This Pruning Year

" . . . every branch that bears fruit He prunes,

that it may bear more fruit."

John 15:2

Hello, dear friends.

I've had quite a revelation stirring up my mind and soul these past two days. It is causing a complete reframing of this past hard year, and I can hardly believe it is happening.

On Sunday morning, I settled in at my desk for some time of devotion with God. Are you familiar with the lectio divina method of reading Scripture? It's a way of reading that allows for deep introspection and personal response, usually in such a way that evokes a conversation between one's soul and God.

This is the way I most often read the Scriptures in the morning. I'll take a psalm or other small passage in the Bible and, before I begin, will sit with the page open before me on the desk and consciously open my heart to God. I'll ask him to meet with me through the words we're about to read together.

Then I'll read through the psalm or passage once, often aloud, and then sit for a few moments and reflect on what I just read. If I have questions about what I read, I voice those questions to God. If something doesn't make sense or is hard for me to fathom, I tell God about it. If I find myself adoring God just a little bit more by what I learned of him in that section of Scripture, I tell him that too.

And then I go back to the beginning of the passage and begin to read it again, this time a bit more slowly. (This is the real heart of the lectio divina practice.) During this second time through, I pay more careful attention to the words, asking God to alight my eyes upon a small portion that is to be my focus of devotion for the morning.

Here's where this practice created a complete reframing of this past year for me on Sunday.

I was sitting with a somewhat lengthy passage in John 15, and on my second time through it, a verse near the beginning of the chapter completely arrested me: ". . . every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit." When I came to these words, it was like they jumped off the page in brilliant and holographic light. I couldn't stop reading and re-reading them. I kept turning the verse around in my mind, hearing it again and again, tasting it on my tongue.

Every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 

It was so clear to me in that moment that this verse applied to me and this last year of chaos I've sustained. There's no doubt that my "branch," at the end of last summer, was bearing much fruit. As I told one friend yesterday, it was like huge mounds of fruit were bursting off my branch at that time . . . fruitfulness upon fruitfulness everywhere! And like I said a couple posts ago, I emerged from that summer feeling more healthy, spiritually and emotionally speaking, than I'd felt in my entire life.

But then I was swept into chaos. Waves upon waves came crashing down on me, and no matter which way I turned, I couldn't seem to catch my breath or find any semblance of peaceful waters.

I kept looking to my circumstances, seeing how they might need to change change. And in late November, I landed on the word "congruence" and went about pruning back some of my commitments. (I can hardly believe this now, but I even used a tree and branch metaphor and image for this process of discernment at the time!)

There was a little bit of calm after that initial pruning in November, but still the waters felt prone to choppiness, and when I started my full-time job in January, the tumult started up all over again. I couldn't seem to catch my breath. I just couldn't get any kind of grip on life.

Again, it was so, so strange.

It's been such a sadness to me, the pain and tumult of this past year. I've written before that it contained an incredible amount of loss, primarily through relationships I couldn't maintain because of all the many which ways I was being swept from one end of the ocean to the other in what seemed to be every single waking second of each day.

But more recently, I've been noticing an incredible sense of loss that is more spiritual in nature . . . a loss of who I had been in the world, to God and to others, when I was standing in that whole and healthy place before the chaos began. Where had that girl gone? How long will it take her to recover from this year? The word regression keeps coming to mind.

Up to this point, having made the decision to leave full-time work, I have had such mixed feelings about what transpired through the course of this year. Because of the way my decision to leave my job came about, it's so clear that God has used this last year's experience to fully clarify in my mind how he made me to exist in this world, not only for his own glory and my health, but also for the benefit of others. My decision to leave my job was wholeheartedly, then, about claiming these truths and doing what was necessary to continue striding forward toward the work he has given me to do in this world. (I'm sure at some point I will share more of this story and its implications with you.)

But even though I can see how God used the year to clarify his intents and purposes for me, which has been such a great gift on the back end of what felt like nothing but pain and confusion, I've still felt that acute sense of loss. I've felt anger about this. And I've even felt a lot of shame, as though the tossing and jostling in those waves was my own dense inability to know how to ride waves instead.

But no more.

Now, because of John 15:2, I see that this has been a pruning year. Every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit. My God has been pruning me this year. There's something in me that needed to be pruned. And he did it so that I could bear more fruit.

It's no wonder I felt such pain and confusion: I was having whole pieces of myself lopped off with each incisive and precise clip of my smart gardener's shears! But even more than that, he's helping me see through this revelation that the tumult and confusion is not my fault at all. It is his doing. His intentional purpose for me. He has work that he's about in me, and he's been going about it, even if I've been unable to understand what was happening.

You can bet I'm going to be sitting with this one for quite a while. There's so much here for me to learn and better see.

I Can Hardly Believe This Gift

A couple nights ago, I received a text from my mom. It was late, perhaps almost 11PM, and her text asked, "Are you available to talk about something important?" When I called a few moments later, worried that something was wrong, she said she needed me to get on my computer because she'd just sent me a link to something she wanted me to watch.

But first she told me the story.

On her way to work that morning, she'd pulled out a few old CDs for listening company. Once the above song came on, she said she started to cry, so she immediately turned it off (not wanting to be a puddle of tears by the time she arrived at work!). But on her drive home at the end of the day, she gave the song another try.

"I've heard this song so many times," she said, "but I've never really noticed the second verse. I want you to listen to this song."

So I clicked on the link she had sent, and it took me to the YouTube video posted above. I immediately recognized the band and said, "I own that album!" But I couldn't, just by seeing the song title, recall the song itself until it began to play.

I began listening through the first verse and came to the chorus:

You're holding her hand
You're straining for words
You're trying to make sense of it all
She's desperate for hope
Darkness clouding her view
She's looking to you


Just love her like Jesus
Carry her to him
His yoke is easy
His burden is light
You don't need the answers
To all of life's questions
Just know that he loves her
And stays by her side
Just love her like Jesus

When I heard these words, I began to lose it. I just started weeping right there on the phone. I knew one big reason she had sent me this song . . . it's everything I have shared about wanting to hold Kirsten's hand and just sit with her in her grief . . . and it's everything I have shared about not having words and not knowing at all what to say. Here was the reminder: just love her like Jesus.

Except the story continues.

There was the second verse she had mentioned never noticing before and that she especially wanted me to hear. You'll understand immediately the impact of these words:

The gifts lie in wait
In a room painted blue
The little blessing from heaven
Would be there soon
Hope fades in the night
Blue skies turn to gray
As the little one slips away

As soon as this second verse began, I immediately knew where the story would lead and the tears came harder and faster. I could hardly believe how perfectly this song captured everything inside my heart for my friend and everything just like their experience had been: the bedroom prepared, the gifts waiting there, the little one slipping away in the night before he'd ever been able to come home with them.

My mom said that when the song played in her car, she cried hard tears the whole way home and couldn't stop praying. She said she kept seeing me holding Kirsten's hand and just knowing I needed to be there.

"I'd like to fly you up to see her," she said. "I really think you need to go."

What?!

I could hardly believe it, and my immediate response was no. I could not accept such a lavish gift. I could not accept such kindness.

And yet even as I protested, even as I recognized my inability to receive this kindness, I knew I needed to receive it. You see, just a couple days previous, Kirk and I had spent our Sunday morning sitting on our bed listening to a sermon by Dan Allender about suffering the kindness of God. (It's an incredible sermon and totally worth the 45-minute listen!) The sermon talked about the difficulty of receiving lavish gifts . . . of the pride in us that causes us to refuse them, thinking we need to earn our worthiness of them, when all we really need to do is receive.

I could feel that exact same pride rising up in me when my mom offered me this gift. It was a pride that felt unable to receive this utterly free gift of love. I didn't feel worthy. I hadn't done anything to earn it. I just couldn't say yes.

But again, I had a feeling that was exactly why I should. I couldn't stop thinking of that phrase: suffer the kindness.

Plus, my mom also helped me realize this gift wasn't completely about me anyway. "It's not just for you that I want to do this," she said. "It's also for Kirsten, and for James. And also, it's a little bit for me, for wanting to help extend care to them, too, during this very difficult time. This is one way I can help. It's how I most want to help."

It's been such an amazing few days, holding this story in my heart. It still hardly feels real! And even though Kirsten and I have talked and the e-ticket confirmation has shown up in my inbox, it's still so hard to believe.

In just over a week, I'll be seeing my dear, sweet friend. She will meet me at the airport, and I will put my arms around her and not want to ever let go. I will touch her curls, rub her back, hold her hand, and be a physical presence and witness with her in her grief. I will look in her eyes and say, "I'm here. I love you. Whatever you need in these next few days is completely and fully yours."

So, so utterly thankful.

Thank you, Mom. You bless me more than you know. Kirsten and I are so deeply thankful for this gift of time and presence. 

A Place for My Heart to Rest

Hello, friends.

I have been trying to figure out how to share with you some of the pieces of my heart's journey over this past year. I want you to know where I am, given where I've been and where I'm going. Plus, writing is always the best way for me to process my deepest truths, so writing it out for you will also be like writing it out for me.

It's tricky, though, because some of the strands of this story overlap and circle back and sometimes even seem to contradict. (This is one reason why writing is so helpful to me . . . it helps me work out the kinks and apparent contradictions in my story.) Other strands of the story still feel too close and raw to share beyond the bounds of my closest inner circle.

So I guess one thing I'll say right now is this: I'm in the process of having my heart restored.

It's been such a painful thing, this getting to a place where my heart even needs restoring. Last summer, I emerged from a summer of solitude with my heart beating very, very strong. I felt more healthy, spiritually and emotionally speaking, than I had ever felt in my entire life. I had spent a lot of that time over the summer in worship, in quiet, and in deep introspection. I had made peace with some of my fiercest demons, one huge piece of which was walking through an intentional process of forgiveness in some of the deepest crevices of my heart. And I had reached a place that was utterly, utterly new and which I can only describe as beginning to care more for Jesus and for others than I needed to care for myself.

These were all very new places for me, and this growth was such a marvel to me. God was so good in bringing me to that place.

But this past year, I seemed to lose all of that growth. I couldn't find that still center anymore. I couldn't find my footing. I tossed and tumbled the whole way through. And in the process, I lost my connection to God, to myself, and to others. I also seemed to lose my ability to give of myself, which felt like a complete annihilation of the person I had slowly but gladly become over the long journey of many years of growth.

But God has still been so good to me. He somehow, through his grace, sustained me through a year of being unable to sustain myself. And he also used this difficult year to ultimately bring me back to myself. One day I woke up and just knew: it was time to return. And that moment felt just like the moment Mary Oliver writes about in her most famous and wonderful poem:

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began . . . 

[from "The Journey"]

And so, here I am.

Through this process of returning to my heart, I have found myself on a path that provides much intentional space for the revitalization of my heart and spirit. This is a work God must do, and so I am seeking him and asking him to do it. I just lean into the space, and I show up, knowing that all of this restoration of spirit is ultimately meant for others: as God strengthens me, I can love others more.

One place providing a space of rest and nurture for me right now is this Lilies blog. This, right now, is a place I am bringing my heart, no matter its state, to simply share what is. Bruised, battered, hopeful, enlivened . . . Jesus is taking all of it, and here I will share how I'm giving it to him and what I'm discovering about myself and him in the process. (And some days, this is just a place where I can be plain silly or talk about normal life.)

Basically, this is a place for my heart to rest right now, no matter what that happens to look like on any given day. So you will get my heart in this place while Jesus tends to it. I'll share with you (and with me) this heart that Jesus is mending . . . all for the joy of becoming strong in love once more.

Mostly, I've Been Nothing but Tears

Hi there, friends.

It seems I've been nothing but tears these last few days. Over the last few days, I've cried deep wrenching tears at least three times, maybe four. The kind of tears that wrench deep in your gut and bowl you over in half because it feels like your insides are splitting in two with the pain you feel.

Have you ever known those kind of tears?

Most of these tears stem from sorrows in the lives of those I know. Many close friends are walking right now through unimaginable and unbearable darknesses, and God is letting my own heart connect in some small measure with the pain they carry so that my entire being spills open in tears upon tears.

Even if my experience of that pain barely approximates the fullness of their own, it is enough to tell me that the pain they carry is magnificently terrible.

So I sit here in these tears and wonder what to do. Sometimes I feel like a friend of Job, sitting in the silence, passing the shards of pottery his way so that he can scrape at his sores in his grief because there's nothing else he can do to change his circumstances or take away the profound reality of his loss.

But I don't want to be like those friends of Job, those friends who eventually tried to tell him what to do or how to feel or how he could have made his situation different than it was. If there's one thing I'm learning in this shared sorrow God is giving me to experience, it's that there's nothing I can do. I feel utterly helpless, mute, and incompetent pretty much all of the time.

Each time, then, I am left begging God to do what only he can do. Each time, I plead with him to overcome my own humanity and failings so they receive only what is pure and not what is lacking in me. Each time, I beg him to come closer to them.

Tonight, as I was crying one of these soul-deep cries after a phone call with one of the dearest souls of my heart, Kirk gave me the gift of his presence in my incredibly burdened tears. He smoothed my hair and rubbed my back as I cried and cried and cried. Sometimes he said a few words, and sometimes he asked a question . . . but just his simple presence was all I needed most. The smoothing of my hair. The rubbing of my shoulder. The gentle feel of his hand on my back.

I didn't need words. I needed his presence and those quiet, small, but comforting gestures. They were so much more than enough. He, too, in this moment, was re-teaching me how to listen.

Tonight a friend shared the above video with me on Facebook. It's a song by David Crowder called "Shine," and it speaks the words of a prayer that asks God to come close and whisper and to shine inside a heart that is listening and yearning for what only that light of love can do: overcome.

The video itself tells a love story, and I love the Lite Brite creativity of it, but really it's the words and the melody of this song that rend my heart and meet me where I am. In this song, I find the words of my own prayer right now: that the light of the love of the only one who overcomes would shine from the depths of my heart, offering comfort and presence to those who mourn, especially to those I love.

Finding the Perfect Planner

Hi there!

So, if you follow me on Twitter or are friends with me on Facebook, you're aware that Franklin Covey and I are dear friends and that I've eagerly awaited the arrival of planner bliss-dom on my doorstep over this past week.

The package showed up on my doorstep yesterday, and I am in planner heaven! I decided to share the joy of its arrival with you and unbox the new prize on camera. :-)

And, as with everything worth remarking upon in my life, there's a story to go along with discovering this planner. In this video, I take you along for the journey.

By the way, I showed this video to Kirk tonight, and he thinks it's absolutely hilarious. I'm not sure if it's actually hilarious or simply funny to him because he knows me so well and is totally a planner geek of the superior kind himself. (Seriously, the man takes three planners with him to work every day!) You be the judge. In any case, Kirk is of the opinion that I should do product reviews professionally. :-)

Also, it seems worth mentioning that despite my love for planners, if you and I were to ever take a trip together somewhere, I would not be the sort to plan every sight and sound worth seeing along the way. When I travel, I prefer slow, unplanned spontaneity. This planner mania is reserved for my everyday life only!

Enjoy!

xoxo,

Christianne

PS: I mentioned in the video that I would link to Kelly Rae Roberts, so here's the link to her website and blog.

Today : Begin

A screenshot of my MacbookPro desktop.

I'm taking a special class this week that I'd like to tell you about.

But first, I want to give you some context for how the class came into my life so that you'll understand why I'm doubly excited to be taking the class: because the class itself is amazing, but also because it seems evident I'm meant to focus on it right now.

So here's the backstory.

I've been following a great gal's blog for some time now. Her name is Marianne Elliot, and she calls herself a Zen Peacekeeper. (Isn't that a great name? That's also her name on Twitter.) I started reading Marianne's blog about a year or so ago, when I was relatively early in my exploration of peacemaking and nonviolence. At the time, she had a blog called Zen and the Art of Peacekeeping, and I voraciously devoured every single post in her archives when I discovered it. I loved learning about this remarkable woman who had worked in the Gaza Strip, in Afghanistan, and for the United Nations for human rights and who carried a fierce yet tender compassion inside of her.

I knew she had a lot to teach me.

Since that time, I've watched Marianne embrace yet another beautiful role for herself: that of teacher, and specifically a teacher of yoga. Sometime earlier this year she launched something called "30 Days of Yoga" that utterly intrigued me, as it was a class that customized your personal needs with a daily yoga practice Marianne created for you to do over the course of 30 days. It combined mindfulness, exercise, and community with a very personal touch, and I love the creative way Marianne found to use her expertise and experience as a yoga teacher to reach people all over the world in this personal and helpful way.

I've been wanting to take Marianne's "30 Days of Yoga" class for a while now, but the timing just never seems to work out right for me. And then last month she announced a very special edition` of the class she was calling the "Karma Edition." Not only was it special in its pricing -- you could pay what you wanted based on what you were able to do or personally thought the class was worth to you -- but 100 percent of the revenue generated by this version of the class in October would also be donated entirely to the Global Seva Challenge supporting people with HIV/AIDS in South Africa.

Perfect.

Except, no. Somehow with the trip to Portland and the flurry of activity due to my transition season, I totally missed the open window of registration.

Darn!

But it's all worked out okay because the next thing I knew, a new and increasingly dear friend of mine, Christine Mason Miller, was blogging about a class she was going to teach the week of October 13th and would be donating the proceeds from the class to Marianne's Seva Challenge, too.

Now, here is something special about what greeted me when I clicked on the link for Christine's course. Not only was I greeted with the course title, but I was greeted with the same image you see at the top of this post. Here it is again:

You see, many months ago, Christine made available for free download a desktop wallpaper. Its beauty and simplicity really spoke to me, and it's been sitting on my desktop for almost the entirety of the intervening months. Every once in a while, I completely clear out the windows from my desktop on my screen just so I can stare at the print. It creates a still point for me inside myself. I love that.

And that desktop wallpaper? It was the same image and title used for this course. Here was an opportunity to take a class with the creator of the print, someone who has also become a friend in recent months . . . plus, I totally got inspired by the course description:

Online ~ 2 Hour Workshop ~ $25

Participants will give a dream, a project, or a creative idea some time and attention, with exercises to create a working to-do list, make a commitment to taking the first step, and then create an inspiring piece of encouragement. The purpose is to explore all the things that are holding you back from taking the first step and to encourage you to create your own "perfect time" to begin, rather than continuing to wait for some other magic moment. 

First of all, does that not just sound wonderful??

Yes, I agree that it does. :-)

But even more than that, it meets me in a perfect place in my journey. I do have a creative idea that's been staying with me in recent months, and it is requiring a little faith, some intuition, some creativity, and a bit of space to outline what needs to be done to bring it to life.

It needs some space to just begin.

So, voila! I'm taking the course this week. It will require about two hours of dedicated time, and I look forward to carving out that time in the next couple days to give this new and creative and special idea some wings.

A Peek Into This New Life

This is pretty much how Diva and I get along on a regular basis.

Today was the first day of the first full week of my new full-time life at home. Last week this new journey began, but it was definitely a transition week. This week, it feels a lot more official.

I love the way I spent this first official morning.

As Kirk got ready and left for work, I made some coffee in the french press and settled in at my desk. It has been so long since I spent time on morning devotions, and that was my first priority today. I have a long list of Gospel passages on assignment for a leadership course I'm taking, so I started reading through the list.

There's something about the Bible that makes me want to read it aloud. Do you ever find that to be the case for you? Some of the passages on my list for today were quite lengthy, so I sat and read aloud at my desk for about 45 minutes. And typical to form, Diva showed up about five minutes into the reading practice . . . she proceeded to jump on my lap and listen to the words and stories of Jesus for pretty much the entirety of my devotional time. (I swear, this little girl kitty knows God.)

I remember last spring, in 2009, when I emerged out of a season of learning to rest, I came to a place of great contentedness in small, everyday chores for our household. Making the bed, folding the laundry, paying the bills, and doing the dishes became activities of great joy and peace for me, and honestly, I have been looking forward to resuming responsibility for these tasks in our household with my return home on a more permanent basis.

This morning, after the devotional exercise of reading Scripture and spending time in prayer, then, I did a few household chores . . . and just the exercise of doing them filled me up again inside. I like the way these little tasks make me feel like I am caring for our life at home together.

Then I settled in for several hours of work at my desk. I organized and filtered through more of my work orientation e-mails, and I began to put some plans in place for the upcoming weeks. I also started diving into my first big project, which I look forward to continuing to do tomorrow. Once all of this was done, I stopped for a lunchtime snack, checked personal e-mails and Facebook, and read some of my favorite blogs.

In all, it was a very peaceful day, and I am enjoying the opportunity to plan and execute my day in the ways that seem most fitting and best, given the things that most need doing.

As a note: I don't plan to chronicle each and every day's activity on this blog in the way I've just done here and have been doing in small snippets over the past week or so. In fact, over the course of the coming days, I expect to start sharing more of my heart's journey with you from this last year and how that led to my making this decision I did to embark on such a big life change away from full-time work in an office. I'll also be sharing some of my thoughts on this particular blog space with you in the coming days, in terms of why this space is important for me and how it is an important element inside my heart's journey right now.

I hope you'll continue to join me for the journey!

xoxo,

Christianne

A Snippet to Make You (and Me) Laugh

Hi there, friends.

Today's been a hard day for me. I wrote yesterday that the events of the week seem to be catching up with me, and I woke today with the exact same feeling. I had tasks I had hoped to accomplish today, but somehow the energy for all of them was nowhere to be found.

So I did what I mentioned I might, and I took myself to see a movie! Just a short date with myself in the middle of the afternoon. (I love taking myself on a date to the movies, don't you?)

I went to see The Social Network (the link takes you a page where you can watch the trailer), which is a dramatization of the story behind the creation of Facebook. I loved it! It's brilliantly cast and superbly written, and the tension in the story (which the trailer depicts perfectly) builds higher and higher until everything almost explodes. I definitely want to see it again.

To be truthful, though, I think the movie is now contributing a bit more to my melancholia. Jesse Eisenberg, the actor depicting Mark Zuckerberg in the film, does such a good job representing Zuckerberg that I told Kirk later, "However much of the movie is inaccurate to the truth of what really transpired in real life, it doesn't matter. For every viewer of this movie, Jesse Eisenberg is Mark Zuckerberg, and what happened in the movie is what we will all now believe happened in real life."

That's pretty powerful storytelling.

But what happened in the movie was sad, in my opinion. Zuckerberg struck me as very lonely (though it was hard to tell if he cared he was lonely), and also quite vengeful. The spiritual director in me couldn't help wanting to know more of his story. I wanted to know what goes on in his head, since he holds so much of himself locked up inside. And then, as I drove home from the movie, I found myself wondering about his parents. They were nowhere to be seen in the film, and I couldn't help but wonder what they make of the brilliance and fame of their son, who is the youngest billionaire in the history of the world.

I don't know. I guess it was the perfect (or not-so-perfect?) film for my day because I've been carrying quite a bit of sadness around with me. I'm feeling so sad about Ewan, especially as I know Kirsten is preparing for what no mother -- and especially no brand-new mother -- should ever have to prepare for: a memorial service for her little son. How is that even possible? I hate this so much for her. Just hate it.

And I'm feeling sadness about my transition away from my previous job, as I worked each day with people I care a lot about, and we were working in our own small way to change the world together. Much of my heart was invested in that place, and I'm feeling the sadness of losing that part of my heart right now.

So tonight, as I noticed these sad feelings, I found myself wanting a bit of Marcel the Shell in my life, so I thought I would share him with you. This little shell is just adorable, and I hope you enjoy him as much as I do. I discovered him just a few days ago via Twitter, and already I have watched this clip at least 10 times. It makes me giggle every time. Totally a tonic when you need a bit of a mood lift.

PS: I love the part where Marcel talks on the phone, and I also love the part where he drags around his little lint pet. :-)

PPS: What's your favorite part?

It's All Catching Up to Me Now

Hi there, friends.

I shared in yesterday's post that the transition to a new season of part-time work and attending to the needs of my heart and household was leaving me feeling refreshed and full. But it's amazing to me how different one day can be from the next because today I have such little energy. I think the events of this week have finally caught up with me.

In all truth, it's been a week of significant moments.

There is the tremor that shook the community of which I am a part when my dear friend Kirsten and her husband James lost their little boy after he fought valiantly in his two short weeks of life. It is still quite unreal to me that this is the reality my dear, sweet, beautiful friend is holding right now. It is still almost too tragic to be true. But it is true, and that has been weighing on my heart heavily this week.

And then there was the decision to step away from my full-time job, which has held so much of my heart this year. It was such a difficult decision to make, and it comes with its own share of heartache.

Not only was that decision momentous, but it was followed by an intense two-day transition out of my role there after the decision was made. I wanted to leave well and with all of my cares in order there, so those two days were filled with ensuring I finished well.

Then yesterday brought its own share of transitions. It was the first day of my new chapter, and it was also the first day at my new part-time job. Both of these are exciting realities in my world, and yesterday was indeed a very fun and joy-filled day, but these new realities also carry importance to me. I feel their significance in great measure.

This has indeed been a week, then, of great change, transition, and care.

And like I said above, it has finally begun catching up with me. I've been a bit more sluggish today, able to handle less activity, and altogether just in need of a good, long nap. I think tomorrow I will take myself to a movie. :-)

Refreshed and Full

Cypress knees and light-tipped leaves at the 

Kraft Azalea Gardens in Winter Park, FL.

Hello there, friends.

Today was such a refreshing day, and as I sit here writing this, my heart feels very, very full.

It was the first day in a new chapter of my story that finds me paring back pretty significantly to the most essential values in my life. I said goodbye yesterday to a group of people I dearly love at a company I very much care about in order to focus more intently on the rebirth of life in my heart. Today marked a significant step forward, then, into this new chapter of mine. It marked a commitment to the reclamation of my heart.

That commitment will take several forms, the first of which is a transition to part-time work. I've been loosely connected to a local publisher here in town for a little while now, but we've never had an opportunity to work together until now. This time, the timing worked out just right for me and for them, so I spent several hours today getting oriented to the work they do and the specific role they have asked me to play in that work. I'm looking forward to what the days ahead hold in working with them!

It's such a gift that I have the opportunity to work part-time right now, as that's really what I need in order to attend to some other areas of my life and heart that need a bit of nurture. And what's more, the bulk of my hours are able to be completed from my very favorite working space: my little corner of our cute home!

I'm so thankful for this new space in life I'm being granted right now that will allow for the intentional cultivation and care of my heart. It needs so much love and space and time and quiet right now, and I can hardly believe the gift of that space and time and quiet is upon me. I am so, so grateful.

I said at the beginning of this post that I feel refreshed and full. It's true. The weather in Central Florida has been positively gorgeous this week: the skies are clear, the breeze is cool, the air is crisp, and there is virtually zero humidity. When I stepped outside at one point today, I couldn't help looking up at the clear blue sky and exclaiming aloud, "What a beautiful day!"

Already the gift of this new and more slow-paced season is producing incredible amounts of joy and energy inside me. When I got home from my new job today, I pushed through a number of household tasks with industriousness and enjoyment and have ended the day feeling full, refreshed, and like my presence in this world is perhaps, once again, a very good thing.

She's Re-Teaching Me How to Listen

Hello, my friends.

As some of you know, I've been on a bit of a difficult journey this past year. God has been teaching me much through this year about who I am and how he made me to exist and bring life into this world. I'm so thankful for what he's been teaching me, as I feel such joy when I'm embracing the life he gave me to live . . . but the road to getting there on this particular leg of the journey has been painful indeed.

So much of this past year's journey concerns loss: loss of relationships, loss of opportunities, loss of experiences, and simply the loss of being present to the people I dearly love. Now, as I turn round the corner of these losses to the other side, I'm beginning, slowly but surely, to re-embrace those relationships, those experiences, that presence.

I have a ways to go to re-learn these things. I am so terribly out of practice.

One part of who I am that I've come to cherish much in recent years is my ability to listen. It is so very important to me that people be heard and be seen, and particularly in ways that are only their own to hold, without any competition from those hearing them or seeing them in needing to be heard or be seen themselves in those moments. Just holding people as they are and where they are and with what they have to speak, being fully attentive to them alone in the moment . . . that is one of the most important values I hold in life. I love offering that level of presence to others.

This is one of those gifts that went virtually unused through this past difficult year. So I am now on the road to re-learning how to listen. I am re-learning how to offer presence. I am re-learning how to be with someone without my own agenda or need to speak.

Kirsten is re-teaching me how to do this through her journey. She doesn't even know she is my teacher right now, but she is. And I'm thankful, even as my clumsiness in this place so incredibly humbles me.

On the night they said goodbye to Ewan, I received a special call from Kirsten. When I saw her name displayed on my phone as it rang, my body immediately tensed and my mind began racing. Earlier that day, we had learned that he had an infection and that his body was rejecting antibiotics. We knew it would be a day of difficult decisions for Kirsten and James. And there was her name, displayed on my phone.

She told me they were indeed preparing to say goodbye to their beautiful boy, and all I could do in that moment was cry out and weep with her. Tears flowed between us. "It's not fair," she said. And out of my mouth flew the words, over and over: "I'm so sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . . I'm so sorry."

I didn't know what to say. How can we ever know, really, in circumstances like this?

But it wasn't until after that initial moment of pain and shock subsided that I became self-conscious and realized I didn't know or have the right words to say. I fumbled a few times. I am pretty sure I said several dumb and unhelpful things.

I was so out of the practice of offering presence.

Yesterday, Kirsten reminded me how to begin again. She wrote on Ewan's blog:

Many have been struggling with the desire to say something that will help. Let me take that pressure away: there is nothing to be said that will take away or diminish our grief, even though we know that we do not grieve as those without hope. We understand that, and we certainly don't expect it. One of the hardest (but best) things to do is to sit in silence with someone who is grieving -- simply to sit and to be present without the need to offer words. 

I am holding this reminder so close, and will continue to do so. She's re-teaching me right now how to listen, as it is what she most needs from me.

In Sadness and Silence

Two souls that know one another

The last 24 hours have held such incredible heartache. My dear friend Kirsten and her loving husband James said goodbye to their beautiful baby boy. They held him in their arms in his final moments of life as he moved quietly from this life to the next. He went to be with Jesus.

What words can be said? Only love and tears.

So many times today, I have found myself stopping at odd moments and sitting for long minutes in silence. Tears well in my eyes. My stomach clenches in sadness. My heart aches, and I push all the love I hold for this dear friend out from my body on a 3,000-mile journey northwest to where she lives, from my one far corner of the country to her at the other, just sending her all my love, just sharing with her and James in their sadness.

I have closed my eyes in prayer so many times. Asking God for mercy. Asking Jesus to bring his peace. Asking God to be kind, and present, and gentle, and to surround them and all those near to them with all the love God has to give.

Tonight I also have spent time with the photograph above. From the first moment I saw it, just a few days after Ewan's birth, this photograph moved me so. It speaks so much of how well this mama and her little one knew one another, don't you think?

And from this day forward, whenever I think of Kirsten and her precious little Ewan, this is the image that will always remain: the intent way they had of studying one another. This tiny soul that knew his mama, knew he belonged to her, and she to him. She knew him, and he knew her: they belonged to each other, and they still do.

It's one of the most precious sights I've ever beheld, this photograph. I will carry it in my mind and heart each day as I love and pray for this friend, for her beloved husband James, and for all (even me) who grieve the loss of this little one's beautiful life.

To read the beautiful story of the last hours Kirsten and James spent with Ewan, click here.

Weeping and Rejoicing

Giant wooden Psalm 139 plaque that hangs in our house.

Tonight I am spending a lot of time thinking about how varied life can be, and how it can range from high to low at the exact same time.

Right now, some people in this big, wide world are celebrating the highest moments they've ever known in their lives while others are dropping to the deepest lows they've ever touched. At one and the same moment, there is weeping and rejoicing in this world.

Similarly, today found me rejoicing in a way I haven't rejoiced in a very long time, but it also found my heart marked with extraordinary sadness: my dear friend continues to navigate a terrain so completely unpredictable and terrifically heart-wrenching, I hardly know how her heart bears it. At one and the same moment, I wept and rejoiced tonight on my bed.

Inside my beloved friend's story, even, yesterday was cause for celebration and today brought heartache and pain. Weeping and rejoicing, in almost the very same breath.

And somehow God is present to it all.

How can that be?

I remember when little Ava Hunter struggled through her cancer diagnosis over a ten-week period this summer. I watched in amazement as her family continued to worship God, even as their beloved little girl slipped further and further away. At her memorial service, we all stood together and sang, "You give and take away, You give and take away, You give and take away, blessed be Your name."

I've been sitting on my bed tonight, staring up at the ceiling with joy and grief both swirling like mad in my heart, and I can't stop thinking about this: You give and take away. Blessed be Your name.

I can't say that I've been particularly good at blessing God's name in the difficult places of late. The Hunter family and my friend Kirsten have been great teachers to me in this regard. Even in the darkness, they have blessed God's name.

Oh, that I would do the same when darkness visits me.

But for now, I hold the weeping and rejoicing in my heart and marvel at the mystery of knowing both at once . . . perhaps, in some small way, similar to how God knows them too.

Eye Candy Treats for You

Hello there, friends!

It's a late night for me, as I've been working hard to finish a freelance project and get it off to the super-awesome publisher before bed. And now that the work is done, I have time for a quick play session with you before heading off to dream sweet dreams.

I've decided to keep this one simple and simply share some lovely eye candy treats with you. In fact, I may make this an occasional "eye candy" series and share random images with you from our daily life and shared experiences from time to time. Nothing fancy . . . just some photos that capture moments we've shared and recall to mind fond memories in our life together so far.

That being said, this particular handful of photos were all taken by Kirk, and all of them were captured in chance moments we shared during our first few months as a couple.

Enjoy!

 Glance of elbow and clothes, taken on the Winter Park Boat Tour. 

June 2005

 Such friendly sunflowers! 

Taken in Kirk's kitchen during our first visit. 

June 2005

Beautiful sunrise in Cambridge, England.

August 2005

Quiet morning streets of Cambridge, England.

August 2005

Really cool tree found on Addison's Walk in Oxford, England.

August 2005

The Beautiful Sounds & Soul of Amy Seeley

I want to introduce you to Amy Seeley.

I first learned of Amy through a woman I deeply adore, affectionately known in blogland as Boho Girl. Several times over the last couple years, Boho Girl (aka Denise) has blogged about Amy, her music, and their friendship. I believe at one point Denise even shared the video above on her blog.

One day, after reading one of these posts Denise had written, I finally decided it was time to jump in and experience Amy's music for myself. I went to iTunes and began sampling several of the albums. But as can happen sometimes when discovering a talented artist with several albums already published, I just couldn't decide which album should be my first official introduction to the music of Amy Seeley.

So I decided to wait.

Sometime later, I came across a photographer by the name of David Jay. He, too, was blogging about this remarkable pianist, lyricist, and vocalist named Amy Seeley, and he shared about a day they had spent together on the Westmont College campus in Santa Barbara. He was just beginning to pair some of her beautiful music with his beautiful wedding photography, and I found the music and images such an appropriate complement to one another.

I fell in love with Amy Seeley again that day. But still I waited.

Even though it took me long to climb into the songs and sounds of Amy Seeley, I'm so glad I waited as long as I did. Do you know why? Because when the time finally emerged for me to "meet" Amy Seeley in her music, the course of events also brought with it a chance to meet Amy in real life -- in Portland, in fact, which happens to be where she lives.

I could hardly believe the way our paths began to collide as Kirk and I prepared to head to Portland and I connected to Amy via e-mail about the full-collection purchase I wanted to make through her website. When we discovered our paths would overlap in Portland, she was kind enough to head downtown on Monday afternoon to meet me at Powell's Books at the end of our Monday session.

There she stood, on the corner outside the store, waiting for me with three CDs in her hand, all wrapped up in a silky brown bow. She was adorable. And sweet. And so very present in her giving of hugs and in asking about our experience of the conference. We didn't have many long moments to share on that day, but I was left with the impression of having met a very special, kind, and spiritual soul.

In preparation for our flight home the next day, I loaded all three of Amy's albums on my iPod for company on the plane. And oh, did I swoon! Amy's lyrics and voice are so tender and attentive. Her fingers on the piano embed music on the soul with rhythmic grace, strength, and vulnerability. I told her today that her music is a new companion for my soul.

I love discovering a new artist whose music becomes a companion for my soul, don't you? Amy's music is certainly that for me.

(And if you're interested in giving Amy's music a try and want suggestions on the best place to start, I would humbly recommend her Call It Life EP. I've been listening to that particular album on repeat for two days straight!)

xoxo,
Christianne

Video Challenge Day 10: Reflections on the Challenge

Hello, friends.

We are back from Portland, and of course the kitties are thrilled. We think they must have some kind of sixth sense that tells them we're finally on our way back home. Both of them were waiting at the door when we walked in, ready to follow us around the house until we gave them the affection they craved.

This 10-day video challenge has been quite an accomplishment for me, and in the video I share some of the reasons why. I'm so glad I did it!

I also share a bit about my intention for this space going forward. I hope you'll continue to join me here and find refreshment for your own spirit, just as I'll be finding refreshment for mine.

Thanks for being here for the relaunch of this blog and the 10-day challenge!

xoxo,
Christianne

Video Challenge Day 9: On Saving Many Lives

Hello there, friends.

There is much to process about the story conference we just finished with Donald Miller, and Kirk and I expect it will take us quite a bit of time to unpack all the rich treasures it held for us.

Rather than try to process through the conference in one short video post, I decided to share one huge takeaway from the conference that I'm pondering and holding close to my heart right now.

And then tomorrow, we head home.

It will be a long day of travel, but I look forward to wrapping up the 10-day video challenge with a reflective closing post about this series tomorrow night when we get home. (And can I just say . . . I am really looking forward to snuggling with this little one and this little one as soon as we walk in the door!)

xoxo,
Christianne

Video Challenge Day 8: The Storyline Conference

Hello there!

It's late here, and tomorrow is shaping up to be an early morning and very full day, so I'll keep this post short and sweet.

Simply put, I am loving this conference. In the video, I share my first four reasons why.

If you want to know more about Lucy, whom I mention in the video, click here for several posts on Don Miller's blog that he wrote from Lucy's perspective. (Isn't that fun?)

Also, if you're curious to know more about Storychange, which I mention toward the end of the video, you can get some of the backstory here, here, and here.

PS: I removed my glasses for this one because the lamp behind my laptop kept casting a glare on my glasses, and I thought that would be kind of distracting.

PPS: You'll notice I have quite a habit of reaching up to adjust my glasses, even when they're not physically on my head. :-)

Video Challenge Day 7: Welcome to Portland!

Hi everyone!

I'm writing this post from Peet's Coffee and Tea Shop in downtown Portland, right up the block from our very cool and swanky hotel. (Seriously . . . how many hotels give you an option for seven different varieties of pillow to enjoy, along with an option of ten different holy books you can order to your room, depending on your personal faith tradition? I'm impressed.)

In this video, I share several of the reasons I love traveling with Kirk, and you get a peek into some of the special trips we've enjoyed together in our life so far. (I actually wrote a post after our honeymoon about the favorite place in Paris I mention in the video, which you can read here.)

By the way, I usually record these videos with the screen blacked out so that I can focus on talking directly to you, instead of being distracted by my own image as I talk to the screen. So I didn't realize, toward the end of the video, that Kirk exits the bathroom behind me and sits on the bed, just barely visible to you as I am completing the video.

He asked me to tell you he sends his regards. :-)

Video Challenge Day 6: Heading Out of Town!

Hi there, everyone!

This sixth installment in the 10-day video challenge is just a quick update for you, as Kirk and I are prepping the house and our bags for a trip out of town!

First, though, thank you ever so much for your prayers for baby Ewan last night. Kirsten is continuing to keep the community updated through regular postings to the Team Ewan blog. I'd encourage you to head over there and read how God is answering the prayers of the saints as we hold up this little one before his face.

And second, we'll be in the Pacific Northwest for the next four days, and I'll post these daily updates from there so you can spy on what we're doing with our time each day. It's going to be a blast, I know!

PS: Here is info on the conference we're attending.

PPS: Here is Donald Miller's uber-thoughtful blog.

PPPS: I highly recommend the two books I mentioned in the video, Blue Like Jazz and A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.