If you’ve been following this story for long, you know the last year of our life has been a little on the insane side.  In less than 9 months time my husband accepted a new job, we sold our beloved yellow cottage, moved to Tennessee, bought a Victorian farmhouse on land outside of Nashville, renovated it top to bottom, and moved in.  And of course along the way there’s been a mile-long list of other things happening as well, from travel to conference speaking to new dreams to heartache to parenting to promotions to hosting people, far and wide.  And etc. 

No wonder a few weeks back I found myself doubled over in tears for almost a week while my body screamed it was at its max.  Kidney stones.  For someone who prides herself on living a healthful life, you can imagine how humbling, literally.  The irony is not lost on me.

Part of living such a life, for us, is centered on the practice of Sabbath.  A day of the week certainly, but so much more.  And particularly when we’ve been thru especially busy seasons, we invoke Sabbath.  Meaning, we declare a certain period of time be deemed sacred intentional rest, and we guard it fiercely. 

I’d known since the day we knew for certain we were moving that Sabbath would round out the season.  It’s a rhythm.  Practice if for long and it almost becomes second nature.  Inhale, exhale.  But unaware at the time of just how much we were taking on, I wasn’t prepared.  And it was a lot, fast.  Think trying to take a sip of water from a fire hose.  Overwhelming is an understatement.  Even more, you don’t know how to make it STOP.  I find a lot of people live in this place, but that’s a whole other blog post.

Beautifully, the universe has a way of letting us know, ENOUGH.  Kidney stones sent the message loud and clear for this girl.  Every project was shifted, plans were canceled, to-do lists pushed out of sight.  And here we are. 

I get a lot of questions about what Sabbath practically looks like for us.  It’s very simple, although not necessarily easy.  But most importantly, it’s healing to the bone and marrow, even the soul. 

It begins with time blocked out on the calendar.  It can be as little as an afternoon or even an hour, but in general for us it’s a few weeks.  This particular time, a few months.  And it involves the following:

~very limited hosting

~intentional nourishing of our bodies

~time spent outdoors, in nature

~long walks and drives

~deep, heartfelt conversation, lots of processing

~thoughtful reading

~long quiet showers and baths

~going to bed early

~intentional periods of quiet

~picnics

~journaling

~naps

~reestablishing order in our home, cleaning and organizing

~the soothing ritual of hot tea, don’t underestimate it

~saying no, a lot

~keeping cell phone use to a bare minimum, on vibrate, and stowed out of sight

~communing with God

~and very significant, we do not apologize for disappearing

Simply put, it’s time alone as a family to regroup and be still.  It can involve any myriad of things from cleaning up our budget to reconnecting via a trip somewhere.  Even the simplest thing like intentional touching, holding hands. (again, don’t underestimate it) Anything of importance that gets lost in the midst of busy, we take inventory and reorganize. 

This particular season of Sabbath is proving more healing than ever, as prior to the final move we made some big decisions about how we want to live our lives.  And how we don’t. 

We totally unplugged.  No cable, no internet, no cell phone signal.  Text messages will come thru but never calls.  I deleted every single unnecessary app on my phone including Facebook and all kiddo apps, and it’s been nothing but sweet relief.  Mind you I still have a weak 4G signal so I can access the web if I need to, but it’s a headache and a half.  And I have zero problem with any of this.

Thanks to a DVD player in the car Ev is in no way completely deprived of the wonderful childhood indulgence of cartoons, there’s a Redbox a few miles away, and I drive into town for internet usage at a coffee shop if I need extended time.  So we haven’t totally gone underground, we’ve simply made a definite, intentional shift in how we do life.

Another deeply transformative element that has become almost as important to me as how we eat, is how we sleep.  After years of research on how light effects hormones and the necessity of truly restorative sleep for health and wellness, I knew we needed to be far enough out to live life without blinds.  I know, scandal.  It’s beyond wonderful and I never intend to have them again.  I want to rise and fall with the sun, precisely as nature intended.  I’ve been amazed at how quickly and effortlessly our bodies are adjusting to the cycles and rhythms of natural light.  Everyn began sleeping soundly thru the night for the first time ever and hasn’t skipped a beat since, not one single night. Josh still sets an alarm, but generally he’s awake before it ever goes off.  We indulgently ‘sleep in’ on the weekends until what feels like 10am, only to laugh when we realize it’s 7.   

We did invest in an incredible new mattress.  I totally buy into the whole ‘you spend 1/3 of your life on it so make it good’ sales pitch.  And also important, we put all our main lights on dimmers so once the sun goes down we transition to lower lighting to help our bodies move towards rest.  You can’t imagine how powerful this is.  (the same can be accomplished with lamps and low wattage bulbs)  We have no light pollution of any kind outside, only moon and stars and fireflies.  I kid you not, we lie in bed at night and watch dancing fireflies far as the eye can see.  When the moon is full it illuminates everything so brightly our entire room is bathed in soft soothing light.  It’s downright dreamy.  So beautiful.  I’ve desperately missed the experience of moon and starlight. As I kid in the country I spent half my life under the night sky be it wrestling with God or downright mischief, but somewhere as an adult I lost touch.  Jobs, exhaustion, big city living.   Normal, I think, but no less tragic.  There’s also zero sound pollution out here save nature.  Crickets, locusts, thunderstorms… echoing quiet.  There is one bird that sometimes sings a lovely melody in the dead of night, so bizarre and enchanting at once. 

All of this contributes to truly deep and healing restorative sleep, something we’ve perhaps missed out on most of our adult lives.  For a professed night-owl who’s never known how to unwind and quiet my mind to sleep, and thus never been a morning person and endlessly tired (hello thyroid and adrenal issues), you can imagine how life-altering this has all been.

Suffice it to say as we’ve practiced the art of Sabbath over the years it’s begun to saturate and affect our lives.  Not only how we feel, but how we live.  How we choose to live.  I cannot possibly imagine going back to the constant striving, producing, achieving, success-chasing life we once knew.  Add in social media and it’s enough to make an entire culture sick, and has.  But to us, this is success.  Slow living, intentional living, healthy living.  It’s the thing people spend their whole lives chasing when truly, it could be theirs tomorrow. No matter where you are in life even a penthouse apartment in bustling New York City, Sabbath is a gift within all our reach if only we open our hands to receive it.  It’s a perspective shift more than anything else, one that gives birth to entire new ways of thinking and living and eventually being. My husband is quick to point out that living a lifestyle of Sabbath practice does not equate to lazy.  On the contrary, we work incredibly hard.  But in his words resting well means working better, more efficiently. 

On a strictly spiritual level, the more I’ve practiced Sabbath the more aware and intentional my entire life has become.  A single bloom on a hillside or cloud in the sky holds the power to provoke me to tears.  The God of all creation uses everything, and I do mean everything under the sun to speak to me.  To illustrate love and affection.  To open my eyes to His truth and His character.  All of life has become a kind of constant worship where I’m forever astounded by His goodness and enchanted by His beauty.  I don’t know how not to be anymore.  It is constant communion that destroys fear and anxiety before it ever takes hold, the way He intended we live, trusting Him.  The life of Jesus clearly illustrates this for us.  He literally embodied peace and intention.  Never anxious, never hurried, never in a rush, and yet always on time and indescribably fruitful.

I realize as a whole this post could translate as both foreign and entirely out of reach.  I get that, because once upon a time I was there, too.  But as with any kind of lifestyle change or transformation, if begins with small steps.  Perhaps one afternoon a week you plan and practice.  Start there and build on it.  Go to the beach, picnic in the backyard, light a candle, take a nap, read a book with real pages.  No different than overhauling your diet, it takes time and consistency.  Sabbath is the kind of addicting thing that will work its way into your soul and take root without too much effort on your part.  Practice it consistently for a few weeks and you’ll find yourself longing for it more and more.  I’m an absolute testament to that.

I’ll continue sharing Sabbath moments via Instagram but if you’re interested in deeper study and reading, a couple of my favorites on the topic include:

Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, & Delight in Our Busy Lives by Wayne Muller

Sabbath: The Ancient Practices by Dan B. Allender

Although I’m never surprised by God’s involvement in the minute details of our lives, it’s no less staggering to witness on vivid display. 

After our offer was officially accepted, we spent the next couple weeks making trips back and forth to the farmhouse to meet with potential contactors, walk the grounds exploring, picnic just for fun.  I’d given a lot of thought to Barbara, the lady who’d built and loved this place so well the last 18 years.  She seemed such a kindred soul and I so wanted to pepper her with questions about the history of this place.  I knew that was very unlikely, especially given the emotion involved...  but one evening just at dusk we pulled into the drive to an unexpected car.  We had no idea she’d be there and despite our call, no one had told her we were coming. 

As Josh stepped away to meet a new contractor, the front door opened.  I had such a mix of emotions I wasn’t sure what to do.  She approached with a kind of authority I hadn’t expected, hand outstretched with a confident smile. 

“Barbara.  You must be.  It’s so lovely to meet you,” I gushed, wrapping her in a hug without thinking. 

She seemed a bit amused and apologized for her appearance.  Clearly she had been packing boxes and cleaning out sheds.  “Would you like to walk thru the garden?” she offered.  I couldn’t hide my delight.

She pointed out different fruit trees here and there, herbs I’d never even heard of along with long lists of uses.  There were perennial berry bushes, a long established asparagus patch, flowerbeds and rose bushes galore.  Turns out Barbara had served as an original founder of the gorgeous Franklin, TN farmers market.  It was precisely where we were headed the morning her house hit the market and rerouted our plans.  She was also an avid organic gardener, quick to point out this land had never been treated with chemicals or pesticides.  My heart was glowing.

As the sun sank behind the ridge the temperature dropped dramatically.  Standing in front of the house nearly shivering she struck me with a question I wasn’t expecting.  I had included a handwritten letter with our offer, sharing a glimpse of our heart and intentions and how honored we would be to continue her unfinished dream for this land.  I'd also hinted at the astonishing details that led us to her door she likely wouldn’t even believe… but I’d never in a million years expected to be called on them.  And Barbara wanted to hear the whole story.

Sitting across from her in the kitchen I wracked my brain trying to decide what to share.  There were so many details.  Years of prayers, years of dreams, years of hearing from God on the very specific details now literally surrounding me.  How do you tell someone that your friends actually hear from God?  Or that you do?  I didn’t even know if this woman was a Christian, much less someone who believed in such things.  I was verging on panic.  This woman may very well think I’m a lunatic, I thought.  Despite my hesitations I plunged ahead cautiously.  

She didn’t say a word.  Not one.  Leaning forward in her chair, eyes narrowed and chin propped in her hand, she listening with such intensity I didn’t know when to stop talking.  At a point I finally slouched back repeating over and over, “It’s crazy right?  It’s just crazy.  I mean, even the peach trees!  Crazy.  It’s just insane.”

I was relieved when she finally broke her silence.

“You know, since I married my husband I just haven’t been able to keep up with this place being an hour away now.  We always thought we’d live here eventually, but it’s just never quite worked out.  I’ve even tried to sell the place a couple times over the years, but the timing just never seemed right.”  She cocked her head to the side remembering, “But then driving down the road recently something just said to me, you can’t serve two masters.  I took that to mean my houses.”

She had my attention.

“All of a sudden I had this incredible sense of urgency that it had to be NOW.  The property had to be listed immediately.  We started getting it ready to list, and one day as I walked across the yard I noticed a strip of thin blue fabric at my feet.  I picked it up and scrawled across it read the words ‘Watch for God.’”  She motioned across the kitchen where I saw the blue strip still clipped to her fridge.  She smiled at me knowingly, “And now here you are.”

Over the next few weeks I fell more in love with this darling woman.  It was clear she was no stranger to hard work and was achingly proud of this place she’d built, most of it with her own two hands.  She took us on a hike thru the woods one evening to see the freshwater springs and boundaries of the property, followed by homemade cider to warm up from the cold.  She even sent me home with a basket of jam from the orchard down the street and homemade goat milk soap.  We messaged back and forth about who cuts the hay, local co-ops, when to cut the asparagus back.  She schooled me on the uses for the rose hips in the yard and lemon balm growing wild off the back porch, even the best places to build cottages in the woods.  And I was nothing less than speechless when she offered a claw foot tub, half a dozen gorgeous antique doors, and stacks of building materials.  I am quite literally gleaning in her fields, and it’s proving a blessing for both of us. 

Though we continue to message and make plans for dinner as soon as we get settled, the last time I saw her she was loading up pots of aloe plants and offered me a slew.  As Everyn and I played in the yard she took one last stroll up to the bench nestled near the edge of the woods that overlooks the property, and I could feel her pain in saying goodbye.  The words she shared that day still echo in my heart, “It’s hard to leave, but I find great comfort knowing it was God who brought you here.”

There are dozens of other amazing details as well.  That Barbara has a heart for adoption (and two adopted sons), that she had this land zoned agricultural so our taxes are nearly nothing so long as we cut the hay, even that the house is situated facing the back of the property so that our view is hundreds of acres of field and timber.  She even had a darling little ‘workshop’ that we intend to move and transform into our first tiny cottage.  And the address?  Beulah Church Rd, like the old hymn, or the reference in scripture meaning ‘the Bride of Christ.’

Only God.

I got a text from her a couple weeks ago.  She said she was in the area and asked if it might be okay to drive up to the house and take a look at our progress.  I was one part thrilled she wanted to see it and another part terrified she might hate it.  I was relieved to get a text a few hours later reading, ‘You guys have awesome ideas.  Can’t wait to visit again in March and see the progress.’  The day she sits down at our table to dine is something I envision often.

I find it outright fascinating that all the years she was building, toiling, planting Spring bulbs and individually painting no less than 4,000 cedar shakes by hand for the exterior of the house (I kid you not), Josh and I were literally growing up.  It’s astonishing to me.  God had been setting the scene, the scene of our dreams, before we even knew it was... 

The God who goes before us.  He is one who weaves His dreams, His purposes, into our very DNA.  And when we finally get down to joining Him in kingdom purposes we realize our dreams were His dreams first, and well, that’s a game changer.

So now what? 

Well, life is changing around here… in ways great and small. 

{Up Next: Going off the grid...  rest, disconnecting, returning to our roots.  For good.  Oh and that whole dream building thing.}

After that fateful backyard morning, we booked a trip.

(If you’ve followed this blog for long you know travel is our love language.  It's the character of God on vivid display that always brings clarity in the midst of life's chaos, and it changes us for the better with every stamp of the passport.) 

We had planned a trip to California the end of May.  San Francisco, Lake Tahoe, Sonoma Valley.  For the weeks leading up to the trip, I had such a difficult time seeing past it.  It was like there wasn’t anything beyond it, at least nothing that made sense.  I didn’t see us spending our days as usual.  It just wasn’t there.  Like blank space.

One sunny Dallas afternoon gazing out at sailboats on a blanket by the lake I said to Josh, “The clock is officially ticking down.  Our time here is limited.  I don’t know when, but I can’t see us being here past summer. It’s like this trip is a bookend to this whole 10 year season in Texas.”  I could feel it in my bones.

Two weeks after we returned from California, Josh got a call.  It was an offer we couldn’t refuse, one that left us stunned. I distinctly remember standing at the window talking to Josh on the phone and I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering despite the triple digit summer heat.  The presence of God was tangible.

* another domino clinked forward *

A hiring process that was supposed to take up to 6 months had us both on a plane to Nashville 2 weeks later for a final ‘spousal interview.’  It was shocking and yet resonated deeply all at once.  There was no question this was the hand of God. 

We listed our darling yellow cottage which had appreciated so dramatically in the two short years we’d lived there we still couldn’t get our brains around it.  (But knowing we wouldn’t be in Dallas long-term had only purchased the house as an act of obedience in the first place.)  And with the ‘give everything away’ instructions still resonating in our hearts we got rid of everything from furniture to my beloved flock of chickens, and set off to Tennessee.

My in-laws welcomed us into their guest suite for the time of transition, and we immediately began scouting out the area.  We knew what we were looking for.  God had given us plenty of detail over the years, clear vision down to the peach trees we’d find there. (Although I have to admit that particular detail seemed a stretch, even for me).  Much to our dismay after weeks of searching, we couldn’t find anything even remotely resembling the image God had seared into our hearts. 

I was gradually becoming discouraged.   Houses were sitting four mere hours in our old neighborhood in Dallas before being snatched up, and despite countless showings and open houses we’d had not a single offer.  We had long lists of compliments and post walk-thru dreamy faces to cheer us on, but no serious bidders.  We began to get antsy. 

To add insult to injury we couldn’t seem to find a real estate agent willing to work with us in Nashville.  Over the course of a few days we contacted a company who refused to return our calls, a second company who’s owner had a ‘reaction to cats’ and never got around assigning an agent, and lastly an agent so clueless she couldn’t help us even if she tried.  I would have been frustrated except it was so strange it almost felt eerie, as if God Himself was silently and deliberately holding us in place. 

No offers on our house.  No property on the market resembling the dream.  No agent willing to work with us.  But then.

* another clink *

A quiet Wednesday only a few days after all the realtor drama, Ev and I met Josh at Whole Foods to grab lunch.  I was loading up plates while Josh enjoyed a few minutes with his girl, and as I walked across to grab drinks I noticed him chatting with some random guy.  Something distinctly told me not to approach, so I busied myself browsing while they wrapped up.  As we sat down to eat I asked who he was. 

“Oh, just some guy.  He kept asking if we knew each other.  Kept telling me I ‘looked so familiar.’  He thought maybe we went to church together or something…” 

A familiar sensation ran thru me, “So he’s a Believer?  And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knows you somehow….”

Josh glanced up as the realization struck him.  He stared at me silently for a long moment.  “Yes.  And he’s a real estate agent.”

He went on to share that he failed to get the guys card.  He did however, give him his own.  And as fate would have it, sitting at his desk the very next day wrestling with frustration over our lack of forward movement in the real estate department, his phone rang.  It was the guy from Whole Foods.

The following Saturday morning we sat down with Clayton at a local coffee shop.  After two solid hours of laughing and sharing I had decided that even if we didn’t use him as our agent, we were all destined to be friends.  Kindred spirits, no doubt.  We had even felt at ease casting our entire vision for the land we were searching for to accommodate the dream seared into our hearts. 

Just as we were getting up to leave, I thought to ask him a final question about area taxes.  He pulled out his ipad to show me a quick example, and then went silent.  Slumping back against the wall he pushed the device across the table, “I’m just telling you right now… this doesn’t happen.”

I looked at him quizzically and began flipping thru the photos, my heart rate accelerating with every flick, “No way.  You must be kidding.  There’s no way!” 

There it was, the farmhouse.  It sat tucked down a long winding drive on 15 plus acres situated on the side of a low mountain, half in timber and half open field and meadow.  It was precisely where Josh had hoped to be, only minutes from the stunning vineyards that serve as one of our favorite picnic spots in all the world.  And it was shockingly in our price range.

I sat silently mouth agape, as Clayton leaned forward and almost whispered, “And by the way, that property just came on the market this very morning.  While we were sitting here.”

I locked eyes with him, “What.  You must be kidding.”

“Want to go see it?” he offered.  My heart was racing, “Um, yeah.”

Half an hour later we pulled down the gravel drive to the farmhouse.  As we climbed from the car we were met by the owner’s husband.  A call to the listing agent to approve our showing had already warned us this was quite the emotional ordeal for the lady who built this place.  It made me a bit nervous, but curiously she was nowhere to be seen.  As Josh and Clayton began asking their questions I wandered instinctively up to the garden area.  Birdhouses on posts, a darling garden shed and expansive area for beds that looked down and out over the farmhouse, horses grazing in adjoining pastures, wide open meadows ...  I stood there with Ev on my hip, a late summer breeze rustling the tree limbs overhead, and I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I knew this place somehow. 

As Clayton and Josh approached still chatting with the owner’s husband, we strolled down to the barn and then across the pasture to the edge of the woods to see the now vacant chicken coop.  This woman hadn’t actually lived here for many years.  I didn’t know the entire story, but clearly there was a lot more to it.  I just kept shaking my head in wonder. 

Strolling back thru the garden Clayton pointed off in the distance as he asked the man, “Are those peach trees?”  My head snapped to follow his gaze.  “Oh yes.  There’s a whole orchard.  Peaches, plums, apples.  Best cherries I’ve ever eaten, too.”

I locked eyes with Josh and mouthed, peach trees?!  What?!  His expression mirrored mine. 

Approaching the darling Victorian farmhouse it occurred to me that I was already insanely in love with this place, and we hadn’t even stepped inside the house yet.  We had a very specific idea of what we needed for the sake of ministry and had assumed all along we would have to build to see those details realized.  And we had zero interest in renovating.  I took a deep breath and stepped inside, bracing myself for disappointment.

What we found was nothing like I could have anticipated.  Just inside the front door it became obvious, this place had never been finished.  Bare floor, a lot of beautiful woodwork like a stunning coffered ceiling and trim work… but little else.  Walking into the next room was even more surprising, nothing but open studs.  Upstairs, more of the same.  One gorgeous vaulted room functioning as a nearly finished bedroom, but nothing else.  We actually had to crawl thru a window at the top of the stairs into the ‘new part’ of the house.  It was like an expansive vaulted ballroom.  No walls, no flooring, just a huge open room and widows with gorgeous views in every direction.  The whole house was 90% unfinished.

“So basically you can make this house whatever you want,” Clayton offered.  “And it isn’t a full renovation.  It’s just a finish out.  You get to do the fun part.”

An unfinished Victorian farmhouse on glorious acreage tucked away in the hills just outside of Nashville.  And it had been sitting vacant for the last many years, only to hit the market this very morning as we were meeting with a spirit-led man of God who just happened to be a real estate agent.  What were the chances...

A bit later as we pulled down the drive, I was processing thru the reality that until our house sold in Dallas, we couldn’t even make an offer.  Even if this was God, and it certainly seemed to be, we were still in a holding pattern.  Unless, I thought, how crazy would it be if we got home and finally have a call from our realtor in Dallas.

Sure enough.  A few hours later, I silently and wide-eyed handed my phone to Josh with an exuberant text from our realtor.  We had an offer.

In less than 24 hours we had met with Clayton, the farmhouse had gone on the market with us the very first people to see it, our house in Dallas sold, and we’d made an offer on our dream place.

What in the world was happening. 

{Up Next: When the story is better than you dared dream...}

{And by ‘here’ I mean the Tennessee farmhouse, the ministry, the dream.  This first part of our story represents 12 years on the timeline.  I’ve condensed it dramatically, so you’ll have to do some reading between the lines or question asking, but please consider this your personal invitation into our story.  I welcome your thoughts and questions, and especially your own stories of dreaming and simply saying YES.} 

“Whose kingdom are you building?  Your own, or Mine?”

That was the gentle question.  The one that changed everything.  And for the first time in my 30 plus years, I could humbly and honestly say, “Yours, Lord. Only Yours.”

When it comes to ministry, there are few roles my husband and I haven’t known.  In our 13 years of marriage we’ve been youth pastors, we’ve traveled the globe doing mission work, we’ve scrubbed toilets after hours and bounced babies in nurseries.  We’ve stood before thousands across the country speaking and teaching, put on conferences and concerts and prayer meetings and assemblies.  We’ve been interns and ministry assistants and Sunday school teachers.  We have ordination certificates, years invested at private Christian Universities, lists of impressive connections, and enough scars to prove we’ve witnessed and experienced both the beautiful and the ugly of ministry. 

But if I’m gut-wrenchingly honest, though our efforts were always sincere and genuine, there was an underlying essence of something else present, too.  The building of our own kingdoms.  The one where all was done in the name of God, so long as our names were included in the acknowledgements.

And so in the devastating and loving way that only God can, he took us on a decade-long journey of learning what it means to ‘die to ourselves.’  And die we did, many times over.  Our own idolatry cost us a number of relationships and indescribable amounts of heartbreak, almost our marriage at the climax.  But like the harlot Gomer in the book of Hosea drawn away into the wilderness, God lovingly stripped us of all our idols before declaring, “I will betroth you to Me forever, I will show you righteousness and justice, unfailing love and compassion.  I will be faithful to you and make you mine, and you will finally come to know me as the Lord.”  Hosea 2: 19-20

He goes to incredible lengths to win us.

And when all of our selfish desires and aspirations finally burn away, something else quietly begins to rise from the ashes of our brokenness.  His desires.  His plans.  His heart.  And that’s where things begin to take off.  Like black smoke billowing into a blue sky, it cannot be ignored. 

Josh and I have long known we are called to feed people, mind, body, and spirit.  We’ve known it from our very beginning, in fact.  But the enormity of that task can and has been paralyzing.  It requires time, lots of it.  It requires energy, resources, and space.  It requires vulnerability, integrity of heart, willingness and wisdom.  And more that anything it requires selflessness.  Giving ourselves away.  And that is a humbling and sometimes painful calling. 

So early last year after a long season of wrestling, God spoke a clear objective to my heart: “Give everything away. Withhold nothing. And give your best.”  I knew that meant literal stuff, but also time and energy, my heart even.   What it practically looked like was spending long hours with friends far and wide, listening, encouraging.  It was delivering dozens of prized backyard eggs to our neighbors.  It was cooking beautiful meals and inviting people to the table.  It was emptying closets and mailing packages.  It was hours spent with virtual strangers, hearing their struggles, offering prayers.  It was baking muffins and cookies and dropping them on doorsteps with notes of encouragement.  It was late night conversations until I couldn't keep my eyes open.  It was taking care of kids I barely knew so struggling parents could run a few errands.  It was up-all-night praying instead of sleeping, very, very often.  It was delivering meals to new moms in the neighborhood.  It was stopping long enough to get to know my local cashiers, hear their stories, their struggles, their dreams.  It was my heart broken open.

And it was stretching. 

We had just come out of an incredibly intense season and I felt as if I needed rest and tending.  I needed ministry.  (I’m still learning that the most authentic and effective ministry happens at the end of ourselves.  That place where we run out, and God steps in.)  There were oh-so-many tears.  It exposed ALL my insecurities and fears.  As a new mom myself already feeling vulnerable and exhausted, I had already been required to shelf my personal aspirations.  Blogs went unwritten, book proposals unfinished, speaking engagements declined time, and time, and time again.

But little did I know it was a practice, specific preparation for what was coming.  Not only the giving, but the chicken tending, the gardening, the ‘pretend B&B’ we jokingly operated… the cooking and sharing of meals, the intentional meeting of strangers, all of it.

I also found myself struggling more and more with fully letting go of my own aspirations, primarily writing and speaking.  Intro: The Intention Project.  It was a simple exercise in awareness intended to halt the chaos of obligation and expectation that kept me running endlessly but going nowhere.  Insanely hard to admit at the time, but I wasn’t confident my personal aspirations had a place in this particular season.  What I did know was the incredible urgency and importance of my daughter.  My husband.  My neighbors and friends.  And my calling to be present with them.  To serve them.  Undistracted kind of presence.  Intentional presence. 

The simple practice of intention brought such peace and joy into my life over the months I began to wonder if I’d ever return to anything different.  Would I ever accept a speaking invitation again?  Would I ever finish the first of several book proposals?  Amazingly I found myself uncaring either way.  Sweet freedom.  Sweet joy in simply being.  No striving, no achieving, no doing.  Freedom to simply serve and love well.  I never could have imagined how fulfilling it would be.

A profoundly important detail of this entire story was our knowing that Nashville was looming in our sights.  Like a quiet melody humming in the background, we’d known with incredible clarity for the last several years that Tennessee was our next step.  We didn’t know how it would or even could come together, and for a long while we stormed heaven with questions of, “Show us how, Lord.  We are willing.  Just show us how.”  When your heart is so willing and no movement happens, it’s easy to become frustrated.  And we did.  Until one afternoon sitting in my studio while Everyn napped, His gentle response finally came.  “Don’t ask me how.  Not once more.  The how is not your business, it’s Mine.  The what is yours.  Ask me what, and I will take care of the how.”  The insight silenced me, in a good way.  Convicted and provoked me to a new kind of courage.

A few weeks later we sat sipping coffee in our backyard in Dallas, our tiny urban homestead as we lovingly called it.  Chickens pecking around, toddler playing nearby amidst pots of peppers and tomatoes, we sat in the shade of our ancient oak.  Despite fears and unknowns, despite lack of resources and past failures whispering their taunts, we said yes to the what.  To the dreams both small and large seared into our hearts over decades.  To all of it… 

To orphans.  To homesteading.  To sharing all we have.  To long meals and celebrations and opening ourselves and our home to both give and receive.  To building a place where people come far and wide to birth dreams, write melodies, hide away and experience God.  To honing a certain kind of atmosphere where both healing and inspiration happens, where books are written, where broken hearts find hope, new life, and purpose.  To garden-tending, bee-keeping, and egg-gathering for the simple sake of sharing.  To providing rest and respite for exhausted pastors and missionaries.  To working the land, to building cabins and cottages, to sunny picnics that give way to worship beneath star filled skies.  To a place of safety where God is present, His goodness on stunning display, His voice heard.  To washing the feet of those He sends.  To dreams we’ve yet to dream even, but mostly, to giving ourselves away on a grand and terrifying scale.

We confessed we had zero idea how any of it was within the realm of possibility, but He had made it clear that was not of our concern.  So we looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and said YES.

And just like that, the first domino clinked forward…

{Up Next: And then the story gets crazy...}

In booking our trip to the Amalfi Coast we considered a number of options from private homes to B&B's.  But when we stumbled upon this place, it almost sounded too good.  A bed and breakfast run by three Italian brothers and their father, complete with 'family' meals in the evenings if you so desired with most of the ingredients coming from the expansive organic gardens surrounding.  Nestled in the hills over Positano, no question it would offer breaktaking views down the coast (all the way to the Island of Capri, in fact).  But what really sold us was the idea that when traveling with a toddler, there might be a day or two we simply wanted to rest, and this place was essentially it's own destination.

(all of the following photos were taken directly on the property over the course of our stay)

We read thru endless reviews online, all raving about the brothers and the unparalleled views.  One or two mentioned 'the hike' from the road being a challenge, but we were undeterred.  I was enamored with the idea of a cliffside, family-run Italian B&B surrounded by lush organic gardens.  

The brothers nor their 'house' as they so affectionately refer to it, disappoint.  These guys know hospitality.  They welcome all ages from retired to young families and backpacking singles the world over, and I witnessed day after day as they made every single person feel like family.  Friendly, humble, passionate, whether it was a glass of water or suggestion for dinner, never once did they seem less than overjoyed to accommodate.  The views were rivaled only by their kindness, which they seem to have inherited straight from their father.  Timid but clearly full of joy, it was the father who greeted us in the darkness and physically hauled our bags from the road straight up, up, up the winding cliffside a solid 10-minute hike.  The man made me marvel.

The rooms themselves are simply furnished but spacious and comfortable with large private baths.  The property itself is impressively quiet nestled in those hills, and the views… the views are killer.  From every single room and terrace, simply stunning.

I couldn't tell you exactly how many acres their property covers, but it feels enormous.  We wandered thru the gardens and vineyards to our hearts content day after day, drinking in the mediterranean views and gushing over the astounding array of fruits and herbs and vegetables.  There was no way to adequately discern how much was being tended and how much simply grows wild.  It was such a gloriously harmonious dance of the two.  The brothers themselves didn't even seem to know.  They just smiled and shrugged with an obvious awe and appreciation for this rich and fertile land.  Their gentle respect towards the soil beneath their feet inspired me in a way I still can't fully articulate.

Every morning we awoke to a lovely spread of local fruits and jams and pastries, among other things.  Breakfast on the terrace gazing out at that view?  I promise, you could do it every day.  For all of time.  It is profoundly, deeply nourishing.  

One really fascinating bit is to inquire of the history of the house.  It's relatively new by European standards, built by the father some years ago.  But because it's located in a nature preserve, building any kind of new structure was and is illegal. The transporting of materials and the actual building process happened mostly at night under the cover of darkness.  

The sunrises and sunsets were jaw-dropping as I'm certain you can imagine, and one day we were even treated to an afternoon thunderstorm.  (you'll notice dark storm clouds in a number of photos)  Watching those clouds roll in, drench everything in sight and promptly roll out again was absolutely mesmerizing.  With the rich volcanic soil and Mediterranean climate, no wonder so much grows wild.  It essentially tends itself.  There can't possibly be happier vegetation on earth.  There just can't.

I found the infamous hike lovely.  Must say, it is not for the faint of heart.  Reading the cautionary reviews I shrugged them off thinking people were likely making a bigger deal than necessary.  They weren't.  It's a hike.  But it's beautiful. 

I opted for good shoes and thought of it this way: I can eat pasta and gelato everyday to my hearts content with zero concern!  

When your workout is built right into your stay at no additional cost, what's to fret about?  ;-)

Have I mentioned yet that this real life garden of Eden is shockingly affordable??  Yes, indeed.  Right at $120 per night, I can't imagine you could beat it, well, perhaps anywhere else in Europe.  For those dreamy views, the warm hospitality, a private terrace and bath, and lovely breakfast?  Not likely.  If you've ever traveled to Europe you know well the accommodations are no where near cheap, and even at that you'll likely end up with a tiny room and less than comfortable bed that looks out at a brick wall.

I have an entire post I've been putting together for awhile including tons of tips on how we travel affordably, and this Amalfi Coast adventure was no exception.  Our airfare to Italy was free using miles (incredible savings there, always) and with an affordable stay such as this that included breakfast (or typically brunch for us) all we had left to budget for was dinner.  And maybe the occasional… okay twice per day gelato!  Good thing gelato is cheap in Italy ;-)  

Another cannot-stress-enough travel tip is to spend the bulk of your food budget picnicking.  Go to the local market, spend a few dollars on fresh, delicious ingredients, and save yourself the ton of money you'd spend at expensive restaurants.  Besides, wouldn't you rather spread a blanket and take in the coast or Eiffel Tower or Roman Colosseum over dinner anyway??  A fraction of the cost, a hundred times the ambiance.  Definitely splurge on a nice dinner or two for the sake of culture and experience, but don't feel like you have to do that every day.  Your experience will be richer (and so will you) if you opt to go the picnic route.

I simply cannot say enough about this gorgeous B&B.  It's been several months now since we visited and during that time I began The Intention Project and took a little sabbatical from blogging, but with travel season upon us I had to share this with you.  (although I encourage you to look to 'shoulder' season for the best travel rates, no matter where you're headed)  Colle Dell'ara is simply way, way, way too good to keep to myself.  We fully intend to return sometime and I'm crossing my finders it's sooner than later!  

(tons more reviews available at airbnb.com)

Or for more on our Amalfi Coast Adventure:

A Return to the Amalfi Coast of Italy

Tangible Beauty on the Isle of Capri, Italy

Tangible Beauty on the Isle of Capri, Italy (continued)

An Unexpected Walk Thru Seaside Sorrento

Beauty in the Cliffs Over Positano

A Final Evening Stroll

Life is such an incredible journey.  Always refining, evolving, redefining.  Add in the paramount role of parenthood and you can more or less multiply that by a thousand. 

Perhaps one thing I'm {learning} to appreciate most as a mother, is how quickly we learn what’s truly important and even more so, what isn’t. 

So here I sit, those very ‘things’ tip top of mind.  And it looks nothing like I ever could have predicted.  Motherhood has mellowed me, calmed me, brought so much I once dreamed of to a halt.  Some of those things sit on the back burner simmering, waiting to be brought forth again.  Some have been buried likely never to be resurrected.  And many new are being birthed even now, emerging from the soil like early Spring tulips and daffodils, always a pleasant surprise, often unexpected…  alive, vibrant, full of promise of what’s to come. 

As we’ve settled into a beautiful season at the cottage the last many months, what began as a wrestling to manage life and all its caveats, to take on parenting in addition to everything else… became exhausting.  Frustrating.  Disappointing when day after day it couldn’t all be done.  At least not without someone or something suffering.  I want so desperately to keep writing and blogging, to continue accepting speaking invitations, to submit book proposals and brainstorm new ideas and dreams.  But these things take an incredible amount of time and energy.  More than I have to give, quite literally.  And I’m not a halfway kind of girl.  I believe in putting excellence forth in everything I put my hand to.  And the reality is, there’s simply not enough time in the day anymore.  Not with a toddler.  Not with the desire for more children brewing.  Not with the reality of what God is showing us is coming in the weeks and months ahead.  (and let's not even discuss laundry and dishes and meal prep and grocery getting and animal tending and garden keeping and bill paying and errand running and endless day to day stuff)

It took me many, many long months of wrestling to finally admit that doing it all was frustrating and disappointing.  If I were really honest, it had become more burden than blessing.  More obligation than fulfillment.  So I prayed.  I spoke with my dearest friends and mentors.  I cried to my husband.  I prayed some more.  And finally decided to lay it all down.  At least for now. 

The weight that lifted when I finally made the decision was sweet, entirely unexpected relief.  Because letting go means one beautiful, timeless, sacred thing: I can now be fully present in my life. 

There’s so much more to this story, but I’ll let it tell itself when it’s ready.  As for now, I’m beyond happy to declare what this new season practically looks like.  In lieu of all else, our days will look something like this, including but certainly not limited to the following:

~hand written notes and letters

~tea time with beautiful friends and mamas

~reading, oh how I’ve missed it

~long walks

~coffee dates

~giving lots and lots of beautiful things away, just because

~picture taking galore

~many hours logged in my kitchen, particularly trying new recipes

~care packages, meals for new moms and sick friends and neighbors

~crafting

~picnics, tons of them

~sifting thru stacks of cookbooks

~ridiculous amounts of time spent watching the chickens peck around the yard

~never hesitating to take a nap with my girl if she needs me

~long meals with friends

~leisurely time in the baking corner

~hosting friends at family at our pretend b&b

~an ‘intention basket’ specifically for phones and electronics.  Once Josh arrives home for the day, no more mindless, exhausted zoning on social media.  Real rest and connectedness.

And more than anything else, uninterrupted, undistracted time.  With my tiny girl.  With my husband.  With friends and family.  Real connection.  Real life.  Beautiful, imperfect, sacred life.  I've been fondly referring to it as 'the intention project.'  Giving it a name creates a whole new level of awareness which I'm loving.

I’ll still be blogging from time to time, but more for the simple joy of sharing my heart at length with you.  I’m not holding myself to any particular number of posts or goals, simply when there’s something inspirational or beautiful to share, or when I want to capture some moment or memory. 

I will be spending more time on Instagram.  It’s such an incredible and encouraging community full of inspirational people and beautiful photos.  From artists and photographers to everyday moms, I’ve found it such a haven of rest and encouragement and beauty.  Not to mention it totally scratches my ‘must create’ itch in a single photo and few sentences.  We’re talking 5 minutes vs 5 hours (or lets be real, 5 DAYS) it takes when blogging. 

So there it is, where I’m at these days.  No specific expectations or goals, just being.  Living with intention and purpose.  Loving and serving well.  Rest and reprieve.  I can't begin to tell you how it thrills me.

I’d love to connect with you.  I’d love to hear your story, where you are on this gorgeous journey of life.  Send me a note or message, or let’s grab coffee.  Real connection.  It’s what life is about.

xoxo,

Terrica Joy 

P.S. If you'd like to join me, I'd love it.  Direct links to my personal social media accounts top right. #theintentionproject

Positano, Sorrento, Amalfi, Capri... simply stunning.  All of them, each of them.  We so wanted to wander into the breathtaking village of Ravello nestled so high in the cliffs it's said to be dizzying, but winding down our final day we decided instead to stay close and take in the sights and sounds of glorious Positanto one last time.  It was a good decision. 

Gelato, our daily indulgence, one last time.  I will never forget the look on her face after she licked this strawberry cone to it's drippy tip, and just as her Daddy dropped it in the nearby trash can to avoid a sticky mess, her chin instantly began to quiver and she couldn't hold back the tears.  Devastation.  What's a Mama to do?  Console with the offer of more gelato, of course.  A scene forever etched into my heart.

All better.

We walked down to the black stone beach and dipped our toes in the waves, tossed rocks into the water like wishes, breathed a final prayer of gratitude for these beautiful days of wonder.  For togetherness without distraction.  For soul-healing aqua waters and a tiny girl's first big adventure.  For enchanting moments of watching her kick a ball with a boy from the UK in the shadow of an ancient cathedral and toss bread crumbs with a tiny Italian into a centuries old fountain full of goldfish, their only shared language that of giggles and joy.  

For the moments, the meals, the celebration of life and love.  The garden walks and seaside picnics.  The long strolls with espresso and pastries and sound of thunder rolling in from the the ocean.  For the quiet.  For the cliffs.  For the life pulsing through our veins.  

And above all for the vivid reminder that all creation sings His praises, that He is the author of beauty, that this life is a gift beyond what we can conceive, so let us treat it as such.  

Grateful.  So grateful.

{Thanks for coming along on this journey with us!  This post wraps up our Amalfi Coast adventure, but I'll revisit it again shortly to share a bit more about the B&B where we stayed.  We've had a ton of questions and it's simply too incredible not to share.  If you wanted to know more, keep an eye out!}

Imagine tiered cliffside gardens, stone paved walkways, flowering ivy draped here and there overhead.  Imagine the sounds of chickens clucking somewhere out of sight, a slight ocean breeze, and the stunning aqua waters of the Mediterranean stretched out below as far as you can see.  

And right in the center of this dreamscape, picture a sprawling family restaurant where you're greeted warmly, shown to a table, and fed course upon course of the most decadent homestyle Italian food the southern coast has to offer, most of it coming directly from the rich volcanic soil on which you're standing just hours before.

La Tagliata.  We kept hearing about this place a short walk down the winding main road from the B&B where we were staying.  On a whim one evening we showed up.  It did not disappoint.  The views, the gardens, the food, the people.  Spectacular, truly.  Let's take a little stroll, shall we?

Let me also not fail to mention, they happen to have two stunning rooms for rent here.  Your stay includes breakfast, a private terrace, waking up to these views each morning, and get this, all the fruits and vegetables you desire to pick from their expansive gardens.  I mean, really?  Unbelievable.  

La Tagliata, we shall meet again, dear friend. 

Up Next: A Final Night in Positano

(sidenote: as I'm wrapping up this series on Italy, I'm also making some major changes in the blog realm.  I'll be sharing more soon.  Stay tuned...)

Following our enchanting evening on the Isle of Capri, we woke slowly and took our time wandering the winding pathways from our hotel towards the center of town.  We stopped for pastries at our favorite basement bakery, chatting with other travelers and sipping hot espressos while taking turns chasing Everyn up and down the steps.  Afterwards as we waited to ride back down to the marina I stood beneath the white pillars taking in the sweeping Mediterranean views one last time, and breathed a silent thank you.  For all of it.

Our ferry back to Positano was slotted to leave at noon, but as we arrived to board were informed there would be no ferry back to Positano.  The waves were too choppy to navigate the shallow waters of the tiny port.  A brief moment of panic swept over me, what?!  So we're just stuck here??  Immediately soothed by, oh!  Wait.  So we're like, stranded on the Isle of Capri...

The attendants pointed us towards another boarding ferry to Sorrento, suggesting we simply catch the bus from there back into Positano.  The unexpected chance to return to stunning Sorrento instantly won me.  We had no real plans for the day anyway.  The unexpected, unplanned adventure is half the reason I love to travel.  It does wonders for my free spirited soul.  It took a number of years for my super organized, well planned husband to embrace the notion, but after experiencing a few unforgettable rabbit trails around the globe he's finally come to love them, too.

These photos make it obvious why Sorrento is so entrancing.  Bustling but not overwhelming, it sits directly on the cliffs over the water.  Mt. Vesuvius in the background, the islands of Capri and Ischia just off shore, it's the perfect base if you want to explore the many villages up and down the Amalfi coast.

Seriously, how gorgeous is this place?  The first time I laid eyes on it those many years ago it left me breathless.  I was truly heartbroken the day we had to pack up and leave.  The vow we made to return that day is precisely what brought us back.

We arrived and wandered, taking it all in like the unexpected gift it was.  Chatting with locals, eating gelato, pigeon chasing, gazing out at ships at sea.  I'll never forget the sound of Ev squealing and screaming as she chased those birds in circles, causing an entire cafe to erupt in amused laughter and offer her endless bread for feeding.

A simple, well lived day in my book.  Unexpected joys are always the richest.

If ever you have the chance, do fall in love with this lovely city.  Its siren call may just draw you time and again.

Up Next: Beauty in the Cliffs Over Positano

"In Italy the summer before Henry was born, on a trip with family friends, we ate raw green olives in Positano, looking out at the Mediterranean Sea, and we drank Bellinis made with thick, white peach puree.  We ate paper-thin pizza with narrow ribbons of basil and fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with ricotta, impossibly rich and light at once.

On that trip I had the best meal of my life, on the island of Capri, at a restaurant called the Lemon Tree.  Our family and dear friends sat at a round table, and the branches of the lemon trees over our heads hung so low and so thick they almost made a ceiling, a dense canopy, and hundreds of lanterns hung from their branches and made the whole dining area twinkle as they swayed.

Our table had a whole fish roasted with wheels of lemon and swaths of herbs, carved tableside, and handmade lobster ravioli, the fresh lobster meat so sweet it almost tasted like there was sugar in it.  What moved me, though—and what the restaurant is famous for beyond the lemon tree canopy—were the antipasti and sweet buffets: two huge rough wooden tables piled with platters wedged in like puzzle pieces.  One table held cheeses and pastas and grilled, marinated vegetables; the other, plates of every imaginable fruit, cake, and tart.  At the center of that lovely table, a bowl of fat blackberries, almost as big as plums, and a bowl of whipped cream, decadent and simple at once.

I can still taste the tiny glass of limoncello the served at the end of the meal, and I can still recall the hint of coolness in the air as we drove back down the winding roads to the marina, feeling like the world was so beautiful I almost couldn’t stand it, so thankful for those trees and those lanterns and those huge round tables and that bowl of blackberries.”  -Shauna Niequist, Bread & Wine

 

We had decided in late Fall that a return trip to the Amalfi Coast was how we wanted to officially celebrate our tiny girl’s first birthday, as well as 11 years of marriage.  Our love of travel, Italy in particular, her love of lemons.  It was the perfect pairing.

Though Josh and I are seasoned travelers, I admit I had been wrestling with a significant amount of fear about taking Everyn so far from home.  What would we be exposing her to?  What if something happened?  What if, what if, what if… the thoughts plagued me.  Most of them completely irrational.  Trusting my husband’s leadership implicitly, I confessed to him in near tears one evening.  I wanted to know if he had even the slightest hesitation.  Knowing well how women, especially new mothers, especially his wife wrestle with fear and anxiety at times, he very lovingly and calmly put me at ease.  He encouraged me with a new mantra to replace any and every tempting, fear-laden thought, “I will not live in fear.  I will not make fear-laden decisions.”  And that was that.  I took a deep breath.  Resolve.  I committed despite any lingering ‘what if’ notions. 

But then this book… then this particular chapter… then these particular paragraphs.  It was serendipitous timing as it arrived in the mail only a few weeks later.  I began feeling almost compelled, called if you will, back to the Isle of Capri.  And one thing was absolutely certain.  We would dine at the Lemon Tree.

So there we were on the island, wandering cliff side gardens and indulging in endless gelato.  It was surreal to be back in a place that felt so familiar and exotic at once.  What I was completely unaware of however, was how God was about to orchestrate the next few hours in a way that would leave me speechless.

Our first few days in Italy had been sheer delight, but every night as darkness fell so did my spirit.  As I crawled in bed each night I would begin grappling again with fear.  Nothing specific, just fear itself.  Knowing well my sensitivity to spiritual climates, Josh had taken to praying over me every evening as we went to bed, calling on the Holy Spirit to impart peace and deep rest, to hedge me in at every side.  With every day it lessened, as if it were beginning to lose it’s grip, but still it was there, taunting. 

Dressed for dinner we finally set out in search of the Lemon Tree, right at sunset.  A dark cloud loomed on the horizon but failed to raise any kind of alarm.  We rode the sweeping lift back down to the marina across the treetops and began a slow stroll up winding roads in the direction of the restaurant.  I carried Everyn as Josh attempted to navigate a side of the island completely foreign to us. 

Very suddenly the wind began to pick up, a significant chill on its breath.  We glanced at each other with a knowing look.  We’d made it up the main roads and entered a residential area with narrow passages, concrete walls draped with ivy, iron gates.  Nothing about the area looked fitting for a restaurant.  Then the rain began, slowly at first.  There was literally nowhere to duck for coverage.  We kept moving, sure the restaurant couldn’t be much further.  The rain kicked up another notch.  I passed Ev to Josh and we began jogging, unsure where we were headed at this point.  And still the rain grew heavier, almost to downpour.  We were frantically attempting to find anything to step under, even the slightest overhang.  Nothing.  As Josh became increasingly frustrated, I became increasingly giddy.  It washed over me, through me, and I began laughing delightfully, racing thru the rain in flip-flops and a long skirt.  At every intersection we seemed to peer down yet another endless street and I’d squeal and laugh harder, calling over my shoulder, “Embrace it!  Just embrace it!  There’s nothing else to do!”

Soaked nearly to the bone, I finally spotted a tiny covered vending area.  I yelled back to Josh and darted under.  Two young guys stood casually with sodas in hand watching the rain, and in the back corner, two sweet Italian grandmothers huddled together under a small umbrella.  Both in calf-length skirts, scarves tied over their heads, they smiled sweetly as I joined them shaking off the excess water. 

Just as Josh came jogging up with Ev a third grandma rounded the corner as well, deciding it wise to join us.  She shook off her umbrella chattering to the others, seemingly amused by the rain.  As we stood waiting for a break in the downpour the two ladies in the corner pointed and cooed at Everyn.  The talked quietly to themselves, their eyes locked on us, pointing softly here and there.  With a slight slowing of the drenching the guys darted out, but we stayed put, well aware we still had no idea where the restaurant was located.  I glanced up at the sound of Italian clearly directed at us, just as the grandmothers tentatively approached from their corner.  One held out a tattered sweater, pushing it into my hands and pointing at Everyn.  I wasn’t sure how to respond at first.  Glancing at their own worn layers, I hesitated.  Certainly they needed this more than we.  Sensing my hesitation the third grandma jumped in with heightened volume.  She rattled and rattled, pointed and pointed, and I stared blankly understanding not one single word.  It was clear they wanted me to wrap the wet baby, certainly, but how would I ever return this sweater?  The longer we hesitated the more emphatic they became in the most concerned but heartfelt manner.  Finally I wound the sweater around Ev's shoulders, expressing our thanks again and again.  I was on the very verge of tears at their incredible concern and kindness.

When the rain finally came to a slow and steady drizzle, we decided to brave it.  I looked to the ladies and asked “The Lemon Tree?  Do you know the The Lemon Tree??”  They rattled at each other in Italian until deciding they knew what we meant, then began pointing up the hill and nodding.  “This way?” I asked to confirm.  They rattled back more than what seemed a simple ‘yes’ in response.  Our confused expressions must have concerned them, as the third grandma bid goodbye to the others and motioned for us to follow.  I was dumbstruck.  Clearly she had just finished a full days work, arms loaded with bags and a large umbrella.  I reasoned it must be on her way, surely.  We followed her up a hill and around a few corners.  She struggled up the inclines, breathing heavily, almost waddling in her orthopedic shoes.  My concern grew she was going much out of her way.  Finally stopping at a crossing she pointed at a darkened gate, smiling exuberantly and trying to catch her breath, motioning for us to go.  We thanked her profusely as she turned to leave in the same direction we’d just come, affirming my suspicion this stop had not been conveniently on her route. 

We approached the gate and peered down a winding path, lights glowing somewhere towards the back.  It was quiet, too quiet.  Tables and chairs lined the partly illuminated pathway.  Approaching a large seating area situated literally beneath a grove of lemon trees, limbs densely intertwined to form a canopy draped with lemons and dangling lights, we knew we’d finally arrived.  And not a single soul was dining, save a small group of staff on the far side.  One caught a glimpse and promptly stood to greet us.  He approached with a smile and kindly explained they didn’t open for another hour but welcomed us to wait.  As the rain began beating down on the canvas roof out of sight beyond the branches, he motioned to a nearby table for us to sit. 

Relieved to be out of the downpour we had no issue waiting.  As we pulled ourselves up to the table a server arrived with a basket of bread and lit a candle on the table, as a second wrapped a huge, plush blanket around my shoulders, then Everyn, then Josh.  We were all so cold, I almost wept.

The handful of guys who’d been dining across the way packed up their plates and moved to a room off to the side, though clearly we were the ones who’d intruded.  I could still see them laughing and chatting, eating intently.  I loved how they shared a meal together, not so much as a staff, but almost as family.  Very Italian. 

As they finished their meal and transitioned to work mode, we watched as they began diligently piling platters in two distinct rooms.  One situated just in front of us, the other off to our right.  Having forgotten the details from the book months earlier, I wondered what they were doing.  There was a huge table in one of the rooms, and the platters just kept coming.  And coming.  And coming.  I was so enamored watching them I barely noticed as the filled the other, as well.

When a server returned to take our order and I asked what a particular item was listed under ‘Aperitivos,’  he just motioned towards the room.  I raised my eyebrows, “Really?”  He nodded with an amused smile.  “I’ll have that, please.”  Josh did the same.  No brainer.

We tried so many things I cannot even begin to detail them all.  Marinated vegetables, seafood galore, cheeses and cured meats and pasta.  It was incredible, a feast of something both body and soul.  It felt like a celebration.  We ordered entrees, astonished again by the decadence, and when they asked about dessert and pointed to the other room, I about died of happiness.  There were tarts and pastries galore, tiny layered cups of tiramisu, handmade chocolate truffles and big bowls of whipped cream with liquor drenched fruit.  The platters and bowls circled the entire room.  I could barely decide what to try and just stood there forever, staring happily. 

It was delicious beyond description.  All of it.  Every last, unassuming bite.

As the rain continued to patter we sipped hot espressos and waited.  We’d been dining almost four hours.  We were so content, so grateful to be savoring this moment, this food, this life, as Shauna so perfectly noted, “…so beautiful I almost couldn’t stand it…” 

As Everyn started indicating her exhaustion, we waved goodbye and wandered back down the winding path towards the road where the taxi they’d summoned for us was already waiting.  Despite a subtle drizzle, the clouds were beginning to give way to a dazzling star filled sky.  I stared out the window, deliriously happy, so terribly grateful for this rain-soaked night. 

The driver dropped us near the main piazza, far as he could go, leaving us to walk the winding stone alleyways back to our hotel.  The white pillared Mediterranean overlook to our left, the piazza to our right, the sky above now clear and dancing with stars, all was still.  Thanks to the rain the typically bustling piazza was quiet, one lone storekeeper standing outside across the way.  The tables and chairs were leaned to drain and the whole piazza was aglow from lit café windows, the warm light glistening against the wet stones.  It was breathtaking. 

Still enamored with the scene I stood speechlessly taking it all in, when quietly my husband began swaying and humming, Everyn wrapped up in his arms, a knowing smile spreading across her tired little face.  Her giggles propelled him, and I watched in near disbelief as he twirled her in circles, dipping her, spinning her, both now laughing deliriously. 

I didn’t say a word for fear of interrupting.  I just watched in stunned admiration, this man, this darling girl, spinning in circles in a glowing Italian piazza under the stars on the Isle of Capri.  I could do nothing but marvel at how very, very, indescribably, unspeakably good my God is, utterly blown away by His rich and decadent goodness.

Following their spontaneous waltz they walked ahead of me towards the hotel, flirting still along the way.  I walked slowly, savoring deeply the last of this magical evening, when suddenly I heard clearly the voice of my Lord, as crisp as the now fully dazzling sky, What was it you feared, my love?  In My hand, you are.  Nothing can snatch you from my grasp, the world over.

I felt stunned to the core.  All my previous fears seeming suddenly so small and trivial and irrelevant.  Failure to filter constantly negative media and conversation, even casual thoughts, not only robs me of joy but breeds fear to overflow.  Crippling fear, the kind that prevents you from living, from freedom, from seeing anyone but yourself.  The kind that holds you captive, starving and cold, terrified to breathe.  The diabolical kind.

I suddenly realized the magnitude of this night, God’s very goodness on display, a desperately needed reminder of the great beauty and kindness we experience when we slay our fears and brazenly stomp past knocking it to its knees with defeat. 

I so easily could have missed it, could have missed Him… in the kind eyes offering a tattered sweater, in the thick, exhausted ankles leading us thru darkened stone alleyways, in the warm hands wrapping blankets around my shivering shoulders.  In tangled branches heavy with lemons and steaming espresso in tiny cups, in pounding rain and dancing stars, handmade truffles, glistening piazzas.  In a dancing man and his tiny girl, in echoing giggles and starlit walks…  Gods goodness to me on display, brilliantly, vividly, obvious.

How silly to think, in the clutch of God’s hand, there is every anything to fear.

This night set the tone for the rest of our adventure, and from that moment on fear lost its clawing grip, crushed in the very light of Truth.  And it hasn’t returned since.

(Up Next: An unexpected detour to Sorrento...)

Oh, Capri.  I will never cease to sing your praises.  If it was Southern Italy who winked and charmed me across the way, then it was you who took me by the hand and twirled me breathlessly about the room.

Just off the mainland, this small island is easily reached by short ferry ride.  Pulling into the colorful harbor you’re immediately taken by the rising backdrop dotted with lemon trees and stacked with cliff side houses and buildings. 

It’s tempting to pull up a chair at any number of cafes lining the water, order an espresso and watch the boats come and go the entirety of your stay.  But despite the welcoming buzz of activity, the heart of this dreamy island lies upward.

Whether by short taxi ride up thru winding back roads or escalator-like lift that sweeps you over the treetops, arrival at the center of town is even more enchanting than pulling into harbor, if that’s possible.

Piazzas filled with café tables and sweeping views of the island and Mediterranean below greet you warmly, making you feel both at home and transported all at once.  The winding walkways are lined with boutiques and cafes, lush flowers and draping greenery blending seamlessly with the architecture.

White columns, hibiscus flowers, sunken lemon groves, limestone cliffs, all of it captivating.  It isn’t a place I’d choose to visit in the height of travel season when tourists descend and fill the narrow alleyways to irritating capacity, but then we don’t travel anywhere at the height of travel season.  (we’ll discuss that tip in more detail in an upcoming post)  We find a stark difference in visiting a place during peak versus off season, when local life and culture is authentic and organic.  

Italy in October is glorious.  Kind, relaxed, warm.  It's as if the entire country breathes deeply and kicks back with an espresso to break from the swarm of tourist season.  We few stragglers who wander the quiet streets are greeted with lazy smiles and nods, embraced as old friends rather than a potential souvenir sale.

And particularly in the quiet of off season, Capri feels otherworldly.  Its beauty is truly stunning, said even to charm emperors in centuries past. 

We had packed an overnight bag and jumped on the ferry from the tiny harbor at Positano.  We spent our first afternoon revisiting the gardens of Augustus, letting Everyn run giddy circles thru the flowers and fountains perched cliff side overlooking the infamous faraglioni rocks. 

We wandered the paths and alleyways reminiscing, stopped for coffee and strawberry gelato, laughed about how different life looks now than it did all those years ago when we last strolled these streets.  We were slow and deliberate, taking everything in every step of the way, enamored still.

Much anticipated plans for dinner finally lured us back to our room to clean up.  We’d been looking forward to this particular dinner for months ever since reading one singular line in a book.

Reflecting on it even now still takes my breath away.  What transpired as we set out for a lovely dinner on this stunning island, I could not have dreamed up had I tried...

(To be continued!)

While I’m editing thru another slew of Italy photos, I thought I’d share a few holistic health and wellness tidbits you might find beneficial.  Several of these have the potential to be life-changing.  No kidding!

Shaving with honey.  I will never go back to life as before.  I know it sounds odd at first, but I assure you it’s wonderful.  My dealings with gluten intolerance have caused me insanely itchy legs for years and no store bought soap or cream has ever helped topically.  This does.  Growing up in a family of honey enthusiasts thanks to generations of bee keeping, you’d think it would have occurred to me before.  I’m fairly confident we’ve used honey as a remedy for just about everything under the sun.  So when I came across this fantastic post about shaving with honey, I was quick to give it a try.  Love, love.  Never going back.  Not to mention I’m actually saving money.

Oil of Oregano.  There are days when I feel like I couldn’t survive on this planet without this single product in my arsenal.  I’m not being dramatic.  Entirely serious.  We use it for everything health related, have for years.  It's antiviral, antifungal, antimicrobial, and antibacterial.  I will use this a thousand times over antibiotics and in my experience, it works faster.  (without wreaking the havoc antibiotics do on your system as a whole)  Recently I discovered a new brand that blows all others away.  So incredibly potent, and major bonus, significantly cheaper than anything else I’ve come across.  It ships directly from Greece.  Get it now before the rest of the world discovers it and they sell out and jack the price up.  If you're unfamiliar with the endless benefits of this amazing oil, click here. And here. And here.  

Fermented Cod Liver Oil.  This is a relatively new addition to our supplement regimen, but it’s quickly risen to the top of our ‘cannot live without’ list.  Take note it's fermented, that's what sets it apart.  It’s awful to get down, but well worth the 3 seconds of misery.  So many incredible benefits including immunity.  Click here for the brand we use.  Speaking of building immunity, in addition to daily oil of oregano and cod liver oil we’re also entering the no refined sugar zone thru cold season, and doubling up on good probiotic supplements, vitamin D & C, and lots of probiotic rich foods and beverages like kombucha, yogurt, and kefir.  All great things to consider if you want to avoid bugs this season! 

Freezer Cooking.  Once we enter the shorter, darker days of winter I find it increasingly difficult to cook dinner.  What is usually such a joy becomes frustrating and exhausting.  I’m sure it’s in part to having a toddler who thinks dark equates to bedtime and whines to be held and go ‘nigh nighhht’ beginning at 5pm.  Makes chopping vegetables super difficult and takes 4 times as long.  So!  Freezer cooking it is.  Makes dinner a snap.  This past weekend involved amazing Zuppa Toscana, a huge batch of spicy chili, Josh’s family Brunswick Stew recipe, several quarts of homemade chicken stock, and a huge batch of pizza dough.  All of these are wonderfully delicious and filling but they also freeze amazingly well, precisely the reason I share them with you.  Give one a try—I think you’ll love them!

In other random news, Josh put up my long awaited clothesline in the back, not that I’ll use it anytime soon with winter fully upon us, AND I planted a slew of hostas and ferns and rosebushes… juuuust in time for freezing temps. Being timely is so not my strength.  If any of it survives I’ll be thrilled!  Maybe the gazillion leaves that have fallen will serve to insulate.  Cross your fingers. 

How are you surviving winter?  Any healthy tips to share?  Talk to me.

Josh and I first traveled to Italy in 2007 in celebration of our five year wedding anniversary.  We had just come out of an incredibly difficult, tearful season of life and we both needed to be reminded of beauty.  Of deep rest.  Of the simple, meaningful things in life.

It was a whirlwind of a trip.  We saw Rome and Florence and stunning Tuscan villages and landscapes.  We explored Sorrento and the southern coast, where we first fell in love with the island of Capri.  We strolled thru Venice with it's romantic canals and dream-like qualities...

Not only was it precisely the soothing balm we needed, it was love.  Italy charmed this romantic to the soul.

Although we had both always loved traveling and exploring, this particular trip enthralled us.  Travel became more than a nice thought or occasional goal to aspire to, it became something essential to our growth and purpose.  On a final train into Rome to catch our flight home, we looked at each other with a deep knowing that this trip had changed us.  God had used it to change us, to open our eyes to possibility and potential.  To awaken in us ideas and hopes that would propel us into the future only He could set forth.  

It would mean sacrifice and creativity, but we knew innately we would never be the same again.  And we haven't been.

Though Europe has continued to draw us back year after year for all of these reasons and more, until most recently we hadn't actually traveld back to Italy.  I did meet up with a dear friend in Florence just before getting pregnant with Everyn, but Josh and I hadn't yet been back together.

With a darling girl now opening our eyes to even greater beauty in all things great and small, what better place to begin our adventures as a family than a return to the very place God began birthing this purpose in our hearts?

(sidenote: Though it deserves a post all in itself, I can't stress enough that travel is about far more than simple vacation for us.  It changes us, every single time.  It shakes out the distraction and busyness and brings incredible clarity to our truest purpose on this planet.  Plainly put, it removes us from the day to day and places us in closer proximity, metaphorically speaking, to God.  As a couple, we come together and hear Him.  See Him.  Experience Him.  It's an essential compoment to our life and marriage, and precisely the place purpose continues to grow.)

This recent trip was vivid and vibrant, almost alive.  We savored deeply and intentionally, drinking in the stunning landscape and warm culture with all it's sights, sounds, and tastes.  We moved slowly and deliberately, sleeping late, wandering long, breathing deep.  We kept our eyes and ears wide open, being certain to feel every ounce of life pulsing through our veins in any given, simple moment.

We sat long at the waves, long at the table, long on the balcony overlooking the cliffs and islands.  We let Ev chase pigeons in open piazzas among smiling passers-by and tolling bells.  We smiled as she giggled with little Italians, kicking balls in the shadow of history-soaked cathedrals and feeding fish in ancient fountains.

We delighted in steaming espresso and converastions with locals.  We indulged in pastries and gelato to our hearts content, multiple times a day.  We asked questions, offered hope, gave thanks.  We lived fully present.  Fully engaged.  Fully alive.  

It was humbling.  And beautiful.

I'll be sharing specific stories over the next few weeks as I edit thru hundreds and hundreds of photos.  Stories that touched me, encounters that wrecked me in the best possible way, travel tips and tricks that make this type of experience possible for anyone, details on the absolutely indescribable B&B where we stayed....  

Come along for the journey!  I hope you'll find your own inspiration.  <3

If you love chai, this is a must.  Autumn in a cup, rich and creamy, sweet and spicy, utterly decadent.  I've been a chai obsession-ist for years and years, but this new love affair takes the obsession to an entirely new level.   Even my husband cannot resist the siren call, and he's a coffee guy, like, always.  Offer him this in lieu?  He cannot and will not refuse.  

I've tried a thousand different tea bags and loose leaves and flavors, powders and syrups and even pre-mixed cartons. They all pale in comparison.  This is like flying to India, ordering a cup from a buzzing roadside stall offering nothing else, and being warmly enveloped by the tantalizing aroma as a bearded Indian man ladles a steaming concoction of creamy spices into a cup and passes them to your eager hands.  

It's that delicious.  I'm not kidding. 

I've done a little reading and apparently our western chai is more or less a joke to anyone who really understands the art of this long celebrated drink.  The term 'watered-down' came up time and again.  Authentic chai is nothing that can be purchased in tiny tea bag form.  It's a rich combination of spices brewed with black tea and milk or cream, spiked heavily with sugar, and consumed blissfully as if you owe it to the chai to indulge with abandon...

And they all said amen. 

With Fall officially upon us, you need to make this.  You must.   It will make the season for you.  I'm still working on perfecting the ratios to my own preferences taste-wise, but it would be a huge disservice to wait until we return from Europe to share this with you.  Below is my own personal concoction, but feel free to tweak according to your own preferences.  Per usual I suggest using fresh spices and organic ingredients where possible for better overall taste and nutrition.  (Old spices from the back of the pantry will not serve you well here.  They loose flavor.)

Authentic chai begins with incredibly rich masala.  I began with this recipe.  Again, feel free to increase/decrease amounts to your liking. 

 Chai Masala

1 c black pepper, finely ground* 

3/4 c (heaping) ginger powder, finely ground

1/4 c (heaping) cinnamon powder, finely ground

1/4 c (heaping) cardamom, finely ground

2 tsp clove powder, finely ground

2 tsp nutmeg powder, finely ground

In addition I occasionally add a pinch of ground anise.  Some recipes call for it, others don't, entirely up to you.  If you can't find/don't have finely ground versions of the above, simply grinding whole spices in a clean coffee grinder works great!  Mix them together in a mason jar and store in a cool dry space avoiding too much sunlight.  

*I make one huge variation to the above.  I keep the ground pepper stored entirely separate from the rest.  I love the spice in chai but find the ginger already provides a nice bite, so I store the pepper in a different jar and add it pinch by pinch just as you would sweetener.  It's particularly nice when serving guests, allowing them/you to turn the sweet and spicy levels up and down to their preferences.

Now for the fun part!   

Authentic Indian Chai

1/2 c whole milk or cream 

1/2 c water

2 tsp sugar (or honey, stevia, etc) 

1 regular black tea bag (or 1 tsp loose leaves)

1/4 tsp masala (Same goes here for the spice index.  Perhaps start with 1/8 tsp and move up from there depending on how rich you like it.)  

Directions: 

Stir all the ingredients (except tea) together in a small saucepan over medium heat, being careful not to scald the milk.  Allow it to come to a low boil, then immediately cover and reduce to a simmer for 5 minutes.  Remove from heat (still covered), add tea and allow to steep for another 5-10 minutes.  Strain thru a fine mesh sieve or sifter, and indulge immediately.  And by all means, please add a slash of vanilla if you so desire.  Please and thank you.

Cheers to this glorious season, friends!  Enjoy ;-) 

If I could boil everything I learned in my 20's down to one simple thing it would be this: let love be the center of all you do.  Every decision, every conversation, every thought.  

Forever an advocate of life-long growth and learning, I began thoughtfully asking myself several months ago what is the greatest lesson my 20's taught me?  Over and over again I came back to this very simple truth: love.  

I learned to love in ways I never could have understood much less practice, without walking down a lot of dark, crooked, lonely roads.  My heart took a bloody beating on many occasions, some of which I wasn't certain I'd ever recover from.  People we loved deeply walked out of our lives, left us bleeding, trust was shattered, betrayal wreaked havoc.  

In every instance I had a choice: become bitter and callous and refuse to trust again, or fall on my face before the God of mercy and ask for grace.  I chose the latter.  Every time.   

I could write a novel of all the stories of heartbreak and loss, but my heart is not to focus on those things, those experiences.  My heart is not to perpetuate the same kinds of mistakes, mine or others, but to love deeper and harder than ever before.  Perhaps with a bit more caution and wisdom, but no less love.  With greater.   

If we all understood one another's stories, we'd judge less, fear less, let our guards down more.  We'd embrace, we'd encourage, we'd offer freely both love and affirmation.  Oh how desperately the world needs more lovers and affirmers... 

My 20's were spent wrestling with more heartache than I care to recall, yet I can't keep a quiet smile from my lips as I reflect.  Not on the hurt or the loss, but on the way it all changed me.  The way God used it to sharped and soften me all at once, to teach me what it means to truly, wholly love as He does.  The pinnacle moment happened for me not that many years ago.  In mourning the loss of a very dear friend I was struck by the realization that their leaving my life didn't mean I couldn't love them anymore.  On the contrary, deeply loving someone who has wounded or abandoned you is one of the greatest loves there is.  The moment you know you really love someone is when you choose to do so knowing they don't love you back.  

It's incredibly easy to love someone who loves and celebrates you in return.  It isn't so easy to love someone you fear harbors resentment of hatred in their hearts for you.   

Thus is life in our fallen world.  Betrayal is real.  Fear is real.  Loss is real.  In friendship, in marriage, in family relationships.  Even in work and yes, so very sadly and often in 'the church.'  It happens.  We're human.  We all struggle to slay our own dark and selfish natures in lieu of 'loving thy neighbor.'  It isn't easy.  It's exceedingly difficult at times.  But it's worth it.  It's worth every tear and moan and sleepless night.  Because in practicing love, we become love.  We become the soothing balm the world so desperately needs.  We live fully alive and insanely free.  Our lives become full of joy and peace that truly cannot be explained.  Darkness is driven from our doorstep and profound Happiness comes to reside.

Love.  

Let love be the center.  Be it.  Give it.  Offer if freely.  The world is desperate for it.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins."

1 Peter 4:8 (NIV) 

"...There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love."

1 Peter 4:18 (The Message)
 

It’s one of my favorite elements of parenthood, the dreaming.  Teaching her life and love and beauty, and yes, dreaming.  In this broken, mashed up, violent world, it is imperative she know more.  Life is about knowing God above all.  If we miss this, we miss the very point of living.  And He is the greatest dreamer of all. 

I don’t fret at imagination and day dreams.  I encourage them.  I want her to play dress up, fly in imaginary hot air balloons, dance and twirl on invisible stages.  She is the beauty in the story, always.  And He is her rescuer, every time.  I want her to dream, because I want her to know God, intimately.

I want her to paint and scribble and color, to create music with everything from pots and pans to well loved pianos passed down from great aunts.  I want her to hear music, in the tapping of her feet and the wind in the trees, the roar of oceans and tinkling of wind chimes and giggles.  I want her to see beauty in wrinkled hands reaching for her, changing leaves, guitar strumming, flower blossoms.  It is everywhere, beauty and music, and if she knows Him she’ll see it. 

At night while she slumbers, at day while she plays, in her heart when she hopes for a world better… I want her to dream.  Always. 

I can’t imagine a life without dreaming, hoping of greater goodness and joy and life.  What propels us if we don’t even have hope?  Nothing.  Life is stale.  We wait and wonder, perhaps, and life passes by.  Until one day it's simply over. 

A life well lived is vibrant with hope, vivid with color, alive with dreams.  And those dreams propel us, to love, to health, to seeing the world.  To writing books and lyrics and building houses filled with warmth and healing.  To start businesses and climb mountains and make families. 

I want the best possible life for her, but that life is one she’ll build herself.  I can’t do it for her, but I can show her how to dream it up.  I can teach her to sketch it out, draw up the plans and gather materials.  I can help her know her own greatness.  I can illustrate what good plans look like, and I can show her God, point to Him time and time again, reminding her that He is the only true architect who can bring those plans to life.

She can see and do and be all she dares to hope, but first she must dream. 

I want that for her, to see and know God.  More than anything else.  And I want to send her into the world someday knowing that though she’ll meet heartache along the way that’ll knock her to her knees, the dreaming will bring her back to her feet.  The dreaming will point her back to Truth.  The Dreamer will wrap her up in His arms and never let go.

 “Always be aware of your season, your surroundings, and the Source of your strength.  Success comes to wide awake dreamers.” –Hart Ramsey

• {Tea} Good Earth Organic Sweet & Spicy Tea.  This is utterly delightful.  With cinnamon, ginger, anise seed and hints of orange, it has unabashedly blocked all other tea bags from my view.  It's warmth and hit of spice with the perfect amount of sweetness is downright perfect for Fall.  It literally doesn't need anything but hot water.  (And that's coming from a girl who typically favors a spoonful of sugar, splash of cream, and extra dash or two of cinnamon!)  Try it.  I guarantee obsession.  You're welcome.
• {Recipe} Speaking of obsession, have you tried these Pinterest popular Raw Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites? Listen, people.  They have 5 ingredients.  FIVE.  You blend it up in a food processor or blender, toss in chocolate chips, roll them into balls and refrigerate.  I can't even begin to tell you how dangerously delicious they are.  I was skeptical they'd actually be that great.  I envisioned other Pinterest FAILS, like the time I tried the lay-your-toaster-on-its-side-to-make-cheese-toast-trick and ended up screaming and dodging flaming, fiery toast flying across my kitchen.  Yeah.  These cookie dough bites totally redeemed any Pinterest fail in history. They're phenomenal.  Thanks to these we've already gone thru an entire gallon of raw milk we picked up on Saturday.  That's like, not very long.  Just so you know.  (I did add a pinch of sea salt and maybe a little extra vanilla because, well, it's a compulsion.)  But seriously, go buy raw cashews.  Have cookie dough bites for dinner.  I'm serious. 
• {Book} The Artist's Daughter.  I'm forever on the lookout for a good memoir.  Add in exotic locations and culture, a side of faith and sprinkling of motherhood and I'm totally enraptured.  It's the perfect read to curl up with under a cozy blanket, mug of sweet and spicy tea in hand.  Hello, Autumn.  I will manifest your presence despite your stubborn dragging of the feet this year.

Happy Fall, friends!  Bring on the pumpkins and cozy sweatshirts...

You know the moment, the one of wonder or discovery or excitement.  It can be as simple at the neighing of a horse or a ladybug crawling across the sidewalk.  Eyes light up, there’s a squeal, maybe enthusiastic pointing or dancing of feet, and then it happens:

They lock eyes on you for affirmation.

If you smile and nod the joy continues, often escalating.  It’s hard not to smile or laugh at the grand enthusiasm that overflows as they simply discover life.  Things we rarely even notice are reason for joyful celebration in their tiny minds.  A bird flying over!  A train whistling!  A spoon to clang on the counter!  The simple, unadulterated joy of childhood.

Let’s be certain we don’t miss it. 

Those eye-locking moments of affirmation tell her she matters.  They tell her she is important, even now, unable to fully articulate her emotions, we get it.  We love that she loves the splash of the puddle, because we love her. 

We see you, darling girl.  We see your tiny toes in the water.  We see your shoes all soaking wet.  Does it feel cold?  Do you like how it splashes everywhere?  We see it.  All of it.  We see you.

I hear it darling girl, the sound of the fly buzzing in the window.  Is he trying to get out?  Can we catch him?  He won’t hurt you, I promise.  He’s just a buzzy little fly.  I hear him, darling girl.  I hear you.

I feel you darling girl, patting my shoulder as I scoop you up for a cuddle.  I feel every gentle pat of your tiny hand.  I love you too, sweet baby.  I feel you, always.

It takes all of 3 extra seconds to miss them, these individual, invaluable moments.  We’ve all seen it, time and time and time again… the dad checking email, the mom scrolling thru status updates.  The mind-numbing siren call to phone screens, computer screens, television screens.  Wake up, moma.  Open your eyes, papa.  Three seconds.  Miss them and you'll miss the beauty of childhood.

Life-giving beauty is unfolding right before your eyes.

Don’t miss it.

~Reaching for my husband’s hand, snuggled between crisp white sheets and a down comforter in the cool of our bedroom as the sun glows brighter by the moment.  He’s waking, our blue eyes and dimples is beginning to stir.  5 more minutes of hand holding.

~Frozen banana and almond milk, a splash of vanilla and cocoa powder, dollop of homemade nut butter.  Don’t inhale it.  Taste the flavors.  Savor.

~Chatting with my little sister.  She’s back to school in a matter of days.  Ask her questions, and really listen.

~Watching our girl at gymnastics, her wheels turning as she stares at older girls flipping from bars.  She isn’t too scared to swing from the ceiling, at least not in theory.  She swings with courage, then fear and tears come, coach brings her to a stop and she immediately looks at us with excitement signing ‘more, more!!’  We all laugh.

~Driving to the country.  Noticing the fields, the bales of hay, the barbed wire fences.  Rather than letting it breeze by, taking it all in, feeling it in my soul.

~Sitting with my grandmother.  I should be writing.  But she brought her writing, years upon years of scribbled poems.  I’m tempted to gracefully excuse myself, but she wants me to read them.  She wants to be seen and heard.  So I listen.  I read.  And I do my best to lock this moment away in my memory.  I’ll be grateful someday I did.

~My mother’s face the moment she locks eyes with Ev as we breeze thru the door.  It’s an expression I can envision every time I close my eyes.  Her eyes light up and the biggest grin spreads across her face.  She laughs, Ev giggles in response, they reach for each other and immediate chaos ensues.  It’s the expression every daughter hopes she sees on her own mother’s face someday.  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her more alive than I do now, as a grandmother.  I pray my children say the very same of me someday.

I could have gotten more done, no doubt.  More research, more writing, more planning.  But I would have missed dancing with my girl while her Pappy strummed the guitar.  I’d miss hearing my Granny giggle at my teasing.  I’d miss seeing my girl’s eyes light up at the sight of girls tumbling, baby goats romping around, laying eyes on her grandmother.

What's important are these things.  These simple, every day, beautiful things.

Nothing much cuter than a fuzzy baby chick!  We've been planning to get chickens since moving into the cottage last summer.  Our original plan was to adopt a few grown hens from my parents, but recently someone (ahem, my mother) suggested we really needed baby chicks for Everyn.  She pointed out how they'd become more like pets if they grew up being handled a lot.  Of course there's no way around endless cuddling with a curious, animal-loving toddler who already happens to be a pro at the sport of chicken-watching. The biggest selling point was when I realized how many hours of indoor entertainment they'd provide.  Sold!  Off to the hardware store we went.

Meet Pepper!  

Pepper is a breed called Dominique.  She'll grow into a stunning black and white stripped hen in a few months.

And here's Ruby.

How cute is she??  Ruby is a Rhode Island Red.  Think classic little red hen.  She tends to be the favorite so far thanks to her friendly nature.

This is Ginger.

Ginger is a Gold Sexlink.  She'll be a lovely golden hen when she's all grown up. 

And here's Suzie.   

She's an Americana.  A real looker with her natural eyeliner and fluffy cheeks!  Americanas can turn out lots of different ways, but we think she'll be a lovely silvery grey.  She's also what they call an 'easter egger' because she'll lay beautiful light blue or green eggs.

And finally, Agnes.

Agnes is a Gold Laced Wyandotte.  All grown up she'll be a gorgeous black and orange-y gold color, with a stunning scalloped pattern all over.    

They're living in a bin in our kitchen right now, until they're old enough to fend for themselves outside.  (and the construction of their new coop is completed--it's so darling)  I grew up with chickens all my life, but I forgot how fun they can be when you humanize them and make them pets.  Great example: They'll actually start 'screaming' when too much time passes and they haven't heard our voices.  It's an incredibly loud, frantic peeping we can hear all the way upstairs that would make you think something was trying to eat them!  So funny.  Every once in a while we actually have to go down and calm them.  But my favorite is when they go to sleep.  They don't roost yet the way you imagine chickens sleeping, the just sort of melt into fuzzy feathery little puddles scattered around their bin. Sometimes they use each other as pillows.  It's hilarious.  Just not they way you imagine chickens behaving.  

So that's our little flock!  We're happy to have them.  And now my husband has moved on to discussing our dire need for honey bees.  Of course...