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

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.

what i am learning from pre-grieving.

{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.

trying.

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.

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.

{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?

quiet and advent.

"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

community.

 {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. 

a day in the life.

{photo by via Simply Seleta}

Today, I thought I'd share with you what a typical day in my life looks like. It's not ground-breaking, that's for sure, but I kind of love when other bloggers tell me how their days work: Sometimes I'm inspired to change my own routine as a result.

7:00 - Alarm goes off. Hit snooze. 

7:05 - 7:20 - Alarm continues to go off in five minute increments. 

7:20 - Wake up. 

7:25 - Rinse face; plug in straightener; begin make-up regimen. Fight with hair that dried funny overnight.

7:40 - Get dressed. Brush teeth. Grab breakfast (dependent upon time). 

7:50 - Leave house. Pray or sing in the car.

8:00 - Arrive at work. Have quiet time, either with The Book of Common Prayer or Jesus Calling.

8:15 - Check email. Eat breakfast. Read through [most] new items in Google Reader. Check news websites (the New York Times, the Tallahassee Democrat, the Orlando Sentinel, the Huffington Post, and Slate). 

9:00 - 12:30 - Tackle the work day. Write and edit articles; do book reviews. 

12:30 - Drive home for lunch or meet up with a friend. (But, if I'm being honest, mostly drive home.) 

12:40 - 1:20 - Eat lunch. Watch Friends or Cheers or 30 Rock episodes.

1:30 - Get back to work. 

3:30 - Daily mid-afternoon crash in which I succumb to the vending machine. (During Lent, I was better than this. No more.)

3:30 - 5:30 - More of the same. 

5:30 - Thank my lucky stars and head home. 

5:45 - Take a walk with Jordan and Junie. Check the mail. Leave mail I don't care about in the box. 

6:00 - Change clothes. Begin cooking dinner with Jordan. 

7:00 - Eat dinner while watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. 

8:00 - Put in a load of laundry. Work on graphic design projects or blog posts. Read. Snuggle on the couch. Watch TV. Sometimes (rarely) exercise.

9:30 - Head upstairs to take a bath or shower, depending on how I'm feeling. (Baths are reserved for moments of stress... or for when I have a good book to read.) Always end up showering so I can wash my hair. (My hair dryer broke, and I haven't bought a replacement.)

9:45/10:00 - Begin nighttime face regimen (detailed here). If I need a change, I scrub my face with baking soda and water instead. 

10:30 - Watch one or two episodes of Cheers. (Or The Office. Or Parks and Recreation). 

11:30 - Prayer with Jordan and lights out. 

Fascinating, huh? Of course, sometimes this routine varies. Tuesdays, I teach ninth grade grammar and literature to my cousin, who's homeschooled. I'm also able to squeeze in 30 minutes or so on their stationary bike or treadmill, which is pretty much my exercise for the week. Jordan's playing flag football this fall, and we have church services on Wednesdays, so those nights are different too.

Here's what I realized while typing all this out: 1) We watch way more TV than I realized; it's often on in the background while we're doing other tasks; 2) I need to do a better job with breakfasts and quiet times; 3) I am terrible at exercise.

---

What does your daily routine look like?

pressing on.

I thought I would be writing a post today about September 11, about how we recognized it in our family by gathering with those we love, by sharing a meal and launching our little cooking club with our first-ever meeting.

Instead, I stayed curled up under the covers, watching When Harry Met Sally and NFL games, occasionally tearing up over "The Star Spangled Banner" or a particularly touching rendition of "Taps."

This cold that seems to never end managed to come at a rather inconvenient time, right before an all-expense paid business trip to Destin. Even though I managed to take the trip anyway, I know I wasn't at the top of my game, wasn't fully aware of my surroundings. Instead I found myself often searching for the nearest hotel alcove where I could politely blow my nose in solitude.

Then on Saturday, sitting in bed at home, I realized I wouldn't be able to host our cooking club on Sunday afternoon, wouldn't be able to set tables out doors in this beautiful weather, wouldn't be able to use pretty gingham napkins or fill mason jars with lemonade. And for a moment, I shed a couple of tears, threw myself a pity party, moaned a little to myself about how this "always happens," how the events I plan for myself on the calendar seem to occur on the exact few days of the year when I come down with some malady or another.

I was disappointed and was equally disappointed on Sunday. I had wanted so badly to commemorate that tragic, awful day by doing something I loved, by celebrating my life and the people in it. I had wanted to eat and laugh and talk and pray, and instead? I felt too tired to do any of that, only finding comfort in the fact that I was perhaps semi-celebrating New York by at least watching a quintessentially New York film -- "Too much pepper in my parikash," anyone?

Sometimes, I put too much pressure on this life. I forget that real life isn't always about relaxing dinner parties and gingham tablecloths and lemonade in mason jars. Real life sometimes consists of slowing down, canceling plans, and drinking lots of water. I had my pity party on Saturday, but I'm pleased to report that it was short-lived. The fact is, I've been too busy lately, and I know my body was just reminding me that this life experiences all kinds of seasons: busy and slow, celebratory and mundane. My stuffy nose and dizzy head and scratchy throat all were reminders that sometimes, you just have to give up. For a few days, you just have to sleep in and watch movies and let dirty dishes gather on your nightstand.

Because, as we all know, this too will pass. And tomorrow I may wake up feeling perfectly fine, ready, once again, to tackle my to-do lists and life's events. But not today. Not this past weekend. And that's okay. It doesn't make me a failure, and it doesn't mean I won't have more opportunities to celebrate, to throw parties and share dinners with friends.

So, for now, I'm resting. And I'm honoring those who lost their lives 10 years ago by continuing to live and love my own, one celebratory and mundane moment at a time.

lining up.

 Yesterday, author Shauna Niequist posted this question on her blog:

“What’s present in your life today that’s not in line with what you want for tomorrow?”

And I thought: Oh, dear.

Because unlike a lot of people, I think I know exactly what’s in my life today that I hope won’t be there down the road.

The problem is that I’m not entirely sure how to eliminate these “nonessentials,” these things that I know I don’t want roaming around my life long-term, but that have somehow followed me around for months and years.

Really — and here is what I hate admitting publicly but which I know very well to be true — I hate saying no.

You have no idea how badly I don’t want to be that person: that “yes man,” the girl who says yes to activities and commitments and phone calls and church functions and leadership roles, all under the guise that it’s purposeful and meaningful and wonderful.

But I do it anyway.

Just last week, I received an invitation to attend a “spa party” (read: Tupperware party for bath products) at an elderly woman’s home. The woman attends my church, and although I had no desire to go — and in fact, had other plans already set in stone — I still felt ridiculously guilty for missing it. I had visions of the woman looking wistfully out her window, glancing fretfully at the clock, waiting for guests to show up. I just knew I had let her down. (This is, I recognize, completely irrational and bordering on insane.)

When did the definition of a full life become synonymous with a busy one?

Because I want a full life. A life with sweet friendships and good food and the care of orphans and widows. I want to commune with believers and reach out to the hurt and hungry. I want a life full of laughter and tears, loving family, and a quiet and peaceful home. I want an out-of-this-world relationship with my husband and an intimate understanding of who the Father is and who He wants me to be.

Why do I think that any of that would require a list of things to do?

Here is what I know: Lately, I do not want to answer my phone. I ignore texts and calls and emails, because I feel like if I do one more thing for one more person, I will implode on myself like a dying star (Office reference? Anyone?).

In the meantime, I go to bed too late and wake up too tired. The simple life I long for disappears behind a cloud of commitments, and I wonder: How on earth did this happen?

For years, I have been the girl who could juggle it all. In high school, I balanced numerous activities that I loved. In college, I did the same, maybe more. I only experienced a handful of meltdowns, and I look back on those years with little to no regret.

But just because someone can do something, does that mean they should?

Just because I’m good at juggling it all doesn’t mean I should add more balls to the mix, does it?

Because right now — in the essence of full disclosure — here is what my life looks like. (I’ve included Jordan’s activities on here too, since, let’s face it, we’re in this thing together.)

Supper club

Book club

Friendships

Adopt-a-Student program

Monthly activities for college students

Church website

Teaching on “Faith Lane,” our church’s children’s ministry

Friendspeak, a Spanish-speaking ministry Jordan runs

Blog

Full-time job

Graphic design projects

Wedding planning

Flag football (this is Jordan’s)

Small group Bible study

You may not know me very well, but surely you know this: 14 activities do not a simple life make.

A full life does not necessarily mean a busy one, and I am tired of buying the lie that it does.

I want to protect my life and my marriage from these activities that masquerade as callings and purposes.

One glance at that list, and I know what needs to go, what must be removed if I really truly want a full but simple and purposeful and meaningful life.

Unfortunately, the tricky part is actually saying no. Risking hurt and frustration from the people I have to tell. Because there’s another thing I’m learning as adulthood marches on: Most people like being miserable. And they want you to be miserable too. Everyone likes complaining about how busy they are. We like comparing full calendars and moaning about never having time for a vacation. It’s easier, I think, to pretend our life is full than to actually take steps in that direction.

I’m ready to stop. I’ve said this before, but as I look again at that list of commitments, I realize that I’ve failed. I haven’t worked hard enough at maintaining a balance, at living simply and creatively. I’ve become tired and stressed and overwhelmed, and the answer isn’t a multivitamin. It’s to quit.

Quitting is hard for me. But if I want the life I’ve always dreamed of, I’ve got to take the steps to make it happen.

For now, that’s going to mean saying no. It’s going to mean settling down, seeking refuge in my home. It’s going to mean placing the Father at the top of my list and His work — or rather, what I’ve confused for His work — at the bottom.

Wish me luck.

"He has showed you what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? 

To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."

- Micah 6:8

* print by Kal Barteski, available here

words.

I’m watching my mouth these days.

Back in February, I made a commitment to try to be a more grace-filled person. I wanted to respond to people in love and generosity, to be the kind of person others genuinely want to be around. I wanted my home to be a safe haven for friends and loved ones. And everything I wanted to become kept coming back to that one word: Grace.

Here I am, months later, and I’m realizing that being grace-filled encompasses more than just the actions I take and the thoughts that I think. This need for grace extends to the words I choose to speak.

Too often, my opinions — though, I hope, guarded and offered out of love and concern and some form of 25-year-old wisdom — come rushing out, delivered to people who didn’t ask for them.

Advice comes spilling out of me, unwanted and later, as a result, unheeded.

My anger over some perceived injustice stews until I let words escape that should have been kept in.

These words, I am relearning, have power beyond me. Once let out, they can’t be taken back.

I wonder, then, what do grace-filled words look like? Because it’s far easier to know what they aren’t.

They aren’t words spoken in a hurry, in visits with friends and whispers behind backs.

They aren’t spouted off in anger or written in a moment of hurt.

And as I ponder, His answer rings loud and clear, and like so many truths, it is simple: grace-filled words heal.

Gossip tears people apart.

Sarcasm hurts feelings.

Lies destroy.

Dirty jokes bring shame.

But graceful words? They heal.

Simple as that.

Before I write, before I speak, before I share, my first thought should be: What’s the point?

Are these words going to help or hurt?

Are my words going to bring blessing and honor?

In short, are these words going to heal?

 ---

“There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”

- Proverbs 12:18

 * print by Naptime Diaries, via Pinterest

ten things, part ii.

{photo by Tracy Shumate for House & Home}

6. Early bed time. If there's one thing I've learned about myself post-college, it's that I need my sleep. I knew this in college, too, by the way, and I made myself go to bed early if I needed to. In college, though, there were also moments -- even if brief -- for naps (naps! Remember those?), and now? Well, now I work eight and a half hours a day, so no: There are no naps. Instead, it's time to be a grown-up, and for me, that means going to bed before 11. I know, I'm a grandma. But this going to work with bags under my eyes is for the birds. Ideally, I'd like to be upstairs, in our bedroom, by ten. This is doable, and no, I won't be missing out on any fun. Even on nights when I'm out with friends (and by "out," I mean at the local yogurt shop), I'm easily home by 10. My sanity, I think, depends on an earlier bedtime. 

7. Give to someone. A couple of Fridays ago, I had a doctor's appointment, and on the way back to work, I stopped at McDonald's for breakfast. My total was so ridiculously small that I actually felt silly using my debit card, so call it the Spirit (I do), call it my conscience, call it crazy, I decided to pay for the breakfast of the person behind me. And you know what? It was awesome! I went around the rest of the day with this gigantic smile on my face. I felt so good. I know that giving isn't always about individual gains or feelings; giving should be selfless and sacrificial. But... sometimes it just feels good. I'd love to have that feeling every day. 

8. Limited technology in the evenings. Most of my blog reading occurs during small moments throughout the day. It's a nice reprieve, and my blog reader is full of some of the most wonderful people and ideas. By evening, though, I need a break from the computer screen. I find myself still drawn to email and Twitter, though, despite my best efforts. (It's all you people who tweet during The Bachelorette! I blame you and your snarky ways!) I'm thinking about joining in Jess Constable's "Email Intervention" for the month of August, but I'm not sure how that would work, given I do some graphic design work on the side, work that just can't be done during the day. (I have this thing called a job.) But, what if I said only email/Twitter/blogging from 8 to 9 each night? I think that could work...

9. Time with Jordan. Cooking, or reading, or lounging on the couch. It doesn't matter: I kind of -- okay, really -- like it all. It's important to have time with him, and now that we're both out of school, I love it even more. I need to make sure our time is purposeful and enjoyable. Sure, there will be moments and times of stress, but overall: We need to enjoy our life. It's all we're given. 

10. Time with friends. I actually don't think I need this every day -- my hours are so limited after work -- but I definitely need it throughout the week. Whether it's an email sent to a long-distance friend or dessert eaten with my favorite kindred spirits, I need those precious minutes to spend with like-minded people. Lately, a group of my friends has started to gather each week (one of us is moving soon, so we're relishing the time we have). I kind of hope we continue that tradition, because I find them to be some of my happiest moments during a busy week. 

That's it, my ten little things I do -- or will do -- for my sanity. (Read the first five here.) What are yours?

ten things, part i.

{found via Sara Jane Elizabeth's blog}

Even though this summer has been wonderful -- delightful, really, with no Bar exam to bother us -- I find myself still struggling to get through my work week with my eyes open. I wake up tired, go to bed late. Despite my absence from Facebook, I still find myself struggling with some feelings of frustration and hurt, brought on by my own disappointment with people. (The saddest part? Sundays always seem to be the worst. It's something I'm working on, trust me.) 

So, last week, when I came across C. Jane's blog post about "ten things" -- things that make life happy and manageable, even when it's sometimes hard (because, yes, sometimes it's hard. And that's okay.) -- I decided to sit down and come up with my own list. I pondered what ten things would help me to simplify and develop good habits throughout the week, leaving my weekends a lot more free for fun and relaxation, not stress. (Who wants to spend all day Saturday cleaning and scrambling about town?) 

Ideally, I want a life that goes beyond coming home at 5:45 and absolutely crashing: no energy, no creativity, no desire to do anything but lay on the couch and watch "Swamp People." Do I love sitting and watching television with Jordan? You bet I do. And there are days I know that sometimes need to be met with nothing more than a couple of hours lounging on the couch, cuddled in blankets. But too often -- due to lack of energy or the hours I spend each day at a computer screen -- that becomes my default. That has to change, and only I can change it. 

1. Morning quiet time. This has been a year-long goal, and while I'm satisfied with my morning readings during my first five or 10 minutes at work, I know it needs to be more. Not because there's some checklist for this kind of thing, but because I know what my spirit desires and craves. Right now, it needs more Scripture. More prayer. More time to listen to the Spirit.

2. Zone duties. This one I completely stole from C. Jane, but I think it's brilliant. My own mom used to call this "blitzing." (My mom is a home management genius.) If I could just set aside 10 to 15 minutes each day (this is a house without kids, remember?) to clean a part of my home, I wouldn't have to set aside an entire Saturday each week (which, by the way, doesn't really happen that often, leaving me with a disaster of a house by the end of the month) to declutter and clean. I'm thinking my own "zones" would go something like this: 

     - Monday: laundry 

     - Tuesday: vacuum 

     - Wednesday: living room

     - Thursday: kitchen/dining

     - Friday: stairwell

     - Saturday: bedroom

     - Sunday: ironing

3. Balanced dinner. We're getting better at this, and I've come to kind of treasure our time in the kitchen, even if the meal we cook is really simple. It makes me happy to catch up on our days while we spill ingredients and check the oven. It makes me love our life. 

4. Read. I'm guilty, probably, of talking about books too much on this blog, but I can't express to you how important it is for me to have time to read. The nights when I wind up scrolling through my Google Reader or reading Twitter updates tend to feel wasted -- before I know it, I've spent two hours of my limited free time online. But the nights I get to sit and read, even briefly? I go to bed earlier, or wind up sharing some quote or another with Jordan, or just generally feel good about stretching my brain and getting lost in a plot. Reading -- a book, not a magazine or blog -- is a must for me.

5. Walk. Guys, I'm going to be honest: I quit Couch to 5k. I think I made it two weeks before I had to have stitches in my leg (a non-related procedure), and after that... I gave up. Just didn't care anymore. I hate to be that girl that hates to exercise, but I am. Don't like the gym, have no desire to Zumba. The only thing I really like to do is walk. So for now, I need to make time for that. Even if it's just to the mailbox. (Pathetic, I know.) Walking makes me feel at peace, and gets me out of doors. (Have you seen the latest Applebee's commercial, the one where the coworkers exit their office building and begin moaning, wondering what that big bright yellow thing is in the sky? Yeah, that's, sadly, the life of a desk worker.) I feel much better after I get out of work and stretch a bit, so for now, walking seems to be the most satisfactory answer. (Though I'm inclined to incorporate yoga in there too...)

Numbers six through 10 coming tomorrow. What makes you happy?

four things.

 {arrangement by Once Wed, via my Pinterest}

Tuesday morning, semi-awake and definitely bleary-eyed, I read through this blog post, and I wondered: What are the four things in my life that I need to stay balanced and happy?

I like to think of myself as a fairly low-maintenance girl; I am genuinely happy most of the time. I think it’s the disposition I was born with.

But I also know that some days, happiness takes effort and work. I maintain a busy, active schedule, and in the past, my tendency has been to work and work and work and work until I am weary and rundown, incapable of lifting my head from the pillow.

In the past couple of years, I’ve tried really hard to work against that tendency, tried to institute moments of rest and relaxation that bring me back to my happy place, back to a more balanced way of living before complete insanity strikes.

I want my life to be simple and happy, and with each passing day, I realize that I have to fight for that simplicity and happiness. Last week, I read an article that said we — men and women alike — wear our stresses like badges of honor. We like sharing our outrageous stress levels with others. We want people to know how busy we are, how much we’ve got spinning on our dozens of plates. We compare our schedules and to-do lists, and we thrive when “hey-I-have-more-to-do-than-you” comes out of our mouths.

How very, very foolish we are.

The overachiever inside of me whispers that could be me. I could join the rat race and the chaos and the stress-induced insomnia… And I could win.

But the other part of me — and I hope the bigger part of me — whispers that life isn’t about to-do lists and schedules and chaos and stress.

It’s about the happy, simple day-to-day things that lead to balanced living. And now, in this moment, these are the four things that I need to maintain that kind of balance.

1. Good books. Thomas Jefferson once famously said, “I cannot live without books.” I don’t find that statement overdramatic in the least. I need books. Need them to keep me grounded, to keep my creative juices flowing, to keep my imagination running rampant. I need them to stretch my brain, to cause me to ask questions, to stimulate conversations with my husband. I need them because they help me turn off the computer, turn off the television. They help my brain to comprehend more than just snippets of facts; they help me process story and character and plot, and they lead to a better story for my own life.

2. Time with husband and family. As I watch others around me sift through grief and pain and desperation, I look at Jordan and I know: There is no one else who I would rather travel through this life with. He is my rock, and our home is my safe haven. Time with him brings me back to who I was at 18, to who I want to be at 45. This life is so full of uncertainty, of roller-coaster up and downs. And although I never know what the future might hold, I am grateful now for the time we have together. I need, too, time with family. Around them I can be completely myself. I can ask questions and discuss spirituality and sing at the top of my lungs while attempting a cannonball into the pool. I have so much to learn from the members of my family; time spent at their feet is never a waste.

3. Purpose. There is good, I know, in wandering aimlessly, in days spent being a little bit lazy and a lot relaxed. I like those days, need those days. But I also know that I am the best version of myself when I am serving a purpose. I need a goal, a mission. It needn’t be grandiose. I am learning every day that sometimes, my purpose will be tiny, even miniscule. Others may never know. But the Father does, and He smiles. I can find my purpose in throwing parties, in starting a new club, in hosting friends, in teaching a class, in cooking meals, in sending birthday cards and mailing notes. I need a purpose beyond my 8-to-5, or I get a little bit lost.

4. Simple pleasures. Originally, I thought my fourth and final "need" would be rest: I'm a girl who needs her eight hours of sleep, needs time to just sit and be. But then I got to thinking about all the little things in my life that make me happy: the fresh flowers from the grocery store. The painted nails done while sitting on the couch. The trips to the pool and date nights in Thomasville. The occasional magazine picked up while standing in line at Publix. The long baths and the pretty stationery and the Ben & Jerry's ice cream. These are little things that make me very, very happy; I know some of them seem frivolous, but they keep me smiling while I tackle things like bills and work and laundry and the tasks that lead to an overall bigger purpose. Here's to the little things, because sometimes, they turn out to be rather big after all.

When I truly sat down to think about what I would need to maintain a happy, balanced life, these are the four that kept coming back to me. What are yours?

embracing the silly.

You know what I am learning, the older I get? 

That little bit inside of you that's spazzy and quirky and silly and fun? 

Cling to it. 

Hold on to it with all of your might. 

Because otherwise, there's a pretty high chance it's going to disappear. 

The odds are good that one day, you'll wake up, and the kid inside of you simply won't exist anymore. 

So I like to embrace the silly. I like to slide down pool slides and skin my knees and dance in the yard with sparklers. 

It's important, I think, to let the five-year-old inside of me loose every once in a while. 

She's a pretty fun girl. I'd hate to lose her. 

(P.S. -- If you're the praying kind, would you pray for my mom today? She had an emergency appendectomy while on vacation this weekend, and she's recovering in a hospital fairly far from home. Almost every ounce of silly in me, I owe to her, and I'm ready to have her back safe and sound. Thanks, friends.)

cooking club.

 {photo by Teri Lyn Fisher for Rue magazine}

I want to start a cooking club.

Before you remind me that I consider slice-and-bake cookies “homemade,” hear me out.

Part of my dreaming at the beach was inspired by the books I was reading: this, this, and this, respectively (full recaps to follow later this month). And a theme, at least in those last two, was food.

How it brings us together.

How it brings us closer to the Father.

How it brings us into truer and richer community with those we love. (See here.)

I am an okay cook. I can follow a recipe, and I’ve gotten to a point where I’m pretty good about trying new things.

But I don’t always enjoy cooking. I get home at 6:00 in the evening, which is about the time I grew up eating. By the time we have walked the dog and checked the mail and generally unwound from our days, it is 6:30 or 7:00, and I am running around like a madwoman trying to get everything ready before Alex Trebek graces our screen at 7:30. (I refuse to eat past 8:00. It doesn’t feel healthy to me.)

This year has gotten better. Jordan and I are on the same schedule, and we have begun to cook together, which I find far more enjoyable than cooking alone.

Which brings me to the idea of a cooking club.

Tallahassee is a transient town.

People come in and out and back again.

We’re not sure what life will hold in the coming months, but because we signed a two-year lease and both have jobs we enjoy, we’re guessing we’ll be staying put for at least the next year.

And even though we’re sad when friends leave and say good-bye, I don’t want to be sad all the time.

I want to pursue community, even when my feelings get hurt or things don’t work out quite the way I’d imagined.

I want to always be growing and stretching and trying new things.

Over two years ago, I helped to start a book club. It’s a new year’s resolution that stuck, and despite some goings and comings, we’re still 10 members strong. Each month we gather and eat and discuss and share, and it has not ceased to be a blessing.

I want more of that.

Not so much that my calendar is full and my commitments are too many to count, but enough that I am too busy to focus on the things I simply cannot control.

Shauna Niequist wrote in Bittersweet the value of being a part of something, of joining a club, of putting yourself out there and risking rejection.

So I think I’m going to give it a try.

Maybe it will flop. But maybe it won’t. Maybe, like I did with book club, I’ll find some likeminded people who want to go a little deeper.

Maybe, just maybe, it will work.

---

Are you a part of a cooking club? What has worked/hasn’t worked for you? I’m thinking of using the guidelines Niequist set for her own cooking club, but I’m really open to any and all suggestions. At this point, I’d like to stretch outside of my comfort zone and maybe invite some people outside of my little bubble; I’d also like to focus on couples, since book club is an all-girls affair, and I'd like to share this venture with Jordan.

So, any ideas to share? I’d love to hear.

the face.

 Hello, world. Here I am in all my glory.

If you've read this blog for any period of time, you probably understand that I've had a bit of trouble with my face.

Normal people struggle with acne while they're in the middle of their awkward teenage years. Then they grow up, go to college, get jobs, and their face looks like Kate Hudson's or that of a newborn baby.

I have never been normal.

This probably explains why acne hit me at the age of 19 and never let go.

Until now.

I've been holding off on sharing my new face regimen because, honestly? I thought it was a fluke. I've tried a lot of acne remedies over the years, and I figured this was one of those solutions that would clear my face up, but only temporarily. I didn't want to share something that didn't wind up working long term.

Now I'm seriously afraid to jinx myself, but it's been months, and my face feels and looks healthier than ever.

I refuse to bestow before and after pictures -- this is not a Proactiv commercial, and I am not a glutton for punishment -- but I am instead gifting you with my secret.

Because if this works for me, it could very well work for you.

And there is no sense keeping it to myself.

At night: 
- "Wash" my face with 3 parts Castor Oil and one part Extra Virgin Olive Oil. I realize this sounds disgusting. Because, really, should you be adding oil to an oily face? Um, yes. I put about a quarter-sized amount of this concoction in my hands and rub it all over my face for a good 20 seconds or so, then place a warm washcloth on my face and leave it there until the washcloth reaches room temperature. It's like a cheap spa treatment.

- "Tone" with a lemon slice. Um, this burns, especially if you have breakouts. But it works. Just rub the lemon slice (I think I cut my lemon into eighths) all over your face. There will be pieces of lemon on your face, and you will probably be embarrassed because you look a little bit like a loser. BUT YOU WON'T TOMORROW WHEN YOU WAKE UP AND YOUR FACE IS CLEAR.

- "Moisturize" with sesame oil. You could also use avocado oil, but my grocery store had sesame oil, so that's what I use. FYI, the stuff reeks. But you're not going to care because it works. Nickel-sized amount, rubbed all over.

- I do have a prescription that I use in the evenings before I go to bed.

In the morning: 
- I take shower, but don't wash my face. Instead, I just tone and moisturize as I did the night before. I follow with a separate topical prescription.

Every other night (Monday, Wednesday, Friday): 
- After washing my face with the oils, I put a little bit of sea salt into my palm and mix it with a little olive oil. Rub them together and gently (because it does scratch a bit!) massage on face. This exfoliates the skin. Then I follow with the rest of the regimen.

Remember, I've tried a lot of solutions over the years. Some worked okay, others not at all. This one rocks my socks off.

Also, the nerd in me kind of loves making the different concoctions. It's like a science experiment!

So, there you have it. Questions? Comments? Your own face regimens? Sound off below.

(Oh, and for more information about the oil cleansing method, try here and here.)

the flash (and what i hope heaven holds).

 {photo by Beth Retro via Joye's Pinterest}

My husband and I were talking the other day about places. How certain locations and spaces make us feel. How they evoke emotions and bring back memories and play games with our minds.

This weekend, we attended the wedding of one of our best friends from college. And they are true, those movies Hollywood puts out every few years. The reunion films, I call them. The Big Chill. St. Elmo’s Fire. The Romantics. When big groups of friends reunite, nostalgia wells up. I am taken back to who I was nearly eight (can it really be eight?) years ago, and I realize I am becoming a grown-up, adult version of myself, and I wonder if I am who I thought I would be, if my old friends can possibly know and understand the 25-year-old version of me that is now roaming this earth.

As I sat surrounded by the people who shaped so much of who I am in this moment, I had this overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.

If I were a swearing kind of person, I would have sworn to you that I had been in that church before. That I had been in that chapel, in those chairs, at that table.

And I hadn’t ever in my life set foot there.

It reminded me of that conversation Jordan and I had held just days ago. How the places we go can bring back such strong feelings in the core of ourselves.

In one of L.M. Montgomery’s novels, Emily of New Moon, Emily experiences these moments. She calls them The Flash. (Read more in this post.)

It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside — but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond — only a glimpse — and heard a note of unearthly music.

I get the feeling every so often, and I wonder now if it has less to do with where we are and more to do with who we are with.

I wonder if it’s not just a random feeling of déjà vu, but if it is, instead, a glimpse at who we are called to be, at the more we do not yet know.

I wonder if what I experienced this weekend was a taste of Heaven.

Surrounded by dear friends with whom I shared life and love and loss in four very critical years, I felt loved and appreciated and known. For the first time in a long time, I felt comfortable, at ease. I fit. I belonged.

And the thing is, I know I fit right where I am.

I have friends in Tallahassee that I absolutely treasure, that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

And I have moments with them too; the flash comes when we’re gathered at my dining room table, or when we’re laughing at a party or planning our next event. The flash comes when I’m holding hands with Jordan or traveling down a pretty road or sharing dreams about our future.

The flashes are all around, and I feel them so very deep in my soul that I wonder if it is God telling me, “Child. This? This moment? This so-good-you-can-hardly-believe-it feeling? This is Heaven. And there is more. Just you wait.”

My college years were not perfect. I am not content to say they were the best years of my life. (I am of the firm belief that the best is always yet to come.)

But the more people that I meet, the more I realize how lucky I was. The more I wish people had what I had.

These friends we laughed and broke bread with grew up with me. For nearly four years, they were my home away from home. They sought the Father with me. Wanted more from me. Asked questions and begged for answers and attended parties and planned road trips and walked to class and talked about truth.

I miss it. I forget in the day-to-day moments, of course (because that is how it should be), but this weekend, after three years of separation, I felt at home again.

And the flash came, and it wasn’t déjà vu.

It was a hint of things to come.

Maybe the Father sends the flash to let us know that this life is so indescribably good.

But there is more — so much more — that we will experience.

Perhaps the Father, in all His wisdom, knows that we need these moments to confirm that we have done the right thing. We have met the right people. Our spirits have become entwined and no matter the time or the distance that separates us, something bigger bonds us.

I have trouble, sometimes, picturing Heaven as these streets of gold, with big white mansions lining the streets. (It’s an image, frankly, that has always bothered me. I don’t want my own mansion. The very thought of it seems so lonely.) I wonder, though, if that picture isn’t really Heaven at all. If maybe Heaven is just really good friends, kindred spirits, eating and laughing and swapping stories and content in the act of finally being reunited: with one another and with the Spirit that bound them together in the first place.

If that’s the case — and oh, how I hope that it is — I think I experienced some of Heaven this weekend.

And I am grateful for an imaginative Father who is gracious enough to deliver those moments, to send me the flash right when I need it the very most.

revisiting resolutions: part ii.

 {kicking off summer in seaside}

The other day at work, I took a mental inventory of what was going on in my life. I wanted to figure out what was going well, what wasn't. I looked at my goals from earlier in the year and decided that they still reflect what I want today. I want to cook more, live joyfully and simply, celebrate milestones, enjoy fun weekends, and sit and be quiet with the Savior.

But I also realized that I'm tired a lot. That I'm bad about putting off laundry and grocery shopping (and lots of other "grown-up" tasks). That I spend a ridiculous amount of time in front of a computer screen.

And so I decided it was time for a few summertime resolutions. I did this last year, and it was helpful. I'm a firm believer in the power of goal-setting, of what it can help you accomplish if you really put your mind to it.

Here are the ways I'll be trying to improve in the coming months:

- Grocery shop -- at the very least -- every other week. I realize you're probably thinking I should be doing this already. You're right. But if I'm being honest, it just doesn't happen that way. An empty refrigerator with a few moldy leftovers has happened more times than I care to admit. Time to fix this one...

- Go to bed earlier. I'm not a night owl. I prefer getting up early to staying up late. But the truth is, when you work until 5:30, and you're not done with dinner and dinner prep until 8... well, there's a lot to do. And my tendency is to stay up later to get it all done. Hello, 11:30. I'm seeing you far too often these days. Sure, I get more done. But I'm tired and bleary eyed the next day, and that's no fun.

- Limit computer time. I am on the computer all. day. Literally. I work eight and a half hours a day at a computer. I come home and do graphic design on the computer. I check my email, maintain this blog, send a tweet or two. I'm thinking about instituting computer-free weekends. Or computer-free Tuesdays. Or computer-free hours (like between 8:00 and 9:00 each night?). I've got to find a way to balance my computer life with my real one, especially since I have a business I'm trying to get off the ground. Ideas?

- Read quality books in addition to the fluff. I love the fluff, don't get me wrong. But I also want to retrain my brain to love the great books, the books about philosophy and politics and religion that I loved so much in college. So I bought Walking on Water last week, and I'm ready to read it slowly, to chew on it and meditate on it, like I did oh-so-many moons ago. Wish me luck.

- Pray together with Jordan. I'm thinking every night before our earlier bedtime would be good.

- Organize graphic design projects and begin implementing a business plan. I do a lot of graphic design on the side, but thus far have kind of let it grow quietly. I'm thinking that if I want to turn this dream into reality, though, maybe it's time to put myself out there, to advertise my services, and to get the ball rolling.

- Exercise. Self-explanatory. Look, here's the deal: Couch to 5k was going great... until I got stitches in my leg and was instructed not to run. And now it's like 100 degrees here. So I'm kind of back to square one.

- Improve as a friend. Already discussed here.

What do you think? Did I bite off more than I can chew? What are your summertime goals?