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

{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.

{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.

{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.

 "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.

  {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.

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.

{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.

{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.

 {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.

{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.

 {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!

31 days || twenty: inspired week 49.

 {photo by Angela of Various Projects, via Kinfolk Mag}

"Time stands still best in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life." 

- Brian Andreas

31 days || nineteen: party on a budget.

1. Lights. Lighting is everything. Turn off the florescent overhead lights. Light candles. String Christmas lights indoors. Host your party outside and utilize outdoor lighting. The entire look of your venue and event changes the moment you change the lighting. It's an inexpensive way to make a big difference. (We use our outdoor lights from Target every time we host a party; they were inexpensive to begin with, but now they've become an investment.)

2. Balloons. You can buy cheap balloons at Walmart or your local dollar store, and thanks to blogs and Pinterest, there are plenty of ways to use balloons without having to purchase helium. Hang them upside down from streamers; create a balloon chandelier; tie them to ceiling corners. Balloons scream party to me. (Here's my current favorite way to hang balloons at a party.)

3. Streamers. I've read enough blogs to know that there are all kinds of fun things you can do with streamers: homemade pinatas, photo backdrops, tassels, fringe. The truth is, though, the KISS method is as true in party planning as it is in life: Keep it simple. Hang streamers like your mom used to do at your childhood birthday parties. Just like balloons, they instantly scream "party." You don't have to reinvent the wheel to have some pretty stellar decorations.

4. Photobooth. You may be sick of photobooths and props on sticks -- they seem to be everywhere in the blogging and online craft world -- but your friends probably aren't. We forget sometimes that our friends and neighbors don't see what we see online every day. What's overdone on Pinterest may not be overdone at all in "real life." Besides, photobooths are just plain fun, no matter the age of your guests. My aunt and uncle made theirs out of PVC pipe and black sheets (and streamers, of course). We set up my Macbook to take pictures, and the results were hysterical. If building a photobooth isn't for you, that's fine. Maybe set up a corner with a quilt or sheets or streamers just to give people a place to take goofy pictures. Provide disposable cameras if you want. Easy entertainment for your guests, and memories for you later.

5. Music. You've already heard how I feel about music and celebration. Music sets the tone for your entire event, whether it's a loud, upbeat dance party, or a quiet night of dinner and charades. (Do people play charades anymore? I may just be remembering a scene from When Harry Met Sally, but you get the idea.) Set your iPod up through a speaker system, and make sure you've got a playlist that will last the length of your get-together. You may even introduce your guests to artists they've never heard. Music can start conversations and can pick up the slack when conversation seems to fade. 

6. Details. All these awesome parties we see online have one major common denominator: They're all concerned with the details. The pictures we see on blogs and Pinterest don't show the entire party; we never know how the whole event occurred, and we never even really see the entire venue. Instead, we get glimpses of what the guests saw: colorful sodas and straws set out on tables, balloons and flower arrangements. Pay attention to a few details, and go all out. Chances are you can't do everything you want to, especially on a budget, but you probably can execute a couple of ideas really well.

7. Venue. Think outside the box. Know a friend with a really great yard? Ask if they'd be willing to co-host an outdoor movie night. That dump of a clubhouse located in your apartment complex? You can probably throw a pretty great party there. Your outdoor patio? The park across the street? Free options for a good party. Sure, you could rent a conference room or a banquet room in a local restaurant. But those places are going to be a little pricey. Give your home -- and the homes of your friends and family -- some credit. They're probably prime locations for gatherings of all kinds.

8. Common sense. Don't let blogging and Pinterest keep you from planning parties. So many of us spend most of our time thinking about these grand ideas, but we never help them come to fruition. We're paralyzed instead of inspired. Occasionally, get off the computer and think practically. Use those ideas you've bookmarked online, but understand: You're not Amy Atlas. You're not Martha Stewart. You're you and you're busy and you have a life. And that's okay.

9. Budget. The best way to party on a budget is to actually create a budget. Know what you want to spend, and promise yourself you won't surpass that amount. Remember, stick to a couple of ideas or details that you want to execute really well; some other things may have to go by the wayside. If you want your party to be all about the food, that's where most of your money should go. But if you'd rather the focus be on the atmosphere, finger foods made by friends or appetizers from Publix could certainly suffice. Choose how you want to spend your money, and do it long before you're standing in line at Party City. (Note: Think outside regular party stores. Try Target, Walmart, and a dollar general store. This past weekend, I wound up randomly trying Hobby Lobby for fun straws thanks to the recommendation of a friend. They were half the price they had been at Party City. Shop around if you have the time. You never know what you'll find in the oddest of places.)

10. Friends. Have friends or family who you know can help you execute your vision. Have friends or family who are so on board with your idea, they'll not only help you execute that idea, they'll be your cheerleaders and your best guests the actual day of the party. I always invite a couple of friends who I know will appreciate the work and effort a party takes, friends who will help conversation flow, who will get the dancing or the games or the food started. You can't throw a great party by yourself. You need people who value celebration, who have fun and let loose, those friends who immediately help everyone else feel at ease, friends who make others comfortable in celebration.

---

What are your tips for throwing a great party on a small budget? 

31 days || eighteen: a lesson in celebration.

I spent this past Saturday night in the company of teenagers, dancing the night away, refilling food trays, taking pictures, and generally merry-making on behalf of my little fuzzy, who turned 18 last week.

Here’s the thing: I cannot dance. So when my cousin mentioned her desire to have a raucous rainbow dance party (like, oh, someone else I know), I got a little nervous for her.

Because sometimes the celebration we want to have isn’t the celebration we can have.

You can’t have a raucous dance party if all of your friends are rhythmically-challenged. (Hence my own 25th birthday party quickly becoming a classy dinner party instead.)

But my cousin was adamant, and because my family is in the business of making things happen, we got to work.

And you know what?

Turns out, sometimes the celebration you want to have is exactly the celebration you can have.

It just might take a little work, a lot of determination, and an imagination big enough to conquer a small budget.

(Good music and a DJ willing to make a fool of himself are helpful as well. Good thing my husband fit the bill.)

I set out on Saturday night to teach my cousin a lesson in celebration, in what it means to celebrate every moment, every year we’re given.

She wound up teaching me instead.

The lesson? Don’t be afraid to celebrate the way you want to. Most people -- the ones that love you -- will happily come along for the ride.

31 days || seventeen: music.

"After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music." 

Aldous Huxley 

 ---

You know that game, "Would You Rather?" The game that's pulled out at dinner parties or in small group Bible studies to break the ice and make everybody like each other?

Would you rather give up television or music for the rest of your life? 

That's the question that was given to me a few weeks ago, and my answer surprised me. Without hesitation, I said television. 

Despite my love for Gilmore Girls or Leslie Knope or Jim and Pam or the gang at Cheers, I just don't think I could do without music. 

And I'm not a musically-obsessed person. I don't know the latest groups or regularly attend shows or have any rhythm or a very good voice. My tastes vary, and yes, I'm just as likely to be listening to Justin Bieber as I am to She & Him. (To be fair, I only know one Bieber song. And it's great for housekeeping purposes.)

But I can't really imagine a life without music and lyrics and Christmas carols and powerful old hymns and dance parties in the living room. I just can't. 

A couple of weeks ago, Jordan and I made the trip up to Birmingham to hear The Civil Wars perform at the old Alabama Theatre. (My grandma once told me she had a date or two there, and I've loved it ever since.)

Our seats were so high in the balcony, I thought for sure my head would start spinning, but then the music started, and it didn't matter. 

Just like when Mumford & Sons took my breath away at Jazz Fest, Joy Williams and John Paul White came onto stage, and it felt like I didn't move for the next hour and a half. Their harmonies were impeccable, their voices blending and moving effortlessly across the sold-out crowd. 

And I realized, in that moment, why my gut reaction had told me -- in the event I ever have to make the choice -- to stick with music.

It goes past the notes and the words and the chords and the instrument and the artist and the 11 years I spent slaving away in front of a piano. It really is about how it all makes you feel. My mood is dependent, for better or worse, on what I'm listening to at any given moment. I just like to breathe it all in, whether I'm attending a live concert or jamming to the radio in my car or listening to Jordan's fingers fly over the keys. 

Like books, music has the power to carry me away and to bring me back. And I love that. 

I don't think I could make it through these 31 days without acknowledging the huge role music plays in celebration, in both the over-the-top parties and quiet moments of meditation. Music, for whatever reason, stirs our souls. It resurrects the past, brings meaning to the present, empowers the imagination. As Huxley said, it expresses the inexpressible.

Music wakes us up to the life that surrounds us, the life that was, and the life that can be.

This fall, before the onslaught of Christmas music begins, I've got a few songs on repeat, songs that are reminding me to celebrate, to say thank you, to rejoice in the now. I wanted to share them with you:

1. "Shake It Out," Florence + the Machine
2. "Losers," The Belle Brigade
3."My Father's Father," The Civil Wars
4."Up Up Up," Givers
5. "Alas I Cannot Swim," Laura Marling
6. "Charmed Life," Joy Williams
7. "Tokyo," Imagine Dragons
8. "Come Thou Fount," Sufjan Stevens
9. "Free My Mind," Katie Herzig
10. "Old Joy," Noah and the Whale
11. "Whole Wide World," Mindy Gledhill
12. "Little Bit of Everything," Dawes

---

I'd like to give the gift of celebratory music to one of you. Comment below, and I'll send a CD out to one of you. 

Make sure to tell me what music you're listening to right now!

31 days || sixteen: becoming a good host.

{photo via I Want to Be Like Water}

A friend once came over to my house for some type of gathering or another and proceeded to publicly grade my hostessing abilities. 

I got an A minus. (I forgot to put out the forks.)

While I know my friend was (mostly?) joking, I do think it's important to talk about what it means to be a good host, not necessarily in terms of etiquette, but in terms of grace.

1. Be there to open the door. I know it gets kind of hectic making last minute arrangements as the dog barks and the oven timer goes off. But I love the idea that a host or hostess can take a quick moment to greet his or her guests. It doesn't have to be a formal, over the top affair. Just a quick word and a kind smile to let them know you're really glad they came. 

2. Show interest. Whether you're in charge of a gathering of five or 50, it's easy to get wrapped up in the preparations, in checking the table to make sure food is replenished and dessert is ready. Of all the homes I've been, too, though, the ones where I felt most welcome weren't overly concerned with food or seating arrangements. Instead, the hostesses cared about their guests. They cared about me. In the end, I think I'd rather have to be gently reminded to put out the forks than give up conversation with those I've invited into my home. 

3. Let your guests help. I said this last week, but I think it's worth repeating. Some guests, of course, don't want to help, and that's absolutely fine! But often, a friend or family member will want to be put to good use, and I say: Let them. It puts them at ease and makes them feel like they're contributing to the welcoming atmosphere you've created. Being gracious means being able to receive grace as well as extend it. 

4. Sit down. Maybe I'm just not as old-fashioned as I think, but when I go over to someone's house, I hate to see a hostess that never sits down. They're flitting about the kitchen and the dining room like Martha Stewart, but they never sit down to eat or look their guests in the eye. It makes me nervous, and sometimes it makes me feel like I need to be up and doing something just to get the hostess to sit down. Please, people have come into your home to visit and enjoy YOU. Don't miss out on the meal because you're too busy being concerned about the lesser important things.  

5. Don't apologize. A few weeks ago, I served potatoes that I, personally, did not enjoy. I couldn't quite pinpoint what was wrong with them, but they were kind of dry, maybe a little bit flavorless. Anyway, I guess I could have apologized, but the truth is, probably nobody even noticed. Don't bring attention to your dirty carpet or your half-baked lasagna. No one cares.

6. Avoid false modesty. Again, part of being gracious is receiving grace. If someone compliments you on your home, just say "thank you." Don't point out how tiny it is, or talk about how it's really just a "half-way point" until you find something else. Accept compliments with humility, sure, but don't use the opportunity to be self-deprecating. That's annoying.

7. Put others' needs before your own. Be mindful of guests who have specific eating preferences, and offer up alternatives that suit their needs (diet soda for diabetics, meatless options for vegetarians). Turn the temperature down if poor Bob is sweating profusely in the corner. Have room for baby carriers, and turn down the music if someone asks. Be aware of what your guests need, and try to meet those needs to the best of your ability.

8. Don't do the dishes. I certainly don't think it's rude to do dishes in the presence of company; instead, I just think it distracts from the purpose of the gathering. It goes back to suggestion #4: Your guests are there to enjoy you and your home. If you're stuck in the kitchen, you're depriving them of that opportunity. Besides, some of my favorite times are after a party, when I'm standing in the kitchen, cleaning dishes with Jordan, grateful for the night we've just had and the friends we love. It's worth it to wait and do the dishes later.

9. Create a welcoming atmosphere. Whether it's my oldest and dearest friend or someone Jordan met at the office, I want people to feel like they're welcome in our home anytime. I don't know if I always succeed in that, and I'll admit: We don't necessarily live in a neighborhood or in a time period where that's a regular occurrence, but it's a goal. I remember how good it always feels to go to my parents' house, how there's something about it (besides just the fact that I grew up there) that makes me feel warm and welcome and loved. That's how I want my home to feel, regardless of the occasion.

10. Go easy on yourself. Last week, we talked about how dinner parties just don't happen very often anymore. As a result, all dinner parties are special and appreciated, even if they're just pizza shared during a football game. That means the pressure's off. You don't have to be June Cleaver to be a decent hostess. Take a deep breath, and remember that celebrating is supposed to be fun. If it's a burden, it's time to re-evaluate what celebration means to you.

---

What do you think a good host/hostess looks like? What does hospitality mean to you?

31 days || fifteen: creating your own celebration.

Back when I was planning my 25th birthday extravaganza, I got teased a lot. I was an adult planning my own birthday party, so I realized a few jokes might come with the territory.

All that teasing was worth it, though, when I overheard my dad telling my mom how glad he was I was carrying on our family's legacy of celebration. 

That concept -- a legacy of celebration -- is something I want to blog about in more detail at a later time, but for now, I want you to know: It is okay to celebrate. 

I'm not advocating some blowout party in which you go into debt and rent out a humongous venue and expect your friends to buy you gifts from Tiffany's. (Though in some circles, sadly, people call those weddings.)  

But I am telling you it's okay to throw a party. Any kind of party. A birthday party. A book club get-together. A dinner gathering. An outdoor barbecue. A party where people share their favorite things. A party where people come and go. A party where people stay all night. A party celebrating life and love and friends and family. A potluck. A happy hour. A thanksgiving meal.

Life's too short to wait on someone else to start celebrating for you. 

Maybe it's dumb to throw yourself a birthday party. Maybe that's just not what "grown-ups" do. 

But here's the thing: Making it through this life relatively unscathed is worth celebrating. Another year of breath is worth celebrating. The older you become, the more, really, your life is worth celebrating. 

Tonight, I'm helping my cousin celebrate her 18th birthday. I've been buying drinks and fun colored straws. I've been setting up photobooths and plotting out games. I've developed a playlist and brainstormed food ideas. 

I am doing it, of course, because I love her. 

But I am also doing it because one day, when she's 25, or 43, or 58, I want her to remember that life is worth throwing a party for. 

A blog reader once asked what I thought about throwing yourself a party. She wondered, I think, whether it was something Emily Post would approve. 

I have to say that as much as I appreciate good manners, I really don't care one lick what Emily Post thinks about throwing a party for yourself. Whether it's busy-ness or intimidating Pinterest boards or hectic schedules or "I'm-too-mature-for-that" ideology, celebration kind of peters out as we get older, and it's a shame. I think it's maybe time to bring celebration back, by whatever means you deem appropriate. 

And you know what? I think Emily Post would probably say it's okay.