Bread and Wine

Recently, one of my very favorite authors, Shauna Niequist, generously offered some bloggers advanced reader copies of her upcoming book Bread & Wine. Say what?! Um, my own tiny readership barely qualifies me as a blogger (hi Mom!), but I think so much of Shauna and her work that I'd do anything to grow her readership.

"The heart of hospitality is about creating space for someone to feel seen and heard and loved. It's about declaring your table a safe zone, a place of warmth and nourishment."

Friends, I know you all have long book lists. I know you have six books on your nightstand and you're several years behind and still haven't read The Kite Runner. (Just me?) Or maybe you don't have a book list and you're not a reader. It doesn't matter: I'm going to say the same thing to all of you:

READ. THIS. BOOK.

If I shared all my thoughts about Bread & Wine, this would stop being a blog and get a little too Dear Diary, so I'll keep it short-ish. Ish, because this book is so, so, SO good.

I began reading the same way I tried to read Shauna's other books: nonchalantly, in default mode, the way you'd read a schoolbook. Silly me! A few chapters in, I was totally the awkward girl sniffle-crying and giggling out loud in Starbucks. Bread & Wine sucked me in the same way Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet did, my eyes reading eagerly, heart fully engaged.

Shauna's stories are, in a word, poignant. They sing in that strange harmony of happiness and sadness, where truth swells in your heart until you can feel it stretching. Food, life, love, loss, success, failure, fear, celebration-- she covers it all with a beautiful vulnerability that ushers in comfort and freedom and me too. She speaks directly, honestly, earnestly; but her writing has a lovely lush quality that makes you want to stop and re-read the last sentence just to imagine it again.

I think I love Bread & Wine so much because like Shauna, "I wake up in the morning and I think about dinner. I think about the food and the people and the things we might discover about life and about each other. I think about the sizzle of oil in a pan and the smell of rosemary released with a knife cut." The eating/crafting/growing/vending/making/serving of food is my ultimate hobby. I'm a food person, and my hands are happy and able in the kitchen. If that's you, and your kitchen is your home, this book is for you. But the brilliance of Bread and Wine is that it's also for people whose hands aren't so able in the kitchen, for the most timid of cooks. If your kitchen is a fearful or anxious place, this book is for you too. Shauna's recipes are simple, gentle, unassuming, and filled with delicious ingredients. They are for everyone.

I tried few right away: Bacon-Wrapped Dates, Michigan Harvest Salad (Mitten love!), Goat Cheese Scrambled Eggs, and finally Breakfast Quinoa, after which I tweeted:

Just made my first recipe from #breadandwine by @sniequist: Breakfast quinoa. So good I almost had an emotional breakdown on my couch. #YUM

— Emily Kelsey (@emjkelsey) March 4, 2013

Embarassingly, I attempted the recipe for Flourless Chocolate Brownies, but my friend and I were so taken with the batter that...um...there wasn't really any to bake. We ate it like this instead:

Mmm. It was well worth it. Maybe next time I'll actually finish making them. :)

 Bread & Wine also digs deep into the various functions of food: how it nourishes, strengthens, and delights, how it fills us up, how it frustrates and shames. Shauna speaks so beautifully about her own complex relationship with food, which lent strength to my own experience as someone who has both loved and hated food. My very favorite chapter is one called "Swimsuit, Ready or Not", which is exactly what it sounds like. Shauna writes:

"At the beginning of every summer, I have to do a little internal business, organizing my thoughts and my feelings and my phobias, getting myself ready to have everyone I know see me in a piece of clothing that could fit into a sandwich bag. And every summer I tell myself that next year, next year, next year, will be the year I show up at the beach looking like an Olympic beach volleyball player. And then the year is busy and full, and I forget along the way that the top item on my to-do list was "transform myself into a beach goddess." And then I show up at the beach, bruised from my own self-loathing, looking just about the same as I always have."

Yeahhhh. And she follows that up with a recipe for potato salad. POTATO SALAD.

Not, like, a lemon juice fast, or a kale smoothie, or a plan to lose ten pounds by June.

POTATO. SALAD.
 

Guys, this is why I love Shauna. Because I love the beach, and I love potato salad, and reconciling those two things is really hard. (And because her recipe is simple and yummy- potatoes and crunchy summer veggies and fresh basil and tiny tomatoes and kalamata olives in a tangy vinaigrette. Yum.) And because next year, next year, next year has been my tired chant since age twelve. And because I'm saying goodbye to that chant, swimsuit-ready or not. (Not.)

Oh, also, because in the same passage, Shauna uses the word "underbutt." Teehee.

But mostly, I love Shauna because I've read that passage fifteen times already, and each time my soul exhales a little more. And that's why I love Bread & Wine-- because our souls need less frantic, less clench, and so much more exhale. Because our kitchens need less fear and more celebration. Because the way God weaves our lives together when we come together at the table is nothing short of majestic; and because like Shauna says, life is best at the table.

I'd buy a copy for every single one of you if I could, but in the meantime, you can pre-order Bread and Wine on Amazon! DO THAT! And get Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet while you're at it, because they changed my life in the best way, and I think you'll like them too. And visit Shauna's great blog. Links and Shauna's bio are below.

..........

Shauna Niequist is the author of Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet, and Bread & Wine. Shauna grew up in Barrington, Illinois, and then studied English and French Literature at Westmont College in Santa Barbara. She is married to Aaron, who is a pianist and songwriter. Aaron is a worship leader at Willow Creek and is recording a project called A New Liturgy. Aaron & Shauna live outside Chicago with their sons, Henry and Mac. Shauna writes about the beautiful and broken moments of everyday life--friendship, family, faith, food, marriage, love, babies, books, celebration, heartache, and all the other things that shape us, delight us, and reveal to us the heart of God.

http://www.shaunaniequist.com/
http://www.amazon.com/Bread-Wine-Finding-Community-Around/dp/0310328179/

on books and purple hair and wild

I have long been in the habit of reading certain books, my very favorites, over and over-- until storylines and characters and entire paragraphs are burned into my mind.

For a long time, one of these very favorites was a little-known young adult novel, Of Sound Mind, by Jean Ferris. I was eleven or twelve when I first read it. I distinctly remember picking it up, a hardcover with a thick plastic protector, as I combed the library's "new releases" shelf for books I hadn't read yet. This was when I read fiercely, ravenously, maxing out my library card two or three times a week. I always took a canvas bag with me, and it was always overflowing when I left, and I always began a book on the way home, even though it made me dizzy.

Of Sound Mind is about a boy, Theo, who can hear, and his parents and brother, who cannot. It's something of a coming-of-age story, and he befriends & falls in love with a girl, Ivy, who was also born to deaf parents. The book is about living in the tension that exists between contraries, and the story is both sad and sweet, heart-wrenching and hopeful. I re-read it that first time before returning it; and must've checked it out two or three more times in the years following. Something about it captivated me: its honesty, I think, and its hopefulness, too.

But my twelve-year-old mind also latched onto a very specific detail: the girl, Ivy, was described as having dark hair...with a single lock dyed a deep purple. I loved that. I grew up seeing colorful hair disdained, and this, a single lock dyed bright, seemed perfect: a small, quiet display of rebellion. Just a little bit of wild swirled into all the conservative, cautious, collected.

For some reason I've never forgotten Ivy's purple hair. I've toyed with the idea on and off for over ten years, never quite sold on it. Sometimes I feel like a purple hair person. Sometimes not. But this year-- twenty-two, twenty-three-- this year I have known and liked myself better than I ever have before, and that's been a sweet thing for me. That's a great and long story, and I'll share it sometime. Like the book, it's been all about living in the contraries, realizing that I don't have to be one or the other. That I am a little bit conservative, and also a little bit wild; that I love my natural, plain, simple hair, and I also love the idea of a little purple. And all of that is perfectly fine.

So Tuesday morning, when I thought, "Maybe I'll dye my hair purple today!" that's exactly what I did. I went and picked out purple dye, and bleach, and a little bowl & brush, and a friend came to help, and I dyed those hurrs.

...just a little bit :) I'm graduating in May, and hoping to begin job interviews around that time as well, and so I wanted to make sure I could hide it if necessary. I chose to dye the very back center section of my hair, roots to ends, so you can barely see it when it's down, but when it's up, it looks like this:

I used this great tutorial from CANDYPOW on how to safely bleach your hair using coconut oil-- the bleach was in for about 40 minutes, and my hair turned the color of light brown sugar. Then I applied the RAW dye, wrapped it with regular old aluminum foil, and left it in for about 3 hours. Voila!

I. LOVE. IT.

!!!!!!!!!!!

The color is great-- although just a bit more blueish than I wanted, kind of a violet. If I did it again, I'd buy the same color (RAW Deep Purple) and maybe mix in a few drops of red, to get more of a plum shade. But I love it, and I'm looking forward to it eventually fading into a light lavender.

I love it, and both my eleven & twenty-three-year-old selves are so glad for freedom, and transformation, and a little bit of wild.

a gift, and the friend who gave it

A couple of weeks ago, I went on for a bit about our apartment's poor ventilation and the yucky smells we deal with as a result. That was it. The post was literally: We live in this apartment, and sometimes it stinks, and there's not much I can do about it, rant rant rant, ha ha ha.

Then, last Friday, I answered the door and the mailman handed me a large brown box. I was puzzled- I didn't think we had ordered anything recently. I opened it up to find this:

An air filter?!

The confusion vanished; I knew exactly who had sent the box. I texted this friend a picture and said "YOU ARE CRAZY AND I LOVE YOU."

"I love you too, although I don't remember putting my name on that," she replied.

"You didn't have to," I said.

And she didn't. This friend is an incredible giver and receiver of gifts. She knows people in a deeply thoughtful way, watching and observing and studying their quirks so she can love them better. This friend delights in sweetening other people's days with grace and joy and little surprises. The gifts she gives come in all forms: notes, food, time, encouragement, little presents. And she has an uncanny knack for timing-- if you need something, she knows it, and she probably knew it before you did.

As our friendship grew, I came to see what a beautiful thing gift-giving could be, and I learned how to do it in return. I still remember one of the very first gifts I gave her: a Slurpee from 7-11, all the flavors except blue, that I walked upwards of 2 miles across MSU's campus to bring to her when she was having a bad day. I did that a few times that year, because that girl can drink Slurpees for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

We live 2000 miles apart now, but that doesn't deter her. A few months ago, we were on the phone and I joked that all my stuff was falling apart, and my "to-buy" list was so unending that I couldn't ever convince myself to buy socks. A week later, of course, I got a box in the mail stuffed full of brand new socks; underwear and tights too, which she had guessed (rightly) that I also needed.

So she's struck again, and our air is filtered and odorless now. No more taco bathroom!

I'm grateful to this friend, not just for socks and an air filter, but for the way she's taught me to love and know and give, and how to brighten days, and how all of that helps me comprehend the Father's heart a little better.

And, sweet friend: Good try for anonymity, but gift-giving betrays gift-giving, if that makes sense. You're just too good at it. Maybe give me something awful next time? :)

simple berry salad & vinaigrette

If we are friends in real life, then you know I'm a shameless foodie. My fondness for cooking, eating, and talking/reading/learning about food probably warrants embarrassment, but I'm in far too deep for that. Foodlove has settled into a deeply nerdy part of my heart that I didn't see coming but just cannot hide.

It's kinda like when that girl in my ninth grade English class wrote a book report about the Lord of the Rings trilogy and ended up so obsessed that she spent hours crafting homemade prop replicas including the Phial of Galadriel and leaf-wrapped lembas bread and elven rope, which she then proudly presented to her half-impressed, half-horrified (ok mostly horrified) adolescent peers.

Wait, what? Of course that wasn't me. Well...it's not important.

Anyway-- tonight the foodlove began with some gorgeous blackberries. They've been staring me down since Sunday in all their fat purple glory, and when I peered into my fridge looking for dinner, they practically jumped into my hands. Wondering what to do with them, I scanned the rest of my groceries, and my brain spat out some quick culinary mathematics:

(blackberries + feta + spinach) x (lemon + honey + balsamic) = HECK^YES

Deeelish. I scarfed that goodness down in about two minutes. It tasted like dessert-- but super healthy, only about 200 calories for the whole bowl! Here's the breakdown for one serving:

salad:

2 cups spinach
2/3 cups blackberries
2 tbsp feta

vinaigrette:

1 tbsp honey
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
lemon juice to taste

Mix up the vinaigrette and toss it over the salad. Say whaat? Easiest dinner ever!

What I love about salads is how easy they are to tweak-- you can increase/decrease/add/subtract anything you want. I tend to like more acidity, and these blackberries were especially sweet, so I used extra lemon juice in the vinaigrette. If your berries are more tart, up the honey instead. Walnuts or pecans would be a fantastic addition, and I think sliced apples might taste great too. The nom possibilities are endless.

So, simple blackberry & feta salad, thank you for helping me announce to the blogosphere that I will occasionally detail cooking adventures and post recipes, because I am a Class A foodie/nerd. Also generally just a nerd, but we won't go into that any more than we already have. Yikes.

words for wednesday

This is one of the surest things I know. It's what hearkens me back to God when I wander-- that within us is a yearning for the infinite. We want everything; we look for it everywhere. What we find is never enough. Or rather, it is enough for a little while; but then one day we wake up and it's not enough anymore. And again we feel the endless yearning.

Psalm 16:

Keep me safe, my God,
for in you I take refuge.

I say to the LORD, "You are my Lord;
apart from you I have no good thing."
I say of the holy people who are in the land,
"They are the noble ones in whom is all my delight."
Those who run after other gods will suffer more and more.
I will not pour out libations of blood to such gods
or take up their names on my lips.

LORD, you alone are my portion and my cup;
you make my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.
I will praise the LORD, who counsels me;
even at night my heart instructs me.
I keep my eyes always on the LORD.
With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
my body also will rest secure,
because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,
nor will you let your faithful one see decay.
You make known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

Phew! So much goodness in there.

I love how the psalmist says, "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing."

What if I began the day by saying those words out loud? "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing."

What would my days look like if I needed/expected/wanted nothing but my God?

 

(Don't mind me looking bummy in my husband's Justin Bieber hoodie.)

Anyway, there it is on my bathroom mirror now. I want to go out into the world every morning with this in mind. "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing." I'm sure I'll return each evening knowing it a little better, whether I remembered it or not. I am forgetful and easily distracted, but God is good at reminding us of Himself.

So then let's end with this gem: "You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand."

What a sweet truth. In Christ, God has made known to us the path of life. We may know joy in the presence of our Savior, Creator, and King. He gives us infinite and eternal and everything when He gives us Himself.

Wait. Soooo...

He who is everything has given us Himself.

You guys, we have EVERYTHING. Forever.

meteor grace for Russia (and us)

You and I and everyone have probably heard something about the meteor that exploded over Russia last Friday. Flash of light, little crashes, uneven shockwave, shattered glass, 1000+ injured, 0 dead.

Yesterday morning I heard another snippet about it on NPR. Morning Edition host Renee Montagne was talking with NYT reporter Andrew Kramer, who was in Chelyabinsk, Russia-- the town most affected by the meteor.

Towards the end of the segment, she asks: "What's the mood of the people there? Are they afraid that something else is going to come crashing down from the sky?"

Andrew responds:

"Well, people were very, very concerned on Friday. I was talking to many people who said that their pulse rate went up, that they were nervous. They had no idea what this was. But by Saturday, a lot of people were giddy. They were amazed that this danger had passed them by. Russians really have a deep expectation of tragedy because of their history. People here often think that things will end badly. This is an exceptional instance in Russia where a huge fireball fell out of space and missed everybody in the city. It could have easily obliterated the entire town, or struck a nuclear facility...it was a near miss for this area."

Ah. Did you get that?

"Russians really have a deep expectation of tragedy, because of their history...People here often think that things will end badly."

And yet? The fireball fell out of space and MISSED THEM.

"People were giddy. They were amazed that this danger had passed them by."

What a potent picture of grace.

Our history is tragedy. We expect the fireball to strike.

It passes us by. 

Last week's meteor should have hit full-force, but science-y shockwave stuff happened and most of it shattered in the air.

And the bulk of the meteor? They can't find it. Nearby, there's a frozen lake with an inexplicable hole in the middle. Some scientists were guessing part of the meteor crashed through it -- but then divers found nothing.

None of this is to diminish the very real aftermath of the meteor's explosion: the community sustained damages of more than $30 million, and 1000+ people were injured.

But no deaths. But no fireball.

It passes us by.




(You can read the transcript of the Morning Edition segment with Andrew Kramer here.)

Love.

Grateful for a day to celebrate love-- like all the days before and all the days after. Grateful for dear friends and family. Grateful for a husband who loves me better than I ever could have dreamed someone would. Grateful, always, for a God who loves his people sweetly, intensely, permanently. And I'm grateful for you! Happy Valentine's Day, dear friends!

taco bathroom

I smell tacos.

I smelled it immediately upon waking up; beef and cheese and heavy seasoning and thick grease. I smelled it in my kitchen whilst sleepily making coffee. I smelled it in the bathroom as I washed my face.

Gag. Friends, Taco Bathroom is NOT a great morning experience.

But Taco Bathroom is exactly what I wake up to roughly twice a week, whenever my neighbor decides it's time for Mexican food. Taco Bathroom happens because our ventilation mostly pulls from the apartments surrounding ours-- so when the guy next to us cooks, the smell creeps into our air.

It's not so bad while he's actually cooking, even if it is a little strange to smell Mexican food while I'm having dessert. But I really start to seethe when I come home the next day and my apartment is rife with the stinky stanky STANK that is stale beef.

Taco Bathroom is the bane of my apartment-dwelling existence. Honestly, we've had house dreams for a while now, but nothing makes me crave my own space more than Taco Bathroom.

And I have bad news for my neighbor: It's Mexican night in the Kelsey household...soo...

on passion

So, five months away from graduation, this happened:

@emjkelsey ya know, Spanish teachers are great...but you have the soul of a writer. Just sayin' 😊

— Sara Kells (@SaraKells) December 8, 2012

My sweet friend Sara has these lovely, otherworldly eyes that can see straight into your soul. Um, and apparently also through Twitter?!

Anyway. When that little nugget of a reply popped up, I was suddenly very aware of how much I had enjoyed composing my ridiculous fog horn tweet.

Also every tweet I've ever tweeted.

And...right. Everything I've ever written.

What a great moment. "Oh. Of course! I'm a writer."

For me, this was not so much the discovering of passion as the uncovering of it. I grew up with a book (or five) in one hand and a journal in the other. Words are my very old friend.

It's hard to explain why I hadn't already realized this, but I think it had a lot to do with fear. As I began to seriously consider what role writing might have in my life, little anxieties rose to the surface:

"There are already so many other great writers."
"I don't have any credentials."
"What if my writing isn't well-received?"
"Writing won't fit into our lifestyle."
"I'll never make money as a writer."

I'm finding that passion- on its own- is a little terrifying. It's wild and frenetic and raw and unpredictable. I'd prefer passion be coupled with plans or direction or opportunity or validation, because those things feel safe, and passion does not feel safe.

Thankfully, we have a God who is Himself the very embodiment of passion: full, wild, eternal passion. He breathes it into our hearts that we, too, may know a beautiful kind of wild. Our Creator delights in giving us these gifts, and incredibly, they are given in pure grace. God doesn't need me to write, but he enables me to.

How freeing!

So my fear-questions aren't answered, at all, not even a little bit. I don't know if writing could support my family. And it's true that I have no credentials. Maybe I'll never write anything but a blog. Maybe Sara will be the only one who reads my blog. (Um, Sara, now you have to. Sooo...)

But the fear is gone, because the Creator made me a writer. And so I'm going to write.

words for your week

"Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness. It strikes us when we walk through the dark valley of a meaningless and empty life... It strikes us when, year after year, the longed-for perfection does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage.

Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: 'You are accepted. You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not seek for anything, do not perform anything, do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted.'

If that happens to us, we experience grace."

-Paul Tillich, The Shaking Of The Foundations

on chaos and rest

I could explain to you why I haven't been blogging lately, or how busy we've been, but I will not. I'm sure you can guess. You are probably very busy. Your friends and family, too. So you know. We have all been so busy.

In January a friend said during small group, "Sometimes the Lord says: There will be a time for rest, but that time isn't now." I closed my eyes as he spoke; the words were for me, I knew, and maybe others too, but my heart received them directly.

Two truths: There will be a time for rest. That time isn't now.

Weeks of chaos passed, and I found myself in the backyard with an armful of laundry, my mind wandering into a pool of vacation dreams. I imagined a weekend with sun and sweet breezes and sand and my husband and nothing else, and my hope lounged there, drunk on the glimmer of peace and rest. My mind, not resting at all, began to spin and contrive, asking where, when, how, which beach; this must happen, get me to the seashore. I need this. I am tired.

and Rest Himself came

and caused the spinning to cease

and set this before my eyes:

"Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever." Revelation 22:1-5

Paradise itself.

There will be a time for rest. Total and full and complete rest. Eternal. Perfect, permanent peace. What incredible grace it is that keeps that in store for my soul.

And I can't even begin to comprehend the Grace that gives rest now, too. That sees my armful of laundry and wistful vacation dreams; my anxious, tired heart, my weary feet. Sees my scheduled days and to-do list. The mental tally of all that's contained within "busy"; He sees it.

And He meets it with grace. How much must He love me to come-- when I hadn't even thought to ask Him to-- and make everything quiet, still, sweet, light.

So much. It's so, so, so much.

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my new year

Here's a snippet of joy for your New Year's Eve, for your year, for whatever lies ahead.

It is, I think, the ultimate encouragement; the most solid of grounds to stand upon, the sweetest confirmation of our purpose and worth. Sit and let it cover your anxiety, quiet your fears, and steady your heart.

...

1 Corinthians 1:4-9

I give thanks to my God always for you

because of the grace of God that was given you in Christ Jesus,

that in every way you were enriched in him in all speech and all knowledge

even as the testimony about Christ was confirmed among you

so that you are not lacking in any gift, as you wait for the revealing

of our Lord, Jesus Christ, who will sustain you to the end

guiltless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.

God is faithful, by whom you were called

into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

three songs for fall

For whatever reason, seasons have definite influence over the music I listen to. Fall and spring find me listening to Sea Wolf quite a bit, but I rarely do so in the winter, and never ever in the summer. For years it has been like this. I don't know why. My brain just doesn't approve of Sea Wolf and summer. In the winter, I play a lot of Damien Rice; spring & summer, Iron & Wine and Sufjan.

Perhaps there are deep psychological reasons for this, but I am not aware of any real rhyme or reason for these preferences. I want what I want when I want it. Regardless, I present to you three songs that scream fall to me, for reasons I apparently cannot explain.

Get excited. They are GOOD.

(1)

The first: "Welcome Home" by Radical Face. If this song is new to you, prepare to fall in love. Listen to the beginning: The chimes you hear are the exact notes you can hear on the porch of the home I grew up in. They are perfection; I hear them and can almost feel the crisp, cool Michigan air on my face. Ahhhhh.



It is lovely in it's fluid melody, staggered with skippy claps and intricate piano. The vocals are simple, quietly powerful, with a hauntingly sweet quality. For me, this song somehow evokes a stark contrast of both buoyant joy and excitement, and a deep awareness of grief, almost mourning. But it flows so sweetly through the emotive chorus and bridge that I find myself in a place of worship and joy and wonder at the great God who inspired someone to weave together such perfect sounds.

(2)

The second: "Leftovers" by Johnny Flynn & The Sussex Wit. You know when you rediscover something you've had for a while and it takes on new life? That's Johnny Flynn's 2008 album A Larum for me this fall...I can't get enough. Oooh and you even get a real video for this one, fun right? Take a listen:



It's one of those songs where you start out tapping your feet and then suddenly you're bopping your head and before you know it you're dancing like a fool all by yourself while you're brushing your teeth. Errrrrr well maybe that is just me, but you get the idea, right? Love the quirky lyrics and catchy chorus. His voice is one of my favorites, and I love when the fervor of his singing slips into a perfectly-tuned shout. I can't say enough good things about Johnny Flynn. If you like this, check out the rest of his stuff-- it's all beautiful.

(3)

Last song: "Love Immeasurable" by Ryan Long, a former Young Life musician. We sang this song at camp this summer, and I fell in love.



I don't have a ton to say about this song. The words are beautiful. The melody is simple and sweet, lingering perfectly on each word to bring the incredible lyrical imagery to bear. Imagine this song being sung at camp in a darkened club room with just an acoustic guitar and the voices of 300 campers. It was SO beautiful that when I bought the song I was actually disappointed, even though the recorded version is really great.

Good huh? What have you been listening to?

freezing soup: it's a heart issue.

As a girl I was enchanted by the Little House on the Prairie books. My great-grandmother passed on her set to me; they were yellowed and tattered when they came to me and I read and re-read each one until pages were falling out. Laura's life was so attractive to me. She explored woods and played with paper dolls and swam in creeks and made maple sugar candy. And she was perfectly content. I remember wishing that the world was still a place where oranges and cakes were delicacies and people were happy to eat mere bread and butter when there was nothing else. The simplicity and yet fullness of this lifestyle was attractive to me even as a child.

Sometime in middle school I told my mother I thought I would be really good at being poor. I don't know what we were talking about; probably something related to living a simple lifestyle. My lovely mother is the queen of the simple life. She's got it down. We were probably talking about how she makes her own chicken stock or uses bread ends for croutons or doesn't buy paper towel or something else amazing that she does. I saw such value in these practices from a young age, and carried along the assumption that it would all transfer seamlessly into my own life.

Surprise ending: It didn't.

This is partly because being poor didn't seem like a real possibility to me. I grew up fully expecting to one day stake my ground in the upper-middle-class world. Little daydreams about pinching pennies and living off of soup were merely daydreams, more fascinating than they were serious.

But now here I am, and the truth is I really stink at being poor. And it has taken me a long time to figure this out. Growing up with one socioeconomic status and landing in another is a confusing journey of replacing old habits and being really honest about where you are. It's hard to walk into a grocery store on a tight budget and ignore all of the Kashi-organic-superfood-crazyexpensive goodness screaming your name. When I was single it was easier to pretend I could afford things like that, since the only person my budget affected was me. I spent a few years in college attempting to maintain the lifestyle I desired, thinking, "I'll tighten my budget when it really matters."

But here's the problem with that: when "it really matters" your old habits will still be in effect. Your flesh will still be patterned to react a certain way. If you are used to ignoring your bank account and buying whatever you want, you will do that even when it really matters.

My hope in writing this is to encourage you, whoever you are, to think about you and money. Are you pretending to be in the "it doesn't really matter" place right now? Are you trying to live above where you can afford to? Do you spend money when you know you shouldn't?

Think about these things. Ask the Lord to reveal to you why you mess up, because habit is involved, but it is ultimately a heart issue. Maybe you are medicating your life with new things, or doubting that God is good, or believing that you are in control of your life, or trying to win the approval of people. When you begin to understand which lie your heart is believing, the burden will be lifted and habits can be changed.

So for me, this:

But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. Those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs. [1 Timothy 6:6-10]

and this:

Your love, LORD, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies. Your righteousness is like the highest mountains, your justice like the great deep. You, LORD, preserve both people and animals. How priceless is your unfailing love, O God! People take refuge in the shadow of your wings. They feast on the abundance of your house; you give them drink from your river of delights. For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light. [Psalm 36:5-9]

are what I want to soak in this week.

And I am actually going to put into practice something I saw my mother doing; buying and eating a rotisserie chicken and then using the rest to make chicken stock. I found this great tutorial and plan on using this clever method

to store it! Look how cute, little soup muffins. You freeze them, throw them into a bag for storage, and grab a few in the morning to put in a thermos for lunch. Perfect right? Yes, this is me getting excited about soup-freezing methods. It's the little things.

totally 100% craving a vacation

I've got the vacation bug. Thanks Pinterest.

If budget allowed, I'd totally pull a Yes Man and run to the airport to buy the first ticket out. (Which, from NOLA, would almost certainly be Atlanta. So...maybe the second ticket out?)

Maybe my surprise ticket would take me here...

Gondolas! Yes. Perfect. I know Venice is supposed to be an overpriced tourist trap that is overcrowded and stinks like pee. But whatever! Let's do it.

Or this? I think I could be about it. I mean..I guess don't really know what it is. Some sort of little modern caveman resort hut complex? Super. I'm in. Leaving tomorrowww!

Or this bench. It's in France. So, that right there should be enough. Look how perfect it is. I just want to go sit on it. I bet wonderful things happen when people are sitting on that bench.

I'd also be quite content to wander around the English countryside and pretend I'm Elizabeth Swan do some exploring. I'm very fond of walking.

Sometimes I get caught up in the everywhere-but-here excitement of vacation dreams,

and I forget that this

and this

and this

are right in my backyard.

And as you can see from that last photo, we have a pretty good time in Wal-Mart, so...we're gonna be just fine.

holy wow

"I believe that Jesus is calling for people to be a nobody for him — people who would forsake the “American dream” to be a part of bringing gospel hope to the nations. People who don’t mind if they are not recognized, respected, praised, or promoted — as long as the name of Jesus is cherished, exalted, and adored. People who understand that Jesus didn’t come to this world and die on a cross so that we could have a comfortable suburban life and enjoy going to our local church's corporate gathering on Sundays."

These words come from Michael Oh via his post on John Piper's Desiring God blog. You can read the post in its entirety here.

I felt sharp conviction upon reading this. I've had 21 years now to craft my idea of the "American Dream." The desire to attain and possess is a giant part of my sin nature...In high school I would lie in bed at night writing 100-point lists on "How to Create a Lovely Life." Even when Jesus came became central in my life, seeking after Him ran parallel to seeking after this perfect life. I never really considered another lifestyle. I was an intelligent, college-bound Christian...what could possibly stand between me and moderate wealth? I was certain that both Jesus and a BMW was in my future.

Later in his post Oh says, "We must realize that we have absolutely no right to tell God, 'I’ll do this for you, but not that.' We must understand how globally worthy he is to be loved and adored, how incredibly hard the task of making him known is, and how great are the sacrifices needed to see that happen."

Sure God, I'll go all out for you. As long as I can continue to craft my life as I see fit.

I'll live in New Orleans, God, if that's what you want for me. I'll give you that much I guess. But in a pretty area of the city, and not only a pretty area but I want my house to be pretty, too. Preferably new made to look old. Gated communities and subdivisions are your options, God. I will also requre a fancy DSLR to take beautiful pictures of my perfect life. Oh and I would also like to be skinny and fit and two inches taller. And kind of a hipster, but also ridiculously glamourous. Please one, just ONE pair of Louboutins? Also everything Olivia Palermo wears? Which reminds me that I NEED a walk-in closet with a chandelier. Are you writing this down God? Santa Claus Jesus, are you there?

And see...it's funny. And it sounds lighthearted and playful. But my heart can attest that it's true.

How utterly ridiculous is all this?

Who am I to say to God: "Here is what I will do for you. That should be enough. Don't ask me for more, please. Ok thanks bye."

Who am I to say to Him who created me, gives me my every breath, and charted all my days: "I know better for my life than you do."

Who am I, a nobody, marred by sin, to say to the One who calls me his precious daughter: "I need other beauty, other luxury, other loveliness before my eyes. You are not enough to satisfy my desire for perfection."

This longing for perfection is insatiable outside of letting God be its answer. He defines and embodies perfection! And he is desperate for me to come to Him. I KNOW this.

I just need to know that I know that I know it.

Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief.

carrying capacity, new orleans style

When we moved to New Orleans last year, amazing grace and comfort were waiting for us; we had ready-made insta-friends from our beautiful Young Life community. Put in microwave, open top to vent, heat for thirty seconds. Done! We loved people instantly and we were so grateful to be loved back instantly. Their presence breathed incredible peace into my heart and made me believe we could make a home here.

We had left behind another incredible community of folks in East Lansing, Michigan, that we loved desperately. Just thinking about them puts a HUGE silly grin on my face; if you ever hear me speak about this time, you'll think I'm looking back through rose-colored lenses. Except everything was actually totally 100% rosy all on its own! It was a time saturated with joy and vibrance and hilarity and honesty and deep, deep love, all happening by the hand of God. So many good people.

Somewhere in the middle of my time there, I wrote about the curious existence of a carrying capacity within the realm of human relationship. I was basically exploring the idea that you simply don't have the capability to be besties with everyone. I felt there were too many people in my life I wanted to know and love well, and I just...couldn't. There was not enough time. It made me kinda sad.

To be honest, I think I thought then that I was at a unique time in my life. College was practically 24/7 playtime, so there was plenty of time to pursue friends. I thought maybe that's why my friend circles were ginormous. Maybe whenever I became an adult the carrying capacity problem would disappear. I mean, do adults even hang out with their friends? I wasn't really sure.

But I was sure that 1. I loved and held dear those friendships that were deep and real, and 2. I constantly met people that I wanted to have deep relationships with, and 3. those relationships just can't always come to fruition.

In fact, deep relationships can really only happen with a few people in any given season. And for the first few months in New Orleans, I thoroughly enjoyed getting to spend all my time with our cozy circle of insta-friends.

But six months later, it's happened again. MEGA FRIEND CIRCLES!

If Coryell and I have a free evening, we have to have a serious conversation about who to call. Sometimes I just want to eenie-meenie the whole situation and not worry about the outcome. We have friends we wish we could see every week that we've hardly seen all summer, the insta-friends we want to see all the time, friends we see weekly at YL functions we wish we could just hang out with, and individual friends we want to spend time with. Not to mention family and friends in Michigan we're dying to skype and call and vidchat.

Last time around, the existence of a carrying capacity was a huge revelation for me. Since then I've been painfully- and increasingly- aware of it. Now I'm learning that not only does it exist, but it's okay that it exists. Some weeks I won't see my best friends. A month might even slip by without seeing them. Sometimes I will meet someone new and have to bite back the conventional, "We should get coffee sometime!" and it's okay because it's not who God has set before me to love at the time.

He has set before me first and foremost Himself-- then my husband, then family, friends, ministry, and community. And that is an order I can handle.

hello sweet monster.

via

Today is my last day at the office and HOLY WOW does it feel good! Goodbye frigid office and incredibly uncomfortable "ergonomic" chair. Goodbye 5th floor vending machine, you steal my quarters, we are not friends. Goodbye forced unpaid lunch, I really kind of hate you. Goodbye papercuts and headaches, not a big fan of you either. Goodbye temperamental copy machine and filing cabinets, see ya never.

Hello...whatever is next! Something that feels like freedom and fresh air and dreams.

Grateful for both the peace in my heart and wild, wild excitement for whatever lies ahead.

how to be rich

I am getting ready to take a step into a Dream. It's honestly such an exciting step that it feels more like a skip or a hop or a jump or a leap or a Reverse 1&1/2 Somersaults in the Tuck Position dive. (yes I Googled that came up with that by myself)

The Dream step is BIG. Leaving my cushy office job is a risk and I know it. Taking a job sewing hems and fixing buttons is less prestigious and I know it. It pays less and believe me do I know it. People don't understand this decision, and I know it.

But ohmygosh am I excited. Because the Dream step is just that- a step. The Dream is a step to the Big Dream. And the Big Dream is a stepping stone to the Biggest Dream. And the Biggest Dream...well, frankly, if I think about the Biggest Dream right now I find myself cowering and shrinking back from the impossibility of it all. It's such a lofty, rich, extravagant dream. It seems so perfect, almost unattainable. Soooooo I am focusing on what is right before me! C.S. Lewis said it well:

Exhale. That idea just breathes assurance into my heart. I can take a step. And then someday, another one.

So, without further adieu: all of the Dreams, each step explained and laid out to the best of my ability.

Right now the first Dream means this: I am quitting my secure, reliable, salaried, comfy, albeit boring and dull 7-5 office job. Sound the Hallelujah chorus. I am taking a job with an alterations shop, where I will be hemming pants and the like. There, I will become familiar with diferent fabrics, use new machines, and sew more straight lines than you could ever imagine. Additionally, this job's loose schedule will give me time in real life to plan, research, practice for, and execute the Big Dream.

The Big Dream is that in a few years, I would operate my own business out of my home. I would love to work as a seamstress (like my lovely Aunt), hemming and re-purposing and re-fashioning, old to new, drab to fab. Making whatever people ask me to make: bridesmaids dresses or drapes or wedding gowns or slipcovers or baby clothes. Perhaps creating and selling my own little line of whatever I want on Etsy or Big Cartel. Fueling my business (online and otherwise) through a blog. Writing and working and creating to my heart's content.

And all of that is lovely but is only a gateway to doing what I love most, to the Biggest Dream: Being freed up to serve my family well. Enjoying life with my wonderful husband and the little ones we will have running around someday. Having the incredible luxury of staying home with my children. Being able to work from home as I stay and do life with them. Continuing to join my husband in ministry, serving both our church and Young Life, inviting people into our home and loving whoever God sets before us.

And we will never be rich, and my job may never be glamorous, but this seems to me to be the richest, fullest, most priveliged and luxurious life possible.

a heart issue

"If you're fixing the moral issue but you don't address the heart issue, then you'll never be free. You can't see the problem as, 'I cuss too much. I'm not a good enough husband, I'm not a good enough parent.' Can I tell you the most freeing news in the world? You're not! That's right, you do stink! In fact any acknowledgment of your guilt is shallow and incomplete. You are far more guilty and far more of a failure than you think you are. The reason that's such good news is because Christ has made provision for your shortcomings. So when you understand it's not a moral issue but a heart issue, you'll understand and long for a Savior rather than trying to be your own savior."

-Matt Chandler, Pastoral Prayers Pt. 2, 5/15/11. Full sermon available here.