Following from the Couch

Confession: I've been having elaborate fantasies late at night when I can't sleep. Usually it is about a brownie sundae: the feeling of the spoon as it glides through the melting vanilla ice cream on top, and then the weight of the fudgy brownie underneath; the combination of warm & cold, chewing together in my mouth.

Even worse, after a day of having nothing but crackers, grapes and smoothies, I fantasized about eating a slice of Costco cheese pizza: the slightly waxy texture of the cheese, and the tinny tang of the sauce. It just sounded so, so good.

I know, its pathetic-- maybe even sinful, but what's a [pregnant, sick & tired] girl gonna do?

The last few months have felt, well, a little bleak. I have spent the majority of first trimester of my pregnancy in a horizontal position-- either on the couch (watching our lil' one play with his trains in the living room), laying on the floor (watching our lil' one play trains in his bedroom), or laying in bed (either passed out, nauseated, or fantasizing about pizza). I can barely eat, and (being hypoglycemic, and a big ball of hormones) I have the feeling that I might not always be the most charming person to be around.

It occurred to me, at some point along the way, that I was really just waiting for it to all be over-- and my waiting mostly involved scrolling through Facebook, fantasizing about the food I couldn't eat, and half-way listening to a toddler's conversation about Thomas the Tank Engine. I've been waiting, hoping & aching for a time when I could start living life again, start being useful, start participating in the universe around me, regain some of my worth and value.

I realized that so much of my faith, my identity, my life is based on action-- getting out there & doing something, or at least talking to people, and helping them to get out there & do something (I'm actually much better at that last part). And, of course, there's nothing wrong with that... but what happens when you simply can't get out there, or do anything. What happens when you can't even get out of bed, or change your kid's diapers, or keep thoughts in your head long enough to make any use out of them? Do you just wait it out until you can be of some use again, or is there life to be lived from the couch? Is there a way to live out your faith, to follow Jesus, to love, give, and experience life when you're just plain sick for months & months?

It has definitely been a huge lesson in receiving-- receiving help from others, receiving grace when I can't contribute anything, receiving love when I haven't done anything recently to deserve it. It's just plain hard to feel useless, and to know that nothing is going to change for a little while.

But I'm trying. My default discipline when I feel frustrated, mopey, or dissatisfied to is force myself to thank God for the things that I have in the moment. And let me tell you, it really helps to have been sick for weeks in a African refugee camp to give you a sense of gratitude for the rest of your life (thank you for indoor plumbing, thank you for clean water, etc).

My next question has been "What do you have for me in the moment, God?" I have a feeling there's more I can get out of this than the discipline of holding my breath & waiting for something better. Perhaps something along the lines of finding worth & identity in things other than my usefulness. Perhaps it's trusting God's plan for me in something unexpected, and undesired (we were in the process of adopting, so this pregnancy is still something I'm adjusting to).

The last part, I still haven't gotten very far with. My hope is to actually find God, and life, and hope and joy right here-- on the couch, nauseated and worn out and maybe even a little cranky. I believe its possible, but I confess that I haven't pursued it very well yet.

I'm still not sure what it looks like to follow Jesus from the couch. I secretly hope that I won't have too much longer to figure it out-- but I know that it is a question that will come up again in life, especially if (as I am discovering) much of my identity is wrapped up in what I do.

I know that they say that forming a baby is "doing" enough, but there's not much to show for it (yet), other than a growing belly, and a fridge full of ginger ale. It would be quite a task to discover Life right here in this place. As much as I want to resist it, I have the feeling it is my job during this season to make that discovery... and, strangely, it seems like an important job.

The Money Pit

The subject of money always seems to put a tiny pit in my stomach, and makes my shoulders feel a bit tense. I am not the most organized, detail-oriented person in the world, and things like budgets, and remembering that little bill on the bottom of the stack of mail are not usually the things floating around at the front of my brain. Just the mention of credit cards and auto loans used to be enough to put me into a cold sweat. Lucky for me, I married a man who is fantastic with money-- saving it, watching it, remembering to spend it on things like phone bills, etc-- so now, my cold sweats have been reduced to the aforementioned tiny pit in my stomach.

When you dig a little deeper into that tense subject of money, into the area we call Charity, Giving, or Tithing, I get a little more anxious. You see, we have to raise our entire income on the gifts & donations of other people-- from health care, to travel expenses, conferences to retirement, we have to get out there & find people who believe in what we do enough to buy us lunch (and breakfast, and dinner). And since that hasn't been going very well for the past... oh, seven years, I've developed a funny Love-Hate relationship with Giving.

I was reading lately about the story of the Israelites wandering through the dessert, eating mannah, which magically appeared on the ground every morning. The story goes that God provided the mannah-- just enough for the people to eat-- but didn't allow it to be saved for the next day. He wanted his people to trust him daily for food, rather than gather it, store it, and feel secure, knowing that they had a few days of security in their hands. It was his way of saying, Trust me. I've got this covered. I'm not going to forget your breakfast. Don't get caught up in fear & greed & self-reliance-- I've got you.

I read that there is a crucial distinction between abundance-- a fearful response to scarcity-- and sufficiency-- which evokes an experience of satisfaction and well-being. The Israelites always had a sufficient amount of mannah each day-- none of them ever went hungry or needed more. But they wanted an abundance, to provide the security of knowing that just in case something happened tomorrow, they would have more than enough.

Okay, okay, I'm done with the Bible lesson (everyone make it out alright?). What I am really thinking about are the boxes of baby clothes we've got in the garage. The clothes that were given to us, out of the generosity & abundance of friends & family. I think I have bought two or three shirts, pants or shoes for my lil' guy that didn't come from a consignment store, a bag of hand-me-downs, or a gift. And that guy is better dressed than I could ever hope to be. But I'm afraid that when we adopt our little girl, we may not have enough-- and so I hold on to all those boxes.

And my mind also drifts back to a conversation Chris & I had about our budget a few days ago, as we calculated how much of our income would go to charity. It was an uncomfortable conversation, slicing up the money we have been given, and determining how much we could "afford" to give back. Finally, we put down a number that was technically acceptable, but felt embarrassingly small, saying we would come back to it later.

But reading about the mannah put that weird pit in my stomach again. Fear, anxiety, and that squirmy, uncomfortable feeling called Conscience started creeping up my spine, and I saw that I am going about the whole thing wrong. In the twelve years that I have lived off of other people's generosity and God's provision, I have never once gone hungry, been unable to pay our rent, or lacked for anything I have really needed (although we've had some really close shaves). And yet my abundance has not produced a feel of sufficiency, but a feeling of scarcity, and a desire to hold, hoard, grab, and scrimp. I have a home that was literally given to us, a car that was also given to us, a garage full of baby clothes that were given to us... and in our need for more funding, I am holding a fear-induced death grip on our money and our things. I want and I pray for God to give generously to us, and when he does, I am absolutely filled with anxiety at the thought of giving back.

In the story of the mannah, the magical bread actually turned maggoty when they tried to hold on to it overnight. And I'm afraid the same thing might just happen to me. So (it embarrasses me to admit how hard this is for me), I think I have two steps to take, now. First, I need to clean out our closets, and take a trip to Good Will. Just let go, and trust that we will have enough. Second, I need to spend some time praying about where we are supposed to give our money & how much we should give, and make our budget from there-- not the other way around.

I might even add a third step in there, of (man, I hate this one) praying for opportunities to give generously to others. I was talking on this subject to a group of moms, and one of them mentioned that one day, her mother in law had no couch in her living room. "Someone needed a couch, so I gave her mine" was the simple response to the inquiry. My first thought was, "I love my couch. Please, God, don't ask me to give away my couch."

But I realize that the more we hold onto-- the more we collect and gather into our arms-- the less capable we are to receive something new, something better, even. We limp along in life, working so hard to carry our provisions along with us, when we are being provided for every step of the way. We are afraid to ask for big things, and we are afraid to give big things, because both require us to relinquish self reliance, and to simply trust. And trust is one of those things that is so very simple, and so very difficult as the same time. It invites us to put down our load, and walk freely & lightly... but it's that letting go that can be so very hard.

Living Dreams, and Paying the Rent

Each of us has been given gifts & talents-- unique abilities, personalities & experiences that shape who we are. We have this intrinsic worth and value, and we were born for a higher purpose. We have dreams of living out a life of meaning, making a difference in this world, and becoming the men & women we feel that we are inside. There are times in our lives when we get to use those gifts and feel that "I was made for this."

...And then there's the reality that most days, we just have to pay the rent.

I love my job. I am passionate about what I do, and I honestly can't think of anything else I would rather give my life to. But the past week, I have sat in front of a computer screen, doing mindless data entry, organizing financial contacts, calling strangers on the phone asking for money, and going to bed never having left the house, or seeing anyone but my husband (who spent his day doing the same things), my toddler, and my somewhat droopy reflection in the mirror. And there's not much of an end in sight.

We were talking to a friend yesterday who has been in & out of work for almost a year now, and admitted that it is hard to find his identity & worth without a steady income; that he sometimes feels embarrassed at where he is in life. Another friend loves making women feel beautiful, and works at a high-end makeup counter. They both wonder if this is what they were meant for-- and if not, how in the world do they pay the rent and find something out there that brings the fulfillment & passion that we are supposed to have?

I work with college students who are vibrant and full of dreams & hopes. I want so much for them to have a vision for a life that is lived deeply, openly, generously, and that makes an impact for good on the world around them. But I also know that many of them will end up in jobs that are not life-giving, praying prayers that feel flat, spending evenings zoning out in front of the TV and feeling dull & tired.

What do I say to my friends from college-- who had the very same dreams, and are now in their 30's wondering if they somehow failed? Do we still maintain that intrinsic worth & value on those days, months, years when we haven't made a difference, haven't lived our dreams, haven't been the person we were meant to be? Who are we then? And how do we find that person? Can we even afford to look?

So often, we are unable to separate the idea of our value as a human, and the value of the life that we are living. If we don't believe that we are living out a worthwhile existence in the moment, it is easy to believe that we have somehow diminished in worth ourselves. And this idea of The American Dream has caused so many of us to believe that our jobs, vocation, and work-- what we do from 9 to 5-- is meant to supply us with that meaning, value, satisfaction and fulfillment we want out of life.

I know a man who, not very long ago, was an influential speaker, inviting people to follow Jesus in beautiful, risky, creative ways. He suffered a stroke, and is now a crossing guard, barely able to form sentences, let alone use the magnetic, dynamic gifts that are still somewhere inside. Where is his value? Where does he find his worth everyday, if not in the life he is living, the contributions he is making?

If we were to look at other times and other cultures, we would see men who are carpenters because their fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers were carpenters, not necessarily because they felt some higher calling to carpentry. A man (or woman) worked hard at their job (in theory), and felt pride & satisfaction in knowing that they had done their best. Their fulfillment in life came from relationships, family, community, recreation, spirituality... and their jobs paid the rent.

I'm not saying that this is a better model, but I do wonder sometimes if we put too much our our identity into our jobs-- something unstable & often outside of our control. Is it possible to live a life of fulfillment, meaning & purpose in a mundane Office Space kind of job?

Brother Lawrence was a French monk in the 1600's who was somehow able to use dish washing, cooking & scrubbing as a medium for prayer, worship, and meditation. "We can do little things for God; I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before him, who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God."

Now, I will be the first to admit that I am not usually singing praises while cleaning the kitchen, and especially not while I'm doing tedious admin work (although I do often listen to Queen, and sing along at the top of my lungs). But I do think there is something to this idea of using work as a medium for gratitude and maybe even worship, rather than expecting the work itself to bring me fulfillment, meaning and worth. And as much as I believe in and hope to live out a life that is passionately changing the world around me (and inviting others to do the same), I don't ever want to sell someone on the false dream that our days will all turn out like a scene in an inspirational movie.

I think that somewhere in all of this jumble, the key is to live fully in the little things-- whether it's selling makeup, searching for a job, fixing toilets, or doing data entry-- using it as a medium for thankfulness, prayer, worship. When we do that, our focus is ripped away from ourselves, and we can stop worrying about our own worth & value, and I think that makes all the difference.

Again, I admit that I am not very good at this. In fact, the whole reason I have been thinking through these issues is because I have been feeling a little lost & insecure, as we have left our "real work" with students to focus on fundraising. But I have, in the past, taken baby steps in these simple practices, and am reminded of the need to intentionally make mental lists of the things I am grateful for in the moment, and invite my Creator into my mundane activities. I really to believe that if we live fully in little things, we are living towards something much bigger-- something we may not ever see here, but something of significance, nonetheless.

It is so easy to forget, though-- so easy to believe those voices telling us that we should be more. But maybe what we need, instead, is to do exactly what we are doing, but with greater presence.


[Side Note: Richard Foster's Book, Prayer, has a beautiful chapter on this practice, called Simple Prayer. Very practical, very profound-- and much better explained!]

Let's Hear it for the Boy

Have you ever noticed the way that men are portrayed in the media? Action movies, romantic comedies, cereal commercials... It seems like the entire gender is seen as either 1) a machismo, invincible hero, or 2) a thick-headed, clumsy, forgetful, insensitive Neanderthal who can't tie his shoes without the help of a woman. Why is that? What did you guys ever do to deserve that image?

In honor of Father's Day, I would like to salute all you men out there-- to pat you on the back & say "attah boy". It's a tough world to be a guy. There's a fine line to walk: Should you open the door for a woman and be a gentleman, or will that imply that she's less than your equal? Women do all they can to be noticed, but if you comment on it, you're a drooling dog. And is it really fair that the toilet seat always be left down, in the "girl" position?

Before I go on, let me say that I am a feminist. I believe in the dignity and value of women. I believe they are created in God's image. I am grateful for the privilege of being a woman, and wouldn't trade it for anything. I am hurt and offended when I see, experience, or hear about women being treated as second class citizens for any reason, and I am grateful for living in a time & a place where I have as many opportunities as I do.

But I would also like to throw out there that it seems like we have de-valued our men-- and I would like to just cheer you on for one day. You guys are awesome. I can't imagine my life without the amazing, strong, responsible, loving & generous men that I have around me. I love our differences, and am so grateful for the ways that the two genders balance each other out.

I know that there are plenty of books out there on how men can embrace their identity, and all of that, and I confess that I've never read them (with the exception of Wild at Heart. Yes, I have actually read that book). I am sure that those guys have a lot more to say on the subject. But for the rest of the female world, like me, who will probably never read them, I just wanted to give a charge to my ladies: Let's honor our guys, respect them, build them up, expect good things from them & allow them to live up to our expectations. Let's speak well of the men in our lives, try to hold our tongues, and not lump them all into one category.

I know, I know: there are so many guys out there who will disappoint, hurt, take advantage... I'm not even going to ad a "but" in there. We will get hurt. We will be disappointed. There are a ton of jerks out there. I admit that I can be one of them. And I'm not going to make any excuses, or try to solve the world's gender problems-- that's far too big a task for one little person, in one little blog. I am simply saying, "Here's to you, guys. I think you're pretty great"


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Home Body

The words "Home Body" evoke in my mind images of frumpy middle-aged women in muumuu's with excessive amounts of cats and Snackwells cookies. We tend to think of staying at home on a Saturday night as something kind of sad, boring, even lonely-- something reserved for old, out of touch people. But I'll go right ahead and say it: I love being at home.

From the time that I was eight years old until I went away to college, I moved every day. Every day. My parents were divorced, and lived only a few minutes away from each other, and so rather than spending a whole week at one parent's house, and then a week at the other, my brother and I simply packed our bags: Mondays, Wednesdays and every other weekend with Mom; Tuesdays, Thursdays and every other weekend with Dad. And for some reason that God only knows, I have chosen a profession that keeps this home-body away from home several months out of the year.

I married a man who had seen more of the world by age 16 than most people could ever dream. When we were engaged, he talked about being "travel buddies", and on our wedding night, he gave me a set of vintage suitcases, and we dreamed together of the adventures we would have, and the places we would go. And while some of those travels have brought us, side-by-side, to mud huts, wine-country mansions, remote cabins in the woods, and high-rise hotels, most of our traveling consists of conference rooms, meetings, and eating at chain restaurants.

To be honest, when I look back at the last two months, and see how little we have been home, it makes my heart heavy. And when I look forward to the next few months, it gives me little knots in my stomach. But really, what can you do? There are certain aspects in most of our lives that simply go against the way that we are wired. There are elements to life that seem to take away life; things that we have to push through, tolerate, endure, and figure out a way to survive.

There are moments when we are at our worst-- when we are raw, worn out, unfiltered, and red-lining-- and we simply have to keep pushing and do our best. And there is also this idea that following Jesus somehow means that we have a mysterious abundance, an overflow of love, grace, & kindness, with warm-fuzzies, and pearly-white smiles. Some people, Lord love 'em, experience that in their lives, but let me be the first to admit that I am sometimes drained, complaining, martyred, and ache for home-- not in some spiritual heavenly sense, but I just want to sit in my living room with the front door closed, and my suitcases far from sight, and simply take a deep breath.

I don't pretend to comprehend (let alone live out) Jesus' words about living water that causes us to never be thirsty. I get "thirsty" all the time. But one thing that resonates with me is this:

"Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you... I've loved you the way my Father has loved me. Make yourselves at home in my love... I've told you these things for a purpose: that my joy might be your joy, and your joy wholly mature. This is my command: Love one another the way I loved you."
-John 15 (The Message)

For someone constantly aching for home, these words are a mantra-- something I breathe in and out as I fall asleep at night, an anchor that keeps me centered, and a compass that orients me. Make your home in me, as I make my home in you. Make yourself at home in my love. I sink into those words, and something seems to settle inside of me... if I will allow myself.

So often, when I am traveling (and traveling, and traveling), all I want is my own space, my own time to sit with my thoughts (or without them), and to not have to acknowledge human presence for a while. That’s the thing about traveling, is that you never really get your own space, routine, food, bed, or much of anything you can claim as your own.

But the interesting thing about this invitation to be At Home is that it all seems to revolve around loving people. I don’t quite understand how that works-- how being at home in my Creator, and being at home in his love is connected with loving other people. When did they come into the equation? I was just sitting at home, in this love, and joy, and intimacy, breathing deeply and feeling centered, and my zen got interrupted by all these other people.

In fact, I’ve never really thought about the connection until just now. I have always used this passage as an invitation to close the door, take off my shoes, put on my PJ’s and get comfortable with God in some imaginary, clean & quiet retreat center for my soul (maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but it sounds nice, and if I’m honest, it is bit of a picture of what I imagine as “being at home” with Jesus).

But when I really look at that invitation, the two themes that he keeps returning to are being at home (abiding, if you will), and loving one another. It seems like the two ideas are inseparable. And, if I’m really going to be honest, that’s kind of a bummer, because when I am worn out & home sick, I would much rather focus on centering myself than intentionally loving the people around me.

I’m not saying that I shouldn’t unwind, re-charge, or even crave quiet alone time. But it seems like the key to really feeling at Home (even when I can’t be at home) might lie somewhere in the act of loving other people. Perhaps that’s why God drags me out of the comfort of my own four walls so often, and why it seems difficult to find time alone. Maybe I need an extra little nudge out the door.

I’m not sure what this looks like on a practical level-- what it means to be at home through the act of loving others. Oftentimes, love is risky & uncomfortable, which to me sounds like the opposite of being at home. But I also know that some of the moments when I have felt the most alive, and the most comfortable in my own skin have been when I have entered deeply into life with someone else, loving sacrificially and taking the focus off of myself. I suppose that is a bit of what being at Home looks like...

The Cost

During the Holocaust in France, in a tiny mountain Huguenot village 350 miles from Paris called Le Chambon-sur-lignon, 5,000 Jews, mostly children, found shelter with 5,000 Christians, almost the entire population of the village.

As followers of Jesus, the Huguenot villagers never thought of their acts against the Nazis as heroic, but simply a living out of their faith. When they were faced with injustice & need like that of the Holocaust, it was only natural for them to respond with love & compassion that risked not only their own lives, but the lives of their children, neighbors, and their entire village.

When I hear stories like this one, I am deeply moved. I've always been a sucker for those selfless acts of heroism; an idealist of sorts that still believes one person can (and should) change the world.

It's a difficult thing, though: changing the world. It's never as cut & dry as one would like it to be. If only these things were a little more straight forward; if only there were little instruction manuals that helped you with the tough decisions, and could assure you that it was all going to work out in the end.

Right now, we are entering into the process of adopting through foster care. Chris & I decided, when we first got married, that there are far too many children out there who will never have a family, and that we could (and should) be part of the solution to that problem. And as we have heard about the problems within the foster care system, and the kids right in our own neighborhood that need a home, we have felt very compelled to live out our faith by adopting one of these little guys.

It seems to me that following Jesus involves self-sacrifice, giving generously to those on the margins, on the outside, those in need. It seems to me that acts of heroism, like those of the Huguenots during the Holocaust, should be a lifestyle rather than a notable exception from the norm. I'm not saying that any of this self-sacrifice is easy or natural, or even that I am any good at it... but it does seem that it should be a defining characteristic of a life of faith.

Now, here's the thing: Not everyone is in a place to adopt a child. Not everyone is suited to rescue sex slaves from brothels, or move to the inner city & work with gang members. Not everyone has the opportunity or capacity to rescue 5,000 Jews from the Holocaust, or lead a Civil Rights movement, bring clean water to Africa, or meet any one of the millions of heart-breaking needs out there in the world around us.

Here's the other thing: As obvious as it sounds, there is a great deal of risk in self-sacrifice... and the risk isn't always our own.

It sounds good & noble to adopt a child through foster care, and I believe that it is the right thing for us to do. But I also know that it will be incredibly difficult-- not only for Chris & myself, but for Nolan. It's a heart-wrenching, emotional process to work through a broken foster care system, and my sweet little toddler will have to pay some of that cost.

I hate that my decision to care for the marginalized will hurt my baby. I can only anticipate the things we will walk through together as a family as we welcome a new member into our home. And yet, my job as a mother is not necessarily to protect my son from pain, but to prepare him for life; to do my best to model love, generosity, faith & courage. Obviously that doesn't mean that I throw him in the deep end to teach him to swim, but I believe that it sometimes means walking together down difficult paths for the sake of others.

Those things that sounded so noble-- so obvious-- when I was in college feel different now walking through them than they seemed from a distance. It's one thing to count the cost of selfless service, but it's another thing entirely to pay it.

I don't know where the balance lies when it comes to caring for your own children and serving others'. It seems like something you carefully weigh out day by day & moment by moment, rather than a line drawn in the sand. I think of all the beautiful acts of heroism throughout history and am so grateful that there are people who chose to risk their own family's security for the sake of others... but I also wonder what their families were thinking & feeling in the moment, and if they believed it was worth it.

I'm not claiming any act of heroism in my own life, but I know that what we are entering into will be difficult & costly. I wish that I could absorb all of that cost into myself, and yet at the same time, I know the depth, richness, and even privilege it can be to love sacrificially, and I don't want to take that opportunity away from my little boy. My hope is that we would live a life of daily, hourly generosity in the big things and in the everyday moments. I wish that I was more natural, more consistent in living out my values & beliefs, and I hope that this next step would simply be in line with those of my Creator.

Deep Breath

As a little girl, our family lived in a yellow house with a white picket fence, and a long, steep driveway leading to a big backyard. The dirt under the apricot tree was dark and cool, and the swing set sat next to it in the sun, squeaky and made of metal.

My dad built towers out of the wooden blocks, and I would get a running head start to knock them down. There was gravel on a slope leading down to the horse I named Blackie, on the path where I walked with my mom, and I was always a little afraid to slide down that slope. And down the street was a boy named Billy, who had big Great Danes, and a straight, grassy yard.

I know not everyone had a perfect, sunny childhood... but most people can at least remember back to moments of rest, peace, and long summer days with nothing to do. It's part of the innocence of being a kid that allows us to play, explore, and just be without planning, scheduling or scheming.

It's sad that we so easily find importance in having a packed schedule. Having one of those nebulous jobs that depend on the donations of others, I often feel the need to prove myself as a worthy investment by always appearing busy. It's almost seen as a sign of failure to stay home on a Saturday night and simply do nothing, when there's so much out there to see & do & eat (especially eat).

I mentioned before that we are trying to establish a rhythm with our family & in our home. To be honest, we haven't quite made the progress I had hoped for at this point, but one thing we are intentionally building into our weekly rhythm is a Sabbath. I've been reading this book about the importance of rest, of breathing, of carving out a sacred time to be restored, to reflect. It's not just a time to be lazy or do nothing, but a sort of deep breath that prepares us to act & move, and go about our weeks & our lives with a little more purpose, clarity & centered-ness.

The plan, for now, is to have a restful Sunday morning, pack a picnic, and ride our bikes to church. From there, we can go outdoors somewhere (weather permitting), have lunch, play, run, explore, and simply touch dirt & grass instead of concrete. After lunch is Nolan's nap time, and it's a pretty luxurious thing to have a quiet afternoon where we can sleep, read, tinker with bikes, or just connect with each other. Our hope is that Sunday evenings can include a big pot of simple soup, and an open door to anyone who wants to join our family for a meal.

Today, after church, some good friends that we have been wanting to spend time with for ages invited us out to lunch, and I sadly declined, wanting to stick to our plan for rest & family time. We went to the beach, ran in the sand, threw rocks, and walked along the Great Highway, watching the families ride their bikes. Then we drove up to a little coffee shop offering free pastries (thank you, Scoutmob!), came home & took a nap. Soup simmered on the stove inside while we all (Nolan included) went outside and did some gardening (well, more like gardening prep work) in the yard, and we ate dinner with a short reading from the book of Common Prayer.

It was kind of fabulous. No, not glamorous or exciting, but quite wonderful. It was interesting to see how much intentionality it took to unplug, to rest, to choose activities that were restorative rather than entertaining, and to just be present with one another.

This next week is going to be intense, and as I look ahead at my calendar, I can see a lot of business, travel, long days (and nights), and some potential stress. I am interested to see the ways that a day of rest, built into my weekly activity & work, will effect my heart & mind & countenance.

There is often a tiny sense of loss on a Sunday night, knowing that the weekend is slipping by, and that tomorrow will be Monday. Usually I stay up too late, indulging in Pinterest, Facebook, blogs & other distractions to try to procrastinate from the responsibilities of the week. But tonight I feel centered, peaceful, even ready.

There is something about slowing down that allows you to notice the details, and to live in a moment, rather than in a plan for the next activity. Maybe that's why I can remember the feel of the dirt along the path we walked from our yellow house, or the squeak of the blue, metal swing set. There's nothing particularly important about that path, or that swing, except that I was allowed to just be-- to be present in my own skin, to be unconcerned about my responsibilities, to live. We don't do that often enough anymore-- but I guess the point is that we can.