Mary Oliver. (30 days of thankfulness - day 13)

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I was reminded of this wonderful Mary Oliver quote by my blog friend and kindred spirit, Linda.  I'm thankful for Mary Oliver's way of wordsmithing - just what my soul needs to understand. 

This quote goes hand in hand with everything I'm learning in my current study of the book of Genesis.  As a believer in Christ, I can and should think about the beauty God created and be grateful.  He could have made it only functional, but He didn't.  He made it beautiful, too.

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During the month of November, I'm practicing "30 days of thankfulness" - will you join me?  Use your blog, Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram to voice your thankfulness for something every day in November.  My hope is that this daily routine will create in me a heart of thankfulness and gratitude, no matter the day or month or situation.

Open windows.

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Tonight, as I was putting my daughter to sleep in a second-floor bedroom, the one that belonged to {a younger} me for 17 years, I heard church bells chiming.  Their deep, warm resonance traveled as the crow flies from downtown, over quiet homes lit from within and yards humming with crickets, moments later floating into my room through screened windows cranked open to invite in the sounds of the night...choruses of tree frogs croaking back and forth, children calling each others' names at a front yard barbecue around the corner, the crack of a bat and men's animated voices at the softball game across the street.

Those church bells, they stirred something deep within me.  As I lay there under the open window on an achingly perfect night, with a cool summer breeze blowing across my legs, I couldn't help but feel that this is exactly what I need right now.

I know that "to everything there is a season," and there is certainly a season that calls for tightly sealed windows, holding loved ones close under toasty blankets, shutting out the cold.  But for me, this is a season for open windows, both literally and figuratively. 

Being away in New Jersey for this last month of summer has been an actual breath of fresh air in my life.  Summer should mean open windows, slightly cool breezes at night, living outside, or at least inviting the outside in, and I've gotten to experience all of those things.  More importantly, it's been a time to slow down, to soul-search, to shed some heavy baggage and embrace the lightness that comes with handing over your burdens to the only One who can handle them anyway.

Tomorrow, I'll return to Texas into the arms of my husband and the home I love, knowing there will be heat and humidity and that fall weather is still a way's off.  My fervent hope is to return with a greater desire to live "outside in" instead of insularly.  To live proactively instead of reactively.  To live more relationally instead of closed off.

I'll start small, with shedding the dark chocolate brown on my living room walls for a light smoky blue on three walls and bright coral on the fourth.   I'll learn to knit and needle felt.  I'll open my life to new people - strangers - through a fall Bible study and by making meals for new moms in my neighborhood.

These are just the small things.  But they have a common theme: letting go of fear, embracing life.

It won't be easy for an introvert like me to change and invite in new people and experiences, but it's time.  The winds of change only flow easily through open windows.  Even better, windows that are thrown open with abandon.

What is saving my life right now.

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I absolutely loved this post from Sarah Bessey: In which this is saving my life right now.  And apparently, a lot of other people did too (like my friend Allison), which sparked Sarah to create a syncroblog where other bloggers can share their own answers to the question, "What is saving your life right now?"

So I'm supposed to tell you quickly, without overthinking it, just spilling it out...

  • This trip to New Jersey, where I am for the whole month of August, is absolutely saving my life right now.  It's been a hard day - a hard year - emotionally.  As strange as it can be to return "home" for an extended period of time after becoming an adult, there are those wonderful moments when you can become a child again.  Tonight, my mom reminded me of something an old friend said that she never forgot - "When you cry, I cry." She's the kind of mom who does that, not just for her children, but for everyone.
  • Heart friends who share burdens with me and rejoice with me and send a little text message to say "I love you" save me when the whole world seems like it's going out.  Which is often for an INFJ like myself.
  • My sweet little girl whose smile and passion and compassionate heart bring so much joy to my every day.  Her newest exclamation, "Look at THIS!" makes me giggle every time - as she points to a kitty crossing her path, or a butterfly fluttering around the pool, or a squirrel in the back yard. 

  • I don't know how much longer she will be nursing, as she's a big two-year-old now, but I'm happy to continue providing that for her a little longer.  She came from my body, and the special bond and quietness we share during this time is so fleeting...

  • A husband who understands me and encourages my dreams and creativity.  The other day in the Marimekko store in NYC, I was swooning over all the beautiful fabrics.  I was thinking, "Wow, those are beautiful but too expensive, so let's go," but he said, "Could you make something fun with just 1/2 yard?"  I left with two 1/2 yards of different fabrics that happened to be on sale as well as the personal email address of the sales girl who helped me, another creative soul who loves to sew and secretly cut me a little more than she was supposed to of the dandelion fabric so I'd have enough to make pillowcases.

  • Salty caramel gelato inside a crunchy waffle cone on a warm summer day - not just because it's delicious but because I chose not to think of the sugar content and just enjoy every last sweet, melty bite.  I swear, something is magical about gelato from Eataly - I cannot stop thinking about it.

  • Trees with hearts in them.  Especially because those same trees were trimmed today, and the heart shape is no longer there.  But in my memory, it is.
  • Cooler weather.  Leaving 107 degrees, I almost wept when the first 80* breeze swept across my face, closed my eyes, soaked it in.
  • Joyrides in my mom's Jeep with the top off and wind blowing my tangled hair, driving past frolic-worthy fields so beautiful you have to veer the car over to the shoulder to snap a photo.

  • But, I think what's saving my life the most right now is this simple truth, which I've written about time and time and time again:

I am not alone, not alone, never alone.

Thank you, Jesus. My introverted self can get so deep into my head, into my thoughts, and sometimes I feel like I'm drowning.  But those compassionate hands of my God, and the skin-and-bones people here on earth whom God uses as His hands, reach down and literally pull me out.  Time and time again, I'm thankful for grace and second chances and that His mercies are new every morning.

What is saving your life right now?  Please, join in.

Living in the color.

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Since I read this recent post by my dear friend Shawna in New York City, I haven't been able to stop thinking about these words...

I want to live in the color. I want to live in the abundance of life that Christ died for me to experience. Why does that feel harder in some seasons than in others? Why does Starbucks make me happy on days that I am not sure I'm going to survive? I know there will always be unfulfilled longings, so I'm searching for that joy that only Jesus can give in any situation until we experience the fullness of life that He intends in Heaven. I know that abundant life isn't about "being" or "doing" anything more or differently. It's simply about abiding in Christ. Being with Him. Experiencing Him. Focusing on Him. Caring only about Him.

The other day I got to reunite with another faraway friend, Lauren.  Her adorable, artsy home in a small town outside of Philadelphia was packed with moving crates, but amongst them was a bright pink gift bag overflowing with black + white polka dotted tissue paper.   She handed it me.  As I peered into the bag, my mouth dropped open - inside was a gift that could not have been more thoughtful - a bouquet of 10 tree bark crayons, each practically the size of a track baton, each one its own work of art. 


"I want to live in the color."

I know my life holds many unfulfilled longings, a plethora of responsibilities and desires that try to draw me away from the heart of God, away from whom He made me to be.  And often, those things succeed. 

There are so many things I wish I could be - less impatient.  Slower to become frustrated.  Logical, at least sometimes.  Slower to let others' moods affect my joy.  More prone to "glass half full" than "glass half empty."

But as Lauren and I sat together on her couch sipping red wine, dipping our toes back into the deep waters of what our friendship was when we lived a few streets - rather than hundreds of miles - away, I could feel myself exhale.  I could feel the color flushing back into my face, my life.  Those colors spilled a simple truth across the sky:

You are not alone.  Someone understands.

That's right, "It's not about 'being' or 'doing' anything more or differently." 

Life is full of tension, but I don't want to stay in the grey place of in-between.  I want to live close to the heart of God, full and whole everyday.  He says, "You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."  (Jeremiah 29:13)  So I go out looking, and suddenly there is a burst of golden Black-Eyed Susan in the midst of browns and tans and grays. 

Or, a sunset that lights up the kitchen with an orange glow, urging me to leave dinner sizzling on the stove and grab my camera and run outside for fear of missing a literal rainbow being painted across the sky.

Yes, I think "living in the color" means choosing joy, choosing to be engaged with this life, this one I'm living now. Maybe it means approaching each day with hope and possibility, not permitting darkness to have its way with me.  It means that the light, and the color, always shines brighter.  Because it is there.  Always.

Friends, what does this phrase mean to you?  Really, I would love to know...

Love letter in the trees.

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Two days ago, I took this photo of the beautiful, towering old trees in my parents' backyard in New Jersey, with the caption, "My trees."  I posted it to Instagram and then a friend pointed out the perfect heart image that seems to be cut out of the trees.  I couldn't believe it!  God's little love letter to me.  It's the small things.  I needed that little reminder of his love for me.

The best kind of Saturday.

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You know those days when you seem to say from start to finish, "Wow, I get to live this life?!"  When you wish you could immediately start it all over again and do the exact same thing?  That was today.  Nothing earth-shattering, just a handful of ordinary glimmering moments full of life and joy and abundance.

First, my brother, nieces and nephew came over for breakfast.  Chocolate chip pancakes for all, scrambled eggs with cheese, a fruit bowl of juicy blueberries, peaches and apples.  Frothy chocolate milk and cups of applesauce.  The house was full of yelling and rambunciousness and laughter.  And lots of jumping on the bed, "cooking" with the play kitchen, acting like monsters, reading books from my childhood, and pretending we were Charlie's Angels.  A memorable moment was when 10-year-old niece declared she was going to serve me eggs with "sea salt and sea pepper."  Quote of the morning from my nephew, "I'm not a monster!  I'm ZACHARY!" 

Then, early afternoon, it was off to Urban Acres to visit Steven at work.  We made the "mistake" of letting  almost-two-year-old Luci Belle get into the watermelon bin once, and then she wouldn't stop asking, "Squash?  Up, Mama?"  Well, they're not squash; they're melon.  But okay.

With all the daily challenges, it sure is fun owning a store, because I get to witness scenes like this just about every weekend.  Melt me.

Back home, it was time for a snack, and I couldn't wait to tear into the newest Hail Merry tart flavor - coconut vanilla creme!  Yes please.  For those of you in other states, Hail Merry products should be at your local Whole Foods! 

After some time for relaxation and naps, we saw the storms 'a rollin' in.  One moment it was sunny and scorching; the next it was dark and windy and blustery, all cozy outside and a cool(er) 85 degrees.  Thank  God.  Our parched city really needed some relief.  We decided to take a walk to revel in it. 

As we set out, it was glaringly obvious that our 2-year-old doesn't see rain often.  As soon as a few droplets started to sprinkle her toes, she asked for a towel. Seriously.

But we kept strolling and reveling in the quietness and coolness.  On the way home, Steven decided to take us past a grove of massive fig trees growing wildly in the Winnetka Heights neighborhood.  Popping them in our mouths like candy straight off the tree, we filled our tummies.  Meanwhile, cars whizzed by, oblivious that a delicious free food source was growing right there on the side of the road.

This the handful that made it home...

By the end of the walk, my hair looked like Monica's in the Friends episode where they're in Barbados, but I didn't even care.

We heated up some chicken stock and added shredded chicken, yellow squash, red potatoes, spinach, and Applegate Farms chicken and apple sausage.  As the perfect soothing soup bubbled on the stove on a rainy evening, I thought, these are the days that make it all worth it.

And I just had to share with you.