Making Meaning of It All

Last Friday, Kirk's instructor invited a music business professional into the classroom. This is a classroom filled with 22 creatives, half of which just completed a digital arts bachelor's degree (meaning, they love graphic design, web design, animation, effects, motion graphics, and other such image-driven livelihoods).

For a master's-level class on executive leadership, what do you think happened, come Monday? The instructor threw out the question, "What did you guys think of the guest speaker last week?" To which one of the graphic arts guys said, "Honestly, it felt like a waste of time. The guy was in music; I'm in graphic arts. Plus, he didn't spend any time talking about leadership. I just didn't get anything out of it."

What followed was a high-energy, almost explosive conversation. Everyone had an opinion, and the instructor kept stoking the fire, drawing them out with incisive questions. Obviously, the main question is: if you're a leader, how do you ultimately respond to situations in which you, on the surface, see no redemptive value? In other words, how do you make meaning of it all?

Reportedly, there are at least 221 known definitions of the word leader. Just last week, Kirk told me that leaders are ultimately meaning-makers, interpreting events and fueling energy and attention toward a desirable outcome for a group. I find it interesting that today, this group of emerging leaders got to see this theory in action . . . and measure themselves accordingly.

Some Background on Why Me

If you're at all familiar with the Ransomed Heart corpus of literature (of Epic, Sacred Romance, Journey of Desire, Wild at Heart, and Captivating fame), you know they hold close a few core beliefs:

1) That our lives are caught up in story at both a micro (our own) and macro (God's ultimate) level.

2) That knowing both stories helps make a lot more sense of our lives.

3) That one powerful way we are meant to unveil God's glory on earth is through the unique imprint of His glory in us.

4) And that we have an enemy that seeks to steal, kill, and destroy that glory in us, with an aim toward rendering God's power impotent on earth.

These are pretty powerful truths, if you think about them. I've spent the last big handful of years making sense of the first two points in my own life -- what story have I been living in? how much of that has been given by God and how much is of my own making? where do I go from here? -- but it's really with the latter two that it all begins. It's with the question of His unique imprint in us and the enemy's attempts to mar and destroy that image that we're able to begin making sense of the part of the story God meant for us to share.

And it's with these latter two ideas that I'll begin to establish some backstory with you about this new adventure He's invited me into.

His Unique Imprint

Were you to see me as a little kid, you would more often than not find me one way: curled up in some random corner reading a book. Some people who read this voraciously as a kid did so to escape their reality. Others did it as a precursor to their own eventual storytelling. But neither of these were my bent. (Indeed, the teacher's invitation to make up stories or draw something of my own choosing felt more like a ticket to horror than any exciting ride.) No, I finally realized recently that the reason I gobbled up novels like candy as a kid was because it was the closest I could get to inhabiting another human being's skin. (I find it interesting that my appetite for real, human stories has grown considerably in my adult years, completely overshadowing my previous interest in novels.)

Let me elaborate on this further. When I read Ramona Quimby, Age 8, I felt that I truly knew Ramona's insides. I got all her jokes, even if nobody else did, and I felt each and every one of her scowls. I keenly sensed Beezus for the awkward, gangly, miserable teenager that she was. I could feel Susan with the Boing-Boing Curls's impudence as a mask to some other deep-seated loneliness. (Whoa. Did I just psychoanalyze the Ramona Quimby books?!) Similarly, when I read Dear Mr. Henshaw, I felt the deep layers of that young boy's pain as he wrote those heartfelt letters, and I wished I could have responded to him myself. And when I read Island of the Blue Dolphins, I felt the young girl's acute loneliness on the island and applauded the bravery, ingenuity, and strength she demonstrated in her forays. I even felt the joy and friendliness of the visiting dolphins when they came around!

And when it came to knowing people in real life, it was more of the same. Obviously, I was bent toward one-to-one friendships rather than the raucous, popularity-driven crowds, preferring to know one other person deeply rather than lots of people superficially. (This was a conscious choice in elementary school.) But at a deeper level, you wouldn't believe the kind of conversations I held with adults in my life when I was very young age (say, seven?). There was something in my makeup that caused other people -- even, and especially, adults -- to trust and confide in me. For some reason, I could go there with them and even champion their journey.

I guess, simply put, you could say that God embedded in me a deep ability and desire to see people as they truly are, to hear their actual stories, to care for their unique journeys, and to be sensitive to their needs. Summed up, He gave me acute perception, discernment, and sensitivity . . . which, to be honest, was also, and often, a crying curse.

The Enemy's Affliction

I suppose in a way you could say all that reading was still a form of escape. It was fueled by the desire to really and truly know another, to find kinship and understanding and beauty in their personhood, but that's probably because it was so difficult to find that in any safe and authentic way in the real world. What I mean is, when God gives you a gift for seeing others and being a strength for them on their journey, it really is a gift -- it's not something every single person in the world has an ability to do. Which means, if you're the one giving it, you often feel lonely and unseen by the people you love in that way.

I've endured the pain of loneliness in my fair share of relationships in my life, and I wish it wasn't so. Sometimes I've wanted to throw in the towel and not be so giving (clearly one of the enemy's attempts to thwart God's glory in my life), since it makes me so perceptibly aware of what I, too, desire to receive but maybe won't. But then I can't do it. This is partly because God formed me this way, and I can't not be it. But it's also because I know the desire to be known is implanted by God -- it's really a desire for Him that people have, as He is the One who knows and sees us more deeply than any other human being ever could -- and so loving people this way, I know, is one way I bear the Imago Dei. It's also what keeps me running, arms splayed wide open, straight into His chest when I need to be known in that way, too. It's also what makes me unfailingly grateful for the people in my life who care in this reciprocal way. It's rare, and I don't take it for granted.

When I think about other ways the enemy tried to advance his forces against my soul, even in my youthful years, a few sharp memories spring into focus.

The first happened when I was 5. I was in first grade, and I had a crush on Stevie Moore. The teacher had taken the class to the upper playground, where there was lots of grass, for the daily dose of physical education (which I hated), and we were playing a chase game called "Trees." At the first whistle, everyone in class runs around like wild hyenas. At the second whistle, groups of two pair up and interlace their hands overhead, forming a "tree," while the remaining kids run underneath the paired arms to get "caught" in the trees. Or something like that.

On the day of this particular memory, I got caught in Stevie Moore's tree, only facing the other way, toward his partner. Then I felt a small kiss on my back. Stevie Moore had kissed my back! Wow. Can a five-year-old experience heart palpitations?

Back in the classroom, winded and exhilarated, I confided this with a girl at my table -- the prettiest girl in class who always wore frilly dresses and had silky, long brown hair and deep blue eyes. "He kissed me on the back!" I cheered.

"Well, he kissed me on the lips," the girl said, and flounced her hair over her shoulder. And just like that, I was dismissed in a moment when I had chosen to put myself out there.

Another time a group of boys, led by the class bully, circled around me at recess as I wandered through a line of trees on the edge of the playground field. They circled closer and closer, and finally grabbed my arms while the bully ordered another one to lift my dress so they could stare at my underpants. I remember the small boy's face who took the order, pleading wordlessly with me for forgiveness as he put me through this shame, as though he knew it was wrong and that it would hurt me badly. And it did. Again, another moment of dismissal in a moment of vulnerability as I wandered, carefree and joyfully, through the line of trees.

It's these kinds of experiences (and there are more that I could tell) that caused me to close up and guard my words and actions, and definitely my deepest thoughts and feelings, from the rest of the world. It's probably what made reading feel so safe and established, since I got kinship and deep knowledge of another without the pain. But really, the pain was still there. I had just learned to lock it up deep inside, hidden from others, and even sometimes, though not so successfully most of the time, even myself.

In my next installment on the subject, I'll share more about the path toward freedom God began to carve out in my life . . . and how this all, eventually, relates to what He and I are beginning to build, together.

Weekend in Paradise

Alas, I didn't take near enough photos of this trip. I spent more time enjoying it than documenting it! But I did learn that the six of us enjoyed each other's company with lots of laughs.

We learned quick who the best storytellers were (Kirk and Tom). We also learned that car rental reservations mean nothing to island workers when there's a big celebration going on. We got stuck with the last available car on the entire island for our party of 6: a Ford Liberty SUV . . . that seats 5. As you can imagine, it made for interesting seating arrangements, especially for a location with scores of hairpin turns and steep hills!

We experienced the shortest prayer ever, compliments of my husband, on the first night: "Lord," he prayed. "You know. Thanks!" This served to lighten things up considerably among the group, and it, of course, got loads of airtime in conversation throughout the weekend.

We got stuck in a pelting rainstorm on a boat, which we laughed about . . . later. And we happened upon an idea for an animated screenplay, which we titled Mongoose Love, inspired by two mongoose we saw . . . er, loving on each other. We figure Pixar will pick it up and we'll all make millions. :)

And now, for your viewing pleasure, some photographs. Sorry I couldn't supply more!

Us (of course)

Tom and Cindy

LaKeisha and Ivor

Sunset on first night

Sunrise on first morning . . . a storm approaches!

Private boat tour of the islands . . . and about to get BURNED!

British batholiths on Virgin Gorda

Lunch on a private island

STORM ON THE BOAT!! (not pictured)

Touring St. John (my personal favorite)

Changing Stories

If you've been following this blog for any good length of time, you know that my story has seen its fair share of changes. In the past few years alone, I've moved from being a newly divorced woman learning the ropes of single adulthood to being a woman surprised into love by a God whose plans far exceeded my greatest hopes. I've been directed away from the life of the mind (though not rendered mindless, I hope!) toward the rich, deep life of the heart. I've survived a depression. I've moved across the country. I've walked through a spiritual desert. I've been rendered positively speechless.

Threaded through each of these changes is the story of a God releasing splendor in my heart. All this time, He's been after my vulnerability. He's been after my rest. He's been after my relinquishment of control. He's been after my absolute availability.

And now He begins something new.

Over this past month, God has invited me into a new adventure involving great risk and great faith. He has posed a question: Am I willing to leave my 9-to-5 job to begin a new work that offers these same gifts of the heart to other women who are just as in search of life and hope and freedom as I was? He has asked me to say yes . . . and I have.

And so, at the end of this month, I will be leaving behind a regular paycheck to chart a new course. Already it is forming in my mind's eye. Already, new and marvelous resources have sprung up. I'll share more about all these things in the days ahead, but for now I will leave you with the heartbeat and essence of what I'll be creating, with God's help, in the words of a post written almost a full a year ago . . .

"Thoughts on Love, Somewhat Muddled"

I think the whole point of life is learning how to love. And the object of our love can be broken into two categories: God and others.

One way (but not the only way) God helps us love Him is by meeting us in our need. What I mean is, deep down inside of us, each of us have very real hurts. Some of us don't like thinking about this, and others of us like to think and nurse on this too much. Either way, they're there. They exist. We are broken people.

We can be broken from big or little moments, in an instant or over a lifetime, in moments seared deep into our memories and moments we've now long forgotten. Those moments, from the instant they take place, affect the way we live, whether we know it or not. And once we get real about this with ourselves and with God -- face who we really are and what we really think and how we really feel in the most sincere moments of our lives -- God can finally get to work in a true and powerful way. In a life-transforming way. In a way that's far beyond and far more effective than what He can do -- and will do -- when we're unaware of what we need and He has to do all the work Himself.

I learned this in a very real way last year when I was all tied up in knots at work. It took every ounce of power in my body to get myself out of bed and out the door on weekday mornings. The pain of perfection and the fear of rejection was, quite literally, going to kill me. But at the root of it all was one big spiritual mess He'd been working to clear out of me for years.

A lot of what I'm sharing is nothing new. Everyone has hurts, like I already sufficiently covered a few paragraphs up, and everyone is dealing with something that pretty much boils down to thinking their value has been reduced to the mere function they perform -- that what they do is more important than who they simply are.

I know a lot of this, again, sounds like pop-culture mumbo-jumbo. But the thing is, it's my story. And it's what God used to eventually grow me into loving Him more, and into loving others more truly.

Some mornings, the only thing that would give me the strength to face the day was to picture in my mind that I was that woman in the crowd who touched Jesus' cloak and received His healing power because of it. Except instead of being in a crowd, I would picture myself the privileged and private audience in His throneroom in heaven, and that I was -- and am -- His beloved daughter. In this picture in my mind, God's cloak was a deep red velvet, and it extended far down from around His throne and onto the ground, closer and closer to me. In that image, I would reach forward, having been bent and huddled over in pain and shame, and I would clutch at the cloak that beckoned me to touch it.

And that was enough. As I sat huddled on the floor of that throneroom, totally broken and weak and unable to get myself up off the ground, I felt God gently watching me. I felt His invitation to touch His garment. His love extended down to where I was, so patient and involved. And once I touched it, I heard Him saying all He had to offer was all the strength I needed: His love, His sufficiency, His determination of my value. Not the determination of others or even what I concocted in my mind.

Somehow, that helped me get up and out of the door. And on my way to work, Kirk would talk and pray me through it. On lunch breaks and odd moments in the day, he would talk and pray me through it again, reminding me of that throneroom and ushering me back into the presence of God.

Somewhere along about that time, Hannah spoke those words I mentioned a few entries back about my being and bringing "color" -- bringing a life and vibrancy to places where life and vibrancy didn't previously exist, simply because of the heart He had given me to feel and care and listen and love from a place that understood the kind of questions and pain and confusion others were facing themselves, simply because I had been there.

Soon after all of that, something finally clicked. The panic attacks and the anxiety and the terror went away. I spent the next 6 months feeling free and resourceful and beautiful and alive and able to love those entrusted to my care, without reservation.

God began to use me, more than He ever had before.

And this is what I learned. Somehow, in the middle of all that mess, He was forming in me a heart that deeply loves. And feels. And grieves. And prays. And trusts. And, eventually, heals. And then passes it along to others who need to love and feel and grieve and pray and trust and eventually heal, too.

I met with more students in the past academic year who were dealing with their own trust and love and acceptance and parent and future and God and growing-up issues than I ever imagined possible. For some reason, they started coming out of the woodwork. A group of them even asked me to visit their morning Bible study one week, and all I could think to share was what I've attempted to share above: that the only thing that matters in life is who we are to God. That is what saves us, and that is what then propels our lives to helping others see this truth about their impenetrable and ever-esteemed value from God.

Nothing can change the way we matter to God. The only thing that can change is whether or not we really get what that means, and what happens in our hearts as a result. The only thing that can change is whether we will keep living for the approval of others or start resting in the real truth -- that we are more precious to God in our plain and true existence than we can even fathom, and He wants to care for us and fill us up.

To sum up, I guess all I'm trying to share in this whole long-winded post is one of the most precious gems of truth I've learned so far on this journey.

And that truth is: When God meets us in our need, we grow in our capacity to love both Him and others. We love others with the love He has accorded unto us, and we love Him with both great gratitude and utter acknowledgement of His magnitude and sufficiency for all our bodily and spiritual needs. He becomes intensely personal, and, as a result, so do we.

Slowdown Time, Anyone?

I was driving to Target tonight (something I hate doing -- I am not a Target fan, for the record) to return something Kirk bought and to find some casual wear for myself for our weekend away. Since Kirk bought the shirt that I was returning on his own credit card, he gave it to me in case they needed the card to return the charge on it. (They didn't, through the miracle of technology -- which is, ironically, about to be the theme of this post.)

Since I had his card with me, we agreed it would be best to put my new clothes on that card, too. I've never, ever done that before -- used somebody else's card, I mean, even if they offered me to -- and the whole thing made me nervous. As I drove, I played out potential disasters in my head. What if they're a store that still asks to see the card to check the signature? What if, even worse, they're a store that still asks to see the card in order to check it against ID?

Normally I'm all for this. I used to work in a bank, and you just see enough problems happen to people with their bank accounts and debit cards to render you a personal militant on financial privacy and protecting against identity theft. But tonight I was rooting for the other side. I was hoping they wouldn't care who really owned the card I was using.

Then I remembered that Target uses one of those "insert your own card" machines at checkout. You slide the card in, the machine gobbles it up, and then it spits the card back out. I usually pay with my debit card in these places, which means I just type in my PIN number and am good to go. It's like using cash. Nobody asks questions to see the card if you're doing it this way. But what about a credit card, I wondered? Even if I get to slide the credit card myself into that gobbling machine, does Target make its employees ask to see the card afterward in order to verify name and signature? As you can see, I was back to square one with my questions.

Before I knew it, all of this squirming got me reflecting on how things used to be. I pictured a small-town supermarket, where the cashier would take your plastic card and make an imprint of it with his handheld imprint machine -- or, in even more ancient days, would write the number of your card by hand into sixteen tiny square-inch boxes -- and then ask you to sign the triplicate form after he made the imprint. It used to be an ordeal to pay for things this way, and I can imagine it was almost like the cashier was elevated to offering some grand, supreme service to customers who chose to charge their purchases with a card instead of paying cash.

Can you imagine the lines in those days? It must have taken forever to get through with your shopping back then! And yet, since nobody knew any better, it was par for the course. I can imagine you just endured the expected wait time for checkout because that's just how long it took. People in that world that existed not so very long ago must have had massive amounts of patience stored up in their veins without even knowing it.

Fast-forward to today and we find ourselves in Impatient City. If the machine doesn't read our card on the first take -- and especially on the second! -- we get frustrated and a bit snippy. "It's not reading my card!" we complain. "What's wrong with this machine?" (I know this is what we do because this is exactly what I did tonight when it took three tries of my own sliding into that gobbling machine for it to still not read my card. I eventually had to hand it -- the card that was not my own -- over to the cashier to slide it himself in his register. You can imagine my horror as I handed it over, given my aforementioned anxiety at using Kirk's card. I prayed multiple times: Please don't look at the card, please don't look at the card. What a weird prayer! But things worked out all right. Turns out, the kid didn't give a rip about whose card I was using.)

The point I'm getting toward is this. We're so attuned to high-speed living, depending on technology to simplify every process, that we expect it as a matter of course. How different this thinking is from twenty years ago, when we had no idea just how much we could actually master with a machine and how much of our daily grind could be relegated to a machine's brainy genius.

And all of this made me wonder: is there anything in this world that we expect slowness for, and maybe even desire it? I would love to hear your thoughts on this.

Mac and Cheese

You're not going to believe this. Well, maybe some of you will. Kirk got a new computer this week -- a 17-inch MacBookPro that came with the tuition for the new master's program he started this week -- that has some of the most quirky features you can imagine finding on a laptop:

1. It takes pictures! Say, for instance, you want to add a contact to your address book. Say, additionally, that the person you're adding to your address book is sitting with you at the table. All you have to do is flip the screen around so it's facing your friend, click on the "take video image" tab on the contact screen, and a live camera screen pops up, complete with a 3-2-1 countdown to picture time. Voila! You have an instantly placed picture icon for their particular entry in your address book. Amazing. A computer that takes pictures.
2. The keys glow in the dark! I mean, seriously. Ever try typing things out at night, with only the light from the screen to guide you? With this sweet baby, you'll never have to strain to find the ampersand key again. Just turn off the lights and watch every letter, number, and symbol on your keyboard glow to life with luminescent backlighting staged underneath the keyboard. Whoa, that's seriously cool. It's even cool to watch it happen. You'll turn the lights on again, off again, on again, off again, just to get an instant thrill at the flick of your wrist.
3. It has a magnetic plug! You may think you're simply plugging in your comp for a regularly scheduled power-up, but what you're really doing is saving your computer's life. I mean, who hasn't sat working at the computer while it charges its joyful little heart out, when suddenly the phone rings and you have to jump up to grab it -- only to trip over the plug wire and almost lose your foot and your hardware to the merciless hard floor in the process? No more. This time when you trip, all you'll lose is the slight gait in your step as your shin slights against the cord -- and then keeps pushing onward, all because the cable connecting your comp to the wall is a simple piece of metal held in place by nothing but a small magnetic force.

I think it's safe to now state the obvious: I want one.

I think it's also safe to confess that I have no idea what the "cheese" part of this title has to do with this post . . . unless, of course, you count the obvious bit about taking pictures. Please don't state the additional obvious fact that this post, in and of itself, was cheesy.

Revisiting Eden

The U.S. and British Virgin Islands have got to be the closest place to Eden you can find on earth. Two years ago, Kirk moved to St. Thomas (one of the U.S. islands) for about a month. He was taking a sabbatical of sorts, and his best friend Tom, who owns an amazing villa called Oceancliff on St. Thomas, made the home available to Kirk during the time he was away. At the tail end of Kirk's time down there, I joined Tom, his wife, Cindy, and a few other people they invited down there for a wonderful 6-day trip.

As you can see, it's gorgeous . . . and we recently learned that we're going back! This week, in fact, as part of our first-anniversary celebration (which is next Saturday, the 9th). We can hardly believe our good fortune or Tom's generosity of spirit.

Three couples will be going -- us, Tom and Cindy, and their friends LaKeisha and Ivor, who will also be celebrating their wedding anniversary. The six of us enjoyed a great dinner last night at The Capital Grille as a pre-trip kickoff in order to finalize details, get to know one another better (we had met LaKeisha and Ivor a couple times before but never in a place that fostered too much get-to-know-you conversation), and just generally celebrate this upcoming fun excursion.

Did I mention it is beautiful there? The deserted beach in the photo above is actually on St. John, the next island over from St. Thomas and my personal favorite. The island is two-thirds national forest. This particular stretch of beach is called Cinnamon Bay. When Kirk and I visited this beach two years ago, there was probably only about ten other people on it the entire time we were there. That's definitely the way to enjoy a beach in one of the most pristine spots of creation!

We fly out early Thursday morning and return on Sunday evening. Can't wait to tell you all about it!

Thanks to my hub for these beautiful and inspiring photographs.

Waitress, with Keri Russell

Kirk and I saw a great independent film tonight at the wonderfully historic Enzian Theatre. It's called Waitress, and it stars Keri Russell -- you know, the girl from Felicity. I know she has been in a few films since that show ended (Mission Impossible 3, The Upside of Anger, for example), but I think she and everyone else has been wondering if she was going to be pigeonholed forever as "that Felicity girl."

This is the film in which she finally succeeds in breaking that stereotype.

Waitress is a story about a young woman with a flair for baking pies. And not just baking them, but inventing new ones. Seriously, she invents a new pie every day -- it's part of her job at the diner -- and she pins them with great, creative names. Not only that, but you get to watch them being made often. It's one of the most inventive and beautiful bits about this film.

Most days this girl invents multiple new pie recipes -- she's just that talented -- and for her, it's not just a passion but something she was born to do. It opens a doorway into her most contented, calm, and satisfied self. Which is a really great thing to watch, because she's stuck in a pretty bad marriage, and you find out right away that she's now pregnant with a baby she doesn't want to bring into this life she's stuck living. But she decides to have the baby anyway.

The bright spots in this girl's life, besides all the pies, of course, are her two waitress friends at the diner (one of whom also wrote and directed the film). Collectively, they provide kicks to this movie and smart, witty dialogue. You can't help but love each of them with their quirkiness, their beautiful hearts, and their friendship and honesty with one another. Andy Griffith also shows up in a great role here, playing a crotchety old man who owns the diner. Oh, and there's also the issue of an extramarital affair. (I throw in that last part for any of you out there who might like to know ahead of time that this element shows up in the movie.)

If you have an independent theatre in your town, I highly recommend you go see this film. It's warm, it's witty, it's inventive, and it's sweet. I love the dialogue, and I especially love the humor. I love the sweet song she sings at one point in the movie about baking pies with heart in the middle, which the character learned from her own mother (and which I warn you that you'll be humming for at least 30 minutes after you leave the theatre).

Beyond all the strength the film carries on its own, I loved seeing Keri Russell star in a strong role other than that of Felicity. You believe in her character, you root for her, and you fall in love with her (and her pies!). I hope you see it and enjoy it thoroughly.

The Morning After

Kirk and I made it to bed just past eleven last night, having finished the entire move in one whole day. After showers and a clean load of laundry done, we dropped into bed with just enough energy to muster a small prayer of thanks. We slept soundly and gratefully.

Kirk helped me realize that last night was the first night in over three years that I've slept in my own bed in an actual bedroom. Can you believe it? These past three years, I've lived in a one-room guesthouse with a tiny twin bed in a sleeping area that shared space with the living area, an even smaller guesthouse cottage that didn't even boast a bed (I slept on the couch and floor for a year!), and a converted garage studio where the bedroom, living room, and eating area shared space. Compared to those living quarters, this two-bedroom cottage is luxurious! And I love every bit of it.

On this morning after, we are definitely feeling it now: sore, sore, sore. Our backs hurt, our hamstrings hurt, and we both have a case of the sniffles. But we're so happy to be moved in, and this morning finds us taking our slow and quiet time of enjoyment. Take a look. Better yet, come on in.

Quiet morning for the kitchen. (Those plants were here when we moved in. I'd say they need some tender care!)

Quiet morning for the bookshelves. (And yes, they are built-in!)

Quiet morning in the farmroom. (We're calling the little footstool under the window Diva's Throne. We'll see if she eventually makes use of it.)

Quiet morning in the library for me, writing these snippets of stories for you. (Is that a rogue Starbucks cup I see??)

Quiet morning for Solomon and Daddy. (Yes, that is Solomon back asleep. If you can't tell, naps are his second favorite hobby, after eating. While he was awake in the farmroom just a short time ago, now you can see he's reclaimed his turf on the bed for a mid-morning snooze. Silly boy! So predictable!)

The View from Our House

I thought I'd share a few pics of the exterior of our home, since some of you (ahem, I mean Erin) asked to see more. Enjoy!

View from our front door. Can you see the lake peeking between the tree and the left of the house across the street? That's Lake Sylvan, a small lake that's perfect for canoeing.

Here's the view along the front of our house to the right of the front door. I love the casement windows and the little window boxes! Chris, the wife who owns the house, said she wants to plant more flowers in those boxes -- and that's fine by us!

View along the front walk out to the tiny driveway that fits one car.

Here's a closer view of the hibiscus blooming beautiful pink flowers on the far side of the driveway.

Another view of the front of our house, this time from the left of the front door. We're going to do something about those drapes . . . something a little more "us." Right now, we're thinking long red linen panels.

And this little trellis to the left of the house . . .

. . . leads to the side of the house where you can find these pretty lilies. At least, I think they're lilies. If so, I must say: how appropriate! The little brick walkway here leads further back to a sitting area with a fountain that we share with the neighbors, Sam and Chris, who own both houses. If you look closely, just past the kitchen windowbox, you can see an awning. It covers an outside door that leads into our bedroom.

And finally, this burgeoning gardenia tree (is it properly called a tree?) blossoms up against Sam and Chris's house, right across from the lilies. These gardenia blooms waft their scent perpetually and make the outside of the house smell soooo good!

Moving In

We're moving into our new house this weekend, with the big push happening today. Boy, are we tired! We cleared out our storage unit in three trips with a pickup truck this morning and then spent a couple hours going in and out of antique stores looking for furniture (since we have the truck until tomorrow morning). Alas, no luck on the furniture front thus far.

Then we headed home for a short break and to finish packing the belongings in our existing residence. We just got back from taking the first load of those things to the new house, and now we have left to pack the kitchen. Thankfully, most of what's in the kitchen right now doesn't belong to us, so hopefully it won't take long.

We're almost there! And then, of course, comes the unpacking. Hopefully by Monday we can take a day of rest.

Body Relations

Ever since I was plunged into the world of health at my job last fall, I've been learning a lot more about how best to take care of the body. And, motivated in part to better take care of myself and in part to just lose weight, I began to make some changes. Within those first few weeks, I started toting 3-4 bottles of water with me to work each day. I packed small bags of almonds for a midday snack, an apple or ripe peach for the afternoon. I tried to let up on Starbucks (though not so successfully!). And I stayed away from soda.

I felt better about my body right away in those first few weeks, but the weight loss benefit didn't come the way I thought it would. And, to be honest, I wasn't sure how much weight there really was to lose. My body sure didn’t look a whole lot different to me, even though my clothes fit more snugly than they did when we left for our wedding and honeymoon in June. Of course, a near-month in Europe and the first few months of a marriage are bound to take a toll on the waistline, but still, I didn’t see much of a change. (I’ve heard people who gain weight often can’t see the reality reflected in the mirror, though.)

The thing I mostly mean about not being sure how much weight there really was to lose is this. Since we live in a tiny space, we take our clothes to a wash-and-fold service to get them cleaned -- a place where you can drop your laundry and pick it up the next day, all washed and dried and folded -- and I thought the tightness of clothing had to do with that. You see, back home in California I would wash pants and delicate tops in the washer and then hang them up to dry so they wouldn't shrink, whereas here I didn't have that option with the wash-and-fold service. They put all our clothes through the full washer-and-dryer rigamorale, no exceptions. Trust me, I asked! So I figured this new process was slowly shrinking my clothes.

But then came the day of reckoning: my first visit to the doctor for a regular checkup in early December. When the nurse asked me step on the scale, I could hardly believe the number that turned up!

"That can't be," I sputtered. "I've never weighed that much in my life!" She clucked sympathetically and led me into the examination room. I sat down in the chair, completely dazed, repeating the number in my mind, unable to fathom the truth of it. "How can that possibly be?" I wondered aloud again. "I've always been thin. I've never worried about weight."

I had, since my last weigh-in about six months prior, gained a whopping 25 pounds. Again, I'll grant that this was due in large part to the sheer amount of life change that had happened in that six months of time: preparing for an overseas wedding, wrapping up a stressful job, packing up my life in California, saying goodbye to family and friends, driving across the country, saying hello to a new home, and then traipsing over to Europe for our wedding ceremony and honeymoon before settling back into a new life with Kirk in a whole new state -- not to mention all the celebratory meals that had filled that time!

But still, I could hardly believe it. It was a huge wake-up call, and not a little depressing.

Since that fateful day in the doctor's office, I've been doing what I can to change my body, and all to no good effect. I've exercised in spurts, and I've kept up the healthy snacking. No change. I’ve stayed away from soda altogether. Still, no change. And the fact is, Kirk and I like to celebrate. Even though I snack smart through the day, we usually go out for sushi or Thai or Italian in the evening, plus eat out on weekends. But we’ve often broken it up with steamed salmon or chicken or salad in the evenings on a pretty regular basis. Still, no change.

Of course, the other fact is that I don't know how to care for myself.

I've known this for quite some time. I was thin my whole life and never had to worry a pinch about what I ate. There was no freshman fifteen for me when I moved to college, and I maintained a slender 115 for my first two years, only popping up to 125 once I got married my junior year. I ate like a bird most of the time, knowing the whole while that what I ate was never healthy. Still, my body complied and kept me thin, and I loved that we had this agreement. I loved never worrying and doing as I pleased, always with good results.

Now that I'm struggling with weight, I'm learning all kinds of new and scary things. For instance, I'm learning that I don't have any sense of a relationship with my body. I’m realizing, to be brutally honest, that I view it as an object -- an object I control. At least, that’s the agreement I thought we had. Now that my body is in breach of this contract, I’m pretty put out.

If I’m to be even more honest, I must concede that in the past I have done mean things to my body in order to get the results I want. If I went up about 5 pounds, I wouldn’t feed it for one or two days so I could drop back down to what I felt was an acceptable weight. Instead of actual food, I would feed it Starbucks and Hot Tamales and Dr. Pepper and Jack in the Box tacos and Peanut Butter M&Ms -- and nothing else -- yet in small enough doses so that I wouldn’t gain weight. And I would stare obsessively at my tummy every time I walked by a mirror or went into a bathroom, and especially first thing in the morning. This, indeed, was a sickness.

And it still is, only now of a different sort. It’s the kind of sickness I don’t have any sense how to handle. My lifestyle has changed significantly: I’m not flying solo anymore and feeding myself the junk food my body knows how to comply with getting. Now Kirk and I eat full meals. We eat regularly. We celebrate often. And I love all this.

Because the other truth of the matter is what I’ve been learning about walking the road of grace. In almost every other facet of my life, I’ve been learning to care more gently for myself. And slowly but surely, I see how this has made its way into my eating habits. No longer do I want to live in a deprive-it-because-I-control-it-to-get-what-I-want relationship with my body. That just seems so harsh (because it is), and harsh is not a word I want showing up in my vocabulary toward myself (or others, for that matter) ever again.

But what this means is that I’ve swung to the other extreme. In the name of grace, I have chosen to let myself do whatever I want. I didn’t understand that freedom, as shared by a dear friend recently, means the ability to choose what is good.

And that’s because, when it comes to my body and food, I don’t really know what is good. As I said earlier, I don’t know how to care for my body. I don’t know how to have a relationship with it. I don't know how to make good choices. And that, my friends, because you asked, is the reason for the (Almost) Raw Foods Diet. Operating on the objective knowledge that fruits, vegetables, nuts, and some meat is truly good for the body, I chose to eat those foods without the mediation of lesser-quality choices for a while. As my post revealed, I was able to see the true results of eating good choices versus eating poor choices right away. This totally mystified me. It was like I was witnessing a miracle, so floored was I that my body could talk back to me!

I'll confess right now that I haven’t been unswervingly faithful to that raw food eating plan over the past week and a half. But for me, rather than being a strict diet regimen, it’s more about a process in which I'm bent toward learning how to relate to my body, how to no longer view it as a faceless object I control, and how to slowly learn something new about all this, together, along the way.

Our New Home Awaits

Welcome to our new home! Kirk and I have been dropping by the house each day, walking around and around its rooms and debating how to "dress it up" once we move in. We've made a few decisions I'm glad to share with you here.

This is the front room. (The front door is around the little corner you see on the left edge of this picture.) Originally, we thought it made sense to bring a sofa and some reading chairs into this room -- you know, make it like a living space, since there's a built-in shelf in the wall for a TV with cable hookups. But the more we thought about this, the less this space felt like a regular living space. We don't even want to buy a TV for this house. So Kirk hit upon the idea of putting a large wooden farm table into this space that seats at least 8 people, making the room an immediate gathering space for good meals and lively, creative conversation. Great idea, huh? My hub is so creative. So, we're now calling this space the Farmroom.

This little space next to the Farmroom was originally going to be the dining room nook. But that's so, well, predictable, and now we've decided the Farmroom is going to be the place for meals. So Kirk (again, the ever-creative one between us) came up with the idea of making this area into a library. We can put a little loveseat under the windows and then add an old square trunk to serve as a coffee table. (The trunk was my idea, but it really originated with him because that's what he used as a coffee table in his old house when I met him. So, again, he takes the creative prize!) Against the left wall (not pictured here), we'll add a small bookcase and a comfy reading chair. And, of course, a great lamp to make it cozy in the evenings.

Welcome to our favorite room in the house -- the one that sold us on it immediately once we looked inside. The owners pegged this as the master bedroom, but after the walk-through we turned to each other and said, "Wouldn't this make a great studio?" This highly charged creative space is dying to be appreciated as an artistic workspace. We're going to put two side-by-side large wood desks under the long line of windows so we can keep the gorgeous outside environs as inspiration as we work. There's also room for a bookcase, a printer desk, and some files, if needed.

And here's our little bedroom at the back of the house. Isn't that stained-glass window beautiful? I love the tiny chair and antique desk, too. What's great about this room is how private it feels. You have to step down into it from the entrances on either side of the room, one of which is a white wood door with a window cut into it, which I love. That door makes it feel like a farmhouse, as does the view from the bed. When you lay on your back and look up, you feel like you're in an old farmroom because of the high ceiling, high crossbeams, and white beadboard lining the walls and ceiling.

Now, isn't this a house you'd want to visit? I know it's one I want to inhabit! I look forward to sharing more pictures as we begin to furnish its rooms.

We Got the House!

That's right, folks. Kirk and I are now the proud parents of an adorable cottage in historic Winter Park. They called this morning, said we were their first choice, and then we stopped by after church tonight to sign papers and hand over the deposit.

Then, after a lengthy chatty session in which we learned just how much our neighborhood is begging to be serialized in short-story form (the neighbors have just that much character, not to mention the kind of wildlife action that happens near-nightly around there!), we stepped next door and entered our new home.

We then proceeded to walk from room to room, around and around the house, for a good 45 minutes, drinking in the singular wonder of this wonderful gift. We can hardly believe it's true, but it is.

Thank you for your prayers and love. I send an especially big hug of thanks to all you adorable girls out there whose many well-wishes and "Oh Christianne's" offered on my previous post brought huge smiles to my face . . . herein lies your official invitation to a great gathering of love, laughs, and afternoon tea at my new house. Come on down!

An Adorable Surprise

Last Sunday, Kirk and I stumbled upon a house for rent that pulled us into its adorable orbit, and we're hoping it's ours for the taking.

We happened to be driving around, as we like to do at least a few times a week, keeping up good conversation and taking in the surrounding beauty. Winter Park has a number of neighborhoods that are just plain charming, either because the homes are quaint or because the lakes -- sometimes edging both sides of the street! -- shine with a peaceful and glassy beauty.

This particular day, there was a terrific summer storm going. The rain pelted our car like big baseballs, and we could barely see through the windshield. We pulled over once it started and rolled down our windows, taking in the smell of wet air and letting the big drops of water hit our arms and shoulders.

After the storm ended, we kept driving around the town. We were cruising through the usual neighborhoods when Kirk decided to take a random turn on impulse. We headed into a neighborhood we rarely visit, and soon we had turned onto a street I'd never seen before in my life. It was beautiful, and soon a small red sign came into view. It read, "For Rent."

This was no ordinary sign. It sat on the small front yard of the cutest cottage you've ever seen in your life. It's kinda tiny, with adorable casement windows that line the entire front. A tiny brick driveway can fit one car. Two oldish camphor trees and a magnolia tree stand in the front yard, with a burgeoning gardenia tree on the left side of the house that sweetly and persistenly scents the air. The house is white, with a black front door. It sits on a stubbly brick street.

Cute.

"Shall I call?" Kirk asked, with his phone already out and his fingers doing the dialing. He's never responded this way to a home before -- already calling the owners up! -- but there he was, first introducing himself to the wife and then speaking freely with the husband. It turns out they own the home next door, and both homes are on the historic homes register for Winter Park. It's called the Edison Cottage, named after (you guessed it) Thomas Edison, who owned both homes at one time.

Kirk and Sam carried on a friendly conversation for a while about the neighborhood (Kirk used to live around the corner) and their shared experiences owning and renting properties. We learned that they were out of town this week but would be back in town on Friday, at which point we were invited to call for an appointment to see the house. Needless to say, it was going to be a long week requiring patience!

When Kirk hung up the phone, we stared at each other a moment and then looked at the house. Almost simultaneously, we turned back toward each other and suggested taking a closer look. We parked the car in the driveway and got out to stroll the perimeter. We tried to peek through the windows, but, unfortunately, the drapes kept us from any sneak-peeking! After a short walk around the front and right side of the house, we put our hands on the front doorposts and said a quick prayer, releasing it into God's hands.

Obviously, we drove by the house numerous times this week, each time voicing how strange this experience feels. We weren't looking for a new place to live at all, but suddenly it seemed like the most obvious next step for us: with our first anniversary just a few weeks away, the time seems right to put down roots in Winter Park and settle into a real home together. (We've been living in a converted garage this past year that's hip and trendy . . . but definitely small!) I really desire the experience of stepping into a potential home with Kirk, just to see how it feels. I desire to live in a modest house-sized space we can call our own. I desire to hunt for the perfect furnishings to fill that house. It just feels like the right time to start sharing these kind of experiences with Kirk, and he voiced his desire for the same.

So we wondered all week whether this is God's next gift to us or simply a foreshadowing of some gift he's preparing for us to receive sometime in the future.

It's probably needless to say that we called them up first thing this morning. We felt sure others would be lined up to do the same, and we wanted to ensure they knew our serious interest. We left a message and waited (as patiently as we could!) to hear back from them. Later, in the early evening, we tried again on a whim and were surprised when Sam picked up the phone. He invited us over right then, so what did we do? We scooted on down.

Of course, the house is darling. It's exactly what we would have hoped. Somehow, I just knew

it would have hardwood floors . . . and it did. Somehow I just knew the front room would carry the entire length of the house . . . and it did. Somehow both of us knew it would feel like an expansive creative space . . . and it does.

It was loaded with many more surprises. For instance, Thomas Edison's daughter-in-law stayed there often, using it as her artist studio. She painted a number of cupboard faces in the main front room, which the owners have preserved with pride. There are built-in bookshelves in the front room. There's a stained-glass window in the back bedroom. There's also an antique desk, a bed, and an unusual door with a glass window leading down into that bedroom, too. It even comes with a washer and dryer! (What a relief, since we've been paying for wash-and-fold service this entire past year.)

The final verdict is that we love the house. We like the owners, and they seemed to like us, too -- they spent about an hour and a half with us tonight, even inviting us into their home to fill out the application and to show us some great historical artifacts about their house and Winter Park. At this point, their appointment schedule is booked through the weekend, as they received "stacks of calls" this week to see the house.

We should have an answer by Monday or Tuesday, though, and we suppose now all we can do is wait. We'd appreciate your joining us in prayer!

The (Almost) Raw Foods Diet

For the past week and a half, Kirk and I have been conducting an experiment. It's called the Raw Foods Diet. We eat . . . only raw foods: spinach, strawberries, apples, oranges, broccoli, cauliflower, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and almonds, with just water and Kombucha (a raw food drink) for refreshment.

Yep, that's about it. Every day, all day, all week long. Isn't it grand?

It took us about a day to make exceptions to this rule. We could eat soup, but not the cream-based ones. We could eat chicken, but only steamed and as a garnish for salad. We could eat sushi, but only as the furthest extent of this law we'd just laid down. You can see how it quickly became the (Almost) Raw Foods Diet.

We began a week ago Thursday because we'd heard that drastically changing one's eating regimen could result in sluggishness and even illness. We wanted to have the weekend right around the corner to recover, if necessary, and I'm glad we did. Even though we had planned to go it a week at the first run, we felt so starved by Sunday that we agreed on our first sabbath break. (I, for one, was getting particularly cranky!)

That first sabbath, we had Mexican for lunch, Starbucks for a snack, and pizza for dinner . . . and felt sick to our stomachs after all three. We were glad to strike up on the diet in the new week ahead, just to see how the good foods would take to our systems again. So this last week, we really did go for it. We went for about six days straight eating just the foods listed above, though I added a nonfat light yogurt to my berry-and-almond afternoon snack, and Kirk added Eggbeaters to his occasional evening snack choices.

Since we had dinner plans with Kirk's dad this past Saturday night, we agreed our sabbath break would run from Saturday night to Sunday night, and we agreed that the "free day" meant being allowed to eat whatever we wanted without any guilt or shame. We wondered aloud how this would feel after a week of eating consistently well.

Having completed the sabbath now, I can tell you it didn't feel good. We found the indulgent foods just didn't have the flavor we used to taste in them. They tasted . . . dead. Which is appropriate, I guess, because dead is exactly what they were! (As opposed to living foods that come directly from the earth.) I also felt sick to my stomach again and found I couldn't eat very much at meals. I couldn't even finish an iced latte! It's amazing how much your system can change once you begin feeding yourself what you need instead of just what you want.

Fours . . . Wanna Play?

Four jobs I've had: waitress, bookstore manager, entry level bank manager, book editor

Four places I have lived: a house, an apartment, a guest house, and a converted garage

Four movies I watch over and over: Sense and Sensibility, Anne of Green Gables, Under the Tuscan Sun, and Pride and Prejudice (new version)

Four favorite foods: sushi, Mexican, Italian, and Starbucks

Four favorite TV shows: Passport to Europe, Gene Simmons Family Jewels, Friends, and The Search for the Next Doll

Four places I'd rather be right now: England, Paris, Ireland, or Italy

Four people I tag to complete this survey: Kirsten, Laura, Blue Mountain Mama, and Erin

This Just In

Have you heard? Have you heard? They've made a movie of Jane Austen's life, and it looks positively wonderful.

It released in the UK on March 9 . . . and comes to the U.S. on August 3 with limited distribution. You can view the full theatrical trailer here. Enjoy, and pleasant waiting!

Movie Highlight: The Holiday

When Kirk took me to see The Holiday in theatres last December, I fell in love from moment one. Kate Winslet opens the movie with a voice-over about the different forms of love, landing firmly and finally on the woes of unrequited love in an exposition so authentically and painfully told that you can't help trusting her completely with the next two hours of your life. And she doesn't disappoint.

I loved this film so much that I traipsed happily back to the theatres one week later, having to see it again, and then snatched it up at Borders a few weeks ago once it came on sale.

Here's the great premise: Two women unlucky in love and having never met decide on a home exchange for the Christmas holiday. One woman (Kate Winslet) lives in England and makes a modest living writing for the London Telegraph. She owns an adorable book-lined and snow-steeped cottage in Surrey. (Besides falling in love with this movie and Kate's great character, I fell in love also with this little cottage.)

The other woman (Cameron Diaz) produces movie trailers for a living and owns a luxurious bungalow in the hills of L.A. She has probably never heard the phrase "modest living" in her whole life.

Of course, the inevitable outcome is that their lives change completely for the better from this experience. It's a perfectly made chick flick with excellent dialogue and comic timing that I highly recommend. Here are a few of my favorites from this film.

Favorite Kate Winslet moment: The five-minute montage of her excitable glee as she discovers perk after perk in her new temporary home, complete with jumps, squeals, yips, and a final face-down flop on the king-sized bed.

Favorite Cameron Diaz moment: The three times she closes her eyes only to hear the movie-trailer-voice-over-man giving a play-by-play of her life inside her head.

Favorite Jack Black movie: His meandering walk through the video store as he gives a vocal exposition on brilliant scores of brilliant films.

Favorite Jude Law moment: Mr. Napkinhead.

Favorite unexpected moment: Discovering the real Sophie and Olivia.

Favorite line: "Boob grace," said by Jack Black when he reaches past Kate Winslet at the sushi bar to get the soy sauce and accidentally catches her chest with the side of his hand.

Favorite musical moment: When Ennio Morricone's Cinema Paradiso score is pouring out of Jack Black's convertible and wafting through the air the first time he meets Kate Winslet.

Pictures Debuting to Your Right

I'm tinkering a bit with my template. You'll find that I've added some fun pics to the right-hand column. It helps add some personality to this otherwise quite minimal site . . . but I know it's still nowhere near the gorgeous design my good friend Kirsten's got going on her blog.

In related news, I'm thinking of changing the look here altogether. Those of you on Blogger know that after a while, you've seen all the templates there are to be seen on Blogger's template site . . . not to mention that everyone else already claimed the great designs and you don't want to be a copy-cat! However, I think we need some more color and variety over here. Agreed? Any suggestions?