lately.

Listening . . . to The Staves and First Aid Kit.

Watching . . . Cheers reruns, The Bachelorette, and Pretty Little Liars (only during my lunch break, you guys). We also went to see Seeking a Friend for the End of the World last week and highly recommend.

Reading . . . Quiet by Susan Cain and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake by Anna Quindlen. I love that woman. I've also really appreciated and enjoyed Elizabeth's blog posts regarding the closing of her husband's store. Such truth and bravery there, and a powerful reminder about shopping local and why it's important.

Eating . . . everything I associate with summertime: fresh tomatoes, blueberries, red potatoes, squash, okra. My favorite are tomato sandwiches; just mayonnaise, tomato, and a little salt and pepper. Delicious.

Drinking . . . lemonade. The occasional glass of Coke.

Wearing . . . sandals, shorts, and tank tops on the weekends and lots of dresses, skirts, and a summertime plaid blazer for work.

Feeling . . . pretty great. I know things are about to get a little crazy around here with the move and a last minute missions trip Jordan has scheduled. For some reason, though, I'm pretty calm and hopeful. I wonder if my decision to take things slow in June was able to prepare me, and least in part, for the packing and the moving we're about to do.

Wanting . . . to go to the beach. To buy some new rugs and furniture. To get in our new place a little early to start painting. To talk to my brother on the phone.

Needing . . . to clean our current place and get things in order here. I want to make sure we get our security deposit back and leave the place better than we found it (a worthy goal in all things, I think).  

Thinking . . . about what it means to be an introvert in a world of extroverts, about writing, about friendships and decorating projects and paint colors, about how the joy of saying no has stuck with me and might just become a habit I embrace rather than forget.

Enjoying . . . reading more regularly, getting to work on time, spending quality time with friends and family, sitting on the couch with Jordan, planning for our new home, and going on Friday night dates.

the irony of that 'busy trap' article. (an introvert's perspective.)

{photo by Pedro Diaz Molins}

This weekend, my Twitter account started to blow up as friends, family, and perfect strangers tweeted the mess out of an editorial in the New York Times. "The 'Busy' Trap" was published on Saturday, and when I finally made time to read it on Monday, I devoured it in about five minutes. I'm obsessed these days with anything giving me permission to say no, and I figured this would be yet another weapon I could add to my arsenal.  

Only, it wasn't.

Don't get me wrong: I appreciated and agreed with nearly every portion of the article. (Seriously, it's fantastic. You should read it here.) I, too, think we're all ridiculously busy. I think we love complaining about how stressed we are and how full our calendars become. (Guilty as charged, by the way.) I think we take far too much pride in our busy-ness, and it's nice to see someone at the New York Times agrees with little ol' me.

But I also got this nagging feeling that I'm still the lone ranger when it comes to my personal definition of busy-ness.

It's this paragraph that left me scratching my head:

The present hysteria is not a necessary or inevitable condition of life; it’s something we’ve chosen, if only by our acquiescence to it. Not long ago I Skyped with a friend who was driven out of the city by high rent and now has an artist’s residency in a small town in the south of France. She described herself as happy and relaxed for the first time in years. She still gets her work done, but it doesn’t consume her entire day and brain. She says it feels like college — she has a big circle of friends who all go out to the cafe together every night. She has a boyfriend again. (She once ruefully summarized dating in New York: “Everyone’s too busy and everyone thinks they can do better.”) What she had mistakenly assumed was her personality — driven, cranky, anxious and sad — turned out to be a deformative effect of her environment. It’s not as if any of us wants to live like this, any more than any one person wants to be part of a traffic jam or stadium trampling or the hierarchy of cruelty in high school — it’s something we collectively force one another to do.

Maybe it's all the reading about introversion I've been doing lately, but that paragraph right there? That italicized portion?

That sounds busy to me.

Last month, I spent a lot of time and effort trying to say no. It's not that I hate saying yes; in fact, I want desperately to say yes to the things I am passionate about. I want to be able to eat lunch with friends on a whim, to have date nights with my husband each Friday, to teach classes and write blog posts and read really good books.

I discovered, though, that in order to make time for the things I loved, I would have to say no to the things that were filling up my calendar first.

And I also discovered that for a personality like mine, replacing disliked activities with even more activities -- no matter how fun or enjoyable -- was a recipe for disaster.

For the friend of the New York Times writer, spending every night at a cafe with a big circle of friends is probably a little slice of heaven.

It sounds like misery to me.*

It sounds like she's just replacing work busy-ness with friend busy-ness, and as an introvert, that concept can be hard for me to understand.

To me, both are busy and -- if I'm being honest -- both have the potential to be a little stressful.

In June, I made a point to say no to things like freelance projects, speeches, and design work. But my goal was not only to say yes to girls' nights and lunches with friends; it was also to make time for sitting on my couch alone, for reading a good book, for lounging by the pool and doing laundry.

Here's my lone problem with "The 'Busy' Trap": It leaves no room for introspection and exchanges one form of busy-ness for another.

Since June, I've learned that sometimes, "I'm busy," is the only excuse people will accept for "no."

I've discovered, of course, that I actually am busy, even when my calendar looks slim. Without extracurriculars, I still work 40 hours a week outside the home. I help run a household, and I have a husband and a dog who depend on me for love, affection, and occasionally, food. I am an active member of a local religious body. I am a daugher and a sister and a cousin and a friend. All of that combined qualifies as busy.

Sometimes, when people won't quite accept my "no," I've learned to tell them I have plans. Those plans might be as simple as reading a book or watching The Bachelorette, but they are plans nonetheless, and they are vital for me to function as a happy, peace-filled person.

I thought the New York Times article was spot-on for the world we live in and the prevailing zeitgeist of our time.

I only wish the world was ready to acknowledge there is another possible solution for busy, stressed-out living, and it doesn't always mean collecting your nearest and dearest and heading to the closest watering hole. (Although goodness knows, I've got no qualms for that occasional solution either.)

Sometimes, the answer for busy-ness is nothing-ness -- true nothing-ness, the kind that involves sitting on the porch, sans telephone, with a giant cup of lemonade in hand.

* I can see my friends cringing now. Guys, it's not you. Fear not: It's the "every night" description that's a little worrisome to me.

Every night is just a little much for this quiet soul to handle. But you knew that already, and that's why I love you.

at the beginning: where i currently stand.

{photo by Jeff C-C Photo}

Now that you know I'm an eldest child and a proud representative of the INTJ clan, you may be better able to understand why the Shauna Niequist quote I posted Monday inspired me to make a list. (List-making is something I love.) As I embark on a few weeks of rest and rehibilitation, I wanted to evaluate where I stand today. Before I start saying no, I wanted to figure out what led me to this point. What led to the margins becoming just a little too tight for my taste? I'm sure there are more questions and categories I could have added, but I wanted to stick to Niequist's quote. So today, in May 2012, here is where I stand on what moves me, what I love, what makes me angry, and what makes me exhausted. I'd be curious to know what would be on your lists, too, and I'll be sure to post my follow-up lists when June has come and gone.

what moves me

good music, movies, and television shows

inspirational speeches, sermons, conversations, and stories

powerful books

kind-hearted friends

what i love

Jordan

my family

home 

my faith and relationship with the Heavenly Father

books and book club

leisurely time with friends (casual dinners, neighborhood walks)

weeknights at home

working with my hands

planned menus

time on the couch

quiet

sunshine and nature

the beach

traveling

celebrating

no computer

what makes me angry

mean-spirited people

passive-aggressive or hypocritical behavior

no food in the pantry

overly political tweets

opinions given without proper thought or consideration

Facebook "stalking" that results in jealousy or frustration

injustice

the feeling that God isn't listening to me
when my face/body doesn't do what I believe it needs to do

constant snark and sarcasm

people who fail to extend grace (of which I am one)

poorly executed leadership and/or plans

what makes me exhausted

too many items in my planner

late nights followed by early mornings

a job that requires I sit at a desk all day

my inability to say no

lack of care for myself and my body

guilt

confrontation

explaining myself to people

rushed evenings at home

fast, not-good-for-you food

high maintenance anything

thinking that if I want something done right, I have to do it myself

lately.

Listening . . . to Boys and Girls by the Alabama Shakes, Into the Glorious by Christy Nockels, and Heart by Audrey Assad.

Watching . . . Grey's Anatomy reruns, a little bit of Mad Men, The Wonder Years (every episode makes me cry in the best kind of way), and The Killing. I'm also desperately ready for Leslie Knope and the Parks and Rec gang to return to my TV screen.

Reading . . . Bloom by Kelle Hampton, still working my way through An Altar in the World, and The Dance of the Dissident Daughter. April has been a "read the parts of several books, but don't complete any single one" kind of month. 

Eating . . . as heathily as possible. Lots of fruits and vegetables and fish and granola. Recipes from our latest two meals are here and here.

Drinking . . . green smoothies and lots of water. I finally figured out that making our green smoothies the night before is the best option for our schedule. It's so much easier!

Wearing . . . my pink maxi skirt from the Gap and a couple of great new pairs of shoes (summer sandals and a nude pair of ballet flats). 

Feeling . . . meh. My face has broken out like crazy in the past month (hence all the healthy eating going on around here), and if I'm being honest, it's messed with my self-esteem pretty badly these past few days. I'm trying to take better care of myself, to continue boundary-setting and resting when my body says rest. I've got room for improvement, but I'm trying. I guess that's the important thing.

Wanting . . . to go on vacation. It's long overdue. In the meantime, Jordan and I are thinking about moving this summer. Our townhome all of a sudden feels very small, and I'm aching to rest my barefeet in the grass of a backyard instead of the pavement where we park our cars. I'm getting antsy and a little bit restless for a new project, and I'm ready to have an excuse to spend more time at home. I feel like decorating and cleaning a new place would fit the bill.   

Needing . . . to clean the house we currently live in. We're not moving for at least two or three months, so avoiding laundry and basic chores seems potentially problematic.

Thinking . . . about how far I've come this year and how far I still have to go, about faith and spiritual practices, rental homes and fun colors, little vacations and rest and reprieve.

Enjoying . . . my lunch breaks at home, Tuesday afternoons in my new favorite outdoor spot, Saturday drives in the car with Jordan and the windows rolled down, pretend house-hunting, and daydreaming about our future.

31 days || nineteen: party on a budget.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

31 days || seventeen: music.

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

Aldous Huxley 

 ---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

31 days || ten: celebrating at the office.

 {My job does not look like this. Photo by A Long Farewell via The Bride's Cafe}

Last week, I blogged about celebrating the “after work” hours, those hours from 6 to 11 that often get overlooked, ignored, rushed through. I wanted to remind myself that those hours are precious and important, just as important as the weekends I find myself anticipating. 

And my friend Kari wondered: Could joy and celebration be found in the working hours too? And if they could — if joy and celebration were to be found at the office — what would that look like? 

Because (and here is what I think we’ve got to remember) it’s one thing to write about it, and another to live it. 

I can write all day long about celebration, but how does it show up in my daily routine, in the eight and a half hours every day I spend in a tiny, cold office? 

Kari’s question got me thinking, and it reminded me: Work should be joy-filled too. 

I like my job. I write and edit for a living. No, the subject is not ideal. But I’m using the degree I worked so hard to earn. And my husband and I have something to talk about at the end of the day. (We both work in the legal field.) And I have Tuesday afternoons off. And I have my own office. And I think my job is important and necessary. Although I don’t believe it gives me my entire purpose, I do think it gives me a purpose, a goal, something to work toward. I work to help support our family, to help us pay off our very last student loan, to help pay for groceries and gasoline and gifts for people and causes we love and the occasional purchase from Gap. And I think — just like with anything else — this job might be preparing me for something bigger, greater. 

So this is not an “I hate my job” situation. 

But I am guilty of boredom. Of being all-too-ready for the next thing. Of looking at the clock every five minutes during a long afternoon. 

I am guilty of missing the celebration in the work day. 

Practically speaking, how do I find it? 

By remembering that everything I do is worship. 

By dressing for success. It should be noted: My job doesn’t require much more than business casual, emphasis on the casual. But I find that the days I dress lazily are the days I work lazily. The days I actually put a decent outfit together, I’m more efficient, more confident, less inclined to slack off, and more in tune with Mary Richards. 

By reminding myself that I have a job when so many in this country do not. 

By pretending my job is a big deal. What I mean is: I use my imagination. I pretend I’m working on some high profile story a la Woodward and Bernstein. Or I have an “Alias” moment when I use my key card to get in the building. I refuse to be embarrassed by this. Imagination is power. 

By taking a few minutes out of every day to pause and look out the window. Because my office has a window. And trees are beautiful.  

By laughing. My job is not very people-oriented. I may go an entire day without speaking to more than a couple of people. So I tend to laugh at myself. A lot. I laugh at what I read on the computer. I laugh when I catch myself singing along to the radio. I laugh when a coworker spies me behaving awkwardly. 

By creating a morning playlist that I can sing and dance to as I drive to work. (That playlist may or may not be designed to make me feel like the star of a Rachel McAdams film. In other words, Rachel McAdams.) Music is a big part of celebrating to me. So on days when I’m feeling sluggish, I turn on some music — tricky, since my workplace blocks Pandora — and I’m instantly in a better mood.

By bringing art into my office. 

By forcing myself outside of my comfort zone. In our family, Jordan is the extrovert. Easily. It takes me longer to warm up to people, to share my life with someone else. As a result, Jordan is practically best friends with everyone in his office. I’m well-liked, but I generally mind my own business and stay in my little office under a couple of sweaters. (It’s cold in there!) This makes for a long, lonely work day. I need to get better at chatting with coworkers, taking an interest in their lives. I’m never going to be like Jordan (INTJ, folks), but I do think it’s possible to be a little bit warmer, kinder to those I see every day.

By taking moments away from the computer. 

---

That's how I celebrate on the job. What about you? Do you think it’s possible to have a celebratory lifestyle at the office? 

What does that look like?

31 days || eight: things to celebrate.

 {photo and tutorial by Hey Gorgeous}

Things worth celebrating this week: 

 - A Tuesday afternoon spent doing absolutely nothing (unless watching Grey's Anatomy counts as something)

- The cute kindergartners who really liked my nail polish on Wednesday night

- Planning my cousin's 18th birthday party (photos to come)

- Watching old family videos and realizing just how far we've all come

- Thoughtful blog comments (especially on this post)

- A new pair of Audrey Hepburn-like pants, bought at the Gap for 50% off (through Monday!)

- Finishing a blog redesign and working on another

- The first hot chocolate of the season

- Practical posts by some other 31 days participants

- Time in the car with my husband

- Finding an assistant for this wedding I'm planning

- Fall temperatures in Florida

- A life I really happen to enjoy

And, in case you missed them, you can view all of my 31 days posts here.

---

What are you celebrating this week? 

31 days || seven: celebrating quiet and rest.

 {photo by Colleen of Postcript Love}

“Lord, just wear us out for You.” 

I felt my eyes, squinted shut, blink open with a start. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? 

Wear us out for You. 

It was a small phrase, five words, hidden in a much larger, beautiful prayer. When I asked Jordan if he’d heard those words, if they had stuck out to him like they had to me, he shrugged his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. What about it?” He smiled, because by now he knows when I’m about to pull out the soapbox, when I’m about to get riled up over something that may not, in the long run, matter all that much. 

“This idea, this ‘exhaust yourself for Jesus’ idea… Where did it come from? Because I kind of hate it.” 

“Really?” Jordan looked at me, surprised. “I kind of love it.” 

--- 

Jordan and I agree on most things, theologically speaking. I’m patient with him while he delves into concepts of theology and church history. He listens quietly as I launch into discussions about women’s roles and social justice. We are, I think, a well-suited match. Mostly, our discussions end well, and when they don’t, it’s largely my stubborn fault. 

But this? 

This I couldn’t let go. 

I know what it looks like to wear yourself out for the Lord. At the church we attend now, my mother runs the children’s ministry; my father runs the education program. My uncle coordinates missions; my aunt writes curriculum and works behind the scenes for Bible classes. Another aunt manages the church library. My husband spends almost his entire Sunday heading up small groups and guiding a Spanish-speaking program. And my 93-year-old grandmother? She exhausts herself every day by continuing to sew and stuff bears for children at a local hospital. I believe the count is up to 3,000. 

Me? 

I’m trying to step away from it all. 

This summer, when Jordan and I drove away from a church meeting after agreeing to take on another ministry, I arrived home and promptly began to cry. 

I didn’t want it. Our church ministries kept growing and growing and growing, and our time spent at home or out in the world? Well, it was bound to keep shrinking and shrinking. 

Because, newsflash folks: You can’t do it all. 

Despite what the world and Sarah Jessica Parker tell you, it’s simply not possible. Something will have to go. 

And I wonder why, when push comes to shove, church attendance and activities are often last on that list of things to put off, cancel, reschedule. Why we are filled with this indescribable guilt when exhaustion and fatigue prevent us from church. 

Not the church of Scripture, by the way, but church of the year 2011. Church that follows you wherever you go, church that you don’t just do on Sundays, but also on Wednesdays, and another Bible study or small group or service project during the week. 

It’s absolutely exhausting how much time we spend devoted to church. Not to Christ. To church. 

When did we confine ministry to that one little word, church? 

When did we exhaust all of our goods and all of our gifts at the brick and mortar building? 

When did we stop going out and start focusing in? 

When did we equate busy and over-committed with spiritual? 

Sarah Bessey over at Emerging Mummy calls this “church fatigue.” 

We have programs for everything. We have programs for hospitality. Programs for youth (God forbid they be included in the daily life of the church). Programs for young mothers. Programs for spiritual growth. Programs for losing weight, for learning to manage money, for missions, for outreach, for learning to sing. From the time you enter church as a 2 week old infant, baby, there is a program for you. 

What's your issue? Go to this class. What? You still have a problem? Try this other class. 

If you want to grow, just get busy going to church. And if you really want to be spiritual, go to EVERYTHING. 

I've personally experienced church fatigue. I'm sick of it. I have this Bible study on Monday nights, small group on Tuesday night, women's meeting on Thursday, mid-week service on Wednesday, youth event on Fridays, and then 3 services on Sundays. The common complaint of most pastors is that they're too busy. But you know what? So are the rest of us. The entire church is busy and tired. 

Sounds about right. 

I wonder, though, if church fatigue is really only a symptom of a larger problem. A problem that goes back to that little five-word phrase that has been floating around my head for weeks: Wear yourself out for Him. 

--- 

Exhaust yourself. 

In any other aspect of my life, this would be frowned upon. 

Don’t do too much! 

Don’t spend too much time at work: You’ll be a workaholic! 

Don’t spend too much time in leisure: You’ll become lazy! 

Don’t spend too much time at home: You’ll become a recluse! 

But no one has ever told me: Don’t spend too much time at church. 

I think we earnestly believe we’re going to be rewarded based on how worn out we are at the end of all this. 

When life as we know it comes to an end, when our eyes close for the final time, when the curtain draws on this earth and we are faced with the unknown of eternity, our Savior and Lord will simply look and see how big the bags under our eyes are. He will ask: Are we exhausted enough? Did we die with our names listed as the leaders of dozens of groups and programs and ministries? 

My head, I think, admits that this reward system is “scriptural,” that there is talk of robes and crowns and mansions throughout the New Testament. 

But my heart debates as to whether those rewards come based on how tired we are at the end of our journey. 

Isn’t wearing ourselves out kind of missing the point? 

This concept of exhausting ourselves for Jesus doesn’t feel right to me. It makes me nervous and anxious and causes my eyes to open wide when they’re supposed to be bowed closed. 

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And lest we think I’m getting my panties all in a twist over yet another church issue, let me just say: This is a problem everywhere. This over-committed, “look-how-full-my-planner-is” lifestyle is popular with believers and non-believers alike. 

My complaint is that of all places where we should be free of this mentality, church is at the top of the list. 

Christ calls us to peace. To laying down burdens. To resting in His love. To casting away our cares. To quiet, still waters. To restoring of the soul. 

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I realize these posts about celebration have thus far not been about dinner parties or birthday gatherings. They haven’t been about pretty place settings or DIY decorations. 

Celebration, to me, is more than those things. (Even though, as we all know: I love those things.) 

And true celebration is just as much about quiet and rest and simplicity as it is about glitter and playlists and dancing in the living room. 

I guess I’m just bothered that quiet, simple living isn’t celebrated more by church culture. I’m not sure how to change that, except to celebrate it myself. 

My tendency when I’m with friends or family is to lament how busy I am, to join the masses in frustrations over to-do lists and full weekends. 

Why not instead leave some weekends empty? 

Why act ashamed when I say there’s nothing on the calendar? 

Why not sing the praises of simple living? Real simple living, not the kind we see on blogs and lifestyle magazines. 

Simple living that celebrates solitude and quiet. Gratitude and peace. Gentleness and grace. 

I want to live and to celebrate the simple life. One day, I want the church to do that too. 

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"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." 

- Matthew 11:28-30, The Message
 

31 days || four: moving beyond work.

 {photo from Simply Seleta}

Last Monday, as I drove home from work, listening to the radio, ignoring the fact that my car’s air conditioner has stopped functioning, it hit me that I had yet another headache. These happen some days, and they’re not migraines, not blinding or mysterious. They come, I know, from spending eight and a half hours staring at a computer screen, and my hope is that one day, when I’m not chained to a desk and an office, these headaches will dissipate. Until then, I get more than a little frustrated, because it feels like the best hours of my day — the ones where I’m awake and happy and productive and most alive — are spent at work. And I just don’t think that’s fair. Not fair to my home. Not fair to my marriage. Not fair to me. 

I don’t like this American idea that our work is what defines us, that the longer our days are, the better our work ethic. I don’t like that I come home tired and head-achy, that most days I want nothing more than to put on my pajamas and crawl into bed and eat pizza and read a book or watch a movie. I don’t like that I have five days I devote to other people, to deadlines and articles, to phone calls and Word documents, but I only have two days I devote to me, to my husband, to our home, to my hobbies. 

It’s exhausting, this daily 8-to-5 ritual, and I don’t feel like I’ve figured out the always-elusive balance. I can’t figure out how to have enough energy to last me from 7 in the morning until 11 at night. I don’t know how to read the books I love and clean out the closets and cook healthy meals and carry on conversations with my husband without crashing. 

I don’t know these things, but I do know this: My job is not as important as my marriage. It is not my life. My dreams and my desires are not wrapped up in what I do every day at the office. And because of that, I’ve got to move past it. I’ve got to make the time and have the energy not to do everything — because we can’t do everything — but to do something. To be more than just a shadow of myself by the time I kick off my heels and put down my purse. 

Sure, I think a night in our pajamas with takeout on the couch is pretty great. But it shouldn’t be happening every night. Life is too short for that. Life is too great for that. 

This week, I’m trying to be more awake and more present when I open my front door. I’m trying to move beyond my day job, trying to embrace and celebrate the life I lead at home. 

I’m not a fan of the five-days-on, two-days-off system we’ve got going on right now, but let’s face it: That’s probably not changing any time soon. I can’t control the system, but I can control how I respond to it. So I’m going to try to celebrate these precious hours given to me at the end of each day, because they, too, are blessing, and I’m tired of leaving them out. 

31 days || one: why celebrate?

{photo from Geronimo Balloons via Somewhere Splendid} 

After much deliberation, I finally discovered a topic for this 31 day journey, and just in the nick of time. October 1 is here, and I am ready.

This month, I want to celebrate.

Way back in January, I dedicated myself to experiencing this year as one full of joy and celebration. I wanted to drink in every moment as Jordan and I lived our lives no longer burdened by school or homework or exams. As I look back to that post, written now ten months ago, I cannot believe the life I see before me. I am so grateful, because He has been gracious. He has given us the year I envisioned.

Sure, there have been ups and downs, days of sorrow and frustration to accompany the happy. The summer, in particular, was difficult on my own family, as my brother moved to Nashville and my mother experienced some health scares that proved to be pretty stressful. But underneath it all, there has been contentment. There has been joy. And there has been celebration.

That’s the word I wanted to dwell on when I began these 12 months of 2011, and it’s the word I want to dwell on for the next 30 days. I want to celebrate with you. I want to be reminded of the celebration hidden underneath the stress and sadness, the celebration that comes when gathering with those you love, when experiencing rest and quiet, and when realizing that you are becoming, for the most part, who you always hoped you would be.

I believe celebration is a big enough word to handle this month. I’m trusting that on top of the ideas I’ve already brainstormed (for the record, there are 28), inspiration will come as the days pass and as the situations arise. I hope you’ll join me in finding ways to celebrate throughout this month, not just in parties and in get-togethers, but in the quiet and in the mundane, in the waking up and the lying down. Maybe, just maybe, after these 31 days are up, we will all be a little bit more in tune and in awe of the lives we’ve been given.

Maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to celebrate.

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!

what my life is trying to say.

Below is my entry for this contest, put on by Donald Miller and his team up there in Portland. Find out more about the Living A Better Story conference here.

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Earlier this year, I read Donald Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. I’d read Blue Like Jazz, but this was different. I felt challenged, stretched. I wanted to go around telling everyone what I’d read. My vocabulary changed. My focus shifted. I was talking in terms of story, determined to mold my life so that it would be a better read. The book really did change things for me, put things in perspective.

For a while after reading, I struggled with whether or not my story was really very good. At 24, I’m still a little confused as to who I want to be and what I want to do. Others I know have found their passions, their “callings.” They’re living in China, or making a difference in the lives of inner-city children. They’re committed to the work of their hands, to the creativity that makes their hearts sing. They’ve heard the call and answered. What do I do? I go to work, come home, make dinner, laugh with Jordan, go to bed, and do it all again, day after day after day.

How easy it is to fall into Satan’s trap that we’re just not good enough! He tells me that my conversion story isn’t powerful, that the life I’m living isn’t adventurous. And he is wrong.

Just as I discovered that my conversion was, in fact, an amazing picture of God's grace, I’m also learning that my story is one worth telling.

This year, A Million Miles inspired me to set goals in a different way. I chose to become more adventurous, to get off the couch and learn new things, to open my heart to new relationships.

I cooked a Passover meal.

I’ve held meaningful conversations with some of the people I love most.

We’ve taken more spontaneous, get-off-the-couch and skip-the-theatre dates.

I took a new job.

We’ve made difficult, challenging decisions.

I signed up for cake decorating.

I got some friends together to host a day for the teen girls at our church.

I started inviting more people over.

I got accepted into graduate school.

Thanks to Jordan’s passion for a population we don’t always see, our church began a homeless ministry (and, perhaps more important, the two of us became involved in a personal ministry).

I have a long way to go. My story isn’t perfect, and not every day has felt interesting or full of promise. I won’t be running marathons or publishing novels or opening businesses anytime soon (though ultimately...?). But these are baby steps, and they have taught me so much. And based on what I’ve learned these six months, I’ve decided I have discovered some major plotlines in my story.

I want people to know my home is a haven, a place they can come for refuge and comfort.

I want to jump when God says jump and stay when God says stay.

I want to show teenage girls their worth in God’s eyes.

I want to teach the world that marriage isn’t the end and teach the church that it’s not a beginning, but that instead it is intended to be a beautiful continuation of God’s plan.

I want to feed people, both with the food that I cook and the encouragement I give.

I want to partner with Jordan in showing all people — even those who have no place to call home — that there is an all-knowing merciful Creator who loves and cares for them in ways they may never know.

These are the elements to the story I’ve chosen to tell. To what end they’ll take me, I’m not sure. I can see myself in so many different places, doing so many different things. I want to travel. Open our own business (bookstore/coffee shop, anyone?). Write a Southern novel. Start a magazine for teen girls.

That’s the beauty, I guess. That my story has some blank pages I get to fill in God's own time.

Will attending a conference help me fill the pages faster? I'm not sure.

But reading a book got me started, so who am I to second guess that a seminar might move things along? I'd love see what practical steps I could take to begin weaving these plotlines into my life. I think the Living A Better Story conference could help with that.

The old me might never have even entered a contest like this. But now, I'm open. Eager. Excited. Willing to give it a shot.

What could it hurt?

It might make for a great next chapter.

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

prompt #1.

I miss her touch. Her voice. The way she moved.

Some fool once said, “It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all.” In the morning hours, when the sun streams through and lands in the spot where she once stood, I find this truth hard to believe, insensitive even. Surely the writer never lost, never knew what it was like to truly no longer have the one you love.

Before her, I was alone. Empty. I had no purpose, no meaning for my existence.

The day they brought her home, I knew she was made for me. She was beautiful, like nothing I’d ever seen. The two of us were introduced, and I became her home.

Little did she know that she became mine.

Her presence brought a change in the air. We were all happier, more carefree. She loved us, and we loved her. Then, as quickly as she had come into our lives, she began to make her exit.

It took a few months to notice. She lost her luster, that gleam in her eye that always signified a need for adventure, flight. She was still beautiful, to be sure, but different. And I knew, the way a child knows they’ve done something wrong, that it was my fault. I was to blame. I should have known that something so lively and intense could never be caged, never be held, never be kept.

Day after day, she bravely kept up her act. Her songs filled our little house, but her movements were less graceful, more deliberate, forced. Until one day, the singing stopped. The dancing ended.

They took her away from me. It wouldn’t have made sense for her to stay, so solemn and still. But oh, how I wanted her to! Without her, there was nothing. Is nothing.

I am alone. Unwanted. Unneeded. Her death brought about my own. I became a decoration, a fixture, a relic, and soon, a piece of trash.

For a brief time, I knew what it was like to be needed. I have her to thank for that. Without her, I never would have known home.

Sometimes, as I sit in this closet, waiting to be found, a forgotten treasure, I think about her. And I know that somewhere, she is flying again. Spreading her wings the way only a caged bird can.
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So, I gave myself some homework in the form of a creative writing prompt. "Write from the point of view of a birdcage whose occupant recently died." What do you think? I thought it was kind of fun. A regular Thursday event, perhaps?