Flower Patch Farmgirl

God Bless the Salad and Other Updates

2013-05-19T22:55:00.000-04:00

I present to you our favorite Saturday dinner. It's some kind of Cobb salad, since it has avocado and bacon. At least that's what I tell myself. It's also part-Nicoise on account of the potatoes (boil, smash, drizzle with olive oil, salt, pepper, rosemary, roast until crispy).

I'll shout it from my high horse: I love a good salad!

But the salad was really just the beginning, because Calvin did get his yellow belt. My tiny little baby kicked a board in half with his foot and we were all so stinking proud.

We got our garden planted with help from our new friends Brad and Deb. They totally deserve a pair of shiny crowns or at least a couple of sashes. Their kindness made me cry a little. They are our people now, a new and beautiful part of the community God gifted us with when He sent us here on what seemed like a lark. We shouldn't be so surprised by His goodness. Thank you guys!

And then...I found a bike at Chain Reaction! A vintage American Eagle. Oh boy, did I ever waffle. Because there was a turquoise bike and a green bike and then the AE, in a drab bronzey olive. The two men running the shop probably wanted to smack me with a spoke half-way through my deliberations. I finally confessed that I sort of hoped for one in a prettier color. They smirked and pretended to understand. In the end, I did what I never ever do and erred on the side of practicality. I know. In her defense, she had shiny fenders and will pair nicely with a hot pink or coral basket. And yes, she's a she, even though she's drab. I have vowed to love her forever, just the way she is.

Then today? Prison run. With the two cutest baby boys on the planet.
Robert is growing dreds, people. And I love them. He's so handsome with his little baby dreds! (Do not tell him I called them little baby dreds. Even though that's what they are...now.)

I can't stop thanking God that Robert took us as his parents. Such a gift. The usually sober guard came to our table to see the babies and I know a window when I see one, so I asked if he gives her trouble and watched in amazement as she grinned and, dare I say - giggled. Our boy, he's a charmer. I'm so proud of him. He passed his big test this past week and I shrieked like a maniac when he called to give us the news. Dude is smart and amazing.

Life is good, you know? I'm a lucky lady.

Now here's where you come in - I need your help. Friends and countrymen, I have a speaking gig tomorrow night (Monday, 6:30 pm). Like, with a podium and a microphone. I'm sharing a big part of our story at Fairview Missionary in Angola, IN. I enjoy public speaking and did quite a bit of it in my former life, but it has been a while. And I always get clammy right before I start. If you think about it, would you shoot a prayer my way? And if you're in the area, come out and join us!

We just got off the phone with Robert and he offered some advice:

Robert: Let me tell you a trick I learned because you know, I've done a lot of public speaking (giggle). Don't try to think about it, but just keep telling yourself that they're not gonna call your name. Then when they do, just go up there and start talking.

Me: But I know they're going to call my name because I'm the only speaker.

Robert: No you're not.

:)

Robert: Just make sure you don't forget your speech.

Me: I'm showing them a picture of you, is that okay?

Robert: Yeah. As long as I look good in it.

Me: Have you ever looked bad in a picture?

Robert: Good point.

I'll let you know how it goes!

Until then...Happy Mondaying, friends!

You Thought I Was Done?

2013-05-17T21:40:00.001-04:00

Every now and then, I have a smart idea. Sometimes it's gingham and ikat, sometimes it's bed coverings as curtains. On this night? Our lone group shot.

(ps - Those are the new favorite shorts.)

So. We went mini golfing one evening after Early Bird dinner. Because we're wild like that.
It was super fun and not just because I came in second (out of 4 - haha) but because Cory was pulling out some really messed up moves. He was a hot mess. Emphasis on hot.

There was another foursome right ahead of us. In my mind they were a full generation older than us, but that's because I often still think I'm in my early twenties instead of my late thirties (true story). They were having the most miserable time. No laughing. No inappropriate humor. Men on one side, women on the other. Drab footwear. It was depressing.

Can we all vow right now to never turn into that? Scout's honor.

I miss my friend. 5 days together and then BOOM. She was gone.
I ran into her last night unexpectedly at the grocery (score!). She was looking all cute in her rad pixie and the cutest skirt. I told her, "I always LOVE that skirt." She looked at me strangely..."I bought it from you. At your garage sale."

hahaha. I honestly don't remember ever owning it. I just remember loving it when she wears it. The more we talked, I vaguely remembered it. But I don't remember liking it when I owned it. (Hence the garage sale?) In a million years I could not have told you that she bought it from my sale. Did I even have a garage sale?? I'm not convinced.

This is just how life is for me and my everyday people. It's not as funny in person. It's more, "You need to get more sleep, Shannan."

This was my last night of vacay, when I had given up. 3 evenings of looking cute had taken their toll. I was spent. So I wore a weird outfit and didn't do my hair.

It turns out, I should never have packed the Blue Dress for No Dang Reason. After wearing it with knit tights, a cardigan, and tall boots, I felt downright scandalous for the 3 minutes I donned it solo.

So I tried on a new dress I'd bought at Target a month ago. It's short in the front a long in the back. You know, a mullet dress. When I first spotted it, I thought it seemed like the quirkiest find ever. So I nabbed it. Then I saw youngsters everywhere sporting the look and it lost some of its sheen. On second glance, it was a giant arrow pointing straight to my chicken legs which were now partially sunburned (left knee cap, left side of right calf, lower right ankle. Don't ask.)

In the end: my gray knit skirt and a t-shirt that keeps narrowly escaping the Goodwill pile.

But at least we had the sunset.

Say it with me, "Awwwww!"

Let's speed this up a bit. One line captions!

"No comment."

"The tree stands alone."

"Dude looks sketchy."

"Sidewalk to Heaven."

"I hate tourists."

"I hope the lady doesn't remember that this is my third night in a row of mocha almond fudge."

Cholesterol free! Lactose free!
Or Gourmet.
DUH.

And last but not least...

Some traditions beg to be kept.

So there. I'm done.

I'm getting ready now to hunker down with the season finale of Scandal. Tomorrow is a crazy-hectic day, but I'm banking on it being the good kind of busy. Garden planting, garage saleing, and Calvin tests for his yellow belt!

What's on your agenda?

What I Wore and... A BIG Announcement!

2013-05-15T20:04:00.003-04:00

Friends, I'm here to share the good, the bad, and the ugly about what I wore on vacation.

Let's start with the ugly, shall we? Then it's all down hill from here. I mean up hill.

Down hill.

Down hill?

I bought a proper cover-up. Old Navy. Full price! 30 fat smackers. I know. I get a little twitchy when I pay full price for anything, anymore. I have to really love it.

Guess what? I don't really love this. I thought I did.

But then I wore it for 4 days in blazing, sweltering Florida and I realized something that had previously eluded me: It has sleeves. 3/4 sleeves. (I cuffed them up by day 2. See above.)

All I really know is, it's pinstriped and gauzy and it has pockets.

Fun fact: the waist in these types of items never hits me at the right place. They're always creeping up, veering dangerously on empire. (If you're Stacy London, you pronounce this "ompeer". You're welcome.)

Fun fact 2: I am awkward in photos. For the life of me, I never know what to do with my arms. This shot cracks me up because I thought I had moved past the classic "hand on hip". Apparently not. Don't I look natural? Like I'm not even posing???

You know what else is awkward? When you brag about finally buying a proper swim suit cover up then you go to link up to it and find that it's a dress.

Is this weird? Because it feels like it is, or like it could get there quickly. In my defense, it's made of gauze. But it does explain the sleeves.

Okay, nevermind the me-ness of this picture. Nevermind the wadded up dress and the cup of undetermined contents hiding out in the shade of my lounger. Check out the suit. That SUIT! Gads, I love that flipping suit. It's the one I found on our Fancy Spring Vacation for $30 with the original $156 tags intact.

It's infinitely easier to pay $30 when you know you're getting a deal.

This suit is the perfect floral, the perfect cut. It's a tankini that somehow covers my free-range torso. I have to say, it feels a mite fancy. It's practically couture. I wish the bottoms were one size larger, but what the biz. It works well enough.

Note: I read this book. I had never read it before! Go ahead and gasp. Everyone I tell gasps. "You didn't have to read this in honors Lit in High School?" Well, no. For one thing, there was no honors Lit at my High School. There was also no Lit. There was English class. We graduated 43 in my class and my science teacher had also been my mom's science teacher. (That is neither her nor there, but it seems somehow relevant.) There were no options. Like zero. And see how well I turned out??

Note 2: I'm not trying to be cool in my purple fedora (Target clearance), so you don't have to feel embarrassed for me. It's just that I feared for the well-being of my forehead. Andy told me I looked like Michael Jackson. I took it as a compliment.

The Skirt. Millions upon tens of you asked about it in the last post, and I'm afraid I won't be much help. I bought it a year or two ago at Dear Old Navy. I'm sure it was on sale, although I do truly love it, so perhaps not? We'll never know.

My favorite skill is mixing gingham with, well, anything. This combo especially pleases me. I'm here to tell you: Navy and white gingham is a neutral. Try to disprove me!

The necklace was found years ago at Target, I think.

It's important to note that this was the first full night of vacay, when I was still making an effort to be cute. (i.e. I styled my hair.)

I also fell deeply in love with a few products on this trip and I wouldn't think of keeping them from you.

1. Maybelline Color Whisper lipstick in Pin Up Peach Shiny and sheer and light and perfectly peach
2. Essence roll-on perfume oil by Maddie and Sophie This fragrance? Is the bomb. I had the opportunity to try a few of the new "gluten-free vegetarian glam" products by Maddie and Sophie and I died for this on roll ONE. I'll wear this forever. It's compact and long-lasting and it smells SO dreamy. Timi helped me test it and she loved it, too. We also glitzed around in their Gloss/Glow duo. It also smelled unbelievable and shined and softened us right up. Perfect for the beach or, you know, the neighborhood. Whatevs.

Maddie and Sophie are offering FPFG readers 20% off all orders using the code FPFG. (put code in comments section and the discount will be refunded to your account)

Hey - when all else fails? Grab an indigenous bloom.

You can't see it here, but I'm wearing my favorite new shorts. They're long and perfectly slouchy with a button fly. It makes me happy, this button fly.

(cuff via Farmgirl Paints)

(green bracelet via 31 Bits - part of the swag from Craft Weekend!)

Whew.
We made it.

Now. Back in September at the Influence conference I had the privilege of meeting two super cool cats, Barrett and Marisa. In a sea of unfamiliar faces both of theirs made a huge impression on me in one of those ways that you notice. Through them I became aware of their amazing work in Ethiopia with Mocha Club and fashionABLE. I signed up to be a fashionABLE affiliate (this means I get a small percentage of sales in exchange for advertising and selling their wares) because their video made me bawl my eyes out the first time I watched it. The work they are doing is redemptive and life-giving. I wanted to be a part of it. I told you about their amazing scarves around Christmas time, having no inkling that 5 months later, they would ask me to join them in Ethiopia, along with 9 others, on their "blogABLE" trip. To serve in this capacity has been a bloglong dream of mine, and the one dream that I always felt might eventually come to pass.

It will be my high honor to bring the stories of these women back to you, come August. I am thrilled and excited and slightly nerve-wracked about the responsibility of sharing these lives with sensitivity and clarity. I'm thrilled to be a part of the team and even more excited to "take" you with me.

About a Girl

2013-05-15T07:03:00.000-04:00

I'm thrilled to share this space today with my friend Emily Wierenga who, along with Dr. Dena Cabrera, recently published Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, a poignant and important look at restoring healthy body image in women. Though I haven't experienced pregnancy, I am a woman hauling around the complicated baggage of learning to love and accept exactly who I was created to be. I'm also a woman with a precious daughter of my own. I want to do justice to the honor of mothering her. I want her to understand her beauty much sooner than I understood my own.

Soak up Emily's poetry-words and leave a comment below to enter the giveaway for a free copy.

Maybe it’s one of the reasons I whisper hallelujah each time I find a boy in my womb growing long and limber, although I know eating disorders are just as real for them, 25 per cent real in fact, and we just don’t realize it…

That men sometimes hide in toilet bowls and candy wrappers and weigh scales, but 75 % of women struggle with disordered eating and I never really wanted to have a girl. I never really liked the color pink, and I still struggle with OCD and I joke that it’s like ADD only different acronyms but when the stress becomes high it’s truly debilitating.

Prayer is the only antidote and if I did have a girl, I fear I’d always be adjusting her pink ribbons. Or purple or whatever I would insist on her wearing, and I’m still thin. Too thin, my husband says, the one who saw me through my anorexic relapse. The one who prayed me through nights of insomnia, and days of only eating supper, the one who gave me the ultimatum on the side of the highway after I tried to drive us into traffic. It was him, or food, he said. He couldn’t do it anymore, and I chose him, and every day now, I choose him.

I have two boys of my own now, and I’m trying not to mess them up. I’m trying not to let my OCD or my dislike of cooking or my struggle with portion size affect them or their understanding of value. I’m trying to sit with them at mealtimes, and eat with them and place my hand lovingly on theirs and to remember that food is much simpler than it seems.

I’m 32, and I like a piece or two of dark chocolate just as much as the next person along with a glass of red wine (or two). But I catch myself looking in the mirror too long after I’ve had a shower, or sub-consciously feeling the bony parts of my arms.

I remind myself of my mum, in many ways, who’s re-teaching herself things like balance and moderation after eight years of brain cancer. I have to re-learn things too. I know I’m recovered in the same way that I’m being healed, in the same way that I’m saved even as I’m being perfected. And it’s all grace, they say, but I say it’s all God.

Because that’s what is growing inside of me now. God. All warm and dark and mysterious.

And I’m beginning to wear pink, because I’ve realized it brings out the blush in my cheeks. And I dream about her sometimes. A girl. With her chubby cheeks (yes, I said chubby, even though I still struggle with eating even though I just wrote a book on eating disorders) and her soft voice singing, as she toddles down the hall and her brothers laugh when they see her, laugh and dance with her to the music on the radio.

She’s wearing lots of ribbons. All kinds of colors. And they look like freedom.

***

I’m giving away a copy of my new book today, Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, co-authored by Dr. Dena Cabrera, and foreword by supermodel Emme.

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

Giving birth produces life in more than one sense. It’s the baby powder, milky-breathed spirit found in the softest limbs you’ve ever felt, and it’s the respect a man feels for his wife as he watches her give up her body for another.

And it’s the deep-rooted soul satisfying feeling of knowing you were born for more than the mirror. That you were born to see the face of God in your child, and to know, you yourself are a miracle.

I want you to have this book! Tell me ONE thing that you love about yourself, and you’ll be entered into the draw!

Otherwise, you can order it through the book’s website, here: www.mominthemirrorbook.com.

Emily Wierenga is a mom to two beautiful boys, wife to a handsome math teacher, and author of Chasing Silhouettes: How to Help a Loved One Battling an Eating Disorder (www.chasingsilhouettes.com) and Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy (www.mominthemirrorbook.com). To learn more, please visit www.emilywierenga.com.

What We Did - Episode I

2013-05-13T23:16:00.000-04:00

Sleep - Eat - Sun - Eat - Sun - Eat - Sleep.

Repeat.

That's pretty much what we did for four straight days.

Thanks for reading!

Goodnight!

Nevermind. I'm not done yammering.
If you know one thing about me, it's that I'm highly gifted and exceptionally talented at dragging out the simple and mundane and exhausting all of you with my incessant jaw-flapping. Just be glad it's not the 60's and you're here at my house where I've already set up the slide show. You know I would be that girl.

Here's where I'd like to start: What is it about vacation? What is it about sitting around reading books in the sun? I kept thinking - couldn't I just do this at home? For free?

The answer is - Nope.

Day after day I lounged in my chair and marveled at the vast completeness of the white space in my mind. No errands. No doctor's appointments. No grim hour of doom (aka homework). No meals to cook, laundry to fold. No alarms. Heck, no emails! All I had to do was roll myself out of bed, yank on my swimming suit, and walk a few paces to the pool, where I parked my rear and stuck my nose in a book.

Sometimes I multi-tasked and ate an apple while I read.
It was altogether freeing.

Just go on a kidless vacation. I dare you.

And I highly recommend going with another couple. I don't know, it just works. But it's imperative - imperative! - that you have similar ideas about vacationing.

In our case: lazy/lazy. Boom.

(Although Timi did dare to run one morning and they both took a couple of real, bonafide "walks", so they're on probation. We had no choice. Just following the rules.)

The other benefit of going with friends is you don't have to ask the waitress to take a blurry photo of you and your honey. You can just ask Andy! This is Andy's trade-mark. Somehow he always ends up focusing on the gigantic bottle of rum instead of our faces.

Try #2 was better. I can't remember the precise configuration, but I like this shot. I look dainty and shorter than my husband, like normal wives.

Okay, this next montage is important for a few reasons.
#1: It highlights the exact moment that I fell dangerously in love with mocha almond fudge ice cream. (Timi got coffee instead, which is a double-dipped infraction if ever there was one.)
#2: The most hilarious conversation was happening just across the sidewalk from us.

It looks like we're talking about something really...interesting...and funny. In reality I kept saying, "I'm eavesdropping right now. Look natural." "I can't focus on what you're saying because that guy is talking about METH! Out loud! Keep talking. Look natural."

Right about now the guy-in-question was screaming into his phone, "She tries to act like she's so tough and like she can do so many push-ups and pull-ups. I said to her, 'You think you can do more push-ups than me????! Well, that's not fair because I weigh more than you. So duh! You wanna make it a real contest, you lay on my back while I do 20 push-ups then I'll lay on your back while YOU do 20 push-ups.' He he he!"

Then, within a fraction of a second, the conversation took a dangerous turn for the creepy and gross and we spent the rest of the trip mentally scrubbing our brains with Clorox.

The whole scene took place just outside Cuban Paradise, fyi. Apparently hand-rolled cigars are noteworthy. Who knew?

BREAKING NEWS: That is the man! See his knees and his dog leash? Doesn't he look harmless enough with his nondescript middle-aged calves and suspicious USPS-knock-off button-down? He's not! Not harmless! Also, he has no sensitivity for the public air waves. He bellowed his dirty laundry into his phone for all the world to hear. He gives flip-phoners a bad name, that one.

PS - I don't know why I'm making that look, except that Cory said I looked like I was throwing a gang sign with my cone and instinctively his comment threw me into this face, favored for facebook profile pics by many of the youngish urban girls we know and love. And yes, I know that gangs aren't funny.

But sometimes they are. Like when an almost 40-year-old mom thinks she has even the slightest clue about them in her maxi skirt with her mocha almond fudge.

But mostly - not funny. You're right.

To Do:
Research the relationship between cigar shops and large statues of Native American chiefs.

I only know this is a "thing" because of that one episode of Seinfeld where they Indian-give the Indian statue.

Okay, I still have 10 photos left to painstakingly detail and I'm only on day 1. I can't even handle the stress of my job right now! This always happens. I tell myself no one really cares about my vacation and that I should just choose my favorite 3-5 shots and be on my way. (Of course you're more astute than I and you know I'm immune to reason so you probably saw this coming.)

Stay tuned for parts II-VIII.

Until then, I'll leave you with one parting shot:

I'm sorry.
They begged to be commemorated. They terrified me.

Claw feet, my friends.

Claw.

Feet.

The Honor of Sharing Mother's Day with Birth Mamas

2013-05-11T20:47:00.001-04:00

It felt so good to slow all the way down today. Daddy worked at the annual neighborhood Help-A-House project and we played memory, read books, did a little crafting and unpacking. (But just a little.) I wore multiple layers and knee socks and watched in horror as my tan chipped off before my eyes in teeny, tiny icicles.

But who needs a tan with a heart this full?

We sat around the dinner table together eating our new favorite comfort food. (We stir-fried in fresh broccoli, sliced carrots, red cabbage and extra green onions. Also, we subbed veg oil for canola and red pepper flakes for the chili oil.) In honor of tomorrow, conversation turned to all the other mamas - the birth moms, the foster moms. As usual, it's fascinating to see how each of them processes things so differently.

**

Silas: Did my Korea Mommy used to boss me?

**

Silas (later): Then you came all the way to Korea to get me! To be my boss!

**

Me: Siley, what do you think your birth mommy looks like?
Silas: She looks Korea. Like Sunny. (Sunny is the owner of our fave Korean restaurant.)

**

Me: What do you love the best about Shosh?
Ruby: (grinning) That she's almost the same as me. We have almost the same curly hair.
Me: Do you think she loves you?
Ruby: Yes!
Me: You're right. Why does she love you so much?
Ruby: Because I'm her girl!
(She then launched into a lengthy tribute to the "silliness" of her birth mom's husband. It's just the way she rolls and I can't get enough of her random insights and short-circuit thought connections.)

**

Calvin: So I really have FOUR moms.
Me and Daddy: ???
Calvin: Well, you know how God says He is like our Mom and our Dad? So - four!

**
Every year since I've become a Mama, just when I think I can't possibly feel any more love for all our people, a bit more slips in, right about now.

I think of our birth moms all the time. I will them to see how well their boys are doing, how happy and smart they are. I'm grateful every minute that Ruby's doesn't have to wonder about those things. But this time of year is different. It's more. To me, this day is theirs. I don't know that they would see it the same way, but I find no alternative. They are a tender and powerful part of the stories of my children, and even of mine. They have much to teach me about obedience and trust. They're beautiful, and I don't need a picture to prove it.

This year, there's a new one wedged in to my heart in a whole different way. She's somewhere out there, in Chicago or who-knows-where. She brought our tallest son into the world nineteen years ago and I wish she could have stuck around for everything that happened next. I hope she'll be back. Like all the others, I hope she somehow knows he's well-loved today. I hope her heart isn't hurting tonight.

Each story is different and my questions could fill a palace, if I let them. But I don't ask because it simply does not matter. What we know for sure is that God made a way for these Littles. He took sorrow and tears and shaped them into something lovely and eternal. He breathed a living bloom into a place where there was desperation. He gave courage where many could never have imagined it possible. He did all of that, so I plead and believe that He'll finish this work, that He'll heal all of the hurts, every one.

We pray for them extra, tonight. We purposely wind conversation around to them because we know our kids won't ever forget, but we also want them to remember that we've always been right here, helping them hold on to the thread that connects their heart to ours, and to one more.

Let's Try That Again, With Feeling

2013-05-10T22:06:00.000-04:00

We had a vacation, man. We did all the regular vacationy stuff but you might be ~~appalled~~ surprised to hear that neither of us set foot in the ocean. We're weirdos, okay? We own it. We did walk on the beach a few times, and that has to be worth something. We also ate a lot. (Can that please be worth something, too?) (It can on vacation!)

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It's almost ten peaem. I'm roasting crack broccoli because I need some green like the salsa needs its chip. There's a frozen pizza on deck - a rising crust Margherita - totally legit. We're home and hungry. We're also lucky, because there's a giant bowl of mangoes and a fridge stuffed to the gills. My mom is the exact type of rad that stocks the fridge and washes the sheets for me. She's also the kind of rad that buys large boxes of sugar cereal and two boxes of Little Debbie snack cakes for them. Yet somehow, in the midst of all the rogue sugar, Calvin said to me, "Grandma spoils us...but in a way that's pretty healthy."

(I'm on to you, Grams.)

I'm full of the feeling of the goodness of all that there is.
Is that specific enough? Vague enough? Does it acutely indicate that I'm still slightly trapped between my vacation-state-of-mind and my life-is-beauty-full rhythm?

I always feel this way on the heels of a get-away and I'm sorry to say, I always feel compelled to say it right here. Every ding dang time. Sorry about your luck. I probably could've just linked to this post and called it a night, but what fun would that be? My fingers have missed these keys. And you.

It's just that I love vacation. I love the full letting go of it all. I love that dinner appears like magic and ones I love are right there with me. I love the books and the mags, the movies and the fruity drinks. I love the sun on my legs and the sleeping in and the splotchy suntan.

But I love the thought of home even more. I love what waits for me right here. I love that they missed us more than they realized. (I love that they were too safe and having too much fun to notice.) I love my kitchen and my bed. I love the perspective that taking a break holds a mirror to. I love being reminded of how good I already have it.

Here's something I don't love: realizing days later that I put the wrong links in my last post. Yeesh. If nothing else, it's proof that I fell clean off the grid for 4.5 days. I have to confess, I sort of loved that, too.

But vacay's over, so let's fix it, because they really were good reads. (Still are, in fact.)

The World Outside my Window by Watering the Grass

Not What We're Used To by Mama's Minutia

A Different Kind of Person by Casey Leigh

I'll have more to say and plenty to show soon. For now?

I dine.

Watcha Gonna Do With It?

2013-05-08T20:12:00.000-04:00

Via Katygirl Designs

My today will be spent soaking up words on a page, sun from the Florida coast, and love from my man. I'm hoping for unexpected thrills and quiet mixed with a strong swig of rowdy. I plan to notice beauty for the grace that it is and sleep in late.

How 'bout you?

While you're thinking about it, have a peek at these fine reads:

You Matter by Simple Mom

The World Outside my Window by Watering the Grass

Not What We're Used To by Mama's Minutia

A Different Kind of Person by The Wiegands

Claiming the Victory :: My Rescue from False Doctrine

2013-05-05T22:12:00.000-04:00

My earliest years were wrapped up in a little village church, where everyone started as friends and became a family. It was a body of humble people - dairy farmers, groundskeepers, receptionists, carpenters, housewives. They perfected the carry-in lunch and someone always had extra when we forgot our own table service. The garish carpet is still sketched on the floorboards of my memory and I knew those halls like the flip-side of my eternity.

I sat in the pew - middle section - sometimes sucking on the one in front of me. I can still taste the tang of the varnish. All I really knew was that Jesus loved me. He loved me because they kept on telling me He did, and I trusted them, because they popped corn in the cooker well past dark on summer evenings and laughed with my parents until the whole room shook. They were my kin, and I believed them.

One day, when some might say I was much too young to understand, I walked up front at the end of the service and I asked Jesus to live in me. I bawled my eyes out, not because I was overcome by a certain force or unseen magnitude, but because I was embarrassed in front of all those people. I didn't want them looking at me. I had a sneaking suspicion they would all want to hug me when service was over, and all I could think about was lunch and a long stretch of afternoon with my family.

Of course they hugged me.

Before long I had my gray Awana shirt and I made it my mission to memorize the most verses so I could win the trophy. I honed my sword-drill skills. I stuffed my pockets to the gills for the pocket scavenger hunt. I won a lot of the churchy contests and none of the sporty ones life kept moving, kept on turning. The dark lurch of "doing" was creeping in, but not all had been lost, life was still right as far as I knew, and Jesus sure did love me.

Nothing ever stays as good as we think it should and before long, lots of adults got in the way, disturbing the tenuous balance of my universe, pitching me straight out of my safety net. My family left that church.

In my mind, that's where the trouble started.

It's been a long road between ages 8 and 37. My faith charts well outside the plot of a steady incline. It's marked with pitches and dips, and maybe that's unavoidable. Maybe almost everyone would say the same.

All I know is somewhere along the way, people stopped reminding me that Jesus loved me. I grew in years and it became more about what I should do than what had been done for me. I had the power to make Jesus sad, to incite God's wrath, to hurl a mountain into the ocean, or to prove my infant faith to everyone and doubt for one second - doubt anything, for any length of time. I could insist that I deserved great wealth, I could say one million times that he should be healed - that he was healed already. I could say it fast enough that my words might bleed into a truer version of righteousness, I could scream it out so everyone could see what I had. I could ignore that itch in my soul, the one that told me captivity filled those folding chairs and kept them there, the one that said I should trust almost no one in the room, save my faithful parents and a handful of others.

I was taught via a silent, churchy osmosis that sin was to be extinguished by the sheer force of my faith and that if perhaps (as many suspected) my faith was as puny as it looked, I should at the very least take pains to bury it, hide it, do something with it, because it didn't belong at church. The only place sin had under that strange, puffy ceiling was at the front-end of a testimony that ended in victory. They only spoke of sin in the past tense, and sometimes they called it demon possession, just to make the stakes even graver. Meanwhile, sin trolled around us, passed the plate, shook our hands, drove us home.

I wonder if things could have been different if we had been allowed to see the quieter work of a God who transforms a life over time, by repeated exposure to the boldness of His love amid personal failure, by the simplicity and power of His word. Maybe if the truth had been allowed a folding chair of its own, a little girl wouldn't have walked into adolescence and adulthood with a cynic's view of Christianity and a penchant for disproving her own brokenness.

I can't bend time, but I have a hunch that it would have served me well to learn by repetition not that God wanted me to be financially prosperous, but that He wanted me low, humble, needing much, clinging always and only to Him for survival.

I don't believe the church that skewed my worth and honed my discernment deserves any measure of my bitterness or judgment, though it's sometimes difficult to feel otherwise. I know the church where I met Jesus as a child suffered many of the same stains as the "new" church. I simply had naivete on my side in the beginning. I think they were all humans, wounded and hurting, afflicted by the exact disease that feeds my ugliness. But rather than confronting the poison with honesty and integrity, they showed every little pair of eyes that it wasn't a top priority and they hinged our standing in the church community on our ability wear our mask with optimal, unshakable skill.

Suffice it to say, I'm done with all that. I'm so freaking done. I was done for years, incrementally, in doses just big enough to make it down. And then, I was done altogether. I was done in the moment of my personal decimation and done again, every day since. I was done when I knew I was forgiven in spite of my undeservedness. I was done when I sat for the first time in a new Sunday school class, ten years ago, and watched as the guy across the table laid bare his faults to the shock and surprise of no one. I wanted more of that.

The company we keep has changed in recent years but the souls are the same and I know for sure that they don't need me to wop them over the head (literally or otherwise) and scream at them that they need Jesus. They need to be reminded of his wild love for them. They don't need to hear that God saved me years ago and now I'm almost perfect, never missing a step, hurling every mountain I see into the ocean, waiting and waiting for an inevitable sum of cash to drop from the sky to my feet. They need to see the slow, transforming power of Christ in me, the work he does every minute of every day, while I do things like whine and rebel and repent. They need to watch me not get every little thing I want. They need to watch me suffer, and they need to know that any grace I manage to exhibit is nothing that I manufacture on my own.

The church that formed me is the church that snatched me up in adulthood and has now captured me again. The names, the towns, the shade of the carpeting, all different. But the message is unanimous and clear: Jesus loves me. He saved me because He knew I needed saving. He knows I'm destined for failure outside of Him, but spotless in His sight. I am a mess and so are the rest of His loves, but there's no end to his mercy. He screams and cheers and street-fights for me and He won't ever stop. He needs me to go to His people and He needs me to not care at all what it might cost. Because to live in Him is gain. It's all there is. It's purity and truth. It is holiness.

Thread

2013-05-04T21:32:00.002-04:00

"Settle in, right where you are, refusing to wish for something different." - Emily P. Freeman, Chatting at the Sky

On most Saturday mornings, Cory and I let the Wild Things fend for themselves for an hour or so while we lay in bed pretending that we're allowed to sleep in. There are usually two or three tattling intruders, several high-pitched screams, and the whole jig typically ends in a kitchen disaster along the lines of spilled Cheerios or exploding peanut butter toast. But those 70-odd minutes are still a rare and precious treasure, and it's worth it. Ish.

Today, we rolled out of bed, slapped on some deodorant and brushed our teeth, then headed 2 blocks down the street to our church for Neighborhood Clean-Up Day.

My "team" consisted of Cory, myself, Ruby, Silas, and our neighbor girl Monica (Ruby sometimes accidentally thinks her name is Harmonica). If you know anything about any of the three youngest team members, you know the deck was stacked against us.

But we did our thang.

We filled two giant trash bags and I repressed the heavyweight urge to tip-toe across the floorboards of several porches to "tidy up". For two hours we walked in the sun while Monica told us things that were true, things that were untrue, and laughed her most neurotic laugh.

For two hours I wandered streets with the sun on my cheeks, thankful again that this is where I found my home, surprised for the thousandth time that I love it so much.

We might be different than some of our neighbors, and we might be exactly the same as others, but there's a thread of solidarity stitched between each one of us for the simple reason that this is the place we have chosen. We chose it decades ago or just last month. We chose it second-hand, by default. We chose it on purpose. One way or another, each of us chose. The guy covered in tats with the porch covered in garbage, the lady who painstakingly hand-wired vines of silk flowers to every limb of every tree, the gangly girl just meeting herself for the first time at the age of 36 all chose this.

So the language "barrier" doesn't even reach our knee caps and there's no shade of flesh, no brand of shoe, no brick or timber to separate us. We walk the same crumbling sidewalks and send our children off to the same little school. We press seeds into the same earth and wait for the wild flash of hope to find us out here, in the air and sun, where we live.

Creativity Takes Courage - My Interview with Jeanne Oliver

2013-05-01T20:00:00.000-04:00

Friends, it's another good day. Right?
I got my hair trimmed -- my hair girl, I can't stop loving her. She can be so bratty to me and I lu-hu-huv it. I'm, "Yo Brooke, how much are you cutting off back there?" and she's all, "Don't worry about it...you'll see in a minute."

THIS is the hair girl I have dreamed of, because I NEVER know what to do with my mop! I walk in saying, "I dunno...it's too something. I'm just -- frustrated with it. Maybe it should be just a little shorter. Or a lot? Maybe I should be patient and grow it longer?" I always want someone to tell me what to do. And she does. Only minus the telling part.

Silas and I trekked to Warsaw and had lunch with my friend Stephanie. Silas realized on the way that Stephanie is the most "prettiest" name. He may have even thrown "beautiful" out there. His pretend kids right now are named Sandy and Roxy ("Sandy's a girl, Roxy is a boy") but I'm feeling like Stephanie isn't far behind. And of course Charles is still his main squeeze. He harped at me about handling Charles too roughly "He's just a tiny baby! Don't do that or you will choke his neck!" then moments later admitted that Charles is turning 5 next month.

I'm on to you, Charles. You're really milking this "baby" thing. It's unbecoming.

All along the drive I kept spotting those splayed-out tulips, singing their guts out. Did you notice them? Swear. Go look. You'll see exactly what I mean.

And now, an announcement:

I'm Jeanne Oliver's May interview for her series "Creativity Takes Courage". If you're so inclined, you can watch a solid hour of the two of us yucking it straight up. We had a blast, as you will see. We've been online buds for years, but the day we filmed was the first time we had ever spoken. I just watched the full hour and it turned out super fun. I fretted that I didn't give her enough substance, because all I could remember was partying it up. I told Cory that I sometimes forgot we were filming it. His response, "That's not a good place to be..." (I"m now fretingt about the following: Why is my tooth so crooked? Didn't know. Why are my lips invisible? Shoulda worn lipstick. Why did my computer cause an echo? Two Shannans for the price of one.)

It turns out, we did capture a lot of important stuff in between our giggling. We talked about my family's journey, adoption, blogging, decorating, Robert, and yes, chips and salsa.

If you want to watch, follow these directions (it's easy and free!) :

To watch the video you just need to be registered at jeanneoliver.ning.com (registering is free).

Once you are on the site you will find this series, free videos (business and art) and new online courses along the left hand side of the page.

You will find all of our courses/videos under the COURSES heading.

If you want to watch Shannan’s video:

1) Go to COURSES along the left hand side of the page

2) Click on Creativity Takes Courage {interviews with courageous friends}

3) Click the +join button on the upper right hand side

4) All of the details are on the page and you are all set.

Let me know if you watch and what you think!

Happy sunny Wednesday, Homies.

Turn, Turn, Turn

2013-04-30T22:32:00.003-04:00

In a matter of days we've crossed the bridge from the prim, pursed lips of the socialite tulips who believe in their heart of hearts that we all owe them the world (we do) (shhh) to the fiery teenager tulips with their skirts crooked and splayed, flaming red.

The socialites were first to the scene, so charming and graceful, backs straight, lined up like a church lady choir.

The angsty, messy teenagers don't even bother playing it cool. Their faces open wide to the sky and the air, their inked-up arms reach out to grab what they can. They're star-struck. Front row ticket holders. They don't give a rip if we're impressed. They know they signal an end to this fine act. They don't mind at all that it means they're almost goners.

The socialites sure are pretty, but I'm figuring out that I'm a trashy teenager. Or at least I aspire to be.

(Do you ever write a line on your blog and imagine it emblazoned as a headline when you, say, run for President someday? Me, either.)

Summer's kinda here, baby. We all have a fresh pair of $2 flip-flops to prove it.

Things came more alive today and my heart was quiet, because I know that just as this season takes its turn, shuts its door, the world it moves in does the same, and none of us is exempt.

I would have guessed that finally coming to grips with a life that never stops changing would have left me bereft, unsettled. Truth is, I find it tremendously comforting today. It means that all that is required of me is to live this day well. Tomorrow will be a different scene, a different sky. It will be new challenges, new heart cracks, new chances to run outside during my free hour to clip a branch of tangible hope and carry it with me inside.

I desperately want to hold on to this free-fall. I want to wear it until it fits like a second skin.

We lived this day well, and we can do it again tomorrow and then again and again, when things are different and the tulip petals make a carpet for whatever comes next.

We can be certain about the promise that He never changes, and that He is our home. So today, right now, I'm okay throwing my hands in the air, shucking the rules, and playing my music way too loud. With me?

PS - Our new canvas came. I love it so much. The 8x10 looks smaller than I thought it would, with the sides all wrapped. But we can't all be an 11x17. {EDIT:: Just measured the canvas. Sure enough, 8x10 without including the sides!}

PSS - Crack broccoli, okay? It has revolutionized our broccoli-eating (see, nothing stays the same!) and we were fairly high on the broccoli-loving totem pole. (Now I'm finding it impossible to move on because I'm imagining what a broccoli-loving totem pole might look like... I need a moment...)

So. Here's the recipe. It is imperative that you follow the directions, specifically the one that says to heat the baking sheet with the oven. It makes the most satisfying sizzling sound when you toss it on the pan. And make sure you squeeze lemon over it at at the end! I can't stop loving it. It's the healthier version of crack bark, by a factor of about 2 million.

And, now I want crack bark. Goodbye.

Stay

2013-04-28T23:40:00.001-04:00

My house is a holy terror of a hot mess. This is what happens around here on the weekend: Mayhem erupts. No time to clean. No care to clean.

And now it's 11:41 on Sunday night and I shall start my week with a sink full of dishes and no milk in the fridge. 'Tis the way we roll.

We dined on Saturday's very best and lazed around like only our kind of people would. The sun seemed to sit higher in the sky, it hollered down to us, so we answered by walking downtown for for $1.50 tacos and the avocado salsa that makes me want to quit life and spend the rest of my days all green and garlicky.

It was perfection, wrapped up in a day. I wanted it to stay forever.

It was one of those days where my heart felt goose-bumps over my own personal luckiness. It's God, sure it is, but I have to believe it's a little bit random, I have to believe in luck, because if I dare to think otherwise, I'm tempted to consider that God loves me more than the single mom doing her best to survive the crush of generational poverty while every receptionist, every professional, every white-collar anything looks at her like she's only 2/3 of me, or you. This life is a stroke of luck, of course it's proof of God's goodness and His love for me, but it's confusing to think of how a motherhood scarred with loss feels His grip. If I feel loved by tulips and tacos, things of beauty and a simple life, where does her eye fall?

Let's just put this out there: God is confusing. We've been reading Romans in our small group. Paul is talking about God choosing people and not choosing others and just when it starts to click, the gear slips a little and we're all stuck there scratching our heads. But the next verse reads something like, "God does wonky work! You'll never make sense of it. Don't even bother trying." The ultimate disclaimer. But if it applies to eternity, it doesn't feel out of line to apply it to life right now.

All I really know is, I got a prized hour alone with my oldest littlish boy. He held my hand while we traipsed around in one of my favorite places dodging bumblebees and garter snakes and I felt like the glass slipper has never found a better fit. It was quintessential spring and we lapped it straight up. We found $1 perennials near the road-side and a machine that doled out cold fifty-cent cans of pop and he told me so many funny things.

I came home and watched my favorite girl perfect her cart-wheel and my tiny wiry baby fill his dump truck full of weeds. My man did mannish stuff, setting our the garden boxes and wielding a tape measure.

We spent time with one of our favorite new neighborhood friends and we all ate pasta and asparagus for dinner while inside I chanted stay stay stay stay stay

Stay this way, this way right here. Stay this quiet, this full. Stay just crazy enough. Stay together. Stay warm. Stay, bare toes in grass. Stay right here, friend, exactly here, pumpkins. No, scoot closer, just a little bit closer, so I can sniff your heads and kiss your necks. Just stay.

We closed the day by bringing home the two cutest baby boys on the planet and three loads of baby laundry.

Today there was a 6-hour prison run and dinner with our buddies.

And then I made the most terrifying observation: My right eyelid appears to be slightly paralyzed. Why haven't you told me??? I knew it was a bit more...mysterious than the left. But I went through a bunch of new photos tonight and there's no getting around it. I feel very old and ever-so-slightly traumatized. I planned to post one of the photos, but can't bring myself to do it after the revelation.

Maybe tomorrow.

For now, a recipe for your week. Baked jalapeno poppers.
I think the recipe says to grill, but baking them worked just fine. They were muy delicioso.

We've got another busy week brewing and I find myself having many deep thoughts in my think- tank/shower...only time will tell if any of them find their way to this little space.

I want to thank you to the bottom of my size 9s for your kind words about me and what I do here. Thank you for never making me feel like small potatoes and trust me, the feeling is mutual. I think there's something beautiful to be said for the quirky bunch of misfits sitting in the lunch room. I'm honored to be at the table.

Mad love and spicy poppers to all,
FPFG

Smart People and a Movie Quasi-Review

2013-04-27T10:46:00.002-04:00

Thrift-store tablecloth turned play room curtains. Huzz.

Singy cat. (He's so dang mean.)

The sky is bright and it finally feels safe to consider (without threat of stone-cold disappointment) that spring is heading our way. Officially. So I'll keep this short.

But first, a brief story.

Place Beyond the Pines finally landed in our local theater this weekend. Sarah and I made last-second plans to go. Ryan Gosling + Bradley Cooper. Enough said? Help me Rhondas, it did not live up to its potential.

But let's focus on the positives: 1) BC appears to have located and bathed in the fountain of youth. He honestly looked like he was 19. It was...disconcerting. 2) RG can look any crazy way, but that voice is always the same and every character he plays retains just enough of that RG-ness to affirm that he truly is the man for the Hey Girl movement. 3) Eva Mendez. I love this girl. I like her boxy teeth. He skin glows like something wonderful, such as maple syrup. She looked vaguely Native American in this roll. Perfection.

In a nut-shell, I feel warranted in summarizing the entire movie with just one keen observation: Never end up on the wrong side of Ray Liotta.

As for today, we have nothing planned. SCORE! Better get to it.

Here's some stuff I've been hoarding for a week or so to share:

Really crushing on this "Home State" print by Fuller Words.

Watercolor Wallpaper by Little Green Notebook I find myself thinking about wallpaper again for another little nook. Hate me, Cory. Call me crazy, Dad. I know I said I would "never". But a girl reserves the right to change her mind.

I made the mistake of pretend shopping at Anthro last week and now I'm intrigued by this T (we all agree that I'm painfully predictable, yes?) and this (in gray). Also this muumuu speaks to me in a strange and wonderful way.

Thinking About Our Garden by Under the Sycamore We're garden planning today and this post is full of happy inspiration.

Hope by 70 Piggies My pal Nicki writes in beauty and truth. She understands small and large places inside my heart like no other. Her words pull me further into the heart of my maker. Her family is getting ready to trek off to Kenya later this summer. They're resting in hope smack-dab between the places of "Let's pack our bags!" and "We need to raise the rest of our funds." This post gives us a glimpse of what it looks like to throw ourselves off the cliff in reckless obedience.

For Days When Marriage Feels Impossibly Hard by Stanley Clan So, Becca. We sort of live parallel lives. Homegirl wrote this piercing post and it stayed with me for days. Here's to shucking our protective coating and resolving to live transparently. None of our lives are without heartache and confusion. It can be beautiful to talk about it.

Where is the Mommy War for the Motherless Child by Rage Against the Mini Van Okay, this is an oldie, but I don't think I've shared it? It slayed me. To the bone.

Motherhood for the Introvert by Chatting at the Sky And while we're in flash-back mode, this post lingers in my mind so often. And...it was written in 2009. Heyyyyy, Emily! See what your writing does to me? Grabs hold. Doesn't let go.

Hearts by Nester I believe that sponsoring a child in a 3rd world country is just sort of not-optional. For one thing, the need is just too great for us to decide that we don't have to play. For another, our hearts need one or four or ten of them banging around in there.

Happy Weekending, Homies!

Story of My Life

2013-04-25T10:20:00.001-04:00

1. I spent 4 hours yesterday at Calvin's dr. appt. with all 3 littles.
2. It was the second of its kind in under a week.
3. I sprouted a cold sore yesterday somewhere around 11:13 a.m.
4. I sprouted a splitting headache yesterday around 4:08 p.m.
5. Chips, salsa, and good TV can cure almost anything.
6. (But not cold sores, dangit.)
7. That picture above? The Kroger parking lot, just up the road.
8. We're swimming here in Northern Indiana.
9. The city septic backed up into our basement last week while Cory was out of town.
10. But I don't really want to talk about it.
11. FPFG: "Was I walking around in PEE down there???!!!"
12. CMB: "It was mostly rain water."
13. Mostly.
14. I'm sitting here in my pajamas because I had big plans to watch last night's episode of Scandal while Siley is at school.
15. Turns out yesterday was not Thursday.
16. So I still have 90 minutes on my hands, and I sure don't want to mop my floors.
17. Sorry about your luck.
18. Remember how my basement filled up with partial-pee last week?
19. 15 minutes later Cory's car died. In a torrential down-pour. 2 hours from home.
20. His awesome dad rescued him.
21. It ended up being an easy fix, so the car didn't die after all....
22. But it's definitely in Hospice care.
23. Know of a great car for sale around the $4k price point? Hit me UP.
24. I have lots of food-related things to tell you about...sometime soon.
25. But today, all I can think about is vacation. We're doing a repeat performance of this trip in exactly 10 days with these people. So pumped to thrift. I'm already suppressing the urge to show you all my outfits before I go. I can't explain it. Vacation anticipation does strange things to me.
26. I have the most hilariously strange assortment of books and mags for my trip. I've been hoarding.
27. Indian Beach FL. Any great restaurant suggestions???
28. I feel like I'm done now, but if I stop I have to go mop.
29. No can do.
30. I think I might finish this book today. Lord, I'm hoping so. It has taken me FOREVER. The story is fascinating and his writing is beautiful, raw, funny, poetic. I can't figure out what the problem is.
31. Speaking of books, the kids and I are obsessed with this library boo k. We can't stop loving it. Ruby is endlessly enamored of his "cute hair". I want all of them to spend all of their allowance money on art, from now on.
32. The only problem with that is that they don't have any more allowance money.
33. Because I took it.
34. Back.
35. It's a long story...
36. Suffice it to say, I had my reasons.
37. And before you get too judgey, just know that Calvin only had $4 and Ruby only had $2.
38. Hey - I recently came into a small sum of cash. (Roughly $6.) What ever shall I do with it??
39. Enough is enough. I've really taken advantage of your time. It isn't right.
40. But thank you from the bottom of my heart for sparing me from a free hour of vinegar mopping.

Always, Very Truly,
FPFG

Permission to Fail

2013-04-23T22:11:00.001-04:00

The past year has felt like the most drawn-out invitation to retreat into the Small. It would have been nice if it had ended with moving to a smaller house.

Life has gotten busier in the strangest ways, and still, here it is, the nudge and pull to be less, do less, have less. We've been confined in closer quarters, squeezed of our excess, stripped of the senseless religion that's tailed us from our youth.

But we're a couple of old dogs and these new tricks don't feel right sometimes. We're prone to wanting, quick to forget that this is the flipped-under world that we signed on to when we believed and agreed that we would walk these miles with Christ.

The truth is, God calls His people to do great things all the time, and by "great", I mean big. And by "big" I mean, like, really actually big. Things that get people noticed. Things that pay the bills and then some. Things that require marketing teams and fancy shoes and extra forms from the IRS.

But sometimes, His calling is big in a really quiet way. Sometimes - often - the Bigness happens shyly, inside us, when we finally agree to unclench our fists from the allure of standing just a little taller than the rest.

Blogging is a tricky boat to steer and sometimes I struggle to make sense of how it fits in with my life right now. I'm wistful about the days when the words came more easily and didn't cost me an ounce of pain.

I'm going on five years and somehow, astonishingly, this community keeps growing. (Thank you! Also, really??) The people in my back yard sometimes think this thing is a biggish deal, but what you and I know is that I am a drop in the bucket. And sometimes that thought comforts me more than any other, but sometimes I notice that the blog sisters of my generation have book deals, magazine spreads, conference tickets, etsy shops, thriving businesses, and 85,000 followers. At a minimum, they've defined a niche or their work helps pay the bills thanks to a sidebar full of quirky-cool ads.

On those nights, I stew around my kitchen and stir doubts into the soup. Maybe the smart people are right and I'm doing it all wrong. I could do more, shout louder, switch to Wordpress, write more, say less, network like I mean it, take a class, learn a trade. I can't compete. The world around me is savvy and I just recently learned what "domain" means. I hit the pillow feeling sure that I should just shut it all down.

Because of course I'd like an invitation. Heck yes, I wanted the book I spent over a year writing to be published. I struggle to find my place, my worth, amid what I think I lack.

But here's the fantastic, can't-wipe-the-smile-off-my-face fact of the matter: Little is much. Small is holy. Quiet can be sacred.

That year I spent hunkered down in the fox room taught me a few important things. 1) Not a single dot or dash of art is wasted time. 2) I can write a whole book!! 3) I can write it just for me.

The day may come when all of this changes. It's not likely, but it's possible. Until then I'm clinging to the simple truth that my Savior found His home in the small and the ordinary. He invented the crazy math where a little + even less = more than necessary.

So I'm right here, cheering on my sisters who are doing things "better" and "bigger". They're walking the path laid out for them and they're doing it justice. I'm reading and learning from them every day.

But for me, and maybe for you, our bigger doesn't work the room and our better won't ever own the crowd.

It is neither my duty nor my desire to push away from where I've been placed because this is a thing of beauty and my heart is being straightened out in the process of watching those around me snatch up the things I always thought I wanted.

It's amazing how wrong I've been about what I need. I've seen too much to go back to thinking my plans are the right ones.

So my hope is that in the moments I seek recognition I will find only His; in the days I crave popularity I'll rediscover the humbling gift of my brokenness; in the time and time and time again that I fall back into defining success by things that aren't real, I'll come face-to-weary-face with my failure. Because only then can I remember the truth of it all - there exists no failure inside Christ's sovereignty.

If I am His, I am exactly enough.
If you are His, you are exactly enough.

Home Alone Volume II

2013-04-21T21:22:00.000-04:00

Some girls shop their way back to sanity.
Rich girls travel, or do a spa weekend.

I read books, cook food, take naps. I watch a little telley.

But yesterday I found myself with a rare and priceless gift, the likes of which I haven't seen in a very long time: I had 2 hours alone in my house on a sunny Saturday afternoon. And I had already had a fun morning shopping and lunching with Mr. Lee and Rubester and I'd already spent one light-headed hour scrubbing the tub.

My Home Alone came to me by way of fluke, unplanned and impromptu, which was probably for the best.

I didn't know what to do. I felt almost exactly like this. I wanted to do everything (and by everything, I mean books, food, and nap) but the truth is, I still hadn't showered and I had dinner plans with two charming ladies, so that probably needed to happen.

I ended up doing what any sensible girl would do - I took 19 pictures of my baby succulents. They were $2 each at the CVS and yes, it seemed a little splurgey for something so tiny and killable, but what kind of sick person would walk away from a baby succulent? Not me, that's who. I bought triplets. They make me smile every day in their little green crib.

Unfortunately/fortunately, that little escapade took me all of ten minutes because I played my favorite rogue ultra-amateur photographer game, "Don't Move the Dials", which means that whatever the camera happened to be set at for its last use is what I'm stuck with.

{Incidentally, the camera I used to take the above photos is for sale to a good home. It's a Canon 40D with a Canon 28-135mm lens. $350 for the pair. Very good condition. Email me if interested at shannandmartin@gmail...} Edit: SOLD!!!

As my Good-Luck Saturday would have it, our land-line rang, which only means one thing - prison call! We blew right through the allotted 30 minutes. Hilarity ensued, so of course I facebooked it. (On the slim chance that you need more FPFG kid quotes in your life, follow me on facebook here. I also rant about celebs and talk too much about food.)

Shannan Garber Martin: Yesterday

Robert: People always be tellin' me I'm too white. I don't care. I use proper English!
Me: You're your own person. I love that about you.
Robert: Yeah, but I might need to kick up my "hood".
Me: Well, Dad and I are more hood than you think.
Robert: laughs
Me: You don't even know.
Robert: Yeah, you're so hood that you just drove your mini van to Target and bought pink shoes.*
Hahaha. LOVE this kid.

After our call, I somehow ended up on a 90's Country Music bender. I don't even know how it happened but I sure am glad. It was divine. Just, Sammy Kershaw, I love you. I need more of your nasal in my life. I feel bad when my friend Melanie says you're a dirty old man. You're the Charlie Daniels of the slightly-buzzed crooners. Joe Diffie? I like it that you had a beer gut and didn't try to look pretty. Pam Tillis? Maybe it was you, maybe it was me, but it shore felt right.

The 90's was where it was at, people. They said "ain't" without irony. They said "cain't" instead of the blase, stuffy "can't". Their boots weren't just for show.

(I'm sorry, Reba. I was never a fan. Truly very sorry.)

In typical fashion, I spent too much time singing in the shower and had 20 minutes to pull myself together. I wore old bootcut jeans, navy velvet blazer, grey v-neck, bubble necklace, and converse. My hair was a free-flowing fright, I'm sure. But it was so worth it because I heard Baby Kenny Chesney singing a real country song and not Carribean-Pop-Country fusion.

Since I'm already over-sharing I'll go ahead and say this:

Blackberry sangria

Goat cheese guacamole and homemade tortilla chips

Something called Al Pastor, which involved delicious pork, fluffy tortillas, fresh slaw, and tomatillo salsa.

Our weeks have gotten stressful and insane lately. I needed yesterday like Tim McGraw needs his hat.

What was your weekend like? More importantly, what would you do with two free hours in your casa?

*Ruby has been saving her allowance money for pink patent ballet flats with bows on the toe. I literally pried them off her cute brown feet an hour or so ago while she lay fast asleep.

My Bright Idea and a Free Canvas Deal

2013-04-17T21:54:00.002-04:00

I've made a decision, the consequences of which are sure to reverberate through the ages. What once eluded me now seems entirely clear. It's fate, maybe. Or serendipity.

I'm making a gallery wall.

In the stairwell.

Did I just invent this idea?

What??? No???????

Is stairwell a proper word? Or am I channeling Mr. Carson agayne? (said with a long A) (oh wait, that's Canadian...)

As I've lamented, we have precious little wall space up in this nest. We're maxed out. Except for the stair...well? There's loads of space there. And it's partially visible from the living room. So, you know, win/win.

Think this. But there's a twist.

Bear with me. (I like to twist.)

I want to do all or most of it in canvas prints of our personal photos.

!!!!! ZING !!!!!

(You better be as excited about this as I am. The least you could do is pretend.)

True, I won't be able to bag this beast in a couple of weeks, or even months. BUT... We keep saying we want to enjoy more of our photos and I see deals at Canvas People all the live-long day. As in, they really want me to have this gallery wall. No otha explanation. I'll be able to chip away at it, deal-by-deal. Right now, they're giving away an 8 x 10 for free-eeee! (think Oprah) All you have to pay is shipping. It's a little bit'a extra cash well spent. (Also in that category: babysitters for date night, bi-monthly Hacienda chips and salsa, Butter Kek, fig or pomegranate candles from TJ Maxx, the occasional cooking magazine, tulips from Aldi.)

I've been kicking this around for a while and last night I started snooping around our ginormous electronic warehouse of pictures. It did my heart good, man. So I think I'm going to go way, way rogue and swing for a flower/farmy/cute kid theme. (No one's ever thought of that either, right? I'm entirely original, yes? No????)

Here are some contenders in the category, "Flower":

(This is reportedly Cory's favorite photo that I've ever taken. I find it kind of creepy. I must've been in a real mood that day.)

The nominees in the category "Farmy" are:

And now, "Cute Kid":

Uh, yeah, I've barefly even started combing the archives. I could probably wall-paper the whole dang house in cute kid and flower pics. I'm sure much deliberation will ensue.

But I do know that I'll make sure to include this beaut. I still crack myself up over this. I daresay it was my finest hour. Email if you're interested and I'd happily send you the jpeg so you can have this sexy beast printed on canvas for yourself!

Click here to order your free canvas! This would make a fantastico Mother's Day gift, too. (Just make sure you order by April 25th if you're buying for your Mum.)

*links are affiliate links

The Gospel of Flea Markets

2013-04-16T21:28:00.002-04:00

They've been saying Spring is coming, that it's waltzing our way. I didn't believe them until yesterday.

My right hand clamped around Silas's, my left carried a loaf of French bread and ten plum tomatoes. We pushed the button, waited for the signal, then I pretended to be brave while we crossed four lanes of city buzz.

I eyeballed the Buick that stopped too closely for my comfort and it struck me that my kids will grow up believing that cross-walks and city streets and cars, cars, cars are ordinary. This is the wild that will raise them.

I was raised by stretches of green and a wide yawning sky. My wild was sticky afternoons with no where to go, drippy orange push-up pops and forest moss beneath my sneakers. We tended carrot seedlings in a secret garden, crafted make-shift slip-and-slides and swam in giant plastic trash cans. I never once played with a neighbor because there was no neighbor. So I hid in the forsythia with my brother and caught craw-dads in the creek instead.

Maybe there were questions to ask back then, and maybe my parents asked them. But it seems to me that the answers must have all been easy.

Is there a way to make my kids believe the same, twenty-odd years from now?

I exhaled on the other side of the street, the scariest, "citiest" leg of the trip behind us.

We tossed a letter into the big blue mailbox. I sat on the sidewalk and held Silas in my lap as a train screamed past. We kept on walking.

We stepped over broken beer bottles and tried not to notice the trashed-out mess around us.

We walked the back blocks where no one goes unless they have to. It's Poverty Alley and you'll know it by its smell - that unmistakable scent of decay and lost hope.

Silas held my hand, saying on repeat that I'm cute and he "still" loves me. I caught his falls as he tripped along the buckle and crumble of sidewalk that someone keeps pushing to the bottom of the repair list.

We smiled and said hello to neighbors with cigarettes dangling from their lips. Their teeth were missing, their hair greasy, but their eyes were just as kind as yours. Sheets covered windows and pain lined their faces, but they thought my son was cute and daffodils pushed up around them in patches. It was spring in their yards, too.

I'm a collector of the discarded and the worn. I've paid cash for five defunct sprinklers because they're quirky and I'm fond of their rust. I don't mind taking the quilt that's fraying at the edges - I prefer it, in fact. The flower pot is chipped? Hand it over. The knob is broken? Sure, because it tells a story.

I've chosen to decorate my life with things that someone else has rejected. Things that aren't done living, things that can be bought for a song. They still have something to offer and maybe I can provide the context to prove it.

Why is it so different with people? My instinct is to back slowly away from the broken and the hurting. Why do I strain to see the beauty in their chips and dings?

For years I've convinced myself that my love is earmarked for the broken like me. I'm more cut out for middle-class heartache, thank you very much. My solidarity is with people who think/act/talk/smell/live like me.

I'd really rather forget about the dead streets covered by canopies of oppression. I'd like to never know in the first place about the boys who lurch down them at dusk.

I want to look away. To hide. To pretend life could always be what it was when I was eleven.

But I'm learning the beauty of meeting the eyes around me. I'm forcing myself across the busy street and I'm doing it with precious cargo, not because it's natural or even because I always want to, but because I suspect it's the only way I'll learn that we're all the walking wounded.

I used to think God gave me a particular heart to love the tattered things that other people pass over. Only now do I see the incompleteness of that belief.

I am called to love broken people. Loving broken things is just a hobby.

My childhood was a dream. It shaped me. I see no fault in it and I'll always thank my lucky stars.

But my kids were called someplace different.

My hope is that everything that jars my senses and makes my heart lurch will become their ordinary wild. My prayer is that they'll walk with ease to their neighbor's table and notice early the way shards of amber glass can catch spring's light.

What I Look Like When I Blog and Some Super Smart People

2013-04-13T22:36:00.001-04:00

Hi. This is what I look like when I'm blogging. At least usually.

At this particular moment, I actually look more like this. Same desk, same computer, same ergonomically incorrect chair. Same funky socks.

But most nights, we put the kids to bed, tidy this zoo up a bit, and I get comfy. And as luck would have it, my stalker azzi moved to the new house with me, so we have an appropriate visual. (Look closely and you'll see my pajama shirt...)

Tonight we're at the tail end of a whirl-wind. We drove to Muncie and back today to meet our newest nephew, fresh off a plane from Uganda. He's the same age Silas was when he came home. And it struck me tonight that he's two months older than Calvin was when Ruby was born.

I feel like I'm thinking out loud right now....

What? That's what it always seems like??

While I'm at it, you should know that I'm dealing with my first whole chicken as. we. speak. It's, uh, boiling on the stove. I feel sort of bad talking about it. It stunned me with its chickenness, that's all. And its headlessness. I think I'll stick with split breasts from now on.

Are you curious about why I'm boiling a whole chicken at 10:14 on a Saturday night?
Well, stay tuned. There's Velveeta involved and I'm not afraid to admit it.

We're having special overnight visitors tonight and tomorrow should be one for the record books of my murmured heart.

I'm leaving you with a bunch of random links I've been saving for a few weeks because they're awesome and no other reason is necessary.

Living in Africa Doesn't Make You an Awesome Person by Annie from Ramblations I wanted to stand up and cheer when I read this. I really love her transparency and the girl just makes sense.

Why We Have Our Best Ideas in the Shower by Leo Widdrich at Buffer This is super sciency and involved, but it's an interesting skim. And most importantly, it confirms my sneaking suspicion.

Listening Well as a Person of Privilege by Christena Cleveland This girl nails it. "Privileged folks often underestimate how much they need solidarity with oppressed folks." She slayed me with her well-shared wisdom and convicted me with her brave truth-telling.

6 Tips to Smart Giving by Amy L. Sullivan We're still talking a lot about the importance of generous, extravagant giving around these parts and how important it is to really understand where the $ is going. This is a great resource.

5 Steps to Help Kids Learn to Control Their Emotions by Aha! Parenting Self-explanatory, right??

Alice Cooper: I am a Christian Fascinating. I'm still chewing this one around.

Dining Room Tour by DustyLu Gorgeous. Dreamy. Swoony.

Happy weekending!

Calvinisms

2013-04-11T21:49:00.001-04:00

Total depravity
Unconditional election
Limited....

Oh wait, wrong Calvin.

This boy of mine, he's a real squirt. He cracks us up all the time.
He also makes us pull our hair out a little.

A few weeks ago he came home from school and handed me this paper. He had found a recipe that "sounded good" in a book he was reading, so he copied the whole thing down for me at school.

People.

I die.

Can we say "Mama's Love Language"?

Of course I ran out for some zucchinis and made it.

For the record, this is what I look like most days around here. You might as well know. The next time you say nice things to me and make me all blushy, might I direct you back to this?

And just in case I haven't already over-shared, that shirt? Pajamas.

It's a shameful secret I bear, but I don't want to talk about it.

I often sleep in the shirt I wore during the day. And sometimes I do it the other way around.

But I said I don't want to talk about it, okay?

I feel cleansed.

Also, I stand like this all the time. I have no idea why. It's always been like this.
I'm part flamingo, only not as exotic or pink.

I think it might have something to do with my uneven legs.

But we're here to talk about Calabacitas.
It was pretty good. Not sure that I'll make it again?

Calvin wasn't sold, either.

But we ate it all and we ate it happily and I looked across the table at my child who arrived from across the ocean with a faux-hawk and now holds a pencil in his hand and writes words like "margarine" and "Montery jack" cheese on lined paper because he loves me so much.

A few weeks later he pulled this out of his back-pack like it was 2-dozen roses and I was the Queen.

He gets to check out two library books each week at school and got a cook book for me.
(Though I think there may have been some ulterior motives involved...)

He recently made this for his Papaw - a folder to keep all of his gardening paperwork.

(If you know anything about my dad, you know he indeed has gardening "paperwork".)

So yeah, I'm being a total bragger Mom tonight. I have the raddest kids ever.

* We just tucked Silas into our bed after the most heart-wrenching, complicated, endearing conversation. He's growing and understanding more. He's starting to figure himself out a little. He's starting to really know his place in this family, and that it's forever.

* Last night we talked to Robert about an on-going quasi-conflict with his counselor. I asked him if he was nice when he talked to her. "Not at first, but at the end I was." My response, "Be nice. Show your teeth (smile). We raised you better than that." He cracked up so hard. Giggled like a girl. It appears that there's no end to his giddiness and amazement over being found and kept by us. He's wonder-struck. We all are.

* Ruby is overdue for a post of her own and I've been keeping notes, so stay tuned. For now, I'll just say that she's blowing me away with her smarts. The girl is reading like no body's business. Lordy, how I've always prayed that my kids would love reading!

Yesterday after she read the hardest book yet I hooted and hollered and yelled and sang. Calvin calmly walked over and patted her on the back, "Great job, Soup!* Just keep working on your fluency."

???

I'm clearly in over my head in innumerable ways. It feels like a good place to be.

*Family nickname chart (explanations will not be offered at this time) (because there are none to offer) (I blame my mom)

Calvin
Mr. Lee
Poskie (Me)
Poskadoozaloo (Me)
Keevis (Me)
Calvisbobalvis (Dad)
Calvo (Dad)

Ruby
Rubester
Ruby-Tuby
El Rubo (Dad)
Rubis-Cuebis (Dad)
Youbis (Me)
Soupis (Calvin)
Soup (Calvin)

Silas
Si-Pie
Piley
Pilot Parkis
Pikesmandu (Calvin)

Howard the Cat
Howenstein
Howie
Howsing (Calvin)
Singy (Calvin and Ruby)
Sing-Sing (Ruby)

High Roller Spring Break

2013-04-09T21:30:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure how, but I survived Spring Break. (EIGHT school days off...it was a long one!)

In fact, Sunday night I went to bed feeling all bluesy around the edges. We'd found our new routine just in time to disrupt it again. I didn't want them to go back. I wanted everyone here. Also, I wanted to stay in bed 'til 8.

Isn't that just how I am? Wishing for the thing that isn't happening? (The answer is yes.)

It has me thinking about how infatuated I really am with predictability. I've been pondering the rhythms of our days and the way they treasure-map the path to my sanity.

But I digress.

Over Christmas break we were supposed to take a trip to Kansas for a few days. Then Calvin's health hit a rough patch and the doctors nixed out-of-state travel. The kids were kinda bummed about missing out on the family reunion and sackcloth-and-ashes grieved about missing out on a night's stay in a hotel.

So that was our consolation prize - A night's stay in a hotel!

(A word of advice from someone who knows: Never pass up a photo op with a drab duck. You'll just never be sorry you have it.)

But then two tires went bad and there was much teeth gnashing.

They understood, in their own way. We laid it out as the simple truth that it was: We need to buy two new tires. We don't have money for both. The car is more important. We'll make it up to you.

Spring Break = Making it Up to You

People, we took them to the Comfort Inn 20 miles away. Sixty bucks for the night. Two double beds.

They were so geeked, you don't even know.

We used the side door because Cory insisted on parking at the end of the building, closer to our room. Like it was a true, throw-back motel with the room doors on the outside. The second we made it inside, this conversation ensued:

Ruby: It smells...different in here!
Silas: Yeah, it smells fancy!
Calvin: It's the pool. And the nice carpet.
Mommy: It's chlorine mixed with stale cigarette smoke trapped in the kinda-dingy burgundy carpet.

(Pretty sure Cory was the only one who heard me. I'm not here to be a dream crusher.)

The kids raced around our palace and practiced switching on all the faux brass light fixtures. They slid around on the nylon comforters. (cringe)

It might as well have been Disneyland.

They threw on their suits and Daddy took them swimming while I drove down the street to Marshalls where I found THE BEST EVER bathing suit for $30 with the original $190 price tag still attached.

Dear Marshalls,
Please uphold your commitment to keeping orignal tags on all high-end merch.
I thought the bathing suit was sort of interesting, but only after I spotted that tag did I realize how truly breathtaking it is. After all, it's not so much about looking good as it is beating the system.
Very Truly,
FPFG

After our afternoon activities, we did what anyone would do on a fancy vacation: dinner at Golden Corral.

People. It was expensive. But I'll sing its praises for the rest of my life or at least through Fall. It just opened a few months ago and buffets always require a certain degree of bravery, but I'm a believer now.

Dear GC,
Thank you for making your mashed potatoes from scratch.
The blue cheese crumbles on the salad bar were a nice touch.
I'd like the recipe for your guac.
And I'm very sorry I took four desserts. It was really too much.
Ever Yours,
FPFG

Back at the hotel, we were closing in on bedtime. And that's when things got interesting.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Earlier, at dinner, I noticed Silas walking around with both hands tucked so adorably in the front pocket of his hoodie. I distinctly thought to myself, "He doesn't usually do that! He's the cutest ever."

(Silas at a cross-roads.)

Fast forward. We're back at the hotel. It's time for jammies. I pull the hoodie over Silas's head and an unidentified object flies out of his kangaroo pocket and lands on the floor. It looks like a restaurant pager, but GC didn't give us a restaurant pager....

Calvin gasps. Louder than necessary. "Ummmmmmmmmmmmm! I saw those at Ace today!"

Silas stares at the burgundy carpet.

He's been caught. Red-handed. With a clip-on, battery-powered, flashing, bike reflector. Classic Silas material. And he kept it hidden for over 7 hours.

Once again, we did what any awesome parents would do: "Silas, if you steal something again the police can come and take you to jail."

(Keep in mind, jail is not at all theoretical to our shorties.)

Silas cried his eyes out. "You're making me sad! I don't like you to boss me! Don't boss me! Daddy is mean when he bosses me! You're making me saaaaad! I don't like it when you boss me! Etc..."

We read a chapter from our book and the kids were out.

It had been an emotional evening.

The next day?

Free hot breakfast, more swimming, community zoo that we have passes to from last season (cousins Jack and Macy met us there!) and lunch at Culvers with gift cards scored by Calvin from one of his past medical procedures. (Our pediatric Hematology/Oncology clinic does not mess around.)

Immediately after this picture was taken, Silas went ahead and tossed his plastic fish-food cup over the edge of the fence, onto the ground. Like that episode of Mad Men when Don throws his picnic trash onto the grass then drives away. Almost exactly like that. (Uncle Kevin hopped the fence because he's heroic like that and environmentally conscious.)

It was hill-billy perfection.

So much fun.

So almost entirely free.

We'll not be re-thinking this wheel.

ps - Bike reflector was returned using this script: "My name is Silas. I stole this from your store. I'm very sorry."

pss - My friend Nici wrote today about their spring break, which was pretty much the opposite of ours in every way. Truly beautiful and maybe a bit envy-provoking. Like ours. (Not at all.)

What was your spring break high point?

On Infertility and the Truth about Women

2013-04-08T08:55:00.002-04:00

Week after week we sat on the edge of the tiny sofa in the doctor's office. Cory held my hand. We kept it light, willing success to float down from the drop-ceiling tiles and settle on us through the sheer force of our collective certainty. It was no big deal. He would fix me.

Around week four or five, Doctor Jan peered at me from behind his desk, his eyebrows stitched together in concern. His tired eyes narrowed and the words tumbled out, "Why aren't you pregnant yet?"

His question hung in the air for a moment, then fell around me like an omen. {Click here to continue reading my story.}

Several Kinds of Good

2013-04-06T21:10:00.000-04:00

Today has been a fantastic day, but it's about to get even better for a bunch of you.
After reading your heart-felt comments about art, Jeanne Oliver decided to give her class to TEN of you. Ten! It blew me clean away.

And....for the rest of you, she's offering 30% off the price of the class ($58) when you use the code "farmgirl" at check-out. DON'T TELL A SOUL! because I think she's only offering this to FPFG readers. ;)

I'm so excited for the winners and hope the rest of you take advantage of her generosity. God has so much to show us through creativity.

Here are our 10 lucky ladies! (email Jeanne)

Talitha
Kelly Lautenbach
The Artsy Mom
Melony
Annastacia
Julie
Heicoc
2Js
Lana
Tina Thrifting with Cake

Would it be fair to require you to share your masterpieces with us at the end of the class? No? Not fair at all? Fine.

Lisa Leonard is having an ahhh-mazing Spring Cleaning sale right now. I'm slow on the up-take, so you only have tonight to score, but I'm telling you, the sale prices are down around 50% off and she's offering an additional 25% off sale prices when you use the code "bonus25" at check-out. One of my favorite necklaces can be had for around $25! (regular $64) With Mother's Day, end-of-year teacher gifts, and graduations coming our way, now's the time for some bargains.

And now, I shall leave you with an excerpt from Silas's bedtime prayer from about 20 minutes ago:
"And thank you for my nightlight so I won't be scared and please help Mommy to not be bossy to me anymore and help Daddy to not be bossy and thank you that Jesus is not bossy to me anymore and he is kind and he cannot be bossy to me. Anymore."

Do you see what we're up against? Do you see it? (He's so dang swoonaliciously cute.)

Luv,
Siley's Boss

*Non-Silas photos courtesy of Cory's archives because I need some flippin' flowers in my life and I think his shots are dreamy.

Unfailing/Wonderful

2013-04-06T00:55:00.000-04:00

I sort of thought if we ever went bankrupt it might be due to medical bills or salsa. I never would have guessed phone calls from prison. We're officially in the phase of "Hey - we should try to, uh...space these calls out a bit!" It's hard to not answer that phone when it rings most nights around 10 pm.

The people who decide how much stuff costs in prison wear two horns and a tail. That's all I'm saying. Yeah, yeah. I get it. But seriously, it's giving me frightful flash backs to my retro years of the gold wall-mount phone with an extra-long curly cord and the long distance phone bills my dad would tally up, expecting and collecting payment in full. {shudder}

We have this new thing that we do. The robot lady voice comes on all, "You have one. minute. remaining." and we take turns picking a chapter in the Bible for all of us to read that night. The only rule is, it has to be random. No deck stacking. Admittedly, we're heavy in the Psalms. But aren't we all? Last night it was my turn and I picked 17. It's always interesting to read things like "Protect me from wicked people who attack me, from murderous enemies who surround me" and imagine what it's like to read those words from prison.

But the main thing that stuck out to me last night was this: "Show me your unfailing love in wonderful ways". So that was my prayer. For me, and Robert, and all of us.

And then I went about my day.

We got a slow start, had tens of twenties of errands to run. The little smoochies were grumpy-ish. I was determined to have a great last day of Spring break.

I jotted a quick note to stick in the mail and I copied down that verse and said, "God's always showing us His love...we just have to notice it."

A package arrived in the mail and I felt like the luckiest girl in town. It was so fun, so unexpected,so perfectly random. I felt loved.

But it was hours later that God brought to my mind 3 separate times in recent weeks when I thought about buying 3 of the things packed in that box - right down to the scent of the soap. 3 times I reached for something then pulled back, feeling for whatever reason that I didn't need it. It's true, I didn't need it. But I did need to see God's unfailing love and today that meant a USPS box full of wonderful.

It also meant brussels sprouts on the stem. (The obsession rages.)

And delivering dinner to my oldest/dearest Sarah, who's sick as a dog.

Our evening:
* Stuffed our faces.
* Decided that we were right and Rick (her husband) was wrong. (You totally know we were right.)
* Sat under afghans on the couch and leafed through mags.
* I tore a recipe for a meringue dessert out of a mag she hadn't even read yet. (The elephant in the room: I would never have allowed such nonsense! (I'm a complete and total selfish, jerk-face magazine hoarder))
* Talked about the following celebs: Jessica Chastain, Ben Affleck, Jennifer Garner (who am I forgetting?)
* Discussed how unimaginable it is to consider that some people might not think about food for the better part of their day. {double shudder}
* Sarah mentioned how funny Pioneer Woman is on twitter and I screamed "YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW JEN HATMAKER! LIKE NOW!" So we pulled her up on Sarah's futuristic phone with internet and then we scrolled back to Feb. 24th and read her entire feed from Oscar night. And we howled like hyenas. #stalk #ers
* Watched a movie that shant be named for fear of condemnation and judgment.
* (Four thumbs way up.)
* Vowed to do it all again soon.

I drove home with The Wallflowers Bringing Down the Horse in my ear. I love it. I borrowed it from the library and the first time I played track one Silas announced "That's my song!" and I thought, "Kid, I think I'll keep you." My favorite song? Angel On My Bike. I can't possibly begin to say what it's about, but I can't get enough of that melody thing where it's in a minor key. I think, or maybe not. But you know, it's the part where the music resolves in a most unexpected way...there's dissonance...it sounds a bit strange. Or Chinese. That thing. And I love the idea of a double prayer because I can't often manage a single. I just like the song, man. The whole cd, really. Those Dylans might be on to something...

In case you didn't notice, I'm a musical prodigy.

Scratch that, I'm too old to be a prodigy. And I know that thanks to my homeboy, John Green and his magical An Abundance of Katherines. So I guess that leaves me at Musical Genius. You get my point.

I'm very thankful for a today that gave me enough open space to fully recognize my inadequacies and the grace to let them go.

I'm thankful for all of your gardening tips. (You don't even know.)

I'm thankful for the kilometers of mileage I got from one of you announcing on Facebook that my dad is "a hottie."

I'm thankful for the promises of tomorrow, which include 60-degree temps, a visit with our oldest, Nicoise mash-up salad, and an in-house date night.

I'm glad I noticed the unfailingness of God's love today and wish I could pocket a guarantee for a repeat "noticing" performance for, oh, every day for the rest of my life. (I hate that I decide not to notice sometimes.)

What's your stem of sprouts today? What's the angel on your bike??

Happy Saturday, friends.