before + after: the office.

Today is my first day off in a couple of weeks, and I have exactly enough energy to put on sweatpants and engage in a Gilmore Girls marathon. I have a tendency to work until my body tells me it's time to rest, meaning I'm now congested, sinus-y, and desperate for a good night's sleep. 

But before Monday, there was Sunday. 

My family came for their second work day at the store and tackled a list of things I needed to be done and simply couldn't do alone. Together, we painted the store's bathroom and built a bookcase for story time supplies. We installed metal pipes to hang extra bags and hung a curtain in the children's section. 

And then we came to the office.

 

 

I work several hours a week in the store's office paying bills, maneuvering QuickBooks, and scouring catalogs. I do almost all of the store's marketing and design work from the office, and I've got to say: The space was not conducive to creative work. It was unorganized, cluttered, and tiny. Even after the owner cleared out much of her belongings, it was still a depressing place to work -- no windows; white, sterile walls; and an odd desk set-up that made my back face any potential visitors.

 

Some people can work anywhere. They can plop down with their laptop in the middle of chaos and somehow, get everything done. They don't need pretty lighting or just the right music or room to spread out. 

I am not one of those people.

Working every day in what essentially was a storage closet was taking its toll on me and my work, and while completing tasks from home is, for me, ideal, it's not exactly convenient. Our home is still 45 minutes away from the store, and as a newcomer in this small town, I know it's important for me to maintain a physical presence. I needed to be in the shop, but I dreaded sitting down at my desk to get things done.

I don't think that's going to be a problem anymore.

 

The store is such a cheerful place to be, and now my office -- where I spend so much of my time these days -- reflects the same energy I hope is present throughout the shop. It's still a really tiny space, but now, I face out so visitors can't surprise me at the door. I can leave the fluorescent lighting off and work by lamplight. I have space to organize bills and receipts and catalogs. It feels like I'm starting fresh and can create my own systems to work. It finally feels like something is mine. 

I was supposed to use my day off to decorate our house for fall. It's still 90 degrees here, but I'm anxious to get our home ready for my favorite season. It turns out, of course, that I'm too exhausted to do that today. The pumpkins and candles and leaves will have to wait until next week.

That's okay. The effort we spent at the store yesterday was so worth it. This week, when I sit down to do some of the more mundane (and difficult) tasks of ownership, I'll be sitting in a space that looks and feels a lot more like me. I imagine I'll be able to focus and regroup; I'll be able to do the job without being burdened and exhausted by it. 

It's amazing what a little change in scenery can do. 

Fabric bunting :: The Pleated Poppy

You've Got Mail prints :: Alexa Z Designs

Frames :: Target

Washi tape :: Target

Paint color :: Minted Ice by Behr

Rug :: Target 

making do (an instagram wall tutorial).

Our lease is up this summer on this little cottage I love so much, and under normal circumstances, I think we'd be renewing. (Leaks and maggots notwithstanding.) But while we're contemplating the purchase of The Bookshelf, we're also contemplating a move for our family. The store, I think I've mentioned, is 45 minutes north of Tallahassee, in the small, Southern town of Thomasville, Georgia, and we both think it's better for the business if we live and work with the community there. 

So on top of buying a business, we're also thinking of buying a home, which -- as so many of you know -- is incredibly stressful and time-consuming. (Think hours spent scrolling through Zillow.)

And because I am, admittedly, more often forward-thinking than present-thinking, I've had a hard time focusing on our current state of things. I haven't cleaned or kept up laundry like I should, and I've got pieces of artwork laying around that I haven't made the time to hang. I keep thinking about our future house instead of our current one, and you know what? 

I'm tired of it. 

Here is the truth of the matter: We are where we are. We're planning to go month-to-month with our lease, and we have yet to fall in love with a home in Thomasville. So, for now, we're staying put. This is still our home. The present is just as important as the future. 

Behold, then, our Instagram wall (inspired by Natalie of "Nat the Fat Rat" fame). And because it took me a while to figure out the best way to create this beautiful new masterpiece, I thought I'd share my tips. (You may have a quicker way; this is just what I happened to decide worked best.)

1 - This would be an incredibly easy project to complete if you had enough money to print your photos through a service like Printstagram. Instead, I chose to print my photos through CVS. The prints were much cheaper that way, and I could pick up my photos the same day.

2 - For this project, it's best to print your Instagram photos as 4" x 4" squares. (My Instagram photos start as 8.75" x 8.75" in Photoshop with a resolution of 72 dpi; I'm not sure if that's universal or not.) When I originally uploaded my photos to CVS, it blew up my images to fit into a 4" x 6" rectangle, and the photos would have been grainy and not high enough in resolution. 

3 - Download your Instagram photos. (I used Instaport.) This puts all your Instagram photos in one folder onto your hard drive. 

4 - Open each image in Photoshop or a comparable photo editor. Change your image size to 4" x 4" and 300 dpi. (As I said, the default for my photos was 8.75" x 8.75" at 75 dpi.) Next -- and this is most important -- change your canvas size to 6" x 4". This will add a white border onto each side of your square photo. 

5 - Upload your 6" x 4" photos into CVS or another photo printing service. You should have no difficulties with size or resolution now that you've edited them in advance. 

6 - Once your photos are printed, trim the white borders from your photos. Voila! You'll have 4" x 4" squares perfect for your Instagram wall. (I printed 144 photos at CVS for $18; 24 photos through Printstagram is $12.) The photos are glossy, which isn't my favorite, but otherwise, they turned out perfectly. You can also do this project with your own 4" x 6" images; just crop them to the 4" x 4" square. 

7 - I started off using Scotch poster tape to put my photos on the wall, and I'd recommend it for your own photo wall. I ran out about a third of the way through the project, though, and because I'm impetuous, I went ahead and used regular tape for the rest. I'm not sure it matters, but the poster tape stuck really well and didn't leave any air bubbles. 

8 - You could probably skip this step, but I measured my wall in advance to figure out how many squares would fit on my sized wall. You can be more haphazard with this than I was, but I liked the clean lines and even spacing. After measuring my first row, I eyeballed the rest without any difficulty. 

Fun! This project cost about $25 -- including tape -- and took me about 3 hours yesterday afternoon. (I spent the most time editing and uploading my photos.) I may have made this more complicated than necessary, but I couldn't figure out how to print my square Instagram photos through CVS without the photo service changing their size and resolution to a 4" x 6". I thought this was a fairly easy solution, and I'm really happy with the results.

I think I'd forgotten how much I love sprucing up our home and making it our own. This project was an easy way to get back into the DIY routine. (And CVS is advertising $.12 on their 4" x 6" photos this week, so consider this your invitation to create your own wall over the Fourth of July holiday!)

a word on gardening.

"'That is very well put,' said Candide, 'but we must go and cultivate our garden.'"
- The final line of Voltaire's Candide

Out of all the books I read while in the Great Books program at my alma mater, Voltaire's Candide is at the top of my list of favorites. It's an odd choice, I think, compared with the ones my peers and other readers of the program might choose, and to be honest, I don't remember much of the substance of the work anymore. But every now and then, that last line comes back to haunt me. It sneaks up in my memory and finds a place in the life I'm living today, and I think that's the mark of a good book. 

This spring, my dad came over to our house and helped me build a raised bed in our backyard. The end result is kind of a monstrosity -- I can't remember how many bags of dirt it wound up taking to fill -- but I'm proud of it. It's something I helped drill with my own hands, something my dad and I did together, something I spent an entire day working on without the presence of a computer or a phone. I think I'll remember that day for a long time, both for the end result and for the joy of working alongside my father. 

I am not a green thumb. Most of the plants I buy wind up dying, often quickly, but sometimes in a slow, probably painful way. I start off strong, inspired, undoubtedly, by some magazine article or the success of a friend. Eventually, the excitement wanes, or worse, passes, and I throw the plants away, so content with my own mediocrity I'm satisfied if they even survived half the season.

This reputation with plants earned me a lot of well-deserved caution before embarking on my first vegetable garden. My dad checked with me over and over again to be sure I thought I'd have time to water it, cultivate it. Of course! It was spring, and everything felt new, and I had a fun job, and life was settling down. My friends were moving, and I distinctly remember saying something along the lines of, "If I can't take care of people, I might as well take care of plants." 

Fast forward to this summer, when I've had anything but time. I can hardly remember this spring, when I planted flower seeds alongside my mother and vegetable plants with my father. I can barely remember what it's like to dig deep in dirt with my hands, to wait with patience for the end result. It feels like years ago instead of months, and yet, each day, I'm picking tomatoes from plants I planted. 

It's a summer miracle. 

Back in April, I planted strawberries and tomatoes, squash and cucumbers. I also planted zinnia and sunflower seeds, just for kicks. My strawberries were planted too late, but see that picture up there? That was my one, beautiful strawberry, and it was delicious. 

The squash... Well, it's been kind of hot. And I got one abnormal looking squash before the whole thing wound up looking like that vine Jonah watched a worm eat. My cucumbers, though, are growing; they're not pretty, but the few I've had taste good, just like the prettier varieties I see at the grocery store. 

And the tomatoes? Well, I've got those by the dozens, and they're all beautiful and amazing and I could bite right into them they taste so good. I can't describe how happy it makes me to pick a tomato I grew, to eat it on a sandwich or cut it up for a salad. It feels miraculous and magical, and I feel like I partnered with both my fathers to make something pretty incredible. 

This summer has not at all been what I expected, intended, or planned. It has been chaotic and stressful and tearful and hard, and I almost forgot about the simple summer I had envisioned -- one filled with home-cooked meals and home-grown vegetables. 

But then, last week I found out my dad was coming over to check on my garden. (I had a bug problem that needed investigating.) So when I pulled in from work, I didn't go straight to the couch or to the TV or to Netflix or to bed or to put my PJs on. I walked over to my not-exactly-well-tended garden, and I got to work. I pulled weeds and mixed up the earth and threw my long-ago-dead squash into the garbage can. I cultivated my garden, just like Voltaire and my father and his father and the Father suggested I do, and you know what? I felt better. For 30 minutes (though I never did look at a clock), I worked my little patch of land, and I forgot that my friends had moved, that my job was a mess, and that my church life was falling apart. Instead, I saw proof that God is faithful -- the garden is faithful -- even when I am not. 

I looked up from my garden, and across the driveway, in another strip of dirt long forgotten -- never watered -- I saw my zinnias, popping up, one by one. 

My grandfather, the greenest thumb of them all, had a metal sign propped up in his garden while I was growing up. "He who plants a garden works hand in hand with God." 

I couldn't have put it better myself.

on change and the written word. (a giveaway, of sorts.)

For six months before graduating from college, I lived in Birmingham, Alabama, in the basement of Jordan's parents' house. I was an intern at Coastal Living magazine, and I was torn between loving my job and wondering if it was all a journalism degree added up to. Some days I felt like I was living the dream, and other days felt closer to a nightmare. (I remember one hellish day in particular in which I received a horrid haircut and subsequently backed my car into a pole at the mall. Good times.)

In six months, though, Birmingham became a sort-of home, and I'm a little baffled when I look back now and realize how quickly I adjusted to change, how quickly I met and made friends and formed a new life.

We're made to be resilient, I guess, and I just must forget, because every time change comes, I fight it with everything in my being and power, failing to remember how I've been brought through times of change and challenges before, and it's always made me better. 

This job -- my dream job -- has been a lot like that, and while I can't go into details just yet, changes are on the horizon, and they're big, and scary, and those six months in Birmingham seem so very far away. I can't believe 21-year-old me was so incredibly brave. Soon, 27-year-old me will have to step up and do the same. 

One of the blessings that came out of those brief months on my life's calendar was my friendship with Cory. We met as interns at Southern Progress, and I'm reminded, yet again, of how God provided friends for me right when I needed them. We weathered through the typical storms of our young-20s, and now, I imagine, Cory and I are wading through the similar storms of our late-20s. We've both invested serious time and energy and money into our dreams, and those dreams, I think, may look different from what we expected when we were 21. 

That's okay. Fabulous, even. 

Because while I keep watch over a tiny bookstore in midtown Tallahassee, Florida, Cory is sweating over a printing press in Birmingham. And I think it's funny that years after our first meeting, we're each doing our best to keep the written word alive in a world that maybe forgets just how important it is. Cory is doing her part to make beautiful things, and in turn, as cheesy as it sounds, God is making beautiful things out of her. 

I say all that to introduce you to Cory and her business, Four Hats Press. In her studio, she now works with polymer, wood, and lead type to create hand-lettered custom business cards and invitations, posters, prints, and greeting cards. I'm proud to say some of her work is hanging happily in my home (and this beauty is on my wishlist, a perfect reminder for the hardships I'm currently enduring).

Now, to celebrate the growth of her business and the power of the written word, Cory is hosting a giveaway (a really good one, in my opinion). Click on over to enter. There are letterpress notecards at stake!

in which i distract myself with (what else?) a party.

We're saying goodbye to some of our best friends this season, so it only seemed appropriate to send them off in style (while we sob behind their backs). I really love throwing parties for people -- I think it's one of my love languages -- and I figured Cinco de Mayo was as good a theme as any. Mexican food is delicious and inexpensive, and I've been wanting a reason to celebrate out on our patio. 

Of course, Sunday morning broke bright and beautiful before heavy clouds settled in around 3:00. Jordan and I kept decorating, railing at the sky every now and then when rain began to threaten. At several points in the afternoon, I thought we'd have to turn indoors, but the sun won out, and our party was perfect. 

Truly, we had a lovely time. This is the first party I've been brave enough to cook all the food myself, so I consider this a huge adult accomplishment. The decorations (my favorite part) were lovely and cheap thanks to Target's ever-amazing dollar bin, and I have a new-found love affair with paper chains. (Also? Mason jars with balloon-dipped bottoms.)

We had fun, but it's all rather bittersweet. We took silly pictures, but we're also beginning the very long goodbye process to some of the people we love the most. We're not really sure how we're going to fill the void. Add to this the fact that we may be embarking on some life changes of our very own this summer, now without the support present and in-town friendships bring.

I have said it before, but I think it bears repeating: This is a difficult season for us. And I know, not so many moons down the road, this will all be such a blip on the maps of our lives, but now? Now it all feels very big. Intimidating. Scary. And I keep repeating so many different Bible verses in my head. Verses about how what was meant for evil, God will turn to good. Verses about perseverance being part of the growing up process. Verses reminding me that this too shall pass, that God will clear the pathways and make them straight. 

To be honest, the verses don't always help. (It depends on my mood.) But celebration, choosing to stop and do something when all I really feel like doing is pulling the covers over my head?

It turns out, that helped.

staying on the wall.

{photo by Danielle Hughson}

I picked my word for the year, and every day it becomes more and more apparent I must have picked the right one. I've been challenged and stretched in the past 14 days in ways I couldn't have predicted back on December 31, and I suppose -- in the end -- it will mean I'm closer to who I want to be at the end of 2013 than I was the year before. 

Last Sunday, our minister encouraged us to identify one thing we need to accomplish in 2013. Not one thing as a congregation or a community, but one thing we each need to accomplish as individuals: a relationship ended or mended, boundaries set, responsibilities met. One thing that would turn our life upside down -- for the better -- in the next 12 months.

I was stumped. I'm a goal setter, and I spend a lot of time thinking about ways I could improve and become a better version of myself. But for the life of me, I couldn't really put my finger on just one thing I need to focus on this year, one thing that would change my very small, very full life. 

---

Way back in the Old Testament, there's this story about a normal guy named Nehemiah who decided he needed to build a wall around the city of Jerusalem. It was kind of an impossible project, something naysayers and friends told him he'd never be able to accomplish. But the people came together, and with a lot of prayer -- seriously, Nehemiah prays all the time -- the wall was built. And -- here's the crazy part -- the goal was accomplished in a remarkable 52 days. 

The great part about this story is that Nehemiah was average, and for whatever reason, God chose not to interfere in his wall-building, not in the ways the people of the Old Testament were used to Him interfering. There were no earthquakes, no miraculous moments, no overnight bricks put up. Instead, Nehemiah had to recruit friends, family, acquaintances, and neighbors to get the job done.

And you know what? Despite his admirable goal, not everyone was supportive. 

Shocking, isn't it, that when Nehemiah identified his goal, he was met with opposition and ridicule from all sides? (Not.) 

And every time Nehemiah was encouraged to stop building, to stop creating, to take a break for just a moment, he sent down one response: 

I am doing a great work, and I cannot come down. 

In other words, I'm busy. I'm focused. And you cannot distract me. 

---

I still haven't figured out what my "one thing" for 2013 is. But I'm discovering that Nehemiah's words are true for even the smallest of goals I've set, and perhaps they ring especially true in the seemingly mundane work I do everyday: in my home, on my marriage, at my job. 

Why do I clean my house? Why do I go to bed a little earlier than some? Why do I choose to spend a lot of my extra time with my husband? Why do I focus on a few friendships instead of dozens? Why do I walk every day? Why do I read? Why do I write?

Because I'm trying really hard to do a great work, and I cannot come down. 

It's January 14, which means some of our resolutions have already fallen by the wayside. But if you're looking for reason to stick it out this year, if you're tired of failing and being second-guessed, I hope you know: The work you are trying to accomplish is great, whether it's personal or spiritual, familial or physical. You are doing great things, and you know what? Sometimes, it's okay to say: I cannot come down right now. I'm choosing to stay focused. 

I guess I'm just telling you what I heard last Sunday, the message that encouraged me to stay the course in 2013, that told me the work I'm doing -- whether big or small to the outside -- is great, and it's worthy of my attention. 

It's 2013, and it's time to stay on the wall.

on walking.

{photo by Caroline Fontenot}

My new year's resolution was to walk or jog a mile every day until my birthday, and I know we're only 11 days in, so this is probably a little premature, but it's going so well. The intention behind the goal was for my physical health, to get me out of the house, doing something active. I planned to begin the month walking, then eventually build up to jogging. 

It's early in the month, so it's difficult to tell, but I kind of like just walking. And I'm not saying that to get out of exercise, not saying that to avoid pushing myself to do more and be more. I'm saying it because I don't know the last time I faced silence. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed nature without outside noises serving as distractions. When I walk, I breathe a little slower. I may not burn very many calories or build a ton of muscle, but I think. I pray. I listen to the birds. I feel the rain on my face. I look at the colors. I say hello to neighbors. I glance inside lighted windows and observe progress on remodeled homes. 

Basically, I pay attention. 

I think maybe I'll miss these things if I start to jog. Of course, I could be completely wrong. It's been a while since I last jogged, so who knows how much attention I really pay when my pace is a little faster and I run out of breath more quickly. But walking feels more... intentional.

Each morning, those 20 minutes kind of help me decompress from the day before. They help center me for the day ahead. I use a pedometer to keep track of my steps, to make sure I'm really walking a mile, but mostly, I just walk.

This love affair with my new morning ritual began slowly. January 1 felt no different than the day before, and I was irritable over trying to find my headphones in the post-Christmas disaster area that is our house. (Said headphones are still missing in action.) I had to walk in silence, and it felt... weird. Then mid-walk on January 2, the heavens opened, and a misty, cold rain began to steadily fall, and all I could do was stand there and laugh. I had no umbrella, no raincoat, just an old Georgetown sweatshirt and five-tenths of a mile to go. I arrived home soaking wet, but happy. And January 3? It rained too. But I had fun. I liked whispering prayers and listening to nature. And the headphones? I don't miss them. 

My life moves at such a fast pace. Maybe the reason I love walking is because it's one of the few things I do that's slow. 

Last week, I read a Relevant magazine article about how to slow down in 2013. Number one on the list? Go for a walk. The author said the act of walking had become spiritual for him, and I get that. Even when I'm not thoughtfully praying (which I find myself doing a lot on my walks), I feel like God is walking beside me, like these moments are our time to start the day right, to check out what He's got going on, what He's been up to in my neighborhood. 

I've got a while to go before walking becomes a habit, becomes something I jump out of bed to do every morning. But I'm tired of believing that everything I do outside of work is supposed to be fun all the time. It's not fun to get up earlier every morning, not fun to freeze outside in the gloomy morning weather. But things worth doing don't always have to be fun. Maybe walking is a little bit of work. But the reward, I'm discovering, is great. 

We sing this old hymn at church sometimes, a song about meeting Him in the garden, and how He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. And I think He does that all the time, even in the loud places, even in the places where you don't think He could possibly be. But I admit: Outside, without headphones, in the morning before things are too bright, I hear Him a little bit better, and I think He might like that best.

an intentional home list.

Don't forget to join Annie today for the start of the Ablaze series. Her thoughts on pursuing God in singlehood are spot-on. 

---

We think we may have found a house. 

I started this hunt for a rental home back in May (okay, I'm an over-planner; it was more like April), and I've now seen enough terrible, no-good, really bad houses to be pretty cautious about exuding any unnecessary excitement over what might be "the one." We haven't submitted a security deposit or finalized a move-in date -- all that is still in the works and very much up-in-the-air -- but we're hopeful our jobs and combined income and very apparent excitement over this house will be enough to put things in our favor.

If all goes well, we could be moving in August, just as we'd originally planned. Our fingers are crossed, and our prayers are innumberable. 

So I've been cautious for a week now, trying not to get too excited based on the disappointments of the past few weeks. I'm trying to keep my expectations low, but yesterday? Well, yesterday I got a little overzealous and started picking out paint chips and -- in a fit of inspiration and happiness -- created an intentional home list. 

Jules has long been one of my favorite bloggers, so this year when she officially launched her William Morris Project, I was eager to follow along. I'm a big believer in making your home a happy, welcoming, intentional place, no matter how permanent or temporary it may be, so her weekly posts on establishing beauty and order in her home have been inspiring. They've also, though, become increasingly difficult to read, since I've begun to look at our current rental as something in the past (forgetting, of course, that it's still very much a part of our present). With a potential move scheduled for later this summer, I've kind of let our house go a bit; I'm not really interested in pursuing house projects or making this place any more of a home than it already is. I'm beginning to think in terms of the next step instead of the current one, and while I'm not entirely proud of that, I am a little bit proud of the result: An intentional home list for our new place. 

We may not wind up in this house; I know that, and, believe it or not, I am prepared for disappointment. (It wouldn't be the first house we've lost this go around.) But I've decided to embrace the high expectations portion of my personality, and I'm planning ahead just in case things go in our favor.

I want our next home to be similar to our current one; I want it to reflect our personalities and serve as a welcome retreat for our friends and family.  I want it to be cozy and calm, and I want it to look loved and well cared for.

Without further ado, our intentional home list for rental house 2012, complete with ideas and projects specific to the house we've found that we'd like to make ours (temporarily speaking, of course). This post is intended to serve as a guide for us, should everything fall into place in the next few weeks, so no worries about reading every portion of the list in its entirety. This is just me, doing what I do best: planning, with a little over-thinking thrown in.

Front yard: A fun, inviting, well-manicured space welcoming neighbors and friends home. 

1. Clean up landscaping. 

2. Define walking path for visitors. 

3. Spray paint Adirondack chairs and place for neighbor-greeting and lemonade-drinking.

Living Room: A calm, cozy entry point establishing a welcoming atmosphere for friends and family. This room will inspire relaxation and conversation, with space to visit, watch television, and gather around the piano. 

1. Purchase new sleeper sofa, to be used by guests when they come to visit. 

2. Hang family photos and inspirational artwork that represents "us."

3. Purchase a large, comfortable, patterned rug. 

4. Lighten up the dark, wood paneled walls with well-placed lighting and bright art. 

5. Move piano into this space and make the time to play together. 

6. Create a seating area perfect for conversation and Netflix-watching. 

Sunroom: A cozy nook perfect for naps and reading a good book. 

1. Utilize the built-in bookshelves, making sure not to clutter or overcrowd. 

2. Create well-lit atmosphere, emphasizing great windows and potential for book-reading. 

3. Allow natural light to shine through. 

4. Create potential for mixing and mingling between living room and sunroom; avoid creating an entirely different feel or space. 

5. Hang artwork and family photographs, again avoiding clutter. 

6. New window treatments, probably sheer panels.

Dining room: A place for conversation and a nurturing spot for meals that mean something. 

1. Utilize current dining table and painted chairs. 

2. Update table with fresh flowers on a weekly or biweekly basis, since table is seen from front door. 

3. Let in natural light. 

4. Replace light fixture to brighten up dark paneled walls. 

5. Hang artwork and family photographs. 

6. Use window treatments from current living room to bring in color.  

Kitchen: An inviting, light, airy space, perfect for creativity and meals made together. A fun, no-stress zone. 

1. Paint walls mint green. 

2. Paint bottom cabinets white. 

3. Black or bronzed hardware. 

4. Buy cute dishdrainer, making sure to keep dishes cleaned and washed regularly. 

5. Display only kitchen-useful items, avoiding clutter. 

6. Grow herbs utilizing Ikea system. 

7. Leave counter space empty to provide for cooking meals. 

8. Hang fun, cheerful artwork. 

9. Purchase fun, colorful rug to tie in home's colors. 

10. Establish an entry point at back patio door since this will function as our entry into the house. 

11. Hang large chalkboard. 

Pantry: A well-organized, well-lit zone to aid in cooking and cleaning. 

1. Paint walls mint green.

2. Hang curtain to separate from kitchen.

3. Store party dishes, centerpieces, and serving trays. 

4. Store cleaning and ironing supplies. 

5. Hang fun piece of artwork to make workspace personal.

Back patio: A welcoming retreat, perfect for an outdoor meal for two or a party with friends.

1. Purchase or utilize current outdoor table, making room for at least four. 

2. Cover A/C unit with fencing. 

3. String outdoor lights on picket fence and in surrounding shrubs and trees. 

4. Pot useful, pretty plants in colorful, unique pots. 

5. Find space for current potting bench. 

6. Store grill where it will be usable. 

Master bedroom: A calm, stress-free getaway from life's distractions. 

1. Paint walls light grey.

2. Keep big, bulky furniture to a minimum.  

3. Utilize closet space. 

4. Get rid of outdated, unworn clothes prior to move. 

5. Let in natural light. 

6. Purchase private but airy window coverings. 

7. Purchase small flat screen TV to minimize bulk. 

8. Create corner for Junie. 

9. Purchase a pretty laundry bin. 

Office: A clean, clutter-free zone for paying bills, managing home, and tackling creative projects. A well-organized space where everything has a function and place, where guests can come and go without disturbing the peace. 

1. Paint walls light grey.

2. Purchase new, smaller desk for Jordan. 

3. Update filing system and place in closet. 

4. Organize crafts. 

5. Leave open space for guests' suitcases and belongings, as well as for an air mattress. (Though ideally guests will be using the sleeper sofa, they will need a comfortable place for their belongings.) 

6. Hang Jordan's artwork. 

7. Store Junie's crate for when we're gone for the day.  

Bathroom: A clean, well-lit space for our use and guest use. 

1. Paint top-half of walls white, embracing yellow tile.

2. Hang white shower curtain.

3. Replace toilet seat. 

4. Install shelving for toiletries and towels. 

5. Cover washer/dryer space with curtain. 

6. Purchase bathroom rug. 

7. Purchase new soap dishes and toothbrush holders.

* image from April edition of House Beautiful

being a grown-up.

{photo by Hannah Hayes}

Being a grown-up means getting the New York Times delivered every Saturday and Sunday. It means sitting up in bed, doing the crossword puzzle while the cinnamon rolls finish baking in the oven.

Being a grown-up means having a signature scent and style. It means having a livable, wearable, color-coordinated closet and clothes you iron the moment they come out of the dryer. It means having a tailor and a dry cleaner, even if you use both sparingly. It means spending wisely and taking care of what you own.

Being a grown-up means traveling the world and responding to adventure's call. It means making time and money for fun, because some grown-ups forget what fun is, and who wants to be one of those? 

Being a grown-up means having fresh flowers and remembering to throw them out before they begin to rot. It means having a well-curated, well-loved home, full of books and paintings and comfortable furniture. It means having a place other people love, too, a place where they feel warm and welcome and loved and appreciated. It's knowing what you love and why.

Being a grown-up means having a yard and a lawn chair and a fire pit and a sprinkler to run through on hot summer days. It means cooking and cleaning on a regular basis, mostly because you have to, but also because you know it makes you feel better when you do.

Being a grown-up means early to bed, early to rise. It means breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It means no more running out of the house with breakfast wrapped in a paper towel or scanning the refrigerator for expiration dates and signs of mold.

Being a grown-up means front porch living and rocking chair sitting. It means loving your neighbor and caring for those around you. It means having time to do the things no one else seems to have time to do anymore. It means life is a lot more simple than people want to make it.

Being a grown-up means no more overgrown laundry piles or rewashing clothes that soured in the washer overnight. Being a grown-up means sometimes drying your clothes outside on a line so they can blow in the breeze and smell like the air we breathe instead of some soapy chemical. It means doing the things you'd rather not have to do.

Being a grown-up means a little less television and a lot more books. Lots and lots and lots of books, and only the kind you can hold in your hand and mark with a pencil. Real grown-ups read books you can hold and feel and touch and smell, because deep down you know that's what your grandparents did, and it's what you want your children to do too.

Being a grown-up means getting your hair cut before it reaches the point where you begin to look homeless and ill-kempt. Being a grown-up means timely doctor's appointments and healthy eating habits and washing your face and flossing your teeth. It means taking care of yourself, because then you're better capable of helping others. It's putting on your own oxygen mask first.

Being a grown-up means getting vegetables from a garden -- maybe even one you helped God grow yourself -- and having at least one go-to recipe, the kind of recipe that made your grandmother famous. It's knowing some things are better made from scratch, and some things aren't worth the time and effort, no matter how many accolades you might receive. It's knowing some things are better made by your own hands, and some things can be better entrusted to the experts at Publix.

Being a grown-up means being a good friend. It means calling when you say you'll call. It means showing up even when someone forgets to ask you to. It means crying over hurts and smiling over successes. It means grace under pressure and enthusiasm over good things. It means a kind no and a reliable yes.

Being a grown-up means date nights with your husband and girls' nights with your friends. It means hanging out as a family and spending hours at the dinner table. It's knowing how to play a handful of card and board games so you never run out of things to do with the people you love. It's making time to do nothing with the people you love best and need most.

Being a grown-up means confidence in your own decision-making. It means gratitude for who you have become. It means trying to be better, but being content with what you have and who you are.

I'm trying, these days, to be a grown-up, the kind of grown-up I dreamed of being when I was a little girl.

What kind of grown-up do you want to be?

advice for the renter.

Jordan and I have been looking for a rental home for three months now. I started my search a couple of months early for this very reason; I understood Tallahassee was not an easy market for renters, and I knew we'd need plenty of time between now and our August 1 lease-end date to find a new place to call home.

What I didn't count on was just how frustrating the search would be.

Don't get me wrong: Jordan and I are no strangers to the rental market. We've been renting in Tallahassee -- a college town -- for four years now, and our budget way back in 2008 was tiny. We were living on my measly little salary, and our money didn't go very far. We saw our fair share of ugly, ill-cared for apartments and townhomes, so I thought we were adequately prepared for our 2012 search, especially since our budget today is much larger, and we're four years older, wiser.

Wrong.

Our larger budget hasn't translated to more quality rentals, and I'm not sure if that's because of where we live (college towns = college-aged renters) or because of where we're looking. I've seen the inside of 10+ rentals, done more drive-bys than I care to count, and we've only seen one rental property we've even come close to signing a lease on. Each tour is a learning experience, but that doesn't make the journey any less infuriating, especially since it feels as if we're no closer to finding a rental than when we began. I know, too, we're living in a buyer's market, which can make it difficult to determine if it's really wise to sign a lease right now, or if we should stick it out in our current place for a year or two more, lazy landlord and all.

All that to say: We're learning some things. And perhaps the lessons we're learning will be helpful for some of you, especially in this age chock full of inspiration, but lacking in common, practical sense.

1. Know your budget and stick to it. Our own budget covers a pretty wide range, but now that we've looked around and checked out the market, we know what we'd most likely have to spend in order to rent a place that fits our criteria. Basically, the more we've been looking, the more our budget has morphed from a range of dollars into a practical, stick-to-it number. We're trying to be realistic, too, knowing that the smaller our budget, the more likely we're going to be renting a dump. That's just how it is in this town, and that's good to know so our expectations don't get out of control.

2. Create a must-have list. What are your non-negotiables? What are the things you are looking for in a new place, and what are the things you figure you can do without? Our must-have list looks like this:

- Charm

- Hardwood floors

- W/D hook-ups

- Dishwasher

- Updated kitchen

- Walkable neighborhood

- Central heat and air

We've seen a lot of places, and we know now what we're willing to compromise a little on (it's okay if not all of the floors are hardwood, and we don't need a brand new kitchen with stainless steel appliances, just something large enough to cook in together). Our list might look extensive, but it helps us keep things in perspective and prevents us from wasting too much time on home tours and Craigslist searches.

3. Be a savvy renter. I respond to Craigslist ads through my work email address to show potential landlords I'm a professional, not a student. I go to house showings with Jordan or with my mother or a friend, never alone. (This was a lesson learned the hard way a few weeks ago, when I took a house tour where I was less than comfortable being alone with the property's current tenant.) I also make Jordan call properties since I tend to sound like a young child over the phone. I always ask the same questions (Am I allowed to paint? Are small, older, well-behaved dogs allowed? Who is responsible for maintenance and how quickly are problems handled? What are the average utilities? Is the neighborhood safe?), and I try to get them answered in person. I also do my own research so I can see if the landlord or property manager's answers match up to what I'm able to find online. (In Tallahassee, you can search average utility costs by address.) I also never act like I'm in a rush or pressured to find a rental, which in our case happens to be true. Our current landlord is flexible, and we're not in a hurry. If a property managers tries to get us to sign something that day, I'm turned off. I never like being pressured into things, and a rental house is no exception.

4. Trust your gut. There's only one house we've been ready to sign a lease on; we took a tour that day, and after sleeping on it, we were ready to sign a lease. I had already drawn floor plans and pictured our furniture in all the right places. Then, as you know, we discovered the home didn't have a dishwasher. Up until that point, we hadn't ever toured a place that didn't have one, so that was a new challenge, and it was one we didn't think we could really overcome. Now we've seen several homes without dishwashers, and if the "perfect" house came up without one, I might be willing to compromise. However, that hasn't happened yet. I haven't walked into a front door and thought, "Yes. This is it. This is what I'm looking for." And I'm confident that's going to happen. It's happened in our two previous rentals (despite the fact that neither were in very much good shape when we first found and toured them), and at 26, I know that generally, I can trust my instincts. Which leads me to my final point...

5. Don't rush. If you begin your search early enough, it's okay to wait and to take your time. I know I'm never going to find the perfect rental. (That's the nature of renting, I'm afraid.) But that doesn't mean I need to rush into something or jump the gun on the first thing I see remotely fitting my checklist. I can weigh my options and make my pro-con lists because that's how my husband and I make decisions, and it's what works best for us. I'm all for spontaneous picnics and road trips to Thomasville, but spontaneously signing a lease just isn't for me. The fact is, we're not in a hurry, and there are parts of us that would be completely content staying in our townhome for a while longer. That's a luxury some people don't have, so we're willing to use it to our advantage. No more frenzied searches, no more obsessively checking Craigslist. If we have to wait a little while for a house we love, that's okay. We're content right where we are, and there are projects I could easily complete where we're currently renting.

"The grass is greener where you water it," and if that's true, our own little home could use a little watering over the next few weeks. The rest? Well, the rest will work itself out in time, as most things, I'm learning, generally do. 

saving my life: pie.

Is it sad that as I sat down to write this post, I had to think -- really, really think -- about what's been saving my life this week?

Because I really couldn't tell you off the top of my head.

I'm just so tired. April's been a tough month, and I'm hoping May and I fair better.

Jordan and I have been going nonstop for the past 30 days or so, and I kept saying yes to things when I probably should have said no. I've been mostly muddling through, going through the motions, and it's taken its toll. This weekend, we're headed out of town with friends; next weekend, we've got tickets for JazzFest in New Orleans, and the following weekend, we have a wedding and a graduation out of town to attend.

I could cry just thinking about it all.

Don't get me wrong: These are all good, fun things. But for a girl who's mostly an introvert, the extrovert-ness of one event after another can be hard to handle, and I'm concerned May might be doomed from the beginning.

But I'm nothing if not determined (and stubborn!), and despite our already filled-to-the-brim month, I'm willing May to be better than April. I'm prayerful that I will have learned from April's mistakes, mainly, that a) it's okay to say no, and b) it's okay -- even necessary -- to take care of myself first.

This week, though, it's still April, and things have been rough. So on Tuesday, after spending an afternoon preparing invitations and banners for my cousin's graduation banquet, I went home to make a pie.

I had a lengthy list of other things I could have done, maybe even should have done. But instead, I looked at the clock and decided two-ish hours was enough time to enjoy the process of cooking dinner. It's not time I normally have, so I relished it. I plugged in the latest episode of Grey's Anatomy, and I got to work on my pie.

Family members and close friends, of course, know: I am not a pie eater. In fact, I detest pie. I loathe it. This, as you can imagine, makes for difficult Thanksgivings, when virtually everywhere I turn, there are pies. No cookies, no cakes... just pies. I'll blame my hatred of pie for the fact that I've never actually made one, and certainly not one entirely from scratch, crust and all.

But Tuesday, I came to the kitchen armed with a recipe for tomato and corn pie, and because I have a terrible habit of failing to thoroughly read the entire recipe before setting my hands to chopping and cooking, I failed to even realize I was handmaking the crust. This accident actually worked in my favor; by simply proceeding step-by-step through the instructions, I didn't even have time to realize I should have been nervous about making my very first pie crust. Instead, I just read the directions, making for a nerve-free pie-baking experience. (I am a champion at reading directions.)

I rolled the dough without too much thought; I chopped nearly two pounds of tomatoes and slowly boiled corn. I had time to enjoy the process, which is rare. I didn't even panic when I realized I don't really have an adequate pie pan (see: hatred of pie) and grabbed my lone, shallow cake pan. (It worked just fine.)

Here's what happens when you don't read the entire recipe first: You don't really have time to panic. I didn't spend the entire cooking process concerned about my chilled dough. Instead, while I chopped tomatoes, I actually chopped tomatoes. When I rolled out the top of my pie crust and cut weird-shaped diamonds in it all wrong, I didn't get angry, didn't panic. I had time, so I started over. I didn't YouTube, didn't Google, didn't call my mom. I just went for it. And you know what? Not half bad.

My entire kitchen smelled delicious by the time 5:30 rolled around. I hadn't finished my Bible study, hadn't done a stitch of laundry, hadn't even made the bed, but you know what?

I didn't care. None of it mattered.

I had a homemade pie in the oven.

It was absolutely delicious -- even divine, perhaps -- and this week? Well, this week, it saved my life.

* recipe here

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

leslie knope would be so proud.

 

Here's the thing: I really like my friends. I really like planning a fun party. And I have little to no shame.

Meaning, when I marched myself into a restaurant on Saturday night armed with my own candles, centerpieces, and placecards, I ignored the funny stares and chose to focus on the reason I throw ridiculous parties in the first place: The people I love deserve to be told so.

Or, in this case, shown.

Inspired by Leslie Knope and her penchant for celebrating, I threw the girls in my book club my own take on Galentine's Day this weekend, complete with breakfast-for-dinner and lots and lots and lots of pink. I spent much of last week loading up on Target Valentine's goodies and painting tote bags (great tutorial found here), then got to the restaurant a few minutes early to set up. A friend made cookies, and each girl brought a Valentine's-themed gift worth $5 to $10 for a small gift exchange.

I won't speak for my friends, but Galentine's Day might be my new favorite tradition. I loved showing a few of the women in my life how much they mean to me, loved taking Valentine's Day and making it fun and special for a group that has made my time in Tallahassee such a blessing.

We laughed and ate and showered each other with gifts (which, let's face it, is fun for everyone). We wore red and pink and talked a lot about The Hunger Games and Downton Abbey. We showed the waitress and our fellow restaurant patrons a good time, so much so that when one of us nearly burned the place down (thanks to my aforementioned candles and a dropped menu), no one seemed to care all that much. In fact, the waitress said we made her night. I'm convinced celebration does that to people... even to people that are mere observers.

Friends deserve to be celebrated. They deserve to be shown love and appreciation. Sometimes, that love means big gestures or small, silent prayers or cards in the mail.

And sometimes, that love comes in the form of pink striped tote bags and delicious pancakes.

That's my kind of celebration.