Living With Intention, Today

~Reaching for my husband’s hand, snuggled between crisp white sheets and a down comforter in the cool of our bedroom as the sun glows brighter by the moment.  He’s waking, our blue eyes and dimples is beginning to stir.  5 more minutes of hand holding.

~Frozen banana and almond milk, a splash of vanilla and cocoa powder, dollop of homemade nut butter.  Don’t inhale it.  Taste the flavors.  Savor.

~Chatting with my little sister.  She’s back to school in a matter of days.  Ask her questions, and really listen.

~Watching our girl at gymnastics, her wheels turning as she stares at older girls flipping from bars.  She isn’t too scared to swing from the ceiling, at least not in theory.  She swings with courage, then fear and tears come, coach brings her to a stop and she immediately looks at us with excitement signing ‘more, more!!’  We all laugh.

~Driving to the country.  Noticing the fields, the bales of hay, the barbed wire fences.  Rather than letting it breeze by, taking it all in, feeling it in my soul.

~Sitting with my grandmother.  I should be writing.  But she brought her writing, years upon years of scribbled poems.  I’m tempted to gracefully excuse myself, but she wants me to read them.  She wants to be seen and heard.  So I listen.  I read.  And I do my best to lock this moment away in my memory.  I’ll be grateful someday I did.

~My mother’s face the moment she locks eyes with Ev as we breeze thru the door.  It’s an expression I can envision every time I close my eyes.  Her eyes light up and the biggest grin spreads across her face.  She laughs, Ev giggles in response, they reach for each other and immediate chaos ensues.  It’s the expression every daughter hopes she sees on her own mother’s face someday.  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her more alive than I do now, as a grandmother.  I pray my children say the very same of me someday.

I could have gotten more done, no doubt.  More research, more writing, more planning.  But I would have missed dancing with my girl while her Pappy strummed the guitar.  I’d miss hearing my Granny giggle at my teasing.  I’d miss seeing my girl’s eyes light up at the sight of girls tumbling, baby goats romping around, laying eyes on her grandmother.

What's important are these things.  These simple, every day, beautiful things.

Meet Our Girls

Nothing much cuter than a fuzzy baby chick!  We've been planning to get chickens since moving into the cottage last summer.  Our original plan was to adopt a few grown hens from my parents, but recently someone (ahem, my mother) suggested we really needed baby chicks for Everyn.  She pointed out how they'd become more like pets if they grew up being handled a lot.  Of course there's no way around endless cuddling with a curious, animal-loving toddler who already happens to be a pro at the sport of chicken-watching. The biggest selling point was when I realized how many hours of indoor entertainment they'd provide.  Sold!  Off to the hardware store we went.

Meet Pepper!  

Pepper is a breed called Dominique.  She'll grow into a stunning black and white stripped hen in a few months.

And here's Ruby.

How cute is she??  Ruby is a Rhode Island Red.  Think classic little red hen.  She tends to be the favorite so far thanks to her friendly nature.

This is Ginger.

Ginger is a Gold Sexlink.  She'll be a lovely golden hen when she's all grown up. 

And here's Suzie.   

She's an Americana.  A real looker with her natural eyeliner and fluffy cheeks!  Americanas can turn out lots of different ways, but we think she'll be a lovely silvery grey.  She's also what they call an 'easter egger' because she'll lay beautiful light blue or green eggs.

And finally, Agnes.

Agnes is a Gold Laced Wyandotte.  All grown up she'll be a gorgeous black and orange-y gold color, with a stunning scalloped pattern all over.    

They're living in a bin in our kitchen right now, until they're old enough to fend for themselves outside.  (and the construction of their new coop is completed--it's so darling)  I grew up with chickens all my life, but I forgot how fun they can be when you humanize them and make them pets.  Great example: They'll actually start 'screaming' when too much time passes and they haven't heard our voices.  It's an incredibly loud, frantic peeping we can hear all the way upstairs that would make you think something was trying to eat them!  So funny.  Every once in a while we actually have to go down and calm them.  But my favorite is when they go to sleep.  They don't roost yet the way you imagine chickens sleeping, the just sort of melt into fuzzy feathery little puddles scattered around their bin. Sometimes they use each other as pillows.  It's hilarious.  Just not they way you imagine chickens behaving.  

So that's our little flock!  We're happy to have them.  And now my husband has moved on to discussing our dire need for honey bees.  Of course...

Summer Nights

Summer nights are for grilling, balsamic chicken and searing flank steak.  Sweet corn on the cob fresh from the garden, skewers of shrimp with lime and herbs, thick slices of zucchini dizzled with olive oil.

Summer nights are for staying up too late, my girl playing in the water hose as I attempt to water the flowers, her diaper soggy and sagging from ‘helping.’

Summer nights are for dessert at the lake, watching the sun set, the sailboats come and go.  For feeding the ducks and geese and one lone swan, worrying about the fuzzy babies separated from their moma’s.  For chatting with the elderly woman who comes every single night with bags of bread in hand.  She sets up her lawn chair and waits for the flock.  They know her well, they expect her.  They eat from her hand until the bags are empty and she ushers them across the street to bed down, halting traffic when necessary. 

Summer nights are for homemade pizza ‘picnics’ in our bedroom floor, our girl dancing and twirling scattering crumbs near and far. 

Summer nights are for country drives, when the daylight lingers long and we squeeze out every last drop of life, savoring this slow season of joy and simplicity.

Summer nights are for driving up to the hill that rises over the water, city skyline imposed on a purple evening sky.  Our girl sleeping strapped in her seat, we stare out at the lingering sailboats and talk, and plan, and dream. 

A season of ending and beginning at once. 

That’s what summer is for us.  Always has been, it seems.  It brings with it transformation, the heart kind, the life kind.  I’ve come to expect it. 

Fall is coming.  We can almost taste it now.  A few more weeks of summer and then… bliss.  Forever my favorite for a thousand reasons: crunchy leaves, pumpkins, cool weather, travel.  But also for us, something more:  Fall is when the hard work of summer soul labor is finally done, the deep, hard, introspective kind, and we feast.  We feast on life, and love, and God.  We experience the fullness of transformation.  We rejoice.  We give thanks.

The work isn’t quite done this season.  There’s more toil yet still.  But oh-so-soon… the anticipation is is mounting.

One Simple Truth: Finding Balance

My heart is wrecked.   For a thousand reasons.  I've been wrestling and chewing on it, trying to find the thread to tie it all together and somehow make peace.  

The past many weeks have been full of heartache for so many people we love.  Stories surface by the day it seems, further evidence of our existence in a broken world.  Wives leaving devoted husbands and children, mothers losing babies, families knocked to the ground with ravaging diagnoses, husbands betraying loving wives, families left stunned and broken by people they trusted with their lives...  I can barely wrap my mind around the sheer volume of tragedy.  Some days it is all too much to bear.  

And then yesterday my dear friend Deb said this:

"...have I just accepted the theology of Christianity or have I embraced the person of Christ? Theology will produce the fruit of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Embracing Christ is partaking of the Tree of Life. Sure, good theology will guide me, but where's the life-giving, wild adventure of relationship with Christ in that?"

Provoking.  I had to chew on it for a while.   Fast forward a few hours. 

I happened upon this story.  (Be warned, it's incredibly graphic and details accounts of sexual abuse and molestation.  Tread with caution or simply take my word for it.)  

And I broke.  After all of the mounting tragedy and hurt and stories of brokeness, it left me reeling.  I sobbed, heartbroken any child should endure such horror, and just when I was on the verge of composing myself, this woman who had walked thru the kind of unspeakable horror most of us can't even begin to conceive, said in the the most forgiving, grace-filled, loving, Jesus-like, downright beautiful tone:

"...it's a broken world with broken people - that's why He came isn't it? I'm pretty sure He didn't save us so that we could be comfortable - I think He's more interested in making our hearts look like His."

And I sobbed again. 

Here's the thing I'm finding again and again, the thing I'm contending with, wrestling with, examining and re-examining only to find it more true than the time before: 

Those who trust God most, are those who know Him best. 

Really, truly, rich and beautifully, they know Him. Free fall into nothing without hesitation, because they trust Him. Fear nothing, love all, fight for justice and truth like they've nothing to lose because likely they already have, and found Him waiting.  They know He is good, simply because He is nothing else. Experienced the worst the world has to offer and proclaim His goodness still because they know He wasn't in the darkness, but rather the light that expelled it.  

Those who trust Him most have stared death in the face, nose to nose, vile breath hot against their skin and realized... it holds no power.   

In the light of Christ, we finally fear nothing, and thus gain everything.   

It isn't about theology.  It's one solitary thing: embracing the person of Christ.  The real, living, always fighting for us person of Jesus.  He is all.  There is nothing else to understand.

There are days of course when it all feels too much to bear, the brokenness of this life and earth still awaiting restoration and redemption.  And on those days I settle my heart with this truth: 

"Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--meditate on such things." Philippians 4:8

I let myself get lost in dimples and ladybugs, chunky toddler thighs, new rosebuds on my bushes, a cup of tea, ripening blueberries, serene moments at the lake.  All good.  All lovely.  All the true essence of who He is, Beauty.

And on other days, when I'm able, I trudge into the darkness with boldness and ask Him to meet me there, or better yet, go with me.  The phone call to hear the details of the heartbreak, the email to say I'm here, you aren't alone, the hard conversation about doing what's right even when we can barely stomach the idea, the space to cry, to lament, to watch them pound fists against the table and say I'm angry.  Or I hate them.  Or I don't feel like living today.  It's doing the research about human trafficking, homelessness, poverty.  Looking at faces, into eyes, considering for 20 seconds what it might be like to walk in their shoes and what I can practically do today to help, even if it's as simple as a sincere prayer.  (That alone could change the world if we took the moment to do it.)

It isn't pretty, but it's real.  And as Believers in Christ it's not only our duty and calling to rush into the darkness where the hurting lie broken, but even moreso to want to.  I admit I don't always want to.  I'd rather take pictures of sailboats, bake cookies, read stories to my girl, plan adventures.  And those things are all to be celebrated as well, the goodness and beauty of the crazy abundant life we find in knowing Jesus.  The balance for me is learning not to straddle the line with one foot in each reality from time to time, but rather live fully present in both, simultaneously.  It isn't either/or.

That is embracing the person of Christ.  That is the life-giving, wild adventure Deb spoke of: Experiencing the incredible beauty and goodness of knowing Him, and sharing it at every opportunity.  

Now we're onto something... and it has absolutely nothing to do with theology.  Thank God.

Chocolate Covered Apricots

These.  Are.  Addicting. 

I literally cannot stop eating them.  They appear these unassuming little gems, nothing fancy, nothing to concern yourself with, but I assure you they are entirely problematic. 

They’ll call to you from the fridge in the quiet of afternoon, the dead of night, even early morning as you reach past them for an egg to make breakfast, casually attempting to ignore their allure.  Chewy, sweet, decadent.  There’s just no way around it.  Addiction waiting to happen.

I read about them in a vegan cookbook.  They sounded like a fun little treat to keep on hand.  Ah, if only it were so simple.  There’s no such thing as ‘keeping on hand’.  There’s simply devouring.  I try so hard to pace myself.  Futile.  I feel like King Solomon lamenting throughout Ecclessiates, “Meaningless!  It’s all meaningless!”

There’s no recipe, per se.  Simply take a bag of dried apricots and a dump them into a pan of perfectly melted chocolate.  I use organic semi-sweet chocolate chips, but any melting chocolate will do.  Add pat of coconut oil to the pan to make the chocolate smoother.  Toss them to coat, um, liberally.  Then fish them out one at a time (I use a wooden skewer, a fork would be fine, too) and lay them on a parchment covered plate or baking sheet.  Stick them in the fridge for an hour or so until they harden, and that’s that.   You've just created perfection.

Make them, love them, repeat.  You’ll thank me.  Or blame for the rest of your life.  Same thing.

*while you’re making these, you might want to try this, too.  Slice a couple of bananas in half and stick them on popcicyle sticks.  Dip them in the chocolate and roll them in crushed pistachios.  (or cocoa nibs, crushed pecans, coconut, go crazy!) Let them harden in the fridge with the apricot jewels.  Yum.

Living With Intention, Today

~Letting her feed herself cereal.  Despite the milk dripping off her chin and down her elbows, puddled across the countertop.  She wants to do it herself.  Let her.

~Feeling a little silly while she stands at the bottom of the escalator holding my finger, working up the courage to step on.  I excuse us a number of times as people smile and step by.  She watches them, glances at me with courage mounting in big blue eyes, pointing as she realizes she can do it.  She can.  Give her another moment.  It’s worth the wait.

~Letting her wander around the bookstore as long as she wants.  No rush, just wonder. 

~Watching intently at least a hundred times, as she spins in the middle of the room ‘dancing’ until she topples.  Laughing at her joy, sincerely.

~Letting her stir the pot with a wooden spoon inevitably splattering sauce everywhere.

~Gazing deeply into her eyes as she nurses.  Holding her extra long, even after she falls asleep.

I could do it all so much faster.  I could avoid the mess and extra time to clean it up.  I could get more done today, accomplish more, check more off the list. 

But that.  Is not.  The point.

And it’s also not living with intention, slowly and deliberately.  Getting lost in her dimples, savoring each bite of a summer fresh peach, each sip of an iced coconut ginger tea, her squeals at the kitty scampering across the yard. 

What’s important are these things.  These simple, everyday, beautiful things.