Love Well

Why I Love Valentine's Day

2012-02-14T07:00:00.001-06:00

I have always loved Valentine’s Day. It’s one of those sweet, little holidays that splash color and joy all over winter. Red and pink and purple. Glitter hearts. Chocolate and strawberries. I’ll channel my inner Ina Garten here and say, “What’s not to like about that?”

Maybe because my Mom did such a great job of making Valentine’s a fun, family day, I never got weighed down with the romantic implications of the day. As a teenager, I was uber-aware of the couples around me and the swoony music and the candlelight dinners. And there were Valentine’s Days celebrated by Corey and me in our pre-kid years that involved dinners next to crashing waves and fondue chocolate in dark, cushy booths.

But mostly, Valentine’s Day to me isn’t a chance to get love – it’s a chance to show love. I don’t really care if it’s reciprocated. I relish the chance to make heart-shaped butter cookies with pink frosting and serve them to my kids after school – just to see them smile. I love helping them make Valentine cards for their cousins and their friends at school – because glittery hearts and silly sayings are simple and sweet ways to love others.

I don’t really care if Corey gets me a card or if the kids make me a gift. It’s not about me. It’s about my chance to show them how much I love them, on a day largely bereft of expectations or pressure.

Valentine’s Day is just pure, sweet joy.

Heart for Orphans

2012-02-13T07:00:00.001-06:00

Do you have a heart for orphans? Do you have a blog? Then I bet my last Christmas cookie you've written about it. (Not that you want my last Christmas cookie, because good grief, it's almost Valentine's.) (On the other hand, they are double-iced mint fudge brownies, and they are killer.)

I want to read your best material. I want to weep with you, laugh with you, nod my head in understanding. I want to partner with you as you tell the world that these little ones are worth the pain, worth the sacrifice, worth the fight. And maybe, I'd like to share your vision with the world with the new series Hearts for Orphan's debuting today on the Christian Alliance for Orphans blog.

I am so excited and eager to launch this project, which has been in the works since the Orphan Summit last May. It's a chance for me to shine a spotlight on some of the fantastic posts about orphan care that I come across in my reader. I'm eager to share many of you with a wider audience and connect people who have similar burdens.

Will you click over to the CAFO blog today and read the inaugural post? It's a phenomenal piece written by Missy at It's Almost Naptime entitled "Am I A Hero?" and I guarantee it will rock your world with her signature passion, authenticity and humor. (And if you read it when it was originally posted at her place last fall, I also guarantee that it's even better the second time around.)

And then, will you do me a favor? When you read a blog post that speaks boldly of orphan care - in any form, be it adoption, foster care, or global care initiatives - will you email me the link? Even - maybe especially - if it's your own? After all, I have only two sets of eyes and limited hours in the day. I need help to find the best stuff out there. I can be found at kellyatlovewell-at-gmail-dot-com.

Thank you so much for sharing in my passion and my joy.

A Bud on the Tree

2012-02-09T15:19:00.008-06:00

I keep thinking it's spring.

Our winter has been so wimpy. The sun is flexing its muscles. The crust of snow is disappearing. Last week, I swear I heard a song bird.

Problem is, it's only February 9. Even if an early spring is inevitable this year, it's not happening next week. Even though it feels tantalizing close, I still have to wait.

A few weeks ago, I looked around at the chaos in my house -- Kieran balanced precariously on a chair, Teyla playing dolls with her hair askew, Natalie drawing next to the dirty dishes, Connor playing Legos and following me around like a puppy, asking, "Mom, you know what? Mom, you know what?" - and my heart almost exploded. Simultaneously, I thought, "I AM SO BLESSED! I LOVE MY LIFE!" and "OH MY WORD, WILL I EVER HAVE A MOMENT TO MYSELF AGAIN? I AM LOSING MY EVER LOVIN' MIND!"

I know we all feel this crazy tension. It's inherent to parenting in the 21st century. But lately, for me, it feels like it's been tightened to the breaking point. I have never been so in love with my family, never so thankful, never so aware of how much I love each and every stage my kids are in. At the same time, I have never wanted a break more, I have never felt so itchy at their constant desire to be with me. A few weeks ago, when I was feeling especially stretched, I pushed Kieran and Teyla out of my bedroom and shut the door in their crying faces and tried-not-to-scream, "Mommy needs a few minutes ALONE!"

I know, in just a few years, they will all be in school, and I will have more time than I'll know what to do with. (And if you know that's not true, don't tell me. Let me have my dream.) It will change even this year. Teyla will start preschool in the fall, which means I'll be down to one child three mornings a week.

But as desperate as I am for time to stand still, I am straining for a change of seasons. I don't need spring in all its glory, yet. I just need a cracked window, a bud on the tree, a whiff of earth.

My desperation is pushing me to look for babysitters who can watch Kieran and Teyla for a few hours each week, so I can have consistent time to myself. And I think it's working. Today, I have a sweet teenage girl here (which is why you are reading this) and thanks to the magic of Facebook, I've found a few girls at a neighboring college who are open to working up a schedule with me.

The idea of having an afternoon each week when I'm not on duty, when I can do whatever I want without worrying about cutting up apples/negotiating a fight/pulling Kieran off the counter? I'm so giddy, I can hardly sit still.

Do you smell that? I think spring is on its way.

Pinterest: I finally get it

2012-01-31T12:00:00.002-06:00

I'm not sure I should admit this. After all, I did save every issue of Martha Stewart Living for a decade just because the pictures were so pretty.

But in the beginning, I didn't get Pinterest.

I heard the buzz in social media circles last spring. I read Megan's oh-so-good tutorial. I snagged an invite. And I started pinning.

First impression? I loved the pictures. I'm visual. It was an overload of gorgeous. But I didn't really understand how to use it. "So I re-pin things that I like, so my followers and friends, most of whom are the same people, can see another pin of the same thing?"

Like I said, I didn't get it.

So my Pinterest account languished.

I didn't stop checking in with Pinterest, occasionally. (I should add: Half the time I tried to log in, the site was down. For all of its popularity - maybe because of all its popularity - Pinterest is one of the wonkier sites on the World Wide Web.) And slowly, I started to see potential.

I found fun crafts to do with my kids. I drooled over nooks in dream kitchens. I discovered amazing new school lunch ideas.

Then, one day, I got a Pottery Barn catalog in the mail. Now you have to understand - Pottery Barn is the undoing of me. I hardly ever buy anything, but if I had to define my style, it would be Pottery Barn to the core. (And don't even get me started on Pottery Barn Kids. I die.)

Normally, when I get a Pottery Barn catalog in the mail, I save it for months and pour over my favorite pictures and imagine how I can ~~steal~~ incorporate some of their style details in my own home.

But this time - light bulb! Instead of keeping the paper catalog, I Pinned my favorite designs.

Source: potterybarnkids.com via Kelly on Pinterest

Not only did this allow me to keep the photos in a place where I was more likely to see them everyday, but it enabled me to start a visual record of my style. Already, I've started to see trends pop up in my collection. For example, in the desk photos above, I see a stream of old-school-with-new-style chairs, fun-but-smart organization and scads of color. These are all things I've already started incorporating in the kids' homework area.

New worlds opened up to me. What if, instead of clipping that recipe, I Pinned it? What if, instead of Googling "gifts for teachers," I just searched Pinterest?

Suddenly, Pinterest was more than a source of inspiration. It became my virtual file cabinet. I've always clipped articles and pictures and ideas for "future use." But using Pinterest is so much easier that keeping a physical file folder.

Plus, with Pinterest, I get to share my favorite ideas/designs/recipes/crafts with my friends -- and they get to share theirs with me. The social media aspect of Pinterest turns a fun idea into a great one.

Maybe best of all, because I check Pinterest every day, I'm more likely to actually follow-through on the ideas instead of collecting them for "future use." Case in point: A few weeks ago, I found this (free!) Valentine's printables.

Source: triciarennea.blogspot.com via Kelly on Pinterest

Within days, I had this hanging over my fireplace mantle.

I simply printed the banner on card stock, added a few purple pennants made from my scrapbook paper stash to better match my Valentine's Day decor, taped the triangles to some string I found in the garage and - viola.

Instant beauty. Instant happy. And easy!

Now if someone could just explain Spotify to me.... I don't get it.

I'm kellyatlovewell on Pinterest. If you need an invite, let me know! I'd love to see you there!

Unaware

2012-01-24T09:30:00.001-06:00

Our house has three bathrooms, and right now, every one of them is being used for nighttime bathing.

The boys (the Philistines, as Corey calls them) are splashing together in one tub. In the other two bathrooms, the showers are running for the girls.

Teyla is in the master bathroom, around the corner from my desk. She can't see me, but I can see her, because of a mirror on our dresser. She is dancing under the falling water, reaching her arms up to touch the stream, laughing as the spray chokes out her song. Streams fall from her pony tails - which I leave in 90% of the time now, because I am so over detangling her curly hair - and she is completely unaware of herself.

That kind of freedom mesmerizes me. It's beauty, through and through.

Sunday morning, our pastor taught on the passage in John where the Pharisees fling an adulteress as Jesus' feet. She has been caught in the act, and yes, that means exactly what you think. This woman, she is really just a pawn. The Pharisees aren't bringing her to Jesus to get his input. They are trying to trap him into saying something which they can use against him.

My heart always beats wild at this story. I have played that woman on stage many times. Many. To the point where a part of her lives in my soul. I imagine the crowd jeering, the men haughty. The terror. The embarrassment. The shame. Exposed publicly in your worst sin. Naked. She must have laid, cowering, at Jesus' feet, shaking violently, hiding her face, waiting for the stones to fall.

But Jesus, in a move that is classic Jesus, doesn't answer her accusers about whether or not she deserves death. He simply bends down and writes in the sand. The crowd badgers him for an answer. He rises and says the line almost everyone knows, even if you aren't a believer: "Let him who is without sin throw the first stone."

The text says that, one by one, the men slink away. When they are gone, Jesus - the only one in the crowd who has never sinned, the only one qualified to throw a stone - simply asks, "Who condemns you?"

"No one, Lord."

"Neither do I. Go and sin no more."

I don't know what happened to the woman after that. But in my mind, she did exactly what Jesus prescribed. She went home and probably took a bath and maybe, if Jesus words sank in deep enough, she was naked without shame, for the first time in a long time.

Maybe she even danced under the stream of water, completely unaware of herself.

Free.

Linking up with Heather's Just Write today.

Snow or the Lack Thereof

2012-01-20T11:35:00.005-06:00

I probably need to stop talking to my sister on the phone. And maybe phase out quick conversations with other moms at school.

Because they are stealing my best material.

I tell my funny, quirky, who-would-have-thunk stories to them, and then when I sit down to write for the blog (if I sit down and write for the blog), I'm all pensive.

For the love of laughter. I keep saying this, but I promise: I am NOT this serious in real life. Let's just chat, shall we?

Let me do the first thing Midwesterners do if we sit down for coffee -- we talk weather. And this winter has left us with no end of details to discuss, because hello -- winter hasn't really arrived. We had a brown Christmas, we've been above freezing for much of January and we haven't had a plowable snowfall since December 4.

But today, hallelujah, it's snowing!

About freakin' time. If we're lucky, we'll get enough to cover the grass completely. But I'm not holding my breath.

Keep in mind, this pitiful excuse for a winter follows last winter, which was the third snowiest winter in history for Minnesota. This time last year, almost 60 inches of snow had fallen already.

Here. Let me show you a few pictures I took last winter, shortly after we moved into our new house.

The snow drifts outside the kids' school last year.

Our backyard.

Our front walk.

Our neighborhood.

So. Pretty. I almost want to swoon over those photos.

And this year? We haven't even gotten 12 inches of snow. Total. And most of that has come in dribs and drabs and then has melted within 24 hours. It's depressing.

If you'd really like to be on Irony Patrol, consider that Seattle got six inches of snow this week. And I didn't want to move there because I didn't want to leave my snow.

(AP Photo, Elaine Thompson)

Don't you love that photo? The people of Seattle's Queen Anne's neighborhood converting the street into a giant sledding hill. That, right there, is why I love snow.

Snow is magic. It calls to the kid in us and gives us an excuse to indulge the spontaneous and silly. Throw snowballs, make a snow angel, whoop it up on a sled that inevitably spills you into a snowdrift. It's allowable. Heck, it's encouraged.

Mr. Snowman, bring me some snow.

Margins

2012-01-19T10:20:00.005-06:00

Every morning this week, after tucking the big kids safely into school, I've turned the minivan into the rising sun and driven straight home. I bundle the littles, still wearing their footsies, out of the warmth of the car into the warmth of the house. We eat steel-cut oatmeal topped with brown sugar and dried cranberries and chopped pecans and flaxseed. (And maybe a few mini chocolate chips, for good measure.) Then we clean up the kitchen and I load the dishwasher and the sunlight fills the house with glory and I practically purr with contentment.

I do believe I've found my margin.

It's a funny thing; lasting change is so subtle. You never really notice it until you stop and look around.

A few years ago, I ran breathless. Part of me loves living on adrenaline and part of me was hooked on the productivity of busy.

But in my soul, where it counts, all that rushing was making me miss my life. I was so focused on the To Do List and the Next Thing that I missed the Right Now.

When my heart started to whisper that it wanted something more - a slowing, a stillness, a Sabbath - I didn't know where to start. It seemed so overwhelming, after a lifetime of preoccupation. How do I stop? How do I find some time to just be?

It started, as all change starts, with one step.

I decided to ruthlessly eliminate hurry from my life. That meant I had to cut a lot of things out of my schedule. So I did. Together, Corey and I decided to enroll the big kids in just one extracurricular event per year, instead of one per season. We decided to pull out of AWANA and other midweek church programming, because the hours were too hard on the little kids. I decided against a weekly Bible study for me, preferring instead the easier schedule of my twice-monthly moms group. I even made the somewhat draconian decision to say no to all evening events for the time being, because it's just not worth the fall-out of not being here at bedtime. (I hate putting four kids to bed by myself when Corey travels. So I can't justify making him do it because I want a night out with the girls.) (And here I should note: This is MY decision, not one I made lightly, and I am not asking you to do it. But this works, right now, for our family.)

All of this means I have exactly two mornings a month when I am committed to something. Every other morning, every other day, is at my disposal.

Which means I can do nothing if I chose. I can color all morning and do puzzles at lunch and then fold some laundry while Kieran naps and Teyla watches Team Umizoomi. I can bake cinnamon bread and whole wheat muffins and stir up big pots of chili and pork apricot stew. I can sit and cuddle my last baby when he falls asleep in my arms. I put off going to the grocery store unless absolutely necessary, and I don't run to Target just to get out of the house. I'm just fine here, thank you, sitting by the fire with my people and playing Candyland.

Wide margins. Oh how I've changed.

Suddenly, I understand why my graphic artists friends are such fans of white space. Without it, you don't really focus on what's important.

Where Have All the Men Gone?

2012-01-12T16:08:00.004-06:00

Where have all the men gone?

Specifically, the plastic, molded men that round out our dollhouse families and wear their v-neck sweaters with quiet resolve?

I have lost them. And I can't find them. And it's driving me CRAZY.

The dad from the small dollhouse went missing first. His absence is always noticeable. It's just him, his wife and his school-age daughter, and a rebellious dog who's been known to spend nights with a gang of lizards from the Little Pet Shop bin. But he always turns up. Usually I find him stuck inside a wayward cupboard or stuffed inside one of our many purses or backpacks.

But he's been gone since before Christmas, this time. No one has seen him in weeks. His wife and daughter have moved in to the party house next door, where two teenage girls live without parents, and a surprise birthday party is permanently waiting in the ceiling.

Then it was the dad from the Loving Family dollhouse (I will not mock the name, I will not mock the name) and his loss is much more serious, because now his two sons - one school-aged, one a baby who also has a twin sister, natch - have no adult male influence. The house is ruled by matriarchy. Mom, grandma, aunt, big sister, little sister, baby sister. You'd think that would just make the dad more popular. And it did seem to work that way, at least with Connor and Kieran. The dad was always the first choice for my boys when it came time to play house, and he was frequently co-opted to play war with the Transformers and Luke Skywalker.

But suddenly, he's disappeared. Gone. Poof.

It's creepy, I'm telling you. Because I've looked. OH I'VE LOOKED. I've unpacked and repacked every toy bin, every drawer, every shoebox. I've crawled over ever square inch of Connor's room (a common hangout for lost toys). I've looked in everyone's closet and in the TV cabinet and under every couch or chair cushion we have in the house. I've done everything I know to do. And so far, my search has produced lots of Legos and Cheerios but no men.

I know many of you might not understand this - "Toys go missing, Kelly. It's what they do." But it's torturing my organized, logical, neatnik self. They have to be here somewhere. The only other explanation is that Kieran threw them away and I didn't see them in the garbage before it was emptied. (Have I gone through the garbage bags before in search of something lost? You better believe it. I don't leave a man behind.)

But two men in a matter of weeks? I don't think so. Something is up.

Maybe it has something to do with the Wii we got for Christmas?

Lost: My Free Time

2012-01-06T09:00:00.002-06:00

It can't figure out when it happened, exactly. But sometime over the last year, I lost my free time.

The realization hit me before Christmas. While searching for a Bubble Guppies episode for Teyla, I happened across a promo for an Ina Garten Christmas special on the Food Network. And I thought, "My goodness, last year I watched all those Food Network holiday shows. How is it that I didn't even know they were on this year?"

Then I started to notice the creep in other areas. Last year? I read blogs. I set aside time every day to plow through my reader. This year? I mostly read posts that blogging friends link to via Twitter and Facebook. I haven't touched my reader in weeks. (And now I'm too scared to pull it up, because 1000+ unread posts terrifies me.)

Last year, I shopped for Christmas presents for my immediate family AND my extended family. I shipped packages. I baked cookies for a cookie exchange. I made homemade bread for the kids' teachers. This year? I shopped for my immediate family only - and that took all my energy. And while I did bake cookies, I did it on December 23, and I only made five kinds. The kids' teachers got gift cards. (Which is probably preferred anyway. But it felt slightly cop-out-ish to me.)

So what's changed? I had four kids last year. I have four kids this year. One husband. One house. One dog. Multiple personalities, but that's hardly new.

But then I started comparing deeper: I might still have four kids, but last year, one of them was a baby. He nursed. (Which is when I watched TV and read blogs.) He didn't dismantle the Christmas tree every time I turned around and he didn't out-eat his older siblings at most meals and he didn't want to fence with me with every stick in the house. ("Ah-ya Mah-mee! Ah-ya!" he yells at me every five minutes while holding out a wooden spoon/plastic screwdriver/chopstick. Which is his way of saying, "En guard! Take your weapon, woman, and prepare to be skewered.")

And last year, my kids were younger and, somehow, less hungry. They didn't eat ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY. I didn't go to the grocery store twice a week. Or (hold me) even three times a week. (Because Trader Joe's requires its own trip.) I didn't have to make a mid-morning snack or an after-school snack and then, sometimes, a bedtime snack. Which, admittedly, is just a banana, because that's all that's allowed after dinner. But come on, people. When did I open my own Hometown Buffet?

And maybe last year, I had more energy. I will be 40 next week. I no longer have the stamina to herd the cats 16 hours a day. So instead of making plans outside the house almost every day - to visit the library or the indoor playground or Bible study or MOPS - I content myself with staying home and playing Polly Pockets and puzzles and Ah-ya.

But you know what? I might have lost my free time. And a few of my marbles.

But I feel like I've gained something too. Wisdom. Peace. Focus. I am less distracted, more content with saying no, better able to choose the important over the urgent.

Plus, I'm a formidable opponent in Ah-ya.

It's almost like losing my free time has helped me find something I never knew I lost.

There's freedom in the the stripping away.

Dear January

2012-01-03T11:14:00.006-06:00

Dear January:

May I confess a secret?

I think I have a crush on you.

It's a bit of a shock, even to me. You are the deepest, darkest winter here in Minnesota. The sun rises late and sets early. Wind chill is measured by degrees below zero. The holidays are over and the decorations are gone and spring is so very far away. I used to groan at the mere mention of you.

But the last few years, I've caught flashes of your brilliance. Bright sunshine that makes the snow glitter. Morning sunrises that glisten like an opal. Frosty air that invigorates every cell in my body. The hushed stillness of a clean blanket of white.

But even more than the quiet beauty of winter, you offer a fresh start, free for the taking. I love that you begin a new year. Suddenly, nothing is sacred, and hope blossoms anew. Goals are made, even audacious ones, and I face the future with resolve. Change is possible. Anything can happen when the slate is clean. The next chapter starts here. "He makes all things new."

The best part, January, is that it's all somehow unexpected, like no one believes you can compete with the drama of December. Thing is, you don't even try. Your gift is more substance, less show. You are reality. Like the gift of a good chef's knife, you are both prized and practical. You make even the routine of everyday a little radical.

So I'm glad to see you. Welcome back. If you catch me smiling a little when the afternoon sun shines gold in the playroom, or when I see the stars shimmer at me from an inky night sky, or when I try a new recipe or a new routine or a new attitude because I feel your hope pulsating in my soul. Well. Just know. Between you and me.

It's love.

Focus

2012-01-01T23:06:00.009-06:00

A few days ago, Kieran found me at my desk and excitedly handed me a pair of glasses.

They were small, oval-shaped, bronze-rimmed. Glasses.

My glasses.

I had all but forgotten about them, mostly because I don’t need them. I can see fine. My vision is a little blurry when I have to read street signs down the road, which is to be expected for a woman who’s just days away from turning 40, but otherwise, I’m good.

At least, I am in one eye. During an opthalmology check-up a few years back, I learned my left eye is the heavyweight. It does almost all of the work for the right eye, which is considerably less strong. My brain, ever the maestro, has learned to compensate. It gets most of its visual input from my left eye and ignores the fuzzy pictures coming from the right.

End result: My vision is clear. But my depth perception stinks. (Which explains why I got hit in the face with the ball every time I played sports with the youth group and why I could never-not-once see the 3D images hidden in those Magic Eye pictures that were all the craze in the ‘90s.)

Theoretically, it’s possible for my right eye to get stronger and for my brain to start listening to it. Hence, the glasses. The left lens is clear, the right lens compensates for my weakness. When I put them on, I feel like my life has become a 3D movie. I stumble around my own house, hesitantly opening cabinet doors, holding onto countertops for balance, walking gingerly around the Legos on the ground.

It’s disorienting, but it’s good. I had forgotten what life looks like when viewed correctly. So for now, I’m wearing the glasses everyday, for as long as I can stand it.

Turns out, focus affects everything.

I enjoyed Christmas this year. Like, really enjoyed it. It caught me off-guard, seeing as I was 90% Grinch the last few Decembers. In the past, I couldn’t resolve the tension between cultural Christmas - Santa, snow, sentimentalism - and Jesus Christmas - expectancy, enigma, Emmanuel. While I liked cultural Christmas, I smoldered under its weight. I resented the way it overshadowed the deeper story, the true reason for the holy-day. And I grew grumpy with the traditions that sucked my joy and made my children greedy and shoved commercialism down my threat.

But this year, inexplicably, my focus shifted. I found my mind’s eye fixed on the babe Jesus. Some of the same cultural traditions I had grumbled about just last year became conduits of God’s grace to me. Christmas parties? Celebrations of relationships. Gifts? Physical manifestations of the Christ, “gift after gift after gift.” Christmas treats? Tiny symbols of God’s love of butter.

(Just kidding on that last one. I was trying to make sure you were still paying attention.)

But I did find myself less at war with the cultural Christmas and more able to see the deeper truth embedded in the season.

My focus changed me.

As you’ve probably guessed by now, the word I’ve chosen for 2012 is focus. (If you have no idea what I mean by choosing a word, there's a great explanation here. My word for last year was Sabbath.) Focus is a layered word for me. It means both “the state or quality of having or producing clear visual definition” and “becoming able to to see clearly.” It can also mean to “meet at a single point,” as in the case of {Austin Powers finger quote} las-ers {end Austin Powers finger quote} or “to pay particular attention to.” To concentrate. To fix upon.

For me, focus means to be purposeful. To be intentional. My goal is to strengthen my inner eye so it sees the important in sharp detail instead of the blur of the urgent.

It will take discipline. I’m sure I will be unsteady and uncomfortable for a while.

But I believe my focus ultimately sets my course.

And the glasses? They are growing on me.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. LET US FIX OUR EYES ON JESUS, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him, endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

- Hebrews 12:1-3

Break-In

2011-12-22T15:30:00.001-06:00

Until the moment I opened the door, it had been an ordinary day.

I got myself and the kids ready in the morning, took the big kids to school, took the little kids on a massive Trader Joe's run. Corey boarded a plane for Florida for two days worth of meetings.

I pulled back into our driveway around 11:30, eager to unload the groceries and lay a sleeping Kieran in his bed. I jumped out of the car, popped inside to turn off the alarm before unbuckling the sleeping baby when: "WARNING! WARNING ALARM HISTORY! ALARM HISTORY!"

The words flashing at me from the monitor made no sense. Alarm history? What alarm history? Everything looked just as I had left it, three hours earlier. I punched a few buttons. "SUNROOM DOOR! ZONE 1 MOTION DETECTOR! FRONT DOOR! ALARM HISTORY!"

Completely befuddled, I walked a few steps from the mudroom so I could see the sunroom door -- and I saw it open. Deadbolt extended. Wood trim on the floor. Pieces of pink insulation thrown around the room.

Lightning adrenaline seared through every vein in my body. I turned around, got back into my still running car, backed down the driveway and shut the garage door in one fluid motion. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911.

"What's going on, Mommy?" Teyla asked.

I have no idea, I thought to myself.

Three minutes later, a sheriff's deputy pulled in our driveway. I stayed in my car, as instructed. He went around the back of the house. A few minutes later, a second squad car showed up. I rolled down my window to hear, "I see footsteps going in, but none coming out."

I involuntarily drew my breath. Up to that point, I wasn't convinced we had suffered a break-in. It just didn't make sense. Except for the sunroom, everything had looked so normal. The breakfast dishes were still in the sink. Our Christmas tree shone brightly from its corner. A few Little People lay on the floor. This can't be happening.

But it was. The officers came out the front door 10 minutes later. "We've gone through the house. No one is inside. But we'll need you to come in with us and tell us what's missing."

Only the master bedroom had been touched. The top drawers were all open and rifled through. I looked in our closet.

"My jewelry box is gone," I said, picking up the lonely lid from what had been a three layer box.

The sheriff made notes. I walked back out and then, "Oh! My laptop! My laptop is missing!"

The empty spot on my desk hadn't initially registered. I often move my laptop around the house; a bare desk strewn with deserted power cords was a common sight.

But this time, it wasn't me who had moved my laptop. It was someone else.

The deputies were kind but focused. Our house was the fourth break-in in our area that morning. "Someone's out Christmas shopping," one of them said wryly. They took me out back and showed me where the thief had cut our phone line. So that's why the security system didn't notify the police.

And just like that, they were gone, leaving behind a business card and a case number. "Call if you notice anything else missing."

Ummmm. How about my sense of safety? My bubble of control?

I called Corey, who had just landed in Fort Lauderdale. He barely made it out of the airport before he was back inside, calling Delta and buying a ticket on the next direct flight back to Minneapolis.

The next few hours were a blur. My in-laws arrived; we had planned for them to come over Tuesday afternoon to watch Teyla and Kieran so I could do a few hours of Christmas shopping alone. Providence. Thanks to them, I was able to call Comcast about the phone line, call our favorite carpenter to repair the door, call the security company to have someone come out and reset our monitors and then race to our local library to change all my online passwords.

Miraculously, by that evening, the house was back to normal - full strength, as they say in hockey. Our carpenter friend came before dinner and not only repaired the door, but strengthened the deadbolt. Comcast upped our repair to an emergency status and had a tech to our place by nightfall. Corey got home by 5:00, ragged and weary. The kids and I were so glad to see him. His presence took the crazy level down five notches.

With help from the security company, we learned our thief was probably a pro. He cut our phone lines before he even attempted to get into our house. He used a crowbar to pop open our sunroom door. He went right to the master bedroom, the place where most people store their jewels, guns and extra money. (Or, in our case, our costume jewelry, our Bibles and our socks.)

But. He apparently didn't count on our alarm siren going on - even with a cut phone line. Because our monitors show he entered the sunroom at 9:03 and left via the front door at 9:04. And he left in a hurry, too. I found one earring and an shell bracelet scattered on our front sidewalk later that afternoon. So the air-raid siren that terrifies my children (we've set it off numerous times accidentally, potentially scarring Connor for life) also freaks out the bad guys. Good to know.

Initially, I was more upset about losing my laptop. My precious. But in the days since the break-in, I have become far more poignant about the loss of my jewelry.

Besides a pair of diamond earrings that Corey bought me a few Christmases back, I had nothing valuable. It was all glass and plastic, nothing worthwhile to resell or pawn. But to me, it was all priceless. The earrings I wore on my wedding day. The green-and-blue-glass bracelet I bought at the flea market up north. All my Mercy House jewelry. The silver hoops so big they were dubbed "the dog hoops" during my internships at KARE-11. All the holiday pins my parents gave me when I was a little girl: the beaded red heart for Valentine's Day, the wooden shamrock, the smiling Santa, the red-cheeked cupid. The brooches my mom "loaned me" in the 80s so I could pin them on my top shirt button and look cool. The chunky aquamarine shell and stone necklace Corey bought for me in Indonesia, when he went to help with tsunami relief.

Turns out, my jewelry box didn't just hold pretty baubles. It held memories.

My laptop held memories too, of course. But a few hours after my laptop was stolen, I was able to confirm - to my great relief - that my files had been backed up to my external hard drive just a few day prior. So I lost virtually no information, except the latest copy of my To Do List. Eleven years of pictures and video -- safe. Whew.

And then Corey agreed that I could replace my Dell laptop with a Mac and ... well, let's just say I suddenly saw the silver lining of the break-in.

Lessons learned?

1. A security system isn't a guarantee (obviously), but it's worth the money - especially if you live in a more secluded area like we do. We have neighbors, but our lots are big, and the houses are set back from the road. It makes sense for us - especially since Corey travels. Even if the system was partially thwarted this time, the fact that it cut short the time the thief spent in our home earned it its keep.

2. That said, this was another gentle reminder that God alone is my true refuge. If I didn't have that bedrock beneath my feet, I doubt I would have regained my sense of well-being as quickly as I did. He is my ultimate security. If I believe Him and His promises to me, I have nothing to fear.

3. If you don't already, back up your computer. This story would be vastly different if I didn't have my files backed up. I used an HP Simple Save external hard drive. It's super easy - just plug it in to your computer, and it will instantly create a backup of your hard drive. Best part: it will back up every 5 min thereafter. So you don't have to do anything to stay current. I didn't leave mine plugged in all the time, since I had a laptop that got moved all over the house all day. But I tried to plug it in at least once we a week, and for sure every time I downloaded pictures from my camera. That's your PSA for the day. Just do it.

4. Macs rule. (More on that in a future post.)

Thank you for your thoughts, prayers and well wishes the last week. Your outrage on our behalf and warm words of support wrapped me in peace and comfort.

Thanksgiving Menu, Tried and True

2011-11-21T11:03:00.007-06:00

I do it every year.

When the November magazines start to arrive, and the covers showcase all versions of updated Thanksgiving classics, I think, “Maybe this is the year to tinker with my menu.” I start to daydream about change. That brown-sugar glaze looks amazing – and easy. Maybe I should add another vegetable dish, like that one with the Brussels sprouts and pancetta. Wow. Check out that pear and custard pie. Do you think it’s crazy to make four different desserts for my family of six?

And then, when it’s just days from The Big Meal and I’m forced to make a decision, I always end up sticking with my traditional line-up. I put it together a few years ago, and it works so well, I can’t bring myself to mess with it.

So I thought I’d share it with you, in case you’re still flirting with decisions. (And if you are, trust me. I understand. No one in my family eats stuffing, except me, but it seems wrong not to make stuffing, doesn’t it? How do I force myself to leave that dish out?)

There are three reasons why I am sold on this particular menu.

1. You can make almost everything the day before. Even for people like me who love to cook, this is a sanity saver. It allows me to enjoy the day of Thanksgiving and spend most of it playing games with my children or going on hikes through the woods outside my door instead of standing on my feet in front of the stove for eight hours. You might say, it enables me to have a slice of Sabbath with my pie – and Sabbath is fuel for a thankful heart.

It was also crucial the last few years because all of our recent homes have only had one oven, which can make Thanksgiving Day extra tricky. Having the side dishes already prepared and ready to reheat in the oven while the turkey rests took a lot of mental gymnastics out of the day.

2. It’s a symphonic menu - meaning, it is more than the sum of its parts. If I remove even one dish, the meal loses something. Put together, it’s the perfect balance of savory and sweet, crispy and creamy, fresh and rich. It touches on every Thanksgiving must-have, sometimes in unexpected ways, without overwhelming the table with any one food group.

3. It tastes phenomenal. 'Nuff said.

Without further ado, here's Thanksgiving Day chez Love Well:

Good Eats Roast Turkey Nothing trendy here. No figs in the stuffing or deep-frying the bird or roasting it upside down. Nope, it’s just turkey, Alton Brown-style. It’s brined – which is really the key to taking a turkey from OK to O WOW – and then cooked at high heat in your oven. The recipe videos are especially helpful to me. (And highly entertaining. "Stuffing, by and large, is evil.") I watch them every year – it’s my own Thanksgiving tradition – so I can be re-educated about the science behind cooking a 15-pound bird in my oven. Also? If you doubt me, believe the good people on the Food Network’s website. This recipe has five stars and almost 3500 reviews.

White Wine Gravy
Gravy is one of those dishes I feel free to play with, but this recipe is close to what I do. I really like the white wine undertones in this. I don't serve wine at Thanksgiving, so I don't offend my Baptist in-laws. But this gravy almost makes up for it.

Delicious, Creamy Mashed Potatoes
The Pioneer Woman's recipe. Seriously. These are a revelation. And so easy. I especially love that I can make them on Wednesday and then pop them in the oven to warm on Thanksgiving and yet they lose nothing in the process. They are just as good the second day as the first.

Roasted Harvest Vegetables
From one of my favorite magazines, Everyday Food. A medley of carrots, sweet potatoes, butternut squash and garlic are roasted at high heat the day before Thanksgiving. (Note: If the aroma of this dish could be made into a perfume, I would wear it.) Just reheat before serving. Again, nothing is lost in translation.

Green Bean, Watercress and and Crispy Shallot Salad
Another Everyday Food contribution. This is a simple salad -- blanched fresh green beans tossed in a light lemon-Dijon vinaigrette and topped with pan-fried shallot circles. Best: It's best served room temperature. Nothing to reheat here. Just prepare the different parts on Wednesday and toss before serving on Thursday.

Dinner Rolls
Normally, I make homemade crescent rolls - and these I do make on Thanksgiving Day, because Corey begs for the bread to be fresh. But this year, I'm going to change it up a little, because the November 2011 Everyday Food had an updated Parker House rolls recipe in which the rolls are brushed twice with melted butter and finished with a sprinkling of salt. (Pardon me. I just drooled.) The recipe isn't on the web yet, nor is the picture, which alone can cause a diabetic coma. So the link up there is only similar, not identical. I'll let you know how they turn out.

Zesty Cranberry Sauce
I love cranberry sauce, and this homemade version is so good, I sometimes eat it for dessert. (True story.) I can't find the recipe online; I've had it so long, I'm not even sure where I got it. But it's easy and short, so I'll just give it to you here.
1 bag (12 oz) fresh cranberries
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/3 cup water
1/3 cup orange juice
2 teaspoons grated orange peel
1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
Combine everything in a medium pot and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until cranberries begin to pop, about 8-10 minutes. Serve at room temperature or chilled.

Pumpkin Pie
I've loved pumpkin pie for as long as I can remember -- only, it must be THIS pumpkin pie, the kind my mother made and her mother before her. (That's my pumpkin pie in the picture, accompanied by the pear-apple crostata I sometimes make.) It has the right blend of spice and sugar for me. According to family lore, my Nannie got the recipe off a Kroger's can of pumpkin in the 1940s -- which is not the recipe Kroger's shares today. So, for what it's worth, here's what I make.
16 oz canned pumpkin (I can only find 15 oz cans, usually; maybe they don't make 16 oz anymore)
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 eggs, beaten
1-1/2 tablespoons melted butter
1 tablespoon dark molasses
1-1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
3/4 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon salt
Mix all ingredients well. Bake in an unbaked pie crust at 450 for 10 minutes, and then 350 until set, about another 45 min.

Now I'm off for some final grocery shopping at Trader Joe's. Because avoiding a last-minute trip to the grocery store on the day before Thanksgiving is just as critical as the menu itself. Are you with me?

Kieran : 18 Months

2011-11-17T09:55:00.007-06:00

A few days ago, I posted this picture to my Instagram stream.

Yes. That’s exactly what you think it is. I heard lapping sounds coming from the laundry room, realized the dog was outside, entered to find the scene above.

The dish was half empty. (Or half full?) And the boy was so happy.

It’s a fitting story to mark Kieran hitting 18 months. He is so male. All exploratory and delight and belly and giggles. I truly love this age. It’s when toddlers teeter on the brink of babyhood. They are old enough to develop some consistency of routine but not too old to need cuddles every 15 minutes. They can laugh at their own discoveries and at your reaction to them.

A few notables about Kieran at 18 months:

He loves to be outside. “Out? Out? Out?” he says whenever he remembers the garage door is just beyond the kitchen. He will grab his size 7 tennis shoes (which is GIGANTIC for our kids at this age; he’s wearing shoes Connor wore when he was 3), and sit down on the mudroom floor and try to cram his pudgy little feet into a few inches of Velcro. And once he’s out, please don’t micromanage. He just wants to explore. He will find sticks and bang stumps and poke rocks and wander around the forest (under Daddy’s watchful eye, usually), content to be allowed to roam at will.

He is verbose. When Kieran hit 15 months, I happened upon one of those monthly milestone emails that said most babies have a vocabulary of about five words at 15 months. I almost fell off my chair. At that point, Kieran had command of about 30 words. And his range has only grown since then. In fact, he just called from the other room, “Mother, would you please change my nappy?”

OK. That might be an exaggeration. But he is prone to saying, “Mah-mee? Pooh-pooh?” Which is his gentle way of saying, you might want to grab the smelling salts, woman, because I don’t do anything half way.

Other words (not an exhaustive list, obviously): Ball. Up. Down. All done. Eat. Banana. Water. Milk. Juice. Cookie. No. Connor (which sounds a lot like Cahr). Natalie (Nanee). Uh-oh. Apple (app-oh). Wow. Papa. Gigi. Cow. Woo-woo (dog). Hi. Bye. Car (which sounds a lot like Connor). More. Bubbles. Ah-pane (airplane). Choo-choo (train). Ding-ding-ding (train crossing gates). Hee ‘tis! (Here it is!) Dank do (thank you).

And our new favorite: PUN-kin. (Pumpkin.) Oh the cute. I die.

He also does great animal noises. But I’ll save those for a future day. (Read: As soon as I get all of them on video.)

He is tough.

Exhibit A: A few weeks ago, when I was hanging out with college students so Shaun Groves wouldn’t feel so old, I was walking with Teyla and Kieran across a campus courtyard. Kieran, as usual, was bounding ahead, running and talking to himself. A cute young couple was walking toward us, smiling as they watched his obvious joie de vivre. Right about then, he stumbled and skidded and fell – splat. The young couple gasped and winced. I didn’t even break stride. “Just watch,” I said. Kieran promptly gathered his wits, pushed himself up and ran away. They laughed out loud.

Exhibit B: Chair climbing while wearing a cast.

He has tenacity. Last week, I found Kieran sitting on the floor next to the games cabinet. He had spilled out the contents of Battleship, and was quietly stacking little red and white pieces into towers.

He had some stacks that were 15-20 high. And he just kept building. His pudgy little fingers would reach down, find a new piece, he would diligently try to push the pegs together the right way and keep going.

I was completely entranced by his calm determination.

He is a snuggle puppy. Despite his boyishness, his outward rough-and-tumble, he will drop just about anything to snuggle. When I get him out of his bed in the mornings right now, he wraps his whole body around me and lays his head on my shoulder and we sit together on the couch and burrow under my blanket until the rest of the family gets up. (Sometimes, we watch Little Bear or Oswald at the same time. Great gentle little kid TV, in my opinion. Perfect for 7:00 AM.) He’s also learned that reading books (or to “googee-googee-googee” which, inexplicably, has come to mean “Let’s read some books together” in his brain) is a great time to snuggle. For months now, he has approached me with a book and then turned around and backed into me – as if to say, “I’m here with a book. You will hold me in your lap now.” And with Corey? Goodness gracious. There have been a few times when I couldn’t find Kieran and I eventually discovered him snuggled in Corey’s arms while Corey paces his home office on a conference call.

And there's so much more. He's sleeping through the night now. He's getting better at taking at least one nap a day that is longer than an hour. He's fully into 18-24 month clothes. He inexplicably started to suck his fingers and thumbs recently.

And ... he just climbed into my lap. (See snuggle puppy above.) Time to go inhale some sweet smelling baby hair and read some books and savor every minute. Eighteen months goes fast.

Why I Can't Find Anything

2011-11-15T22:02:00.004-06:00

The windows in my kitchen had already turned to mirrors, the inky sky outside a foil to the pre-dinner chaos inside.

The counter was littered with dishes, both clean and dirty. I was trying to regain a foothold and straighten up before we launched into another meal and dirtied even more dishes. Standing at the sink, washing Kieran's highchair tray for the 483rd time that day, I saw said toddler walk calmly into view. My eyes followed him as he walked past me, to the cupboard next to the oven. He opened a door, the one to the pots and pans, and threw in a sock. Then he shut the door and walked away, as if the whole thing never happened.

No wonder I can't find anything in this house.

Joining Heather today for Just Write.

On Writing Goofy -- and Calling it Good

2011-11-08T22:07:00.002-06:00

You know what’s goofy?

I’m not a serious person in real life.

Yes, I love to think and I’m passionate about discovery and I only read nonfiction and I listen, religiously, to NPR. (And then I bore my husband to tears with all the retelling of interesting stories and conversations. Pray for him.)

But those are my inner workings, my deep life.

On the surface? I’m a people person. I love to laugh. I really love to make you laugh. I love meeting new people and eating new foods and I get bored easily. I’m an extrovert. I wear bright colors. I puffy-pink-heart 80s music.

You might not know this if you only read my blog.

True, I did set myself up to blog about Sabbath for 31 Days. Not a frivolous subject, that. And yes, I do think writing is where my soul indulges itself and works out the quiet mysteries that I might not express to you if I were to meet you for coffee.

But good gravy. Lately, my inner sanguine is chomping at the bit for a little freedom. I’ve been trying to keep her quiet, because I still haven’t finished my 31 Days of Sabbath series and the Compassion bloggers are writing this week and Orphan Sunday just wrapped up and shouldn’t I be writing for Jesus?

But then I step back and look at the blogs I love to read and I think about all these creative, quirky, deep and funny friends I’ve made online. And I realize Jesus is our life, even when we are sharing about that time the baby ate her sister’s Polly Pocket shoes. It’s all for His glory. It’s all a gift.

I just want to share it.

So permission granted? The next few posts will be less meaningful, more trivial, more me. I promise I’ll finish 31 Days of Sabbath. (Eleven posts to go on that front. I’m actually excited to share a few more thoughts over the next few weeks – and this time, to really think about it, instead of rushing to get it written by an outside time frame.) (Whoops! There goes serious, organized Kelly again.)

In the meantime, I’m going to open up the floodgates and share some stories as they come to me.

You’re OK hearing about the latest interview on NPR, right?

Sick - 31 Days of Sabbath : 20

2011-10-29T21:58:00.006-05:00

Teyla has been sick this week. An on-again, off-again fever. Circles under her eyes. A slightly runny nose. General lethargy. Enough whine to host her own weekend tasting.

So naturally – but uncharacteristically – she sleeps. Three times this week, she’s taken 2.5 hour naps. She’s gone to bed each night stifling yawns and fallen asleep almost immediately. And this is the girl who didn’t even nap as a baby, who reluctantly accepts her destiny of sleep only after the clock strikes 10, most nights.

Sleep is powerful. It’s restorative. Our bodies heal best while asleep. Our brains reset. A good night’s sleep spurs creativity, improves memory, sharpens attention, even helps reign in our appetite. It’s a miracle drug.

So why do we spurn it?

God created us to need rest. Need. It’s not supposed to be an occasional thing we dabble in, a treat we squeeze into our busy lives when we have a few free hours.

It’s both pitiful and sobering that it takes sickness before many of us will accept God’s mandate.

If we do not allow for a rhythm of rest in our overly busy lives, illness becomes our Sabbath – our pneumonia, our cancer, our heart attack, our accidents create Sabbath for us. In my relationships with people suffering from cancer, AIDS and other life-threatening illness, I am always struck by the mixture of sadness and relief they experience when illness interrupts their overly busy lives. While each shares their particular fears and sorrows, almost every one confesses some secret gratefulness. “Finally,” they say, “at last. I can rest.”
-Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives, Wayne Muller

Does that quote sucker-punch you like it does me?

I remember living like that.

Fifteen years ago, I worked as a TV news producer. My husband was a busy executive. We helped lead a group of young marrieds at our church. I was involved in the drama ministry. Corey played softball, religiously. We lived a typical, crazy, whirlwind busy Southern California lifestyle.

Rest? That was an after-thought. I indulged in a Sunday afternoon nap, occasionally. That was good enough, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t. My journals from that time reveal it: Whenever I got sick, I would sit still and pray and read my Bible and reflect. I would sense an emptiness in my soul that I couldn’t feel when I was moving. Sickness was my gift, a chance for me to sleep and be with God. I remember, even then, feeling sad that it took illness for me to rest.

I don’t live like that anymore. Rest is no longer a luxury. It is a necessity.

And oh. It’s also a command.

I don’t want to have to get sick in order to obey it.

Mondays as Sabbath - 31 Days of Sabbath : 19

2011-10-24T22:59:00.005-05:00

For many years now, Mondays have been my day of Sabbath.

It isn't because Mondays are a day of rest; the opposite, actually. Mondays are when I reorder my life that has been upended by the weekend. I clean house, do laundry, bake bread. I wear yoga pants and slippers. I make lists and brainstorm menus and sometimes, I take a shower before bed just because it's what clean sheets demand.

But here's what I don't do: I don't do anything outside of the house. I don't sign up for Bible studies or swimming lessons or even library story hour on Mondays. My day is commitment-free. I don't answer my phone unless I want to. I try to stay away from screens, preferring instead to immerse myself in the real world and do work that makes my muscles ache and my soul settle.

It's funny how refreshed I feel by Monday nights. Maybe rest doesn't have as much to do with work as we think it does.

True Transformation - 31 Days of Sabbath : 18

2011-10-23T22:28:00.002-05:00

Sabbath is easier to write about than it is to live.

I don’t know why this surprises me. You’d think years of Bible study in which fun, uplifting, encouraging lessons gets kneaded into my life in a gritty, painful, blisters-on-the-soul kind of way would have taught me something.

But it always comes as a bit of a shock.

You mean, it’s takes work?

Yesterday, we attempted a family-wide Sabbath for the first time ever. The two main rules were: No screens, and no work that felt obligatory. Corey and the kids did great. Kieran took a long nap, Corey took Natalie and Connor and built a small workbench, Teyla and I colored and painted and did puzzles. Everyone else seemed to have a great day of being together, resting from work and delighting in God’s many gifts.

But I was restless. Like a dog with a bone, my mind gnawed on the coming week, trying to fit together the tasks that need to get done. I didn’t have food prepared ahead of time, so dinner ended up being leftovers. I kept gravitating toward my phone to check the weather, check the hours of the local library, look up that recipe. I felt (dare I say it?) bored.

Part of my issues – I can’t type that word without putting mental finger quotes around it – can be addressed by preparing more for my day of rest. It would benefit me to have some of my week laid out before I try to set everything aside; otherwise, the details that I normally control turn around and control me. It would be wise to have an easy meal planned. It would also be helpful for me to have some plans for the littles and me. Maybe a craft? Maybe a letter writing extravaganza to our sponsored kids? Maybe we plan an act of kindness to do anonymously that week? I think I would do better with structure. I rest best within a framework of order.

But even though yesterday was more stressful than restful for me, I will not let this go. Because now I have an appetite for God’s rest. This is the fruit of 10 months of Sabbath study. My mind is being transformed. And that is half the battle.

Under God's economy, nothing really changes until our minds do. Transformation is the fruit of a changed outlook. First our minds are renewed, and then we are transformed, and then everything is different, even if it stays the same.
- The Rest of God: Restoring Your Soul by Restoring Sabbath, Mark Buchanan

Application - 31 Days of Sabbath : 17

2011-10-22T22:56:00.006-05:00

Tonight at dinner, I proposed to my family that tomorrow, we practice Sabbath.

"But I have homework!" shrieked Natalie with alarm.

Ah yes. There is always an obstacle to rest and delight, isn't there? But as our pastor pointed out last week, information alone doesn't bring transformation. Application brings transformation.

So tomorrow, we apply. The rubber meets the road. I have celebrated Sabbath in my own way, on my own time. But as a family unit?

Never.

I am aware tomorrow will not be a day of perfection, when children miraculously get along and I bake homemade bread for lunch and Corey lets me take a long afternoon nap and we hold a 90-minute prayer meeting and devotional at bedtime.

But I do hope the day is free from striving, that the work we do -- the nitty-gritty parenting work of changing diapers and emptying cereal bowls, of packing Monday lunches and even double-checking homework -- will be marked by a spirit of thankfulness. I want to ignore the obligations and revel in the present.

And I want my family to do it with me. I am praying the spirit of Sabbath woos our hearts and creates an appetite for her weekly blessing.

Women of Faith 2011: What I Learned Without Attending

2011-10-22T15:30:00.005-05:00

By Thursday night, I had decided to take 10-year-old Natalie with me to Women of Faith. I knew she might not fully comprehend the words from the stage, but I was confident that the Jesus-loving environment and some precious one-on-one time with my oldest girl would be the real prize.

Then came Saturday morning. My husband was racing to get some work done outside, before a landscaping crew arrives next week. It wasn’t going well. Tree roots appeared where they weren’t thought to be. A project that was already overwhelming grew more so. Corey was frustrated.

And then the kids started bickering. Connor bossed Teyla. Teyla yelled back. Kieran fussed about everything, thanks to an early morning wake-up of 6:00. And Natalie tried her best to block it all out by planting herself in front of the TV.

For my part, I was feeling refreshed and excited. Not only did I have an afternoon at Women of Faith ahead of me, but Corey had let me sleep in until 10:30. It was a much-needed boost for my mental and emotional state. I was dressed for a girls day out, and I was ready to go soak in the Imagine line-up.

But I didn’t have peace.

I tried my best to ignore the meltdown around me. A huge part of me wanted to say, “Have a great afternoon with the cranky kids and the huge project, Corey. I’m off to enjoy Natalie and God. Tootles!”

And many times in the past, I’ve done that. I’ve plugged my ears against the Holy Spirit’s quiet whisper and plowed ahead with Making Kelly Happy.

Funny thing, though. It rarely works. If I want to stay in step with the Spirit, I cannot ignore His leadings and pursue my own way without repercussions. When I chose that route, I lose peace. Joy. Fellowship. (Please note: I’ve learned this hard way.)

So I decided to skip Women of Faith and be a woman of faith. I set aside my own desires and told Corey I would take charge of the whiny, cranky, hungry masses which would enable him to focus the rest of the afternoon on prepping the yard for next week. I loaded the kids into the minivan and grabbed some Subway and a peppermint mocha from McDonald’s (who knew?!?) and drove around admiring the trees until both Teyla and Kieran fell asleep.

And I traded my selfishness and disappointment and pity for God’s peace and joy and fellowship.

In the end, isn’t that what a Women of Faith weekend is all about?

Orphan Sunday 2011

2011-10-21T11:19:00.002-05:00

Would you like to join me for dinner in November?

It won't be anything fancy. I probably won't even have dessert. (Gasp.)

That's because I'll be serving nothing but water and a rice-based mixture that is fed every day to millions of orphans worldwide.

It's part of my plan for Orphan Sunday, which this year is November 6. It's a day set apart for the Church to stop and hear God's heartbeat for the fatherless -- and then ask, "What now, Lord?"

My favorite part about Orphan Sunday is that you can personalize it. Each local Orphan Sunday event or activity is created by local believers in the local church. So events have their own feel. In 2010, events included sermons and Sunday School classes on God’s heart for the orphan, prayer gatherings, fasts and simple meals, student-led fundraisers, foster family recruiting and live concerts.

This year? There are even more resources at your fingertips. On the Christian Alliance for Orphans website, you can find ideas for your children's ministry, your youth group, your small group or Bible study, inserts for your church bulletin, videos that can be played in your church service, posters and and prayer guides.

And a partridge in a pear tree....

Sorry. I know it's a lot. So let me highlight for you my favorite new resource this year -- the Orphan's Table. It's an easy-to-cook package you can share with friends and family -- a meal of protein-rich rice that is daily sustenance for orphans around the globe. Included in the kit is a prayer and discussion guide, and you can also order the DVD "Answer the Cry: Faces of Hope" to show to your guests. And it's all free, although if you can make a donation to cover shipping costs, that would be grace.

I'm going to host an Orphan's Table meal at my house for our family and a few close friends. (Close friends: Be looking for your invite.) I am especially excited about how this might impact the kids in attendance, mine own included. I have to think sitting down to a meal of rice and water and than talking about how God would want us, as a family, to help children without families will make a tangible impact.

But here's the deal: You have to order your Orphan's Table package TODAY for it to make it to your house by November 6. Packages ordered after October 21 will be shipped as soon as possible, but there's no guarantee they will make it to your house by Orphan Sunday. Of course, you can host your own meal to talk about orphans at any time, so if you miss the deadline, I would still urge you to act. But if you can order today, and join with the global Church on November 6 and cry out for orphans? You will be blessed.

If you want to know more about Orphan Sunday, I would love to answer any questions or help you on the road. You can grab the button below. And please, spread the word. I am so grateful for my many blog friends whose hearts beat with God's passion for the orphan.

Candles - 31 Days of Sabbath : 16

2011-10-20T14:07:00.005-05:00

In October, in Minnesota, our daily quota of light decreases. Dusk comes, not at bath time, but at dinner time. The sun's rays slant sideways, and the golden light is beautiful but lukewarm.

It is now that I light my candles.

(My favorite trio, shining nightly next to our front door. Originally posted on Instagram.)

It's an autumn ritual for me. Who needs the flickering flames when the sun shines bright until 10:00 PM? It is when the darkness closes in that I crave the light. Even tiny candles like the votives above speak comfort to me. They are a sign of the season, the annual rhythm that marks our life here in the Upper Midwest. Symbols of life slowing, of the coming exhale, of the time to rest.

Shabbath candles have a similar significance.

In the Jewish tradition, after ritual bathing, the woman of the household lights the two Sabbath candles, offering a blessing. When you light your candles, offer any blessing that reflects the thoughts of your heart.
May our hearts be lifted, our spirits refreshed , as we light the Sabbath candles. May the light fill our home with kindness and peace. Blessed is the loving Spirit by whose power we consecrate the lighting of these candles.
Like the sounding of a bell that calls the monks to meditation, as the lighting of the candles begins the Mass, as the lighting of the candles begins Sabbath time, so does the lighting of these candles call our souls to rest and delight.
- Sabbath, by Wayne Muller

Tonight, around 5:30, I will go around my house and light my candles. Today isn't Sabbath. But for just a moment, I will stop and pray and thank God for His many gifts. In this way, I celebrate a Sabbath moment.

All because of tiny candles.

Should I bring my daughter to Women of Faith?

2011-10-20T12:21:00.006-05:00

I have tickets to attend Women of Faith: Imagine this weekend at the Excel Center in St. Paul. It's a ridiculous privilege to be on the blog team for this particular event, and I'm excited to sit for even a few minutes and hear God's wisdom spoken by women.

But this weekend is also fall break for most of Minnesota schools; no classes Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. Many families use this long weekend to travel or do something big or just relax and enjoy the autumn weather. Which means, while I have two tickets to Women of Faith, most of my grown-up girlfriends aren't available to attend with me.

So I'm thinking of taking my youngest girlfriend instead -- my daughter Natalie, age 10.

Good idea? Or am I setting myself up for failure? Part of me wonders if the speakers would be talking over Natalie's head. I don't want her to be bored. But another part of me thinks just exposing her to thousands of women who are passionate about Jesus is a good thing, no matter what she grasps intellectually or spiritually.

A couple of caveats:
1 I'm only planning to attend Saturday's sessions, and I may not even stay for all of those, depending on the needs of the rest of my family that day.
2. The last time I attended Women of Faith, I lived in San Diego. So it was at least 10 years ago, maybe more. For those of you who've attending since then, is it age appropriate for a 10-year-old girl? I was childless in those days, so I didn't look at Women of Faith through the eyes of a mom.

Share your thoughts? I'd love to hear them. (And if you're interested in attending too, tickets are still available.)

Guilt - 31 Days of Sabbath : 15

2011-10-19T14:54:00.004-05:00

I'm falling behind in my 31 Days of Sabbath series. Ironically, it's because I'm resting.

And while I doubt you've noticed, I've noticed. I'm embarrassed and squirmy and even a tad guilt-ridden about it.

Which is ridiculous, no? To feel guilty about resting during a series on the Sabbath.

But this is where we are, as a culture. This is where I am, as a person. Even after 10 months of reading and studying and praying about Sabbath, I have an uneasy peace with doing something as simple as falling asleep in Teyla's bed while I wait for Miss Bundle of Energy to calm down. (I did it twice more since Saturday, for the record.)

I suppose the good news, if I'm going to be completely honest, is that I'm learning to stop anyway. After all, I did allow myself the luxury of taking unintended Sabbaths after a Week O' Crazy instead of forcing myself to stay awake and post. I read a few extra books to Kieran when he asked, and I listened to Natalie's story about school the other morning instead of turing on my computer, and I stopped typing just a few minutes ago to "taste" the Play-Dough shake Connor brought to me. (It was delicious, by the way. Sour blue raspberry with lemon swirl on top.)

And I'm learning to shrug off the guilt, because God says rest is good. And I'm believing God, not my culture.