a word about you and the bookshelf. (a plug.)

There's no competing with Amazon. You know that, right? Independent bookstores aren't even in the same realm; we don't even breathe the same air. We will never come out on top in that fight. It's not ours to fight in the first place. We can't really even compete against the Barnes and Nobles and Books-A-Millions of the world, though that fight is becoming more fair, the playing field more level. 

Instead, we of the independent bookstore press on, staking our claim on customer service, individual tastes, and cozy atmospheres. It is all about the individuality, the self-expression, the unique ability to remember what you read last and what you'll want to read next. 

This is hard work, in case you weren't aware. (You probably were. Anyone who has to deal with the public on a regular basis would be.) It is now my job to cater to the few thousand people who live in my town and choose to shop locally. It's important to know their names, their tastes. It's important, and I'm trying. 

But I also want to expand The Bookshelf's horizons a bit. 

I've been blogging since 2008, and I have no desire to make money from it. None. I don't have that kind of time, energy, or work ethic. I blog because I like to write, and I need an outlet, and I happen to enjoy the small community I've found here. I can't really get into affiliate links or sidebar advertising or sponsored posts, because I don't think my blog or writing style lends itself to that. (Seriously, what would I advertise for? Books? I own a bookstore.)

Which brings me to my main point. 

I have been writing my thoughts down on the Internet since 2008. Some of you have read along as I got married, adjusted to life with another human being, endured church hurts, and sat through somewhat mundane desk jobs. You cheered me on when I quit said desk job and began working at a small bookstore in Tallahassee; you encouraged me when that store closed, and this door, miraculously, opened. 

Now here we are, six years later, and you've watched me move to a small Southern town and take the leap into full-time entrepreneurship. You have left comments and sent emails; some of you have sent letters and become true friends. My blog following has never been big, but it has been so meaningful. You have helped me get to this point. 

My business isn't like a lot I see online. I don't have an Etsy shop; my services aren't available through a website. Sure, our store sells books online, but like I said earlier -- there's really no competing with Amazon. But I've been thinking a lot lately about how you all could partner in this business, how you could see what the store is doing, how life is going, how this bookstore-owner gig really works. 

So my business partner and I came up with a plan. 

First, a book-a-month club. And no, I don't expect all of you to sign up. But I want my long-distance friends to know there's a fun -- and yes, financial -- way you can support the store. Lots of independent bookstores offer this service; think StitchFix for books. Basically, a customer -- local or long-distance -- will fill out a form and sign up for a monthly subscription to The Bookshelf. Each month, the customer will receive a new book based on his or her preferences, hand-selected by Bookshelf staff (me). 

I've been doing online book reviews for years, and no, I've never used Amazon affiliate links. I don't even have a GoodReads account. (I would have no idea where to begin.) But I always get such lovely feedback when I do those posts, and I get the same feedback from the recommendations I make in the shop each day. Why not bring that kind of customer service to my Internet friends? And I really do think it would make the most lovely gift for an expectant mother or her little one. 

But I get it; a monthly subscription for new books may seem frivolous to you, or it just might not make sense given your budget and your lifestyle. 

Which is why we're also launching "From the Front Porch,"a podcast all about books, small business, and life in the South. (That's literally the tagline.) The podcast may make it big in our little Georgia town, but I kind of doubt it. The podcast is truly for you. It's a way for you to hear about this journey in entrepreneurship, about life leading a bookstore in a Southern tourist town. My hope is to host author interviews, offer book reviews, have chats with my staff -- all from the comfort of my little front porch. 

If we lived near one another, I hope you know you'd be invited over to dinner. And we'd sip lemonade and take long walks, and we'd have the most lovely time. 

But the reality is there is distance among Internet friends. It can't be helped. And sure, there are meet-ups and blogger conferences, but for most of us, that's just not practical. But a podcast? 

Hey, that we can do. 

Consider this my invitation to join me on my front porch. The podcast will launch June 1, but until then, I'm rather desperate to know: What would you like to hear? All of this is so new to me; it feels big and daunting and challenging, but I think it could be something really special. I asked last week on Twitter, but I thought I'd ask here: What types of stories would you like to hear? Who would you love for me to interview? What questions do you have about Southern life, about our quirky customers and our daily tasks? Do you need recommendations for your middle reader? What conversations could we start about books and entrepreneurship and life? 

So that's it. That's what's happening in my corner of the world. I can't compete with Amazon. Heck, I can't even really compete with other larger independent stores. (I don't really want to.) But I can enlist this wonderful army of readers and friends to do what you do best: encourage, uplift, and get me excited for this wonderful adventure I am now lucky enough to call my day job. 

Thanks.

thank you.

{photo by Charlotte Rutherford}

The amount of encouragement and strength I've received from complete strangers these past couple of days is nothing short of mind-blowing. I know the Internet is full of all kinds of nonsense -- it's an election year, after all -- but your comments and tweets make up for all that.

I've tried to explain why I blog to people before, and I often just wind up giving up, because I sound kind of pathetic, and blogging isn't really a "thing" down here, and I don't make a lick of money, so I don't really think it makes sense to people. I think they just assume I keep an online journal, which I guess is accurate, but kind of demeans the whole thing somehow.

So I don't really tell people I blog. But if I did, and if they were to ask me why, I think I'd direct them to my past two posts and the comments you all left there.

There is something to be said for the encouragement of those you've never actually met.

My friends and family have been so kind and understanding (I have one friend who's jokingly begun referring to me simply as "Kathleen"), but I expect nothing less from them.

The Internet, though? The Internet you just never know.

This blog isn't big by any means. I don't have a ton of readers, nor do I sell ads or link to my posts on Facebook. This blog, for me, isn't a business, mostly because I don't have the time or the energy to try, but also partly because I'm not sure my content warrants it.

I've decided that's okay, because I love to write, and I love being free to write whatever I want, whenever I want, as often as I want.

The bonus is that some of you keep coming back. Many of you, I consider friends. All of you push me to tell a better story.

I love that God often moves when and how we least expect Him to. He's already given me so much this month, but these past two days, He's used the unlikeliest of sources -- the Internet! -- to provide me with the confirmation I needed that this is the right decision.

Taking this job is the brave thing to do.

Thank you so much for reminding me of that.

august goals.

{photo via Garance Dore}

August, you guys. What on earth is happening with the time? Does it have to do with aging? When I'm 50, will years pass like seconds on the clock? Seriously, what is going on, and why does 2012 feel like it just began, only to end in the blink of an eye?

My July goals got a little shafted, I think, mostly because of the move and the mission trip. I'm sure I'll look back on July 2012 as the month I could have lost my mind, but didn't, thanks, in part to June and all the no-saying I did. Hallelujah for the nos.

An evaluation, then, of July goals:

Swim in the pool/visit the beach. Nope. Didn't happen, not even once, and I'm not happy about it.

Read three books. I read two, but finished a third by August 2, so I'm going to count this one as done. Reviews headed your way later this week.

Get organized. Done to coincide with the move. I've got a lot of thoughts on the mounds of stuff that had piled up in our previous home -- most of them angry and unhappy -- but if one good thing came from the discovery of our hoard-ish tendencies, it's that we got rid of things and cleaned up others. I think we're off to a good start in our new home, which is a success, I think. 

Pack.  Done, and don't think I'm going to let Jordan forget anytime soon I did most of it alone. (Okay, not alone. Moving takes a village, and mine includes a spectacular family and some very generous and kind friends.) So thrilled this one is all said and done.

Give careful yeses. I actually accomplished this one, perhaps mostly because my schedule simply didn't allow for a lot of yeses. I tried to be careful to evaluate what I really was capable of in light of the move, and anything I did say yes to, I did because I wanted to.

And now August's goals:

01. Settle in.

I'm sure you'll find this shocking, but I don't handle chaos well. I don't like boxes milling around, and I don't like a house without pictures hanging on the wall. Our new home already looks pretty lived-in, thanks to my aforementioned village of friends and family, but I'd like to use August for me and Jordan to settle down and continue to make our house a home. I want to empty the last of the boxes and put things in their proper place. Also? I'd like to sit on the couch and enjoy it all.

02. Grocery shop regularly.

The number of homecooked meals we've eaten the past few weeks is so few it's shameful. It's time to get back on track; we've moved, and now there's no excuse for our shoddy eating habits.

03. Be brave/embrace change.

There are changes headed our way, I think, and I want to be able to tackle them with courage and enthusiasm. I don't want to lose my nerve when things get stressful and hard -- and they inevitably will, at least a little bit -- so that's my goal this month.

04. Read three books.

I like this goal, so I'm continuing it from the previous couple of months' lists.

05. Play the piano.

The family piano is officially ours, proudly residing in our new living room and waiting to be played. I'd like to get a new piece of sheet music to inspire me to play; any recommendations of something a little more modern and fun to practice on?

july goals.

{photo by Whitnay Wiles}

June is over. How that happened, I'll never really know, but I'm so pleased with last month and the lessons I learned. If you'll recall, I spent June reminding myself that no is a complete sentence, and in the coming days, I'd like to share with you what that reminder meant for my life and what it means for my future.

First, though, a quick June goals update. Apparently, setting goals is the first and most basic step in actually achieving those goals. Who knew?

Sit by the pool. Done. I spent a couple of afternoons out by our pool, plus I took a day off work to go to the beach, just because.

Read three books. Also done. Full recaps and reviews headed your way tomorrow.

Eat more vegetables. Done, thanks to my dad's garden and lots of Saturday trips to the farmers' market. Summertime is my favorite time for fresh vegetables.

Bake a summery dessert. Done. This one was my favorite.

Embrace phone-free and computer-free hours. Meh. This one I could have done better on. I did break my iPhone in the middle of the month, which probably helped my cause a bit, but overall, I spent more time on my phone than I would have liked.

Limit commitments. Done, and certainly the goal I'm most proud of accomplishing. I actually think the decisions I made in June are going to have a lasting impact on how I make decisions in the future.

Now, for July's goals:

01. Swim in the pool/visit the beach.

It's hot here. Like, lay-on-your-bed-under-a-ceiling-fan-with-nothing-but-your-underwear-on kind of hot. I'm not sure if "sitting by the pool" is really part of my MO (I'm not a glamourous sweat-er), but I would like to take a few trips to the pool and beach to swim and be close to the water. (I'm convinced it has healing powers.)

02. Read three books.

A continuation of last month's goal, and with reason. I am a happier person when my nightstand is full of the written word. I'm currently making my way through Quiet, with Anna Quindlen's new memoir on deck.

03. Get organized.

So... We're moving. We finally found a place, which means it's time to stop thinking and start doing. A move is the perfect time to purge, and I've got a high hopes for keeping our new home de-cluttered. I'll have to organize this home if I ever have any hope of maintaining the next, though. First up? Our so-scary-we-could-be-on-Hoarders office.

04. Pack.

Our official move-in date is August 1, but our fingers are crossed we'll be able to start taking little loads over around mid-July. This is really happening, and I'm over-the-moon excited. I'm hoping this excitement means even packing could be fun.

05. Give careful yeses.

I don't want the hard work I did in June to disappear this month, but I can tell I'm going to have to remind myself constantly how much more at peace I am when I limit my commitments. I think my genetic makeup and natural tendency is to say yes, so it cuts a bit against the grain to pause for a moment and weigh my options carefully. That being said, my nos paid off in June, and I want to continue that newly-formed habit and be wise with my yeses. (Besides, moving is a pretty legitimate reason to occasionally say no, don't you think?)

ablaze: pursuing God in marriage.

There's this scene I remember distinctly from the first few weeks of my marriage. 

I was walking around our very tiny apartment, trying desperately to keep quiet as Jordan studied for law exams in the next room. I sat down on the bed, and I looked up at the ceiling, and it hit me: I didn't have anywhere to pray.

By nature, I'm a quiet person, the kind who keeps to herself until someone pulls her up and out into the swing of things. It might come as a surprise, then, that I am very much a speak-out-loud pray-er. I simply can't stay focused otherwise. I like to get my words out in the open, resulting in lots of spoken prayers from my car and in the shower. 

Yet here I was, a married lady unable to find a spot in the house to pray without drawing the attention of my husband in the next room. 

These are the complications that can occur in your spiritual growth when you're married. 

It's a small thing, I know, and since then, I've found other ways and methods of praying: I speak prayers out loud in my car; I write letters to God on bits and scraps of paper; I send random thoughts up to the sky hoping my Father grabs hold of them and hears them. I am a work in progress, though, and some days and seasons are far better than others, and I think I may finally understand why Paul so adamantly suggests in his letter to the Corinthians that sometimes, it's just better not to be married.

Marriage can be distracting, simple as that.

I've got an entire other being dependent upon me for encouragement and love and support -- financial, emotional, and spiritual. It's a lot of pressure, and it's not always easy to balance the needs of my husband with the requirements of a relationship with the heavenly Father. It's a dilemma I'm sure parents experience, too. I've often wondered how the mothers and fathers of little ones focus during worship services or pursue the Creator when it's so time-consuming and exhausting to take care of the created. Parents and spouses have quite a bit to overcome when it comes to loving with all their hearts the One who made them, souls, and minds, and I imagine that's what Paul's message meant back when the Corinthians were deciding which was better: a life of singlehood, or life with a marital partner. 

Jordan and I were married young, but we did think long and hard about whether marriage was the right decision for us. We both understood -- as much as we could at the time, anyway -- that marriage wasn't the only option; we knew -- despite, perhaps, a lack of teaching from our respective churches -- that singlehood and celibacy existed and were realistic options, even in our modern world, and we had to decide which was best for us: a relationship with each other, a relationship with someone else, or an intimate relationship with the Father. 

We chose each other, but that decision doesn't give us permission for a lukewarm relationship with Christ.

Four years later, and I still struggle a bit with balancing my earthly relationship with my heavenly one. (It's a struggle I have a feeling I'd still face even if I were single.) I'm learning, though, that when I take Jordan for who he is -- an imperfect sinner like me -- I can see more clearly the Father for who He is: my Savior, my Lord, and my God. 

That realization alone takes so much pressure off of my husband -- he's not my redeemer or savior; he's my earthly partner and lifelong best friend -- and allows me to run to God with my worries and my hurts and my troubles.

My marriage and my husband are a gift. I firmly believe God gave me Jordan because He knew we were perfectly suited, knew we could help each other experience a full life here and later, a glorious eternal life in heaven. Understanding Jordan as an imperfect sinner doesn't diminish that gift or our relationship. It does, though, ensure I have Jordan and the Father in their rightful positions in my life, and that goes a long way in helping me pursue an out-of-this world love with the King. 

I don't always have quiet time. My prayers aren't always eloquent, and I've got a long, long way to go when it comes to spiritual growth and loving the God I serve. If I've got my priorities right, though, I can experience my marriage as a gift and not a hindrance, as a blessing and not an idol. When God called me to marriage, I believe that's what He intended. I believe He desires me to see Him as my King, my Beloved, and to see Jordan as a shadow, an earthly representation of He-Who-Loved-Me-First. I also believe He intends for me and Jordan to pursue Him together, to pray and commune with Him together, while also experiencing love with Him intimately, separately. 

Once, not so long ago, I sat upstairs in our bedroom calling and calling for Jordan. He was downstairs, and I was upstairs, and it quickly became obvious he couldn't hear me. I plodded slowly down the steps, and he came around the corner looking haphazard and distracted.

"I was praying," he said, almost sheepishly, and I realized: This is what marriage is. It's finding God in the corners and in the closets, in the car and in colored notes on paper. It's pursuing Him first, loving Him first, meeting Him and honoring Him first, above all else. It's finding ways to love and honor Him with our whole hearts, letting everything else fall into its rightful second place.

It's not always easy, and I'll fail constantly. But just like my marriage to Jordan, it's worth every mediocre effort I've got. With practice, it will become excellent. He will redeem it, because that's what He does best.

He loves. He honors. He cherishes.

And I'll keep trying to do the same.

read the other ablaze posts: annie's | nicole's | erin's

ablaze: an introduction.

The sincerity and the support this little blog world provides never cease to amaze me, and this past Tuesday was no exception. Words can't really express how grateful I am for the thoughtful comments so many of you left on Tuesday's post, how comforting it was to know I'm not alone in how I think and feel on topics that sometimes leave me feeling a little lonely. Unfortunately, I've been in and out of town since then, away from computers and Internet access, and unable to really dialog the way I'd like to on a topic with as much depth as feminism and Christianity. Despite that, I hope you'll accept my thanks, hope you'll keep coming back to discuss a topic that means so much to me -- and, based on the comments, means a lot to so many of you, too.

In the meantime, I'd like to let you know about a blog series my friend Annie has thoughtfully initiated, set to run on four different blogs over four different days next week. Inspired by various conversations across the Internet, Ablaze is intended to help us all pursue Christ right where we are, in whatever stage of life we're in. 

So often, I think, we get caught up in this idea that we can't fully pursue or fall in love with Christ until we're where we think we should be. (It reminds me of a kind of hospitality complex, this idea that we can't have people over until our home is perfect, or a marriage complex: we can't start our life until we've found someone to start it with.) God calls us to move and to change and to grow and to love from the moment He sets His eyes on us; from the moment we're in His grasp, we're called to become more fully His. That means we experience His love in all kinds of ways and through all kinds of life's stages; in particular, next week, a few bloggers will discuss what it means to pursue God in singlehood, to pursue Him in dating, in brokenness, and in marriage.

I hope you'll add to the conversation by commenting on the published posts (I'll direct you to them as each post runs next week), and Friday, if you're so inclined, Annie will offer the opportunity for you to link to your own posts on the topic.

The fact is, I'm feeling a bit all over the place this week. My words are running dry, and I'm worried they won't come out quite how I need them to when it's all said and done. Nevertheless, I'm hopeful, because I've seen firsthand how blogging can be used for His glory. I'm confident He'll use the blogs of these four girls next week to encourage and give voice to those who might be feeling voiceless, mostly because I believe in a God who redeems our words and makes them His own despite all we might do to mess that up.

Happy Friday, friends. I can't wait for next week!

guest post: book club.

{screenshot from a video by Kinga Burza for Kate Spade}

First off, I absolutely loved hearing everybody's responses to yesterday's post about the Myer-Briggs. Turns out a whole lot of introverts and eldest children read this blog, and the extroverts and younger siblings? Well, goodness knows we need you to balance us all out.

I'm going to be over in the comments today continuing the discussion, so if you commented yesterday and want to chat, head back to yesterday's post. I'll meet you there.

In the meantime, Elizabeth over at E Tells Tales graciously offered me the opportunity to share my thoughts on starting your own book club. Elizabeth just hosted her first meeting, and she described it so well. "It made me miss college. The part where you all read the same book and then talk trash about the characters you don't like and nod in agreement about the good parts too. Does anybody else miss that? Because I do." Um, yes. Me. I miss that.

You guys know how passionate I am about the written word and gathering together to celebrate with the people you love, so book club happens to be one of my most favorite things. I'd love it if you'd join me over at Elizabeth's and leave your thoughts on book clubs, both starting them and joining them. I offered my tips and tricks, but I'm sure you've got more. The guest post is here if you'd like to join the conversation.

beautifully rooted || the spirit.

{photo by Michael Mitchell}

Nothing good I do is me.

It's taken me a while to really believe this, to acknowledge that the good I do isn't me at all, but is Someone else entirely, moving and breathing and working in spite of me.

He's doing the work. I'm just partnering. I'm just letting Him take over.

The good that I do and the love that I show isn't me. It's not my nature. I wish that it was, but it's not.

It's Him. It's Someone else who has taken over, body, mind, and soul.

Read today's post over on Beautifully Rooted.

saving my life.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Kari began a series on her blog inspired by Barbara Brown Taylor. The series, entitled "How to Save a Life," offers Kari's answers to the question: "What is saving your life right now?" It's a question Taylor was given before one of her lectures, and its answers inspired her to write the book An Altar in the World. Over the next few weeks, I'm joining Kari in offering my answers to the same question. This week, an introduction.

---

I am restless in the spring.

I have given myself these past two weeks to decide if my tired, aching soul is tired and aching because of daylight savings time, or because it is spring, and this is what my soul does every spring: It longs.

It longs to be outside, to be reading, to experience sun on shoulders, to sweat, to drink, to laugh, to breathe in deep, to lounge, to take things slow.

And it continues to long, because I cannot satisfy it.

Yesterday, I sat in my office, editing furiously, trying to ignore the roar of the jackhammer from the wall on the other side of mine. I turned on music, put on headphones, but nothing really worked. The noise just got louder and louder. Finally, I opened my window.

The noise of the jackhammer was loud, but the sounds of the birds and the breeze and the grass moving and the air conditioner blowing were all louder, somehow. I could hear what I'd been missing, and that made the invading construction far less noticable. It was still there, but I was choosing to ignore it.

I'm in the middle of reading An Altar in the World, and I find that all I want to do is start putting her suggested "spiritual practices" into place right now. I love that Barbara Brown Taylor doesn't offer a list -- no memorization, 30-minute a day Bible studies, lengthy prayers. Instead, her words remind me to simply be present, to acknowledge that this life, this body, is a gift, and it is up to me to recognize it as such.

That's hard to do when you're in an office all day.

I think it would be easier to experience God through the depths of my fingers if I were ever using them for something other than typing. I could be wrong about that, and I'm desperately trying to find Him in the keyboard and in the screen, in the tiny office and the red-marked papers, but right now, when the sun is shining and the wind is blowing and the sky is the most perfect shade of blue? I imagine God is more easily found in the waves and in the dirt and in the hanging fresh clothes on the line than He is in my tiny square footage of office space.

But I am trying. I am getting out of the office when I can. I am opening windows: all the windows I can find everywhere. I am parking farther from my building so that my feet can walk a longer path. I am breathing deep, even when the result is a nose filled with pollen. I am singing in the car; I am taking long walks. (I jog, too, but the other night I chose to mostly walk, and it was glorious.) I am laughing when an afternoon shower catches me outside without an umbrella, and I am finding dried leaves in my hair at the most inopportune times.

My life, right now, isn't as simple as I might like it to be in the future. I go to a job in an office complex every day, without fail. I do that so I can become a better writer, so I can help support our family, so I can use the degree I worked really hard to earn. I do dull things so that sometimes, I can do exciting ones.

There's a poster I've had hanging up in my office since I started my first post-graduate job four years ago. I don't know who Justin Taylor is, but apparently at some point in time, somewhere, he said: "Whatever your vocation, God calls you to honor Him, to reflect His image, and to labor with all of your might. You may not be in your dream job right now. But the secret is to honor God in the little things and to sanctify the ordinary."

Sanctify the ordinary.

I'm not finished with An Altar in the World just yet, but I think the basic premise is that. Sanctify the ordinary. No, I don't live out in the country on a farm filled with wild, beautiful, unruly creation. I don't wake up early and sit on a front porch and greet the sun as it rises in the sky. There aren't a lot of things I have very much time for, simply because I go to work and sit in front of a computer screen every day.

But even in the things I do have -- in the lighting of candles at night or the cooking of dinner or the walking in the park or the opening of my office window or the driving from point a to point b -- there is sanctification.

There is no difference, Taylor argues, between the sacred and the secular.

I am trying to make that true, even in a life that looks like mine.

photo by Alec Vanderboom

beautifully rooted || the god of all comfort.

{photo by Justin Chung}

Grief and sorrow are hard things, and sometimes, the road mourners travel becomes a very lonely one. Friends are uneasy, unsure what to do in times of trial, and their uncertainty cripples them to do nothing. Others offer to do something, but leave it up to the mourner to decide what. Still others retreat, thinking being distant and quiet is what the mourner needs.

The Lord and I had several conversations throughout the month of January. When other friends were not as understanding as I would have hoped, I decided: I could mope and whine and complain about my loneliness and their treatment of my grief, or one day, I could become the comforter. I could comfort in the ways God was teaching me were good, compassionate, and kind.

God was turning me from a sympathizer into an empathizer.

Read today's post over on Beautifully Rooted.

a list of things i cannot do.

{photo by Leroy Grannis}

I've kind of been loving Abby's blog Little Stories lately, and her recent post, "A Small Sampling of Things I Cannot Do," is no exception. These days leading up to Easter remind us just how small we are, and what better way to recognize our personhood than by making a list of things we just can't do?

And so, mine.

I can't:

- Touch my toes.

- Remember all of the lyrics to any one song, despite my best efforts and intentions.

- Dance.

- Leave my house without forgetting at least one thing.

- Sing on key.

- Play badminton or tennis.

- Eat fewer than three cookies. It is three or more, always.
- Whistle.

- Talk and run at the same time.

- Roll my r's.

- Order funnily-named items at a restaurant without giggling.
- Cook a meal without some kind of recipe.

- Sew.
- Read and listen to a conversation at the same time. If I'm reading a book, I'm not listening to you.

- Eat without making a mess. (Just ask my husband and my mother.)

- Debate on any given political or religious issue without wanting to flee the premises. (It should be noted: Discuss and debate are two very different things.)

- Put in contacts.

- Swallow big pills, both literally and figuratively.

- Control my facial expressions.

- Watch or read women's birthing stories.

- Cry on command.
- Draw a properly-formed stick figure.

- Stop myself from rolling my eyes.

- Jump start a car or change a tire. (I will hear from my father about this, mark my words.)

- Get through a meal at a restaurant without eavesdropping on someone else's conversation.

- Sit in the front row at a movie theatre.

What can't you do?

on being the smart one.

{photo by Arielle Elise}

The first time a boy ever called my house, it wasn’t to ask me out or to talk about the comings and goings of adolescent life. It was for homework help.

As my mother held the phone out to me, I distinctly remember not a feeling of elation, but of frustration and fear. I was 10, and I was mortified. I was past the age where boys had cooties, but that didn’t mean they crossed my path very often.

In fact, that phone call was the only one I’d receive from a boy until I was about 17. I’m not complaining; my life has turned out in the most magnificent of ways.

But make no mistake: Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I don’t remember what it’s like to be the smart one. Because every girl knows, deep down, that there are categories. And that doesn’t make them right or true or very much fun, but they are there. They exist. You are  smart or pretty or funny; even if your soul encompasses all of those things, it’s into one category you often go.

My category was “the smart one.”

So when I read this post by Annie Downs, about a self-described “pretty girl” with a prettier friend who gets all the boys’ attention, the memories came flooding back.

The time I wore a denim jumper to school, and my best friend told me I looked pregnant.

That fall football game walking around the high school track, when my friends and I discussed which of us would grow up and be on homecoming court, and my name was never even mentioned as a possibility.

A walk up the staircase in which I ran into the “it couple” of my high school, and the girl looked straight into my eyes and asked me if I was jealous.

The time a guy introduced me to his girlfriend, asking me: “Isn’t she beautiful? Isn’t my girlfriend beautiful?”

How my junior high best friend and I looked so much alike that people couldn’t tell us apart, until the summer she grew up and got contacts and her braces taken off, and everyone described her as “the pretty one.”

And, in case you think this all fades away with adulthood, that day not so long ago when a well-meaning woman at church patted my arm and told me I was “pretty in my own way.”

It’s a lot for a girl to handle, this pressure to be pretty and funny and smart and interesting, some incredible combination of “all of the above.” And no matter how long you have been comfortable in your role, in your box, the words and the memories are still there.

Because the truth is, it’s not really very fun being put into any box.

I’ve never been called “the pretty one,” but I imagine it’s no better than being the smart one or the funny one. I imagine the expectations and the frustrations are unbelievably similar.

That’s what happens when boxes are involved.

We all start to look the same.

Growing up, I didn’t keep a mirror in my bedroom. It wasn’t intentional, really. The bathroom was right down the hall, and I had a desk and a dresser and a bed and a poster of Roman Holiday hanging on my wall. I didn’t need a mirror.

My heroines, my role models, were the girls I read about in books. Sure, I thought the Olsen twins were pretty, and there was a picture of Sandra Bullock taped to the back of my door. But mostly, I idolized Jo March and Anne Shirley: girls who were smart and independent and brave. Girls who, it should be noted, were rather ambivalent — or perhaps, more appropriately, dissatisfied with — their appearances. Jo chopped off her long locks and longed to be a boy; Anne couldn't stand her carrot red hair or her freckles and wished she wasn't so skinny.

Despite those skin-deep frustrations, though, Jo and Anne manage to move on. They move beyond the face in the mirror, and they triumph.

I suppose that’s what I wanted to do, so I left the mirror in the bathroom.

Here is what I would tell that pretty girl Annie wrote about.

There will always be someone prettier than you. There will always be someone smarter than you. There will always be someone funnier than you.

But there will never be another you.

And I know that’s cheesy, and it’s not much consolation when you’re standing in the corner getting ignored by all the boys (and, hey, let’s be honest, some of the girls).

I know.

I’m married to someone who thinks I’m beautiful, and it can still be a struggle. I can still feel like that little girl who got a phone call not because she was pretty, but because she was smart.

Finding “the one” doesn’t mean those insecurities fade away.

I think there’s a reason for that.

True happiness and true confidence don’t come from what other people think about you.

Confidence and happiness come from what you think about yourself, from recognizing that you were made this way. The God of the universe knows every wrinkle, every pimple, every gray hair, every pound, every inch. He knows it. He owns it. He loves it.

I am 26 years old, happily married with a job that I enjoy and a life that I love, and there are days when I get up, and I look in the mirror, and I don't really like what I see. (Adult acne will do that do a person, am I right?) 

And, yes, the attention of my husband and his repeated affirmations of my beauty are helpful. Being loved by someone always helps.

But it's being loved by the Heavenly Father that heals.

That pretty girl with the prettier friend? She will never know she is enough until she realizes He has made her this way. A wonderful, bright, energetic young man won’t make her feel whole. Finding a husband won’t make her know her beauty.

But a relationship with the Father will.

I may never be the prettiest girl in the room.

But if I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my Father loves me, is in love with me, and made me who I am for a reason?

I can be happy and confident and authentic.

And really, the older I get, the more beautiful I believe that makes me.

Oprah’s said it, fashion designers have said it, my mom has said it to me my entire life.

It’s the smile that comes from deep within, it’s the complete and utter contentment with myself that make me beautiful and noticeable, by both men and women alike.

That feeling can't come from another person. It comes from being in love with the King and from being happy with who He made you to be.

If we could ever see what the Father sees, if men and women could begin to look at each other like Jesus looks at us, we might be able to put the boxes away. We might finally be able to understand that we are smart. We are beautiful. We are funny.

We are all of the above and so much more.

give me a bigger heart.

"I think one of the most powerful apologetics in the gospel is when a group of people love one another and live in unity together in the midst of a broken, dark, and depraved world."

- Jeff Vanderstelt, Soma Communities

A few years ago, a fairly prominent minister came to our congregation for an evangelism workshop. On three separate occasions, he spoke to church members on the power of the gospel and how to bring people to Christ.

Do you know the only thing I remember from that weekend?

He never mentioned love.

I know that I'm a fairly critical listener, and I hope I'm not being too harsh, but I will never forget that out of all the lessons and the pointers and the acronyms and the lists, he never talked about love.

When we talk about evangelizing, when we talk about missionaries and "winning" people for the gospel, I think we forget that really, just like with everything else, it's all about love.

And I don't say that because love is easy, or because I've got evangelism and this "spreading the Word" thing down. In fact, I kind of stink at it. And I'd wager to say that it might actually be easier to pass out tracts and stand on street corners than it is to invite someone over for a meal or to go out of your way to be helpful, kind, and courteous to your coworkers and your neighbors.

Loving people is hard work. 

I wonder if that's why we go to evangelism workshops and write down three names of people we'd like to bring to Christ before we die. Because it's easier to make lists than it is to be a friend.

A few nights ago, Jordan and I were talking with a couple of our friends, and the subject of being a missionary came up. Our friends talked about their passion for going to Africa, about what it could look like if we just decided to do it and go.

I loved that conversation, loved seeing Jordan's eyes light up with the possibility.

But there was another part of me that hesitated.

I'm not a very good missionary right here in Tallahassee, Florida. Moving to Africa to spread God's word? I don't even remember to speak to my neighbor when we run into each other at the mailbox.

That night, I mentioned the possibility of instead, moving to a home in a not-so-great part of town. I talked about living as neighbors -- true neighbors, neighbors that speak and trade sugar and invite each other over to watch TV -- in a community.

You know what?

The four of us weren't so excited about that possibility. My husband (who I love, and who I've asked permission to tell this story) talked about the safety precautions we'd have to take, about the efforts we'd have to make for something like that to be possible.

Not a few minutes earlier, he'd been talking about learning French and moving to Africa.

Loving people is hard work.

This idea has been bombarding me lately, in all kinds of forms. (My brain works in the funniest of ways.)

First, I saw this video and website about a group of 20-somethings who spent an entire summer living and working together on an Arkansas farm. (I got so excited after I watched that I literally brainstormed who of our friends would join me on our own similar summer. I love my friends, but I'm pretty sure that's not happening.)

Then, our Bible class watched a Francis Chan video about fellowship and the church. The entire video stuck with me, but there was this one idea I keep coming back to. In the video, Chan says he cringes when people talk about how they love Jesus, but they just can't understand the church. They just can't get behind the institution that is church. It's too hateful; it's too divided; it's too religious. Look, I get that. I've had my own battle with church for the past few months, but something with Chan really stuck with me. He said that perhaps the best way we can lead others to Christ is by being part of a church, because church takes work. Love and forgiveness and unity take work. And the best way to tell someone about the love and forgiveness offered by the Father isn't by telling them at all.

It's by loving the people at church who you just can't stand.

It's the forgiving people who stomp on your heart.

It's uniting with people who you may not have much in common with, save for the blood of Christ.

When people see that, they just won't get it. And then, you can tell them that you didn't get it either. But Christ does. Christ did. And so we keep on loving and forgiving and uniting, because that's what he did.

So I watched that Francis Chan video. We talked with our friends about mission work. And then, kindred spirit and blogging buddy Kara posted this tear-jerker of a video along with a blog post about the community dinners she takes part in every Monday night.

And every time I read an article or have a conversation or watch a video, I get these chills, because I want that. I want community. I want to love my neighbor. I want to be brave enough to open up my home to friends and strangers alike. I want to be the hands and the feet of Jesus, and I don't want to do it by handing out tracts or even by moving to Africa.

I want to do it right here. Right now.

Because that's where I am.

Too often -- and in all different kinds of circumstances -- we wait. We wait to act until we're married or until we have kids or until we have a house or until we're out of debt or until our church situation gets better or until our family situation gets better or until we move to somewhere new and exciting. 

What if the will of God starts now?

There are a lot of thoughts floating around this head of mine, and I'm not quite sure what to do with them just yet.

For now, I'll keep hosting small groups in my home every Sunday night. I'll keep preparing food even when people complain. I'll keep opening my doors even when people have not-nice things to say. (Sidenote: Opening your doors to people -- even fellow believers -- takes some seriously thick skin. That's not how it should be, but that's how it is.) I'll continue to love and to forgive and to show kindness. I will smile at my neighbor when I'm at the mailbox. I will be kind to my waiter and waitress. I will take food to the sick and to those who've just had babies. I will write sympathy cards and send flowers.

I will do my best to be Jesus right where I am.

"His love is worth me doing everything." That's what minister Jeff Vanderstelt said in the video I linked to above. You know what else he said? If I don't have passion or love for the people around me, for the people I come in contact with on a daily basis, I need to ask for a bigger heart. This isn't about whether I have the "gift" of evangelism or not. In fact, none of this is about me. "This is about God's glory and lost people who don't know the love of the Father."

His love is worth me doing everything, and that everything encompasses even the smallest, most menial of tasks. 

Maybe we'll move to Africa one day. Maybe we'll move into the inner city of Tallahassee, Florida.

But until either of those things happen, I've got a calling right here that I'm not fulfilling. 

It's not about me. It's about so many people who are lost and sad and lonely and hurting. 

It's about love. 

 *photo by Luisa Brimble

beautifully rooted.

{photo by Alec Vanderboom}

God is a constant surprise.

That’s how I felt when, about a month ago, in the middle of my family’s mourning period, sweet Rachel contacted me to ask if I’d be a contributing writer for Beautifully Rooted, a new blogging project she and Heather were starting.

I couldn’t have been more surprised or more thrilled.

God was answering my prayers in ways I never expected.

You see, a little over a year ago, my mentoring and teaching opportunity at my church began to fade away. For reasons I can’t quite explain (but, happily, I have finally accepted), God wanted me somewhere else, wanted my gifts to be used in ways it’s taken me a long time to fully realize.

I know a lot of people think blogging is at its best, silly, and at its worst, narcissistic. They don’t understand why I choose to put my words and my life on the Internet for all the world to see, and quite frankly, there are days I don’t really understand it either. But I keep writing, mostly because I need to get the words out, and blogging seems to be the best medium to do that.

Over the years, God has shown me, though, that blogging is more than just a way to purge the words. It’s community, yes, but it’s also ministry. I’ve been blessed and challenged by so many of the words I read online, and it’s my hope that this very tiny blip on the Internet offers some of you that same comfort.

It’s my hope that, perhaps in ways far different than I ever envisioned for myself, this place where I choose to put my words every day serves as ministry.

Two Novembers ago, I felt silenced. I felt like the gift I’d been given as a daughter of the King had been taken from me unfairly. I was angry, hurt, and probably more bitter than I’d like to admit.

It’s taken a while, but He has shown me — as He always does — that He is faithful. He is constantly providing me with new ways to use my gifts. And even though they aren’t necessarily the ways I would have chosen for myself, I am beginning to wonder if they aren’t better, if they aren’t more far-reaching and God-honoring than the more traditional outlets I would have chosen.

That’s the thing that I am learning about this God I serve: He is so much bigger than I make Him.

I don’t know what He will choose to do with Beautifully Rooted, with the women and the words that come to rest there.

But I do know I am so glad to be a part, not just because of the ministry I believe it will provide, but because it has served as a reminder to me that God is faithful, and when it comes to who He is and what He has in store? I should always be prepared to be surprised.

Beautifully Rooted launches today, and you can now find me there once a week, sharing my thoughts on faith and the Father. I hope you'll wander over if you get the chance and explore a little. Heather and Rachel have created something special, and I can't wait to see what He does with it all.

thank you + a blogging question.

{photo by Ikunori Yamamoto }

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

currently + a thought about blogging.

{seaside, september 2011}

Currently, I'm...

excited about having a day off in the middle of the week. Thursday can't come soon enough.

worried about this wedding I'm planning. How did I wind up in charge?

reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. 

creating yarn letters for my mantle. (Cute, but incredibly time-consuming. Who knew?)

loving my clean and organized house. 

hating the fact that weekends are so short.  Why do work days get to have the best, most awake parts of me?

wondering how I got so behind in keeping up with my long distance friends. I think I could have all day to send emails and never be caught up. 

craving hot chocolate and colder temperatures.

listening to The Civil Wars.

watching Cheers -- obviously -- and Bill Cunningham New York, which I absolutely loved. Highly recommend to anybody who's an artist -- and really, aren't we all?

---

Basically, while I get ready to blog every day throughout the month of October, these are the only words that are coming when I sit down to type. Fragments of sentences about nothing in particular and fill-in-the-blank posts I blatantly borrow from elsewhere on the internet (this one's from Kerri at Your Wishcake). This is why I worry about publicly announcing a desire to write on one topic for days on end; it's just not something I do very well. 

Lately I've been thinking about this blogging world and what category I really fall into. Jules mentioned this on her blog yesterday, this idea that women with children are considered mom bloggers or women who post DIY projects and photos of homes are design bloggers or women who post devotional thoughts are faith bloggers. What if you just like to write? What if you just have to find a way to get the words out, and a blog happens to be the best way to do that? Then what? Will your blog be "successful," with lots of followers and regular commenters and people who post your musings to their Twitter and Facebook accounts? 

I don't know. I kind of doubt it, since here I am, three years into blogging (um, yikes?) with no "business success" in blogging to speak of. 

The thing is, though, that I still take this blog seriously. I still want to post regularly on subjects I care about, still want to entertain and seek advice and opinions from the people who stop by on a regular basis. This blog isn't my job, but it's something I work hard on, something I'm passionate about, something I enjoy. 

In my case, too, I think it has the potential for ministry. Maybe not in the "Hi-I'm-Kirk-Cameron-let-met-give-you-a-tract" kind of way, but in the "as-iron-sharpens-iron" kind of way, the kind of way that encourages and uplifts and inspires.

So many bloggers make me want to be a better version of myself: a stronger believer, a more imaginative writer, a grace-filled wife and friend. And those are the blogs I want to read, regardless of followers or daily page views or how much ad revenue those writers produce.

My Google Reader is full -- really, really full -- of all kinds of blogs: blogs with pretty photographs, blogs with the occasional crafting project (though, admittedly, not too many of those: a girl can only handle so much DIY inspiration), blogs with insights into a daily life that might look pretty different from my own. Blogs by women in California, in Alabama, in Michigan, and right here in Florida. I read all kinds of blogs, probably because I read all kinds of anything. I'm a reader; it's what I do. 

But the blogs I keep coming back to, the ones I look forward to with anticipation, the ones I read eagerly and comment on faithfully? Those blogs are all written by women who are not afraid to write and share with abandon. They carefully craft their posts into something inspiring. They might not have the prettiest pictures or the largest number of followers, but they're the blogs, I think, that have staying power. And I'll keep coming back to them again and again.

---

What types of blogs do you read? Which ones are on your "daily" list?

(for further reading: check out these posts by Jules and Rachel)

guest post.

{image from work is not a job}

Good morning!

I've got lots of photos of a very autumn home to show you, but until I get those uploaded, check out my guest post today over on Annie's blog. She asked all of her guest posters to develop a post about writing, and what flew out of my hands and onto the screen was probably the last thing I expected. (Hint: I reference Sister Act II.) I'm happy with it, though. Really happy with it. You can check out my post here, and you can follow Annie's other guest writers -- and her own 31 days project -- at her blog, Annie's Musings.

And while we're on the subject, thank you so much for your kind words regarding my topic for 31 days. To be honest, I'm still not quite sure what I want to tackle for that extended period of time. There was a definite consensus -- so many of you suggested posts on love and marriage and dating and singleness -- but I'm not sure it's really what I'm most passionate about these days. (I find that my best posts are written when I'm fired up about something, and lately? Well, lately, I've been pretty content. Great for my well-being, I think, but not so great for passionate discourse.) Anyway, I still have some ideas, and who knows? Maybe I'll wind up covering love and marriage and dating after all.

We're getting down to the wire here, so I'll have to decide soon enough.

Until then, happy Monday! Hope things are feeling very fall where you are!

31 days: in which i ask for your opinion.

If you read the same blogs I happen to read, maybe you’ve heard of 31 days, a project started by a group of bloggers in which they write about the same subject every day for the entire month of October. The premise is challenging, especially if you’re like me, squeezing writing into the slow parts of your day, blogging when and where the wind blows. 

Turning Pages, I’m sure you now know, is not a style blog, not a mommy blog, not a fashion blog, not a photography blog, not a food blog, not a design blog. There is no rhyme or reason to what I write, and for that reason, I think, I struggle with diving into the “business” side of blogging. I don’t have sponsors because I’m afraid if I were even to offer, the response would be ridiculously minimal. I don’t host giveaways unless they’re of my own creation. I don’t have thousands of readers or link my blog to a Facebook page. I don’t have a blog schedule (except for my “inspired” posts on Thursdays) because — and here is what it really all boils down to — I’m very much a “write what you feel” kind of person. My most passionate and most lengthy posts are written as responses to perceived injustices, editorials on the life I’m leading, the books I read, and, admittedly, the church I attend (perhaps, more accurately, my faith as a whole). 

So when I began toying with the idea of 31 posts in 31 days, the doubts crept in. Could I even sustain a subject for that length of time? I am the girl who has dozens of unfinished journals lining my bookcases, the one whose desk at home is full of pages and pages of story ideas, all still unwritten. This blog and the papers I wrote in school are the only evidence that I can write without burning out, can still let the words flow even when nothing else quite does. 

I am a confident person. But I am not confident I can tackle the same topic, day after day, for the entire month of October. 

Which is why I’m doing it anyway. 

I want to prove to myself that I can write, that I can sustain the words and the subjects I love so much. 

For 31 days, I will blog in a way that I haven’t before, and I want your help. 

Long ago, I decided that this blog was for me. Translation? I wouldn’t let my little corner of the internet be dictated by what others were posting; I wouldn’t measure my success as a blogger or a writer by counting comments or tracking “followers.” Of course, that was back when I averaged zero comments per post, when my mother and a long-lost college acquaintance (turned kindred spirit) were my only readers. 

Now, things are a little different. A few more comments and followers, yes, but also, more importantly, a community. A group of people I’ve come to love and know through the avenue of this little blog. I cannot believe I am typing it, but it’s true. 

During the month of October, I want to blog about something I’m passionate about. Otherwise, I know: I will fail. At the same time, though, I want to blog about something that is of interest to you, the readers and the friends that brighten my days with your comments, emails, and words of encouragement. 

What would you like these 31 days to hold? I have my own ideas, yes. I am never at a loss for ideas. But I’m curious: What keeps you coming back to this tiny spot on the world wide web? Do I tackle any topics that you really love? What are they, and why? What topics won’t bore you (or me) for the 31 days that are to come? 

Please, even if you’ve never commented before, go ahead and come out of the woodwork now. I need all the help I can get if I want to be on track for October 1.

Let the brainstorming begin!