am using anyway). This was a brave and bold request since I once notoriously got a hairbrush stuck in her hair many years ago. (It was really, really awful, and I was mortified.) But this go around, everything turned out beautifully, and after spraying every hair in place, I took my other little fuzzie on a date to the FSU v. Miami game. We had, as you can tell, a marvelous time.

In her book Committed, author Elizabeth Gilbert spends almost an entire chapter discussing motherhood, a remarkable amount considering she is not, in the traditional sense, a mother. In fact, in the chapter, she actually devotes most of her attention not to mothers, but to childless women, a segment of the population she terms the "Auntie Brigade."

"Childless women, " she writes, "have always been particularly essential in human society because they often take upon themselves the task of nurturing those who are not their official biological responsibilities -- and no other group does this to a large degree. Childless women have always run orphanages and schools and hospitals. They are midwives and nuns and providers of charity. They heal the sick and teach the arts and often they become indispensable on the battlefield of life."

I myself was raised by a few members of the "Auntie Brigade"; my aunt Neena, in particular, comes to mind. Neena bought my Easter dresses and my piano lessons, sponsored trips to Italy and provided a home away from home at the beach. She came to recitals and birthday parties, offered homework help and bought me my first microscope. She always gave (gives?) the best Christmas presents and hosted movie nights at her house. On our recent trip to Nags Head, I often found myself telling Jordan, "Neena would love this!" (She has always loved history and science and all things fascinating.) She taught me to love reading and learning and thinks everything I do is positively fantastic.

Without realizing it, I think I have, in some ways, become her.

And I couldn't be happier about it.

I'm not sure when Jordan and I will have children. I think, really, only the Father knows when that day will come.

Until then, though, I am wondering: Am I not, to some extent, a mother already?

I love and provide for the people around me, even people who are not my "official biological responsibility." I create and craft and care. I nurture and pray for and adore.

In Committed, Gilbert continues to write:

"My job is not merely to spoil and indulge my niece and nephew . . . but also to be a roving auntie to the world -- an ambassador auntie -- who is on hand wherever help is needed, in anybody's family whatsoever. There are people I've been able to help, sometimes fully supporting them for years, because I am not obliged, as a mother would be obliged, to put all my energies and resources into the full-time rearing of a child.

"There are a whole bunch of Little League uniforms and orthodontist bills and college educations that I will never have to pay for, thereby freeing up resources to spread more widely across the community. In this way, I, too, foster life. There are many, many ways to foster life. And believe me, every one of them is essential."

Saturday night, I french braided hair and bought cotton candy and gave dating advice and offered moral support. I fostered life.

I was a sister and, in a sense, a mother and a member of the "Auntie Brigade."

I am more than content with those honorable titles.

visiting your national parks.

2011-11-15T08:30:00.000-05:00

We were patrolling the souvenir shop at the Wright Brothers Memorial in Kill Devils Hill, looking for a Christmas ornament to hang on our tree, something to remember our little trip by.

Then Jordan spotted it.

I don't know how he thought I'd be able to resist it.

$8.95 for a passport to the national parks? A way to keep track of all the parks you visit across the country? Essentially, a list, with pretty stamps and stickers?

Um, yes. Yes, we will take one of those.

And you'd have thought the little old lady at the checkout counter was going to just bust with pride, so excited to be giving us our pocket-sized passport, instructing us on where to place stamps, how to get them at each stop, etc.

The whole product idea and philosophy is genius.

I treasure my "real" passport, the one that shows my stamps from Italy, that takes me back to 2005, when I was 19 and traversing a foreign land, full of excitement and wonder and anticipation. I cannot bear to get a new one, even though I am no longer legally Annie Sue Butterworth, even though passports expire anyway. I just don't understand why we can't collect all of our travels in one, well-worn map, so that we have something to show for the end of our days.

But this passport doesn't expire. It doesn't have our names or birth dates or social security numbers.

Instead it has maps and pictures of some of the prettiest places this country has to offer. It keeps track of where we've been, where we're going, and where we want to go still.

When Jordan and I stood at the counter, carefully placing our first stamp on page 46, in the Southeastern section of our book, I got so excited. I love that Jordan and I travel together, and well. Travel companions are not always easy to come by, and I know that I am lucky that my husband and I happen to travel so easily and amiably together. I love that we both treasure things like parks and stamps and passports, that Jordan knew the moment he saw that book it would be something we could enjoy doing together.

So far, we have four stamps in our passport (plus a couple of commemorative stamps, since this year happens to be the passport's 25th anniversary). We traveled long and hard to get those stamps, and at each stop we were greeted by wonderful park volunteers and rangers, eager to watch us embark on our journey of getting to know this nation a little bit better.

I realize this may all sound a little nerdy, maybe even a little gimmicky to you, like it's some ridiculous ploy by our nation's park's department to get people back into the habit of traveling across the country, visiting sites of historical and national importance.

Well, if that's a gimmick, then please: Sign me up.

I want to support and to see all this beautiful country has to show its inhabitants. Already, in this one trip, we were able to secure stamps at a national seashore, at the historic Roanoke site (which also happened to be a stop on the Underground Railroad), and at the site of the Wright Brother's first flight.

Each time we stopped in to receive our stamp, I was reminded of the trips my parents used to take me and my brother on as children, and I couldn't help but think about how much my parents would love their own passport, would have loved keeping a record of our family's travels across the southeast, through the Blue Ridge Parkway and Natchez Trace, up to Gettysburg and across to Colorado.

I'm glad Jordan and I went ahead and bought one, glad my husband loves this whole idea as much as (more than?) I do. I'm glad we're starting our own little record, glad my parents somehow passed this legacy of love and appreciation for nature and for history on to me.

Sometimes, I bet parents don't think their lessons to us stick. I bet they think we're not listening, that we're too busy reading books or listening to iPods, ignoring the very things they're trying to get us to appreciate.

Mom and Dad, take heart: There's a little black passport in our glove compartment that says otherwise.

---

You can purchase your own Passport to the National Parks online here, or at most national parks visitors' centers across the country.

capitva + nags head.

2011-11-14T08:30:00.000-05:00

{Captiva Island, Florida}

Twenty years ago, I think I could easily have been one of those obnoxious people who turned vacation photographs into slides, delivering endless presentations to surrounding friends and neighbors, detailing every last minute of latest travel adventures while serving warm cookies and lemonade to all who cared to listen.

I kind of love slideshows -- done well -- and I think I could have been a darn good narrator of my travels. Unfortunately, nobody really pays attention to stuff like that anymore, which is probably why I have this blog.

This is a slideshow, and you are my semi-captive audience.

---

Jordan and I had been planning this little fall getaway for weeks before I realized I had a business trip scheduled for the same weekend we were supposed to depart. Never one to be deterred from hard-earned vacation time, I decided we could just combine the two. Seriously, who complains about a business trip to Captiva Island?

No one, that's who.

So I did my thing in Captiva for a couple of days while Jordan slept at our awesome hotel room. Then we got up at 5:00 in the morning (which I've learned some people call "o'dark thirty." To which I say: Really? Are we too lazy to say the actual time?) and made the 16-hour trip to Nags Head, a small town on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

I've been dying to visit the Outer Banks ever since my internship at Coastal Living, and the off-season was the perfect (read: most inexpensive) time for us to go.

We found accommodations through VRBO, which I'm going to warn you, was no easy task. Here's the thing about the Outer Banks: People must travel there in large quantities. Every accommodation was for 8 to 10 people, unless you want to shell out a bit more cash for a bed and breakfast or a hotel room. Jordan and I weren't interested in either, so we finally Googled our way to Sea Spray Cottages. If you're planning a trip to the Outer Banks, I'd highly recommend them. You have to bring your own sheets and towels, but it was really inexpensive, and it gave us a nice home to come back to at the end of our travels each day.

We really didn't have much of an agenda this trip. (Those of you who know me are scoffing right now, but I assure you: It's true.) We had one primary goal: Relax.

So we did.

We rented movies and slept late and went to bed relatively early. I read three books and sat curled up on the couch for long periods of time.

As it turns out, these are excellent plans to have in Nags Head during November. A lot of businesses are closed. Even finding a restaurant open after 6:00 proved to be a challenge.

But the weather was gorgeous.

And there happens to be an abundance of national parks in the Outer Banks area, providing plenty of entertainment for two nerds like us (more on this to come).

Jordan and I try to make a couple of trips a year. One trip is always a little more strenuous, a little more planned. It often involves itineraries and air travel and a bit more funding. The other trip, though, requires mostly just time off. A little money, sure, and gas enough to get us where we need to be, but otherwise, the trip is a relaxing endeavor.

I love both kinds of trips. I need both kinds of trips.

I need to grow and stretch and watch people in airports and get stamps in a passport and see what life is like on the other side.

But I also need to drive a little. I need to rest and relax and breathe deep in the salt air.

This trip was just what I needed, at just the right time.

I'm already planning a return visit.

For my fellow travelers:

To stay :: South Seas Island Resort, Captiva and Sea Spray Cottages, Nags Head

To eat :: Cabbage Key (Captiva), Ducks Donuts, Mulligan's Bar & Grill, Poor Richard's Sandwich Shop

To visit :: Jockey's Ridge State Park, Wright Brothers National Memorial, Cape Hatteras Seashore, Fort Raleigh National Historic Site, Island Bookstore

inspired week 52.

2011-11-10T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photo via Bippity Boppity Boo}

“We make ourselves rich by making our wants few.”

- Henry David Thoreau

sharing.

2011-11-09T08:30:00.000-05:00

I found this post sitting in the drafts folder, written so long ago that I no longer even remember the titles of the books or the names of the friends in question (also: I'm no longer on Facebook). I thought about trashing it completely, but I still think -- despite the lack of specifics -- what I wrote was true. And that makes it worth hitting publish, I think.

{from here}

When you give a book to a friend, it’s like giving a little piece of your soul away. There is so much unspoken pressure, like the tension that exists when you set up two of your best friends and they wind up hating each other.

I loaned a book out the other day to a friend from whom I borrow books quite a bit. I am sure this will sound neurotic, but I’m a little bit of a nervous wreck about it. This book: It was so good. I literally would sit and look up after reading a paragraph or two, hoping someone in the room would somehow miraculously be reading the same book, and we could look at each other and have a moment. We could share a knowing look and immediately become kindred spirits. We would laugh and cry together, shaking our heads at the profound wisdom offered by the writer.

Instead, I published a quote from the book on Facebook and a friend of a friend belittled the author and ruined my Friday. (I am very protective of the books I love, which may contribute to my neurosis. Also: I hate Facebook.)

Such good can come from sharing books, and deep down, this is why I lend out books and borrow the books of others, despite a somewhat bizarre fear of rejection: Because it has the potential for good. (Isn’t this why we do anything: open our homes, give of our funds, ask someone out, risk falling in love?)

Words are powerful, and when you find words that make you laugh and cry and gasp in disbelief… you just want to share them with someone. Well, first you might want to keep them to yourself. But eventually, you want to share. You want to discuss and exchange and grow.

It's why I sometimes lie in bed at night excitedly nudging a sleeping Jordan, reading quotes out loud, hoping he, too, will see the beauty and the genius and the truth. I want him to know what I know, to love what I love, to be moved by what moves me.

Once, not too terribly long ago, I lent out another book that I had loved. And I should clarify here that I don't just loan out anything and everything unsolicited. I am a careful book sharer. In this case, the words of this book had spoken to me, influenced me, and I was sure, just sure, they would speak to my friend.

A few days, weeks, months later, my friend returned the book. I waited with bated breath.

“I didn’t get it,” she said apologetically. No hard feelings, no bruised egos. We were friends, are friends, and will be friends. But it felt a little like someone had punched me. I couldn't catch my breath, couldn't recover.

So currently, my soul is in limbo. The book that I love is out, being read by someone else.

And it is such a risk, I think, to put yourself out there, to share things that speak to you and that are close to your heart.

But I suppose the risk is worth it. And even if the book is despised, I will be glad that I shared it. Because books and ideas and lives and opinions are worth sharing, no matter the nagging mean girl voice inside my head begging me to stay silent, huddled alone in the corner with the words I love.

reading recap: september/october.

2011-11-08T08:30:00.000-05:00

Whew. September and October were full of commitments and busy days on the calendar and a wedding that consumed my life. Not much reading happened. My fingers are crossed that things turn out a little differently this month.

Book: Dog On It
Finished: Early September

This was our book club choice for September, and I was hesitant: I'm just not into the whole animal genre of fiction. We have a dog, yes, and sure, sometimes I wonder what she's thinking and doing. But mostly? Mostly I just go about my business, grateful for animals as a sign of God's divine imagination, but not really an animal lover, per say. Despite all that, I found Dog On It to be pretty entertaining. It was a quick read, though the mystery fell a little flat to me (I think Law & Order has ruined me for a lot of the more subtle mystery stories found in literature). Spencer Quinn does the most justice to the dog in the story, Chet. He's by far the most interesting, most developed character, and Quinn does a fine job of putting us all into the mind of a dog (since Chet so craftily narrates the story). Not a bad read, but probably not something I would have picked out on my own.

---

Book: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

Finished: Mid-October

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks took me what seemed like an eternity to get through, not because it was dull, but because it was thought-provoking and a bit heavy. I spent most of September down and out with an awful, awful head cold, and I just couldn't wrap my head around the scientific portions of Skloot's account, no matter how interesting. (The book itself follows Skloot as she tracks down the family of Henrietta Lacks, a woman whose cells were taken -- without permission -- from her dying body for scientific research in the 1950s.) The cold eventually vanished, and I was able to finish the book last month. A friend had given this to me on recommendation, or I might have given up, again, not because of lack of interest or length: The book was just heavy and chock-full of health and science information that at times made my stomach do turns. I think, though, that people should read this book. It sparked some interesting conversations among friends, and it opened my eyes to a world and a population unlike my own. It put a face to some scientific, political, and racial issues that I typically shy away from. The book both infuriated me and saddened me, and mostly I was left wondering: What would Henrietta think of all this, and what will become of her family?

---

Book: Take This Bread

Finished: Late October

You've already read some of what I thought of this book, and there's really not much more to add. Written in a similar style to that of Anne Lamott, Take This Bread was thought-provoking and underline-worthy. A good book can often spark good conversation, and this one certainly did. It had me thinking about community and communion, about sin and repentance and why sometimes Christians seem so intent on picking each other apart. Some of us have made tolerant a dirty word, and I wonder: Would Jesus agree? My only complaint about Take This Bread would be the first couple of chapters. They were important to the story, but for me, they dragged long and slow, and I was worried Sara Miles wouldn't be the narrator I had been expecting. (I should say: Miles is talented, and while similarities exist between her and Lamott, if you enter the book thinking you're about to read Traveling Mercies, you may be disappointed.) Once I made it through those first few chapters, though, I was rewarded with gem after gem of truth. If you pick this one up, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

home inspiration.

2011-11-07T08:30:00.000-05:00

{photos by King Au for Better Homes and Gardens}

Let's ease into the week, shall we?

I came across the home of interior designer Amy Meier on Pinterest and through some internet sleuthing skills was able to find the entire article, featured in Better Homes and Gardens this past January. I think Meier may have moved since the article was published, but I'm still digging all of the details: the farmhouse-style kitchen table, dark wood floors with colorful rugs, clear food canisters, and built-in shelving galore.

The entry way might be my favorite, though, probably because it looks simple enough to incorporate its elements into our own home: an oversized basket for shoes, peg rack for leashes and keys, and quirky paintings on the wall.

I think that's the key with decorating and DIY magazines, with blogs and Pinterest: At some point, you've got to translate that inspiration into something tangible. Otherwise, it's just another time-suck. I mean, I like wasting time as much as the next person, but ultimately, I need to get off my couch and do something.

---

Are you on Pinterest? What do you use it for? Have you taken that inspiration and created something?

If you're on Pinterest, you can find me here.

community.

2011-11-04T08:30:00.000-04:00

{photo via Bippity Boppity Boo}

Last Sunday, as lunch was dying down, we sat around the table, and we talked about community.

And we wondered: How do you stop talking about it and start living it?

Community has become this buzzword in Christian circles and maybe outside them; there are books and blogs and sermons devoted to this idea of living together in harmony, of creating an atmosphere where people mix and mingle and live and serve one another authentically. And we love talking about it, love analyzing it, love cutting it open and apart, and then we just leave it on the table, never really doing anything with it.

I’m not saying I want to start some compound where I live within walking distance of all the people I love. I’m not advocating homeschooling over public-schooling or some imaginary safe-world over the real one.

But I am wondering why I can’t — or don’t — invite my friends and neighbors over for supper. I’m wondering why the people I love are spread out over a town that’s not even that very big, resulting in occasional, pre-scheduled gatherings. I’m wondering why everyone’s just so darn busy all the time.

I’m wondering what a simple life really looks like, what authentic community looks like, and I’m wondering: Do we really want it?

Just like anything else worth having, I’m assuming community takes work. And I think it’s easier to sit around and moan and groan about it, about how we’re missing it, about how we’re just not fitting, not getting it. It’s easier to talk about it than to do it.

In the past week, I’ve had four separate conversations with friends — all 20-somethings, some with children, some without, some married, some not — and we’re all in agreement: Something is missing. One friend thinks the solution might be a prayer group, a Bible study with an emphasis on confession and fellowship. Another thinks we need to move closer together, to share neighborhoods and homes with each other. Another references her time in Italy as inspiration for what she wants now. One brave friend acknowledges something is missing, but also acknowledges: She doesn’t have time or effort or energy to go about fixing the problem.

I want community. When Jordan and I have a crockpot full of soup on the stove, I want to be able to call up our friends and say, “Have you eaten yet? We have extra!” I want intense, meat-y Bible study. I want a handful of people (I have always been a handful-of-people kind of person, not a multitudes kind of person) who I can trust and confide in, and admittedly: I’d like those people to be close. I’d like them to be here, not miles away, unable to eat my food or share my couch. I want friends who have babies and friends who don’t. I want single friends and married friends. I want friends who are different from me, but deep down, I want us to be the same.

The answer to all of this is eluding me. I cannot find it. I do not know, and I do not like not knowing.

So I’m focusing on what I do know.

I know that I have three or four good friends, excellent friends, who I can send prayer requests to and confide in via email.

I know that with some advance planning, I can have dinners and lunches and nights spent talking on the couch with those I love who live right here.

I know that for me, community includes family, and that is a blessing.

I know that I have girls in a book club I love, know that there are couples like me who are at least trying to make community happen, even in the tiniest of ways.

Here is the thing: I am content. This life is good, and despite a year that has been full of changes for a lot of our friends (moving and pregnancies and life), we still have a community. We have people who love us and friends who mean something to us. Our life is full.

I am content, but I don’t want to be neutral. I don’t want to be apathetic or careless with community. I want to be reaching for more, for better, for the things we dream about at the dinner table but forget about as the hours pass.

As this year draws to a close, I’m going to be thinking on these things. I’m going to be praying about what 2012 might hold for us, how community might look if we talked a little less and did a little more.

In the meantime, I’d love to hear from you. In your homes and in your families and in your towns, do you have community? What does that look like to you? Do your neighbors come over to eat? Do you find community mostly in your church or outside it? Do you have small groups or planned fellowships, or does it just kind of happen? (And if that’s the case, please: Tell me how.)

I feel like I haven’t said all I want to on this subject, but it’s a start. I’m hoping you’ll fill in some of the blanks.

inspired week 51.

2011-11-03T08:30:00.001-04:00

{photo by Simple Threads}

“A mature person is one who does not think only in absolutes, who is able to be objective even when deeply stirred emotionally, who has learned that there is both good and bad in all people and in all things, and who walks humbly and deals charitably with the circumstances of life, knowing that in this world no one is all knowing and therefore all of us need both love and charity.”

- Eleanor Roosevelt

you're welcome.

2011-11-02T08:30:00.000-04:00

I'm going to be honest with you: The words have run dry.

There are some mulling around in my head, but I haven't had time to put meat on those bones yet.

So while I jot sentences down on post-it notes and form paragraphs in the air, I thought I'd leave you with one of my new favorite things, the Le Pen.

It's lightweight and skinny and writes at just the right amount of consistency. Kind of like a Sharpie pen, but -- dare I even say this? -- better.

This probably isn't even worth a blog post, but maybe you're like me, and a little school supply obsessed.

If that's the case, you're welcome.

If it's not, well... Come back tomorrow. We'll try again then.

I found my Le Pen at Hobby Lobby, but you can buy them from Amazon here.

happy fall.

2011-11-01T08:30:00.000-04:00

Happy fall from our family to yours.

Isn't this time of year marvelous?

(And don't we have the cutest dog on the planet?)

31 days || thirty-one: a legacy of celebration.

2011-10-31T08:30:00.000-04:00

{photo by Jonas Peterson via Snippet & Ink}

Last February, right in the middle of my own birthday party planning, I also got roped into decorating for a church Valentine’s Day party. Valentine’s Day is not my favorite, but I loved Target’s line of rainbow hearts, and I had gold chargers begging to be used, so I agreed.

My parents graciously helped, and while I was in one corner of the room lining up streamers, my parents were stringing up lights, and I heard my dad tell my mom something I hope I’ll never forget.

He said he was glad to see his daughter living out a legacy of celebration.

There are so many things I am grateful for when it comes to my family: their welcoming hearts, their sense of humor, their faith, our long talks at the dinner table, our genuine “like” for each other. But it’s this love of celebration I keep coming back to, this sincere hospitality, this desire to find joy and happiness in what we’ve been given that I hope I pass down to my own children one day.

I want this legacy to stick with me as the days and months and years pass, as I get older and open up my own home and begin my own family traditions.

Back when I started this 31 days project, I was hesitant. I knew I wanted to write for 31 days straight, but I didn’t know what to write about. And one night over dinner, my aunt looked at me and said, basically, “Isn’t this a no-brainer?” Celebration, to my family, just makes sense. It is obvious. It is necessary. It is possible and doable no matter the occasion or the budget or the obstacle.

Nearly three years into marriage, I am convinced I married someone who agrees. Someone who makes trips to the grocery store special, who makes time for movie nights and having friends over and cooking in the kitchen and cuddles on the couch. I am so grateful.

I’ve covered a lot of territory in these 31 days. I’ve talked about cooking and community. I’ve shared my ideas for hosting dinner guests and lessons learned from an 18-year-old’s birthday party. I’ve written about shaking it out and overcoming tragedy. I’ve shared my exhaustion and my frustration and how I cope with all of it.

This month, I’ve hosted a dinner party, a dance party, a wedding, and a birthday dinner for my dad. I’ve gone to supper club, coordinated a wedding reception, visited a nursing home, and tried to maintain meaningful friendships and relationships without losing my mind.

Celebration is not easy. It is not always my natural state of being, not my default setting. But when I choose to look for the good, when I choose to open up my home and my heart to the people I love and the people who need love, I realize: It is all worth it.

Every time I sat down to write out a post for this month, the words were the same: Celebration is work. Celebration is hard. But celebration is worth the time and the effort.

Perfection isn’t going to come. There will always be reasons and excuses, cancellations and busy schedules.

Be one of those people who finds time and energy to celebrate anyway. Dig deep down and summon hospitality to the top of your being. Celebrate the big and the small and the mundane. Celebrate because not many people do. Celebrate because it is your version of praise. Celebrate because it is spiritual. Celebrate because it is your calling.

Celebrate because there is too much good in life not to.

new here? read all of my 31 days posts here.

31 days || thirty: supper club + getting it done.

2011-10-30T08:30:00.000-04:00

{photo via anton sugar}

I first mentioned my hopes for a cooking club way back in June. I had just gotten back from the beach (oh, how I miss it!), just finished reading Shauna Niequist's Bittersweet and Capon's The Supper of the Lamb. I was coming down from a creativity high, and plans for a cooking club were the result.

Four months and a couple dozen recipes later, our cooking club consists of five couples, some we know well, some we don't. Our first meeting back in September had to be postponed -- thank you, head cold that lasted way longer than seven days -- and when we reconvened, only a handful of us could attend, so I threw a random dinner party instead. It wasn't really a supper club, and that's okay. Now we're trying to get back on track, so we're throwing a soup-themed lunch this afternoon. Our fingers are crossed in the hopes that all 10 of us (plus three little ones) make it in one piece.

Here's the thing: Celebration doesn't always look like we've envisioned it. Life's reality isn't Pinterest boards and blog posts. It's budgets and hectic schedules and "we're-just-doing-the-best-we-can."

Sometimes, you just have to make do with what you have.

Sometimes, you just have to make things happen.

Is cooking club everything I always dreamed it would be? Does it read like a chapter out of Niequist's book? No, I guess not. But you know what? It's five couples doing the best they can to make cooking and eating and being together a priority. And in these bizarre years where Facebook and online communication are overtaking the lives we lead with our neighbors day-to-day? Well, I'll take all that I can get.

Community is messy. People are messy. Plans are messy.

If you wait for everything in your life to be perfect, if you wait for all your ducks to be in a row, if you wait for the perfect meal, the perfect moment, the perfect friends, the perfect house, the perfect schedule...

Celebration won't happen.

Life won't happen.

You'll wind up sad, lonely, and your gifts will never even have made it out of the box.

If you're waiting on something to celebrate, stop. If you're spending your days just pinning ideas to an online bulletin board, stop.

Make something happen.

Cook a new recipe, call over a couple of friends.

Have people over for a scary movie on Halloween.

Read that book that's been on your list and share it with those you love.

Go out for a girls' night.

Do something.

Sure, things don't always end up like we've planned or imagined.

But sometimes, if we're lucky, they turn out even better.

We just have to give it our best shot.

31 days || twenty-nine: wedding day.

2011-10-29T21:43:00.001-04:00

{photo by rochford photography}

So today, I helped give this couple the day of their dreams.

And in the middle of the hustle and bustle, I kind of forgot to schedule a celebratory 29th post.

Whoops.

Forgive me, and accept these:

My words of wisdom for brides-to-be.

1. Wear comfortable shoes. Ignore the siren song of the heels in your closet, and put on your boots or your tennis shoes or your flip flops. Your feet will thank you.

2. Hire a wedding coordinator, at least for the day of. You don't want to be responsible for any major decisions on your big day. Make sure you have someone who can make those callls for you and help things go smoothly. You want to have fun, and being in charge isn't exactly fun.

3. Feed people, and feed them well. This depends a lot on the time of day your wedding is scheduled, but if you've got guests coming near lunch or dinner, feed them. Every bride has different priorities. Some people want to spend a lot of money on flowers or on photography or on the perfect venue. I'd put photography as my number one priority, for sure, but food? Food comes in a close second. Fed guests are happy guests.

4. Take as many photos as possible before your ceremony. This will ensure your guests aren't kept waiting, and -- this is important! -- you just might get to eat.

5. Surround yourself with people you love. This day is special not just for what it means for a marriage or a new adventure between husband and wife. It's special because you may never have all the people you love under the same roof (or sky!) again in this life. It's one of those "flash" kind of moments, so make sure those you love are there to experience it with you.

6. Make it personal. I think personal touches are what people remember the most. To be honest, a lot of your wedding day will go by in the blink of an eye, not just for you, but for the guests too. Special unique touches will stick out among all the other weddings your guests will attend in the coming months and years. Just have a few things that are uniquely you and your husband-to-be.

7. Turn off the computer and put away the magazines. There is such a thing as too much inspiration. At some point, stop looking at the blogs and the websites and the magazines. Too many good ideas can be crippling to decision-making.

8. Remember: It's not a big deal. Okay, I know that sounds ridiculous. I do. Wedding days are expensive and special and hopefully a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. But I promise you: The "disasters" you're envisioning? They don't happen. And if they do? No one notices. Guests simply aren't aware of the chaos that might be going on behind the scenes. The key is to just have fun. Breathe easy, and know: It's just a day. A good day. Maybe even one of the best days. But just a day. Enjoy it for what it is, and focus on the marriage of the days to come.

---

That's it. That's my advice.

I'm hoping I'll have pictures of everything for you later, but for now?

I'm going to put my feet in a nice warm bath. They deserve it.

31 days || twenty-eight: faking it.

2011-10-28T08:30:00.000-04:00

"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength."

- Philippians 4:13

---

My mother has this saying she used to tell me and my brother growing up.

If there was ever an event we didn't want to attend or a task we thought we couldn't accomplish, my mother would pop up in the background.

"Fake it ‘till you make it!" she'd shout.

Meaning, that party you’d rather not attend? Put a smile on your face and pretend you’re having a good time.

That task you’re insecure about performing? Smile and act like you know what you’re doing.

Fake it ‘till you make it.

The beauty of this advice was that often — in feigning enjoyment, in wearing a smile instead of a scowl — the fake became real, the attitude genuine. Before we knew it, the party was fun. The task was complete. The joy was made whole.

I firmly believe that true celebration blooms out of an attitude of contentment.

When we finally become at peace in our circumstances, we can celebrate. We can rejoice.

Sometimes, though, that peace doesn't feel natural. It's not our gut impulse or our immediate reaction.

It must be fought for and practiced. And sometimes, I believe it must be faked.

Aren't there moments, days, months, when you just don't feel like rejoicing?

Your best friend gets a job the day you lose yours.

The house you wanted gets bought by someone else.

You're throwing a party, and everyone cancels.

You're single, and all your friends are married.

You're married, and all your friends are pregnant.

You're pregnant, and you miscarry.

You have children, and you're stuck at home, wishing for just a moment of rest and quiet.

Your children are grown, and you wish you could have them back.

Life is hard, and our tendency is to make it harder.

Because misery is hard. Self-loathing is hard. Anger and irritation and impatience are hard.

Wallowing in self-pity feels easy, but it's hard.

Sure, take a couple of days. Drown yourself in a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Call out to the Lord in agony. Fall to your knees and cry in the shower.

But for rejoicing to return, there has to be contentment — there has to be gratitude — in your circumstance.

Depending on the day, that contentment may feel forced.

Force it anyway. Fake it anyway.

---

These 31 days of blogging have not been easy.

I am burnt out, and the words are running dry.

I am tired and slightly irritable, and I'm producing a wedding tomorrow that inside, I'm a nervous wreck about.

But my mother's words ring true in my head.

"Fake it ’till you make it."

Not because I don't believe in authenticity. Not because I don't believe in showing my friends and family the truest version of myself.

But because I believe that sometimes, our friends and family deserve our best.

The person throwing that party you don't want to go to? They deserve your smile. They need your support.

The newly-engaged, newly-married, newly-pregnant? They need you to say "congratulations." They need your hugs and your laughter and your care.

The task you've promised to complete? It needs to get done, and it needs to be done well.

Fake it ’till you make it.

Soon, your contentment, your gratitude, and your joy will become real.

Faking it won't be fake anymore.

It will be real. It will be authentic. It will be genuine.

It will be true celebration.

photo via Wit + Delight

31 days || twenty-seven: inspired week 50.

2011-10-27T08:30:00.000-04:00

{photo by Alec Vanderboom via 100 Layer Cake}

"There's a hunger beyond food that's expressed in food, and that's why feeding is always a kind of miracle."

- Take This Bread, by Sara Miles

31 days || twenty-six: treat yo' self.

2011-10-26T08:30:00.000-04:00

You already know I love Leslie Knope.

But did you also know that Leslie and the gang have some of the best ideas for celebrating?

Seriously.

Besides "Treat Yo' Self 2011," there was Galentine's Day 2010, Ann's almost-a-bust Halloween party, and a slew of hunting trips, camp outs, and breakfasts for dinner (my most favorite celebrations of all).

This month, I've shared a lot about my ideas for celebration, through good and bad, in the big and in the small. But now I'd like to hear from you.

Where do you get your best ideas for celebrating? Pinterest? Real Simple magazine? Family traditions? Your favorite television shows? (Jordan and I once threw a party for Jim and Pam's wedding episode of The Office.)

I'd love to hear about the next party you're planning to host. Have an idea for a party that just won't go away? Now's the time to share!

As for me? Well, I'm thinking about throwing a Thanksgiving dinner for friends (inspired by, what else, Friends), a swanky new year's party like this one, and Galentine's Day 2012 (oh, you know you want to come).

Your turn!

31 days || twenty-five: celebrating imperfect communion.

2011-10-25T08:30:00.000-04:00

{photo by Xavier Encinas}

Each Sunday, the congregation bows their heads in unison, taking bits of cracker and sips of grape juice in something akin to silence. There is the occasional baby's cry, the clank as trays collide, but mostly, there is silence.

I have long wondered if this tradition that my church history so emphasizes is anything like that ancient meal, eaten by friends in the heat and intimacy of an upper room. Because it doesn't always feel like it.

Maybe it is my high metabolism, but the crackers and the tiny plastic cups of juice just never seem to be enough.

I want more.

Last week, as I read in Sara Miles' Take This Bread how this act of communion, of Eucharist, brought Miles -- a former atheist -- into fellowship with the Father, I wondered if I had somehow missed the power.

I have been sitting and passing plate to hand since I was 13, at first intrigued by what I thought was a "grown-up" tradition, then in awe. Perhaps, for a time, I was ambivalent. For these past few years, though, I have been wondering: Is this what it looked like before, when Jesus broke bread with those He loved most, knew best?

And I know, deep in my heart, that it is not. The crisp, store bought crackers, the pungent purple grape juice. Even at its best, even on the Sundays where my mind is focused and my heart is clear and searching, I know: That last supper didn't look like this.

But that's okay.

In a perfect world, in a church mandated by me -- I shudder at the thought! -- communion would be taken at tables. We would pray and we would cry and we would laugh and we would share about the week's struggles, about life and how it had almost beaten us in the past days. And we would reflect on what has brought us together: the blood He chose to shed for us, for the religion established "in which divinity was revealed by scars on flesh.... in which new life was manifested through a humiliated, hungry woman and an empty, tortured man" (Miles 68).

A few weeks ago, while browsing the aisles of Barnes and Noble, my eyes wandered to Sam Harris' book, Letter to a Christian Nation. I turned page after page, blushing, heart breaking at the words. I don't like being called an idiot, don't like hearing my faith belittled or the Savior re-crucified. But I wasn't angry. Humiliated? Yes. Full of questions? Yes. I read nearly 20 pages before giving it over to Jordan, before talking about what I'd read and how it had left me, before launching into my questions, questions I don't think I'll be getting the answers to anytime soon.

This faith I attempt to live out on a daily basis? It is hard. Hard because I don't have answers for the questions people ask. Hard because Christians hurt my feelings and misunderstand me more than non-Christians do, hard because there is war and there is hate and there are picket lines and hungry people not being fed.

But there's this part of Miles' book where she realizes, as she takes the bread and the wine and joins in fellowship with other believers, that this faith is not about her. It's not about Sara Miles, the individual.

What happened once I started distributing communion was the truly disturbing, dreadful realization about Christianity: You can't be a Christian by yourself.

...

I was going to get communion, whether I wanted it or not, with people I didn't necessarily like. People I didn't choose. People such as my parents or the strangers who fed me: the people God chose for me.

I wish, sometimes, that our church wasn't silent in communion. That it would be okay to whisper and to smile and to celebrate the broken body that made us whole.

But church isn't about me. Communion isn't about me. This life isn't about me.

This meal of bread and wine has been called many things. Communion. The Lord's Supper. Eucharist. Divine Liturgy. Offering. Sacrifice.

Miles terms it "supper with God." I've been invited -- with my friends, my family, my enemies, the people I don't give a second thought to -- to supper with God together. And just like any other party or celebration I attend, it isn't about me. It's about Him, about all of us as we come together with our quirks and our sins and our imperfections and our crap...eating and communing with the Divine.

The Divine wants to eat with me.

He wanted to eat with me all those years ago when He sat in a closed upper room, talking and laughing and praying with His best friends.

He wanted to eat with me when His body defied nature's laws and appeared after death to two lonely men on a road, to fisherman out at sea, to friends gathered, again, in an upper room.

My faith isn't perfect. I don't always know why I believe it or what exactly it does to me. If Mr. Harris stopped by for a visit, I likely wouldn't have very much to say.

But I know that there is something comforting about it, about the perfect being made imperfect, about humans maybe messing up what He established to be good and purposeful and whole, and Him restoring it, redeeming it, again and again and again.

I'm not sure Christ would recognize what we do at our tiny church building each Sunday as that last meal He shared with His disciples.

But I know He would recognize us. He would call us by name, and He would invite us to supper with Him. He would redeem it. He would make our imperfect communion something sacred.

I have firm faith in that.

31 days || twenty-four: friendships.

2011-10-24T08:30:00.000-04:00

{get-together cards by Kathryn Whyte}

I have this little pit in my stomach that never leaves, and I have diagnosed it. It is friendship guilt.

The pit manifested itself right after college graduation, when distance separated me from the handful of kindred spirits I’d met at school, when my engagement with Jordan happened, and when life became more about the 8 to 5 and less about coffee meet-ups and weekend getaways.

That friendship guilt, I’m sorry to say, has only expanded over the years as more friendships have been made, and Facebook has convinced us that somehow it is, in fact, possible to maintain all of our friendships at the exact level of commitment of which we have always been capable.

Of course, that’s not true. Just as we’ve all watched our parents’ friendships come and go over the years, our friendships, too, are sometimes meant to come and go with the seasons of our lives. Social media may try to tell us otherwise, but you try to keep up — genuinely keep up — with all 300 of your friends and acquaintances, then get back to me. It’s just not possible.

Last week, Kelle Hampton wrote about the friends she treasures, and how, just like with anything else, those relationships take time. They must be maintained and manicured. They must be met with gratitude and with grace.

And I wondered: What have I been doing with my own little tribe? With both the friends who live far away and the ones who are right down the street?

I treasure them, but do they know?

As a little girl, I was a good friend. The best kind you can have. I was devoted and opinionated. I would tell you what I thought, but — I hope — with love. I would defend your honor. I would invite you to my house and my family would become your family. When it became evident that our friendship was no longer your priority, I would gracefully bow out and move on. I was imaginative and silly, stubborn and kind.

I was not the perfect friend, but I very earnestly tried.

Now, I’m not so sure.

I have forgotten birthdays. Left emails sitting in my inbox. Ignored texts. Looked at my calendar and, in the blink of an eye, given up.

I, quite simply, do not know how to do it.

I do not know how to keep up with everyone I love.

I quit Facebook with the hope that I would be more motivated to keep in touch with the friends I love. To some extent, I think my strategy has worked. I’m no longer pursuing superficial relationships. I don’t know everyone’s business, and it is glorious.

For a while, my lack of Facebook interaction inspired me to send more emails, to respond to texts in a timely manner. But that hasn’t been the case for months now.

So I made a list. (Lists are what I do best.)

In five years, who do I still want to be a member of my “tribe”? (Is tribe a term Oprah made up? I feel like it is, which means I need another word, and stat. Ideas?)

Who do I want to be able to know I can count on in five years? Who do I want to call if Jordan and I have children? Who do I want to cry to, to elicit prayers from, to laugh with?

I wrote down the first names that came to mind. I did not self-edit. I did not think practically. First, I just wanted to see how many people my gut wanted to keep in touch with.

I will not be sharing that list here — I’m not entirely convinced it’s complete — but I will tell you that it consisted of 10 names, and one of them was my husband’s (because he is my best friend, and let’s face it: Marriage takes time and effort too). Surely, with all of my responsibilities and hobbies and duties and to-do lists, I can manage 10 friends, 10 people who I want to share my life with in the coming years.

The list was a start. It helped me realize that really, my community is manageable. Ten relationships are manageable.

But the question remains: How can I best cultivate these friendships?

Many of the names on that list belong to people in a different time zone. How do I handle those who I love long distance?

A handful of those friends live right here in Tallahassee. What am I doing on a daily, weekly, monthly basis to show my love and appreciation for them and for their friendships?

How can I be a better friend to those who are mothers?

Those who are single?

What does friendship with another couple look like?

Realistically, what do my friends expect from me?

What do I expect from them?

What do I want out of these friendships?

What do I want to give to these friendships?

I want friends who don’t contribute to the pit of guilt I’ve created in my stomach. Friends who show me grace when life gets hectic. I want friends who make time for a monthly dinner or a weekly breakfast. I want friends who will actually call and tell me when they need something, who know I mean it when I say I’m there for them. I want friends who will plan road trips and pray for me and will put in the effort friendship takes.

Most of all, I want to be that for the people I love.

And I’m trying.

This wedding has taken up a lot more time than I anticipated, but I am trying.

I’m trying to respond to emails in a timely matter.

I offer to babysit and remember to send birthday cards and gifts.

I’ve got a beach trip planned for one set of friends, and Jordan and I are working hard to schedule another weekend vacation with some friends from college.

I’m trying to initiate breakfasts and get back on track with friendships that have fallen by the wayside.

I’m trying to celebrate these friends because they are worth it, and because I need them in my life.

Last week, these words from Kelle Hampton kept ringing in my head:

I think in this enterprising, demanding time of life when kids and family and paying bills are our obvious priorities, we constantly make efforts to trim off excess responsibilities. When we're busy and stressed, we lighten the load of our ship by jettisoning things that aren't necessary in our schedule--T.V., naps, long showers. I think sometimes though, in "Time Triage," we cast off necessary things, thinking the trade-off preserves more family time. Sadly, precious time with friends is one of these.

Let me tell you something. Friends. Should. Never. Be. Abandoned. If your ship needs to drop weight, throw the clothes overboard. Chuck your cell phone. Hell, get rid of necessary food. But friends? They are the life raft on the ship. The one with the big yellow sticker that says "Do Not Tamper." And, God forbid, if your ship ever goes down...you need them.

When my life gets busy, I don’t want my friends to be part of the “unnecessary.”

I want to show them love and grace and acceptance and loyalty. I want to remember them and to celebrate who they are and what they mean to me.

---

So I’m wondering: Am I the only one with friendship guilt? How do you stay in touch with your long-distance friends? What about your in-town friends? How do you maintain these relationships?

What are some things you do to make sure your friendships are celebrated and not ignored?

31 days || twenty-three: service.

2011-10-23T08:30:00.000-04:00

{photo by Sheena at The Little Red House}

This afternoon, our small group from church is making a quick visit to a local nursing home. We’re taking little pumpkins to the residents there, a little something that I hope will brighten their day, will bring joy in the middle of this season I love so much.

Most of these last 23 posts have dealt with celebration and how it affects us individually. I’ve shared my thoughts on everything from dinner parties to grief, from hostessing duties to date nights to quiet and rest.

But celebration isn’t inherently selfish.

In fact, I think celebration, by its very nature, encompasses all of us.

It is meant to be shared.

Sure, there are moments of peace and quiet that I celebrate, that I treasure.

Overall, though, I’m inclined to think celebration is a shared experience, a communal pursuit.

Today, we’re going to celebrate with a population of people that doesn’t get to celebrate very often.

We will sing, and we will smile, and we will treat them like the celebrants they are.

Because, the truth is, they’re the very kind that taught us how.

---

The best kind of celebration occurs when we think outside of ourselves, when we look around this life we’ve been gifted, and we realize we are meant to do something great with it. We are meant to share it, not just with our friends and our families, but with all of those who travel this journey with us. Especially, I think, with those who have paved the way before us.

Some of the happiest, most meaningful moments of my life have been lived for others. The time I surprised my grandmother by showing up at her infamous Christmas party when I was supposed to be hours away in Alabama. The time Jordan insisted we pick up a couple of strangers and take them to their home so they wouldn’t have to walk there in the cold. The day I spent with the girls in my youth group, reminding them they are beautiful, and they are His.

These are the moments I think I’ll remember, moments when I was celebrating with others without even knowing it.

Maybe the best kind of celebration isn’t called celebration at all. Maybe it’s service. It’s the washing of the feet and the performing of menial tasks. It’s looking beyond ourselves into the face of someone else.

---

"Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality."

- Romans 12:9-13

31 days || twenty-two: the joy of cooking.

2011-10-22T08:30:00.000-04:00

{photo by Mandy of Harper's Happenings, recipe here}

I like to cook when it is fun.

What I mean is: I do not like to walk into my house at 5:45, scan the items in my refrigerator and pantry, and promptly “whip something up.” Because let the record show: I cannot whip anything up, and I certainly cannot whip something up in the time it takes me to get hungry at the end of a day (approximately 30 minutes to an hour).

But I can, when the occasion occurs, find a recipe I like on Pinterest or in one of my half-dozen cookbooks or in an email from a friend. I can make a list and plan out a weekly menu and buy groceries. I can cook with Jordan and have a meal ready in time for Jeopardy!.

All of this, I thoroughly enjoy… when there is time.

That, I think, is key. Time.

If I want to enjoy cooking, there has to be time.

This weekend, I am making some time, and I am going to try my hand at this. And this.

As an adult, cooking has never been my favorite, not for lack of interest, but again, for lack of time. And, I am, it must be confessed, highly influenced by Lorelai Gilmore, and alas: There is no Sookie in my life to come over and cook up something fabulous at a moment's notice.

But I enjoy the moments I share with Jordan in the kitchen. I enjoy the dance we develop in our tiny kitchen, coming from the pantry to the counter, the oven to the refrigerator, dodging each other and the dog laying at our feet.

I enjoy knowing I created something with my hands for the two of us. I enjoy putting good things into my body. I enjoy the concocting and the — nerd alert! — directions-following.

I do not ever think I will be one of those people who whips things up. I will probably never add a pinch of this and a dash of that.

Instead, I will look for recipes that make my mouth water. I will slip and slide my way through the grocery store, smiling at the fish man as he explains to me what “shelled and deveined” shrimp look like. I will — perhaps not every night, but some nights — take the time to cook a meal with my hands.

I will enjoy the effort, and I will celebrate, because sometimes I remember: I am growing up in the best kind of ways.

---

Do you enjoy cooking? Why or why not?

31 days || twenty-one: the calm before the storm.

2011-10-21T08:30:00.000-04:00

{photo by Ashley of Texas Prep}

I love to host a good party. I love how my home feels when it is full, when people are coming back and forth from kitchen to living room, when laughter and music fill the air we breathe, and late nights become very early mornings.

But I also love quiet. I love sitting on my couch and sipping hot chocolate. I love listening to silence and reading a good book and folding hot piles of laundry when I know there’s really nothing better to do.

This month, as I’ve been pounding away at the keyboard, sharing my thoughts on this thing we call celebration, I have been in the middle of planning one of the very best kinds: the wedding of a friend. My childhood kindred spirit, the maid of honor in my wedding, called me back in March, asking if I could help her sister as she planned her big day. She is my best friend, and so I said yes. Since then, there have been hundreds of emails, a few scattered phone calls, weekly coffee shop meetings, and details that I don’t think I gave a second thought when I planned my own wedding nearly three years ago.

It has been a learning experience, and next Saturday, it will all come to fruition. I am nervous. I am anxious. I am concerned that I cannot make all of the dreams and the details and the design come together just as she has wanted. It is pressure to plan someone else’s day for them. When it is your own, catastrophe and chaos are your own fault, and somehow, everything always seems to work out anyway. But when it is someone else, the game changes entirely.

This weekend marks the final Saturday before my friend’s sister walks down the aisle, before I work diligently to make her visions come to life.

I am determined to stay quiet. The past few weeks have been chock full of planning and preparation, but this Saturday, I want silence. I want to sit in my home. I want to bake. (It should be known: I rarely want to bake.) I want to cook a nice meal for me and Jordan. I want to read the book I started a month ago. I want to take deep breaths and not think about aisle runners and rainy forecasts and ushers who forget their tuxes. I want to take naps when the sun hits the couch just right. I want to watch football. I want to buy a pumpkin. I want to sit in the house I have worked so hard to organize and clean, and I want to enjoy it.

Celebration, when done right, encompasses so much of this life. Every day, if we want it to.

This weekend, I want to celebrate the calm before the storm, the quiet before the chaos. I want to take deep breaths and enjoy this all-too-brief season before it passes me by.

---

What are you celebrating this weekend?

P.S. - The winner of the CD giveaway was commenter #10, Meagan from Mo Pie, Please. Meagan, email me your address and I'll send a CD your way!