Space under the Showerhead

There is a sweet spot underneath the shower head where the water runs down your back and you can breathe deeply. Mind you, this is a risky move. Water can run up your nose at any moment (ugh that is the worst. It brings you back to the sixth grade pool party when the boys dunk you under water. They are flirting, but what they don't realize is that you now have snot coming out and you are gasping for air. Not so cute.) sooo it is really important to find the sweet spot. 

In my moments of complete overwhelm or flood of emotion, I find this space under the shower and take deep breaths and feel the water flood down my scalp and ears and back. But never once does the water disrupt my breathing. I like how the water shuts out other sounds and mutes the internal dialogue in my little, tired brain.

I can repeat truth to myself in the moments. Pray. Rest. Be.

(note: my dad and all of my coaches will be disappointed that I did not use a basketball reference when referencing "sweet spot". So, for the sake of my inner athlete, it can also be related to finding your sweet spot with your shot. you find your rhythm. swish. swish. swish. and you don't even second guess your form. the sweet spot under the shower has the same feeling of just tuning out and narrowing into the rhythm of your shot.)

There is a sweet spot to community too. Surrounded by 20 women at my sister's bridal shower (eeek! My baby sis is getting married. Cheesy smile all around. Through the confetti. All of it.), I was reminded of the sweet spot that is breathing in community.  

These women helped raise me. These moms walked through life with me from before I was born through today.  Holidays, beach days, sports games, camping trips, bible studies. This girl knows the sweet spot of community, or at least the fruit of her mom's community. It lets you blossom and breathe freely. It lets you come home and be known. 

In Kansas City, I am finding sweet spots of community. It doesn't have the strength and fortitude of 28+ years of stability to it...yet. It is still creating mileage. It's a little more tender and touchy and young. I am still learning how to sacrifice for others. how to breathe in deeply and be free in it. how to find my rhythm. But the freshness to new communities is sweet in its own right. 

My community of women and I are still learning how to listen. love. forgive. walk together well. 

I asked my mom (she is practically a queen of women's ministry. Especially leading and mentoring young moms. Could she be any cuter?!) about her experience. We talked about group dynamics and safe spaces and what listening looks like and how at 57, it's still messy.

a pic of my cute mom to validate my point above...

But messy isn't bad, it just is. Pursuing people despite the mess is a glimpse of how God pursues us- He sees our mess and He scoops us up. And I want that. 

Glancing at the patio full of women who walked beside my mom (and my sister and I) for the past 28 years is a reminder of God's goodness and gifts to us. Even when it is hard, He gives us opportunities to love each other well and to be loved well. 

Someday, I pray that I have the privilege of laughing and reminiscing and celebrating and crying happy tears at the future bridal showers of our born and unborn children. I will marvel at the years He gave us to be friends. The trials we walked through together. And the sweet spot of community. 

breathe it in

Notes of Nostalgia

Nostalgia is an odd feeling. I am not quite sure it matches up with what I want to value in life- being present in the moment. But it's a real feeling and a lot of people evoke that emotion when they think back on college. 

Then I feel guilty because I don't conjourn up such feelings. 

Attending my fifth year reunion at Yale reminded me of my lack of nostalgia for that experience. It was fabulous to reconnect with so many great people and experiences at the reunion. But it did not lead to one inkling of nostalgia. I don't long for that time. place. life stage. College was a time when I learned the hard way how to find solutions to tough problems...and that doesn't usually lead to warm and fuzzy memories.

Am I appreciative of my education? 100%

Am I thankful for my friendships? You better believe! 

Am I blessed to have this community to which I can return and immediately "just be"? Yes sir. Yes ma'am. 

BUT, you could not pay me to go back in time. 

Prior to attending my reunion, I admit that I was a little nervous. My first two years in college had so many hard memories, so much homesickness, change, identity challenge, that I wasn't sure I wanted to go visit. The beautiful piece of the story is that God changed my heart and perspective to fully experience the greatness of Yale and my community during my final two years there. I learned how to seize new opportunities to make the most of my experience and solve my own problem of unhappiness with my college life. But the feeling of pain somewhat remains when I visit campus.

It's like when we hear a Backstreet Boys song and we magically think back to sixth grade. And then we think "thank goodness music improved since then". Yup, it's just like that. 

Music and reunions are time travel machines.

For me, college wasn't a carefree, good ole days type of experience. 

When I mentioned my feelings about Yale to a former classmate of mine this weekend, he nodded in agreement (by the way, where were the people nodding with me during the midst of my struggle? People do a much better job at hiding their true feelings than me). He appropriately and thoughtfully described the college experience as "formative".

To which I say, yes!

That is a great way to explain my college experience (and I am sure many of your experiences as well). 

My experience at Yale will forever be formative. the relationships I developed will forever be special.

However, there will not be a moment when I wish I could go back. Life is too good and the present moment is too sweet. There are too many lessons to learn. friendships to build. communities to serve. 

So this whole nostalgia thing just doesn't mash up with what I want to value. 

I don't want to forget the backstreet moments, though. They are too formative to ignore yet not worth wishing away the present. 

Check Your Ego at the Door

You betta check yo'self before you wreck yo'self. 

Or at least check your ego at the door (not your eggos, but if you have those, you can check them at my door. And I will eat #alltheeggossssss).

Recently at a work event, I came face-to-face with my ego. I don't typically think of myself as a very egocentric person. I work on humility, can usually see the good that people offer even when they are frustrating, and don't think I have all of the answers. (Key word=usually and all)

There are surely moments where I demonstrate overly confident behavior but that's usually not my M.O. 

When was the last time you were in a situation that forced you to see your ugly?

Here's mine:

All dressed up. Black tie event. Networking. Drinks. Dinner. Blah blah blah ;)

In my current job, there is great importance to building community. So here I was building community. AND I got to do it at one of the tables of honor, as I will call it for ease of storytelling. 

How exciting! 

Only to find out, through some sort of mishap, there was not the right amount of seats at my table. I had no problem volunteering for Grant and I to go to another table. 

So we moved. Avoided confusion. Didn't make a big deal of it. 

But why did I feel weird? 

You know why? Because I wanted to feel like I was important. But instead, I was at the last table, literally the last. that was at 25 percent capacity. with two students. I was looking, from afar, at the tables at which I "should" have been sitting with all the "important" people doing the networking. 

Grant looked at me and knew something was off. I did too. It didn't take me long to go from-

Graciously giving up my seat to 

Feeling left out to 

Being jealous of all the "important" people to

Realizing that my ego is bigger than I thought to

Knowing I was, actually, just where I needed to be

It is in the moments where we see our ugly and admit it's not good, that God can do His best work. 

God took my little egotistical heart and gently said "hey, you think you deserve to be up there? you think that tells you your identity? is that where you are placing your hope? Little girl, come drink from the true fountain of hope. Come find your identity in me." 

And I was again reminded of how the places in which I seek importance are skewed. 

And I was again reminded that I am no better than any one person. It is no better to talk to a CEO than to a man in need. In fact, where can I serve? Where should I serve? 

What I shouldn't forget is "Your unfailing love is better than life itself"- Pslam 63:3

There is no reason why I should feel different at the first table compared to the last table. In fact, even having a seat at any table means nothing. His love is enough.

I wish I could have written this post and said something like "I generously gave up my seat and was so happy about it (...and then I went out and fed the hungry and served the needy and loved on people like woah)."

But I can't say that. And wouldn't write it if it was true anyway. 

Reality, folks. Sometimes we do good and our hearts are trailing behind in reform. God steps in and says, "not quite, little one. let's examine your heart here." Just me? 

I didn't think so. 

What I love, in thinking back to this night and in my trivial example of how I saw some ugly in my heart, is thinking how God so lovingly and tenderly showed my sin to me. And so beautifully challenges me to be more like him (with grace that has no ends). 

The rest of the night, I got the chance to get to know two college students, their background, future dreams, and current struggles. And I learned a little more of my great need for God. 

It was a taste and reminder of how He wants us to serve- with humility, joy, and self-sacrifice. 

The table seating was just as it was meant to be.

What is also meant to be is a coworker who somehow wears an eerily similar dress to the same event. Love it!  

Budgets, Tennis, and Healthy Competition

What do budgets, tennis, and healthy competition have to do with each other?

You may think that budgets and tennis have nothing to do with one another, but ohhhhhhhh...let.me..tell.you! The one secret I have to a well-functioning (trying to become well-functioning...?) marriage (besides trusting Jesus..obvi) is an awesome little category to your budget for a "slush fund".

Slush fund is our super technical phrase for personal spending money. We allocate a small amount each month for spending at our own discretion (the holy grail of not having to explain why I saved up to spend money on a dress at Anthropolgie when Target sells them for half the price- genius!).

The actual reason why I am recommending a slush fund has nothing to do with the little items that Grant and I purchase on our own....but rather, it has everything to do with the fact that it allows for us to bet against one another and for the bet to actually mean something (granted, this only applies if you share bank accounts). This technique is great for people who like a little healthy competition.

You with me? Here is an example:

You and you husband go to play mini-golf. It is not enough to merely play the game. There needs to be something more in it for you to truly give your all and all. Sooooo.... you make a bet. If he wins- free ice cream. If you win- free lavendar tea latte. If you share a bank account, there is no real win here. But, if you have your little slush fund, when you win, you get to have that delicious little latte from his slush fund.

You can thank me later for such a great idea.

Grant and I play tennis about three times a week now (check out my spring awakening experiment to see how that fits into my vision) and we are absolutely loving the ability to make real bets (we aren't competitive at all...#sarcasm). I mean, of course there is all that other good stuff that comes from playing tennis together like being outside, playing a sport, having quality time together...yahdahyahdahyahdah....It's really about the free latte, folks! ;)

With some friends and people in our bible study, the idea of a budget has come up more and more. Because Grant and I are both people that like systems, we created a budget spreadsheet that we update monthly and track savings and spending in about 15 categories (our system is probably intense for most human beings....we get it! we are a little craycray) However, if you are interested in having a template, feel free to email me and I will send you the template we created (see screenshots below).
email: jacqueline.r.erickson@gmail.com

Perhaps it will save you the trouble of formatting, designing categories, and writing formulas. Just select your categories and add in your target numbers to get your magical spreadsheet. And don't forget to win all the bets with your new slush fund (you can find this section in our spreadsheet under the lamely titled columns of "JER Misc" and "RGR Misc"- be more creative than that please).

Pulling at my Heartstrings

God has been pulling at my heartstrings lately. It has been gentle and easy, but more and more present. and just a wee bit louder with each pluck. (our hearts need that sometimes. when we are out of tune with our Maker. frankly, I should be surprised I don't hear a trumpet blowing right in my ear to wake me up!!! because, I act deaf, I guess. Luckily He has lots of loud instruments for people like me and you.)

It started with a book I just finished called Every Bitter Thing Is Sweet by Sara Hagerty. Sara writes a beautiful memoir about her longing to have children and the inability to conceive. Even more so than that, or the amazing story of how she adopts four children from Africa, the story is about how she communes with God through the pain and joy of daily life. 

While I may not resonate with the longing to have children and the pain associated with not beig able to conceive (just not in that phase of life yet peeps! Thank goodness for all involved), I do relate to the feeling of longing, I think we all do. 

And what was exciting. intriguing. intimidating almost. was the way she talked with God. She listened to Him and waited and pleaded and cried out to and read His Word to learn who He is in a way that she could speak Truth to herself when it felt like the world was crumbling around her. In a way that she was present to all the paths He has open to her.

After I got a glimpse into her heart, I left feeling almost like being pushed to the edge of a high diving board with my toes hanging off the edge, arms flailing, and apprehensive smile busting out with the excitement of a thrill about to come, if you just muster the courage to jump. How can I not seek after that type of communion with God? 

More and more. He pulls my heartstrings. 

With some dear friends and my husband, I have been processing how they see God working in their life either as individuals or as a couple. 

I just realize I don't know how to do this well, and I especially don't know how to do this as a unit with Grant. I'm still learning. But I think it starts with me asking God what he has for me. 

Where are you moving in my life?

Where can I serve you more?

Give me glimpses of your goodness. 

What do you have in store for me today? This week? Next year?

Pull at my heartstrings so I can hear you. 

Of course I am having trouble knowing how God is working in my life, in Grants and my life together, if we aren't even asking the questions. I can't tell you how He is moving in my life right now, which tells me I am not in tune with His melody. 

Don't get comfortable with silence. And I don't want a comfortable life (well, actually I do, that's why I save money and buy nice things and build up my little life of safety nets around me). But we are called to more, my friends. 

I just know He has so much more in store for me and you than I can imagine, so how about trying to ask what exactly that might be?! Because I don't want to miss that. I don't want to miss out on the God of the universe calling me to something great.

(Good ole Carl and I happen to have different beliefs on God, but I certainly like his quote :))

And that greatness is not necessarily something BIG as we view it- like moving to another country. It's BIG because it's God's calling, even if to the world it is unnoticeable (like cleaning the house for the millionth time without help and not saying anything about it. Or sticking through a frustrating conversation when all you want to do is walk out of the house and be by yourself).

Everyone's BIG looks different. But I feel Him plucking and it is not a tune I want to ignore. 

I will be learning to ask and seek. feel the plucking and hear the melody that He so beautifully sings when I open my ears. 

Making Friends with Mud

It's been one of those months where I feel like I am getting pushed down into the dirt, again and again, just to gather myself, get my two feet under me, and get slapped back down into the mud. Basically, the mud and I are becoming friends. 

My knees are scrapped. arms are dirty. ego bruised. abilities questioned. 

But I scrap and fight and learn and rise up. again and again. 

March is kicking my butt personally and professionally. Whether it is projects going slower than I want and learning tough lessons at work or failing to communicate well with my husband, my butt is officially kicked. And it just feels hard to get up. 

Here is what I am learning through my mud friendship/butt-kicking:

We all know you learn through failure. We learn a lot when we are knee deep in mud. So in some ways, letting the mud shape me and change me are great. I mean otherwise, you would find me standing, tears streaming, facing my husband, using a less than pleasant voice tone to make a point again and again without learning a lesson (oh wait, that still happens and I still make that mistake all the time. I guess that lesson is taking longer to learn than others)

What is difficult for me is not letting those buttkickings distract me from my identity. 

You know the reason why getting pushed into the mud is so hard for me? For you?

Because we value the wrong things. It wouldn't be so hard to fail and find myself in the dirt time and time again if I rembered where my true value came from- being a daughter of God. 

But how often do I forget... How often do I place trust in my own abilities, skills, and success? And when those fail me... No wonder I am so distraught!! I put my faith in myself rather than a God who is greater than all my strengths and all my troubles. 

If my identity were not so clearly wrapped up in my success of failure, then getting pushed in the mud would simply become an opportunity to learn. But that's not how it feels. 

And that's when I realize just how much I try and rely on my own strength. And that's just when I need this verse to bring me hope again...

"Cursed is the man who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength, whose heart departs from the Lord.

For he shall be like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see when good comes,
But shall inhabit the parched places in the wilderness....Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord.

For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, which spreads out its roots by the river, and will not fear when heat comes; but its leaf will be green,
And will not be anxious in the year of drought...." Jeremiah 17:5-8

We don't have to be shrubs in a desert (yeah! Take that shrubs in deserts!). How beautiful is the imagery of a tree with deep roots in life-giving water. I want to be rooted in that goodness. And I want to stand tall, feet planted, and look up to God for strength. 

(This is one of many photos that I have where people catch me trying to soak up the sun. But it's pretty much the same stance I picture as trying to be a tree, rather than a shrub. And it's a heck a lot cuter than a photo representative of me "face down in the mud all pissy about how things are not going well". Sometimes I spare you those details :))

The times when I get pushed in the mud and find it most difficult are the times I am acting like a shrub. the times I am finding my strength in my own talents or putting my hope in other people. 

But when I remember I am a tree, I don't have to worry about lack of water or that projects don't go well or that I mess up or that it feels hard to stand up from the pile of dirt in which I am laying. I can make friends with mud and face failure because I am rooted in God and can trust that this too will pass. And even if it doesn't, and even when I am face down in the mud, He sustains me. He is enough. 

An Awakening Experiment

Spring is awakening. You can feel it through the sun's rays. hear it in the morning bird chirps. see it in children's smiles as they frolic in front yards (and their parents who let them run around like little crazies because "gosh darnit, it's just so good not to be trapped inside with three kids under the age of four". That is my parent voice that you just heard. You can tell me if it is accurate or not. My guess is, yes.)

Spring means bringing this little guy back to it's cute little self state where he has nice, green leaves! Hooray for spring.

In congruence with the new life that spring brings, I am beginning an awakening of my own...

I want to explore creativity and wonder through developing new skills and cultivating new experiences to enjoy. I love that God created us to be curious (some have a stornger knack for it then others...aka my friend who quit his job and is traveling around South America...nbd)

But, curiosity can be a quality that we hone. we grow. we practice. When I am curious, I am at full attention. sometimes my brain spins a million miles a minute trying to "figure it out". The desire to understand and to satisfy the curiosity brings excitement to me.

Think about the last time you listened to your curious spirit. Think about the last time you didn't just ask someone what they do for a living and scramble to the next best small talk question. Did you really and genuinely ask about their day-to-day work? or how they enjoyed it? or what life choices along their way lead them to that path?

How about this...think about the last time you wondered what something tasted like. or how an experience would make you feel. or if you could do it too. When was the last time you wondered? When was the last time you did something to satisfy the curiosity? When was the last time you tried something and didn't care if you "failed"?

In the spirit of awakening curiosity, my experiment begins. In some ways, it began when I started this blog. I didn't let the fear of what people will think of me deter me from trying. (and, frankly,  I still have to remind myself that people's approval of me will not bring me joy. wholeness. true satisfaction. Instead, I write to share my journey for learning how to love God. learning how to create community. learning how to generate hospitality.)

I am going to try 11 new experiences to fully embrace curiosity. creativity. wonder. 

Here is my brainstorm:

1. Make homemade candles (complete- blog to come soon)
2. Pick up tennis as a hobby (in proces- blog to come soon)
3. Learn to sew (maybe even make patio furniture cushions...wow, that's ambitious considering I do not even know how to turn on the machine)
4. Plant an herb garden
5. Plant a (mini) flower garden (ok...maybe let's go with- plant flowers. garden makes that seem way too overwhelming for this girl to handle. i have yet to attempt to keep a plant alive.)
6.  Visit a museum by my lonesome (really see how going without company influences the experience)
7. Watch sunrise at the beach with coffee in hand (now this one, people, is a BIG deal. it requires getting up early. hello! also made possible with family that live in OC)
8. Host neighbors over for drinks (let's cultivate community peeps!)
9.  ??
10. ??
11. ??

9-11 are still up in the air. Do you have suggestions? Or want to read about my trying something and completing messing it all up? Great- send your ideas my way! I am totally open to looking like a fool and smiling while doing so. :) Or create your own awakening experiment and share your ideas with others (and hopefully me too!).

My hope for this awakening experiment is to cultivate a curious mind that experiences joy, notices wonder, and celebrates the way that God allows us to experience creativity. Second hope= laugh at all of the mishaps that are SURE to happen as I embark on this silly journey.


Also, after I wrote this post, I read an article about the power of pausing and trying new things that even puts science behind some of my crazy statements. The author of the article actually gives some of the same examples that I do- so imagine that...maybe I am not all that crazy after all.

The Dwelling Place

Can I officially unofficially copyright my coffee shop name? It shall be named "The Dwelling Place". (Because I used the word "shall", it makes my declaration that much more official...ya know?)

You can praise me for my great shop name now or later. through blog comments. facebook comments. or even in person. Thank you.

While I have literally no plans to start a coffee shop (I love my career- thankfully!),  it has consistently been the back-up plan to my contingency plan to my uh-oh plan. Basically, I will probably never start a coffee shop, but I am absolutely head-over-heels in love with the idea of owning a coffee shop. 

To which all people close to me would laugh in my face and ask me the last time I got up before 6am. Let's just ignore the logistics here, folks. Geesh!

 (to provide further context to another way I love something that will never happen- I am in love with the idea of living in a small town. Friday Night Lights- the series, not the movie- cursed me forever in that I am super obsessed with Tami Taylor and the community feel.That show portrays small town life in such a beautiful and complex light. But, alas, I am a city girl, now and forevermore. amen.)

Coffee shops represent so many of my most favorite things in the world:

1. lattes (mmmmmm....you are not living until you have the lavender tea latte at Kaldi's. half-sweetened, and skim milk. puhlease and thank you)
2. baked goods. yessssss! (so, I actually rarely order baked goods. but they are there and they are beautiful and enticing)
3. community atmosphere.
4. people watching.
5. space to slow down.

It is a place to dwell. Dwell is one of the top words on my "words I love" list that I keep. (if you must know, here are some others- abide, ripple, serenity, sheninigans.)

To me, dwelling implies a peaceful resting and a feeling of home. Community.

The same reason I idealize owning a coffee shop is the same reason I idealize FNL/small town life bringing strong community. But we can slow down and create room for us to dwell in many other locations and spaces.

Sometimes the dwelling doesn't even need a coffee shop or living room. 

Ultimately, the peace I receive from dwelling in God is the greatest. Sitting on the couch with my legs folded underneath a comfy blanket, tea in hand, and candle lit. Talking to God my Father in who I can fully rest. Like I said, to dwell gives me the warmest feeling of being fully myself and fully at peace. 

Then dwelling becomes less about the space and more of an act and way of being. 

Amidst pieces of my life feeling totally out of my control- which puts me in anything but a peaceful mood- I find comfort in knowing I can rest in a God who is fully in control. and invites me into His dwelling place. and enters into my chaos. 

That dwelling place is better than any fake coffee shop idea I have anyway. 

Funny side note about coffee shops- I totally used to think I would meet my husband in a coffee shop. Ya... That didn't happen. But coffee shops are still magical like that. Believe in the magic! 

With Cupped Hands

There is a posture I often emulate to better position my heart to reflect an attitude that I want to project: cupped and open hands.

At the end of every church service, when the pastor reads the Benediction, I cup my hands and hold them open as a representation of hearing the word. accepting the word. internalizing the message. It represents my desire to be open and receive what God has in store for me.

It is not just the physical posture of cupped hands that is important, but rather the heart stance. So, in times and places where it would be just a wee bit strange for me to be standing there with my hands open in my front of me (which is probably most situations) I evoke the image of cupped hands in my head.

Otherwise, just picture me at the cash register with open hands as the grocer tells me my total. Not awkward at all. Or how about in a meeting discussing changes to a project. umm...excuse me, why are your hands like that? do you need something?...oh no, sorry. I am just trying to hear what you say with an open heart. ok crazy!. 

My most recent encounter with needing to conjure up this image was returning home to Kansas City after visiting my family in California this past week.

First off, if you left this...

you would have problems too. Just because. Period. (Also, please note that I predict the following will happen: my parents will give me grief that the photo I post in relation to it being hard for me to leave is a picture of the ocean rather than them. Noted. That is why there is a photo of them here too - oh, and because I love them :)). 

The image I tried to focus on was different than my norm; this time I visualized holding both of my hands separate and loose at my sides. I tried (am still trying?) to posture a representation of appreciating the goodness that both my California and Kansas City homes offer me without clinging to them.

My left hand holds California. my parents. sunshine. ocean. childhood memories. many family friends.
My right hand holds Kansas City. my new marriage. church and community. passion-fulfilling career. snow? (nope...still not really that into it)

I can loosely hold both of them. I just can't cup my hands and hold all of them at the same time. Which means hard goodbyes are inevitable and gratitude is still possible.

My left hand holds the sadness of leaving lots that I love.
My right hand holds the goodness and blessings that God gave to me.

And it is ok to hold both the sadness and goodness at the same time. It is ok to be a 27 year-old who sits at gate C17 at the Phoenix airport during her layover and lets tears stream down her face without caring who awkwardly stares at her because she already misses her parents (to all of the parents and future parents out there, this statement should give you encouragement. there is potential for your child to love you this deeply).

I am beyond blessed to love people and places so much that it hurts to leave. I am beyond blessed to come home to people and places that bring so much joy to my life. So I will hold this posture. I will hold my hands. open. to my side. recognize the goodness of God to give me so much to love. receive His strength to carry me when it feels hard to not cup my hands and hold all that I desire. and rest in His arms knowing my ultimate home is with Him.

Let's Break Bread Together

Breaking bread (no...not breaking bad) is not a commonly used phrase. No one really asks me to come break bread with them. But this phrase means more to me than sharing a meal.

It can hold so many different meanings for so many different people. I believe that breaking bread stems out of a desire for community. It is an offspring of God's goodness in our lives. I believe that breaking bread can look different and I love exploring, experiencing, and hosting opportunities to break bread with people. The whole concept makes me smile ear-to-ear and I relish such a beautiful concept.

My most recent experience with hospitality took place this past Saturday. Grant and I hosted a Valentine's Dinner Party.  Breaking bread with people you love is so sacred and intimate.

Dining Table Setting. I'm obsessed with these gold chargers!

You might be thinking that sacred and intimate are odd word choices to describe a dinner party. I get it. But consider this...

Breaking bread is a timeless activity in which hundreds (thousands? millions?...how old is our Earth? I swear I was never taught science. sigh. judge away) of generations participated. Can't you picture Jesus pouring wine for disciples at dinner? Can't you smell the food that women prepared in the kitchen (Probably ignore the body odor that was also flowing into the scene. I don't think they had our idea of hygiene. This is selective sensory imagination time). Odd sense recall aside, such a lasting act becomes sacred.

There must be a captivating story happening right here...

I love that the tradition of creating a meal and then inviting neighbors to join, is timeless.

Intimate comes to mind for a couple of reasons:

1) breaking bread with friends and family is an invitation to slow down. I think when we put time and energy into the food and environment we are in, we are more likely to pause. and appreciate.



2) breaking bread is an easier-to-accept-invitation for real conversation. There is something about sitting around the table and sharing a meal that invites us to converse over topics that really matter and truly share our hearts and lives with one another. What is more intimate than sharing our personal joys and struggles? (And doing it while you are chewing. I hear true intimacy is created when you talk and chew at the same time! Ya, let me see that spit-filled pork. mhmm)



3) breaking bread creates vulnerability. Come to my home. Eat my home-cooked meal. Let's live life together. I actually love this type of vulnerability, yet I still have a piece of me that worries about my cooking not being good enough or not having enough to say. You can fill in the blank for that statement, because people have different worries, but moving past them is key to truly living life together. (I have to admit- some of the "my cooking won't be good" worry is self-inflicted because I always seem to make the interesting choice of trying a new recipe the night we have company....so...there's that. I will choose to believe that I work well under pressure and like high stakes.  Let's just call it a bold choice of trying a new recipe rather than an interesting one. Yup, bold, that's it!) 



4) breaking bread is messy. Both figuratively and literally. You have people over and the pork is done too soon so you have to keep it warm, but the candles aren't lit, and the welcome drinks you were so excited about are not poured yet. Oh ya, and the champagne popped in the fridge and is running down all of the shelves and across the kitchen floor. And there goes the timer and the doorbell. Acutally, surprisingly, all of that happened on Saturday and none of it stressed me out (yesssss people, progress!). You want more literal mess examples- after cleaning up, I now know the messiest eaters of the bunch and who had their own hair land on their plate. :)

a sign of a great night= lots of mess

Thinking back to some of my most poignant memories of experiencing hospitality reminds me of how different it can look. In middle school, I can remember loving going over to a particular friend's house. It wasn't because it was the biggest or nicest home. It wasn't because the family had everything together. It wasn't because it was the most convenient or the cleanest or anything special, really. But everything about the experience was inviting and safe and welcoming.You could be yourself and make yourself at home.

 

Breaking bread with girls in my Gospel Community group gave way to such beautiful and real conversation.

Nothing fancy about this breaking bread, but it sure was nifty to get together with my cousin and her husband.

I love that hospitality does not mean that you need to have it all together. I love that breaking bread together can be messy. I love that sometimes it means you offer people drinks and sometimes it means they go to your cabinet without asking and pour themselves wine.


Some books that shape the way I feel about hospitality are below:



Bread and Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table with Recipes


Around the Table
 
Community: Taking Your Small Group Off Life Support (actually about to read it. maybe more to come?)

I would love to hear about other good reads :) Send 'em on over.

"It's Not Fair"

I can remember using the phrase "it's not fair" so many times in my childhood. Especially in the middle school days. Ahh...middle schoolers! what isn't fair...that children go through the awkward middle school phase- see below

Photo: 8th grade promotion dance- all of our finest moments. Also, I still have that dress and wear it. #lifewin

On a more serious note than the fairness of middle-school awkwardness, I was reminded of my desire for justice and for fairness (for both small and large issues) in a recent sermon that touched on the verse "If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also" (Matthew 5:39). It was so beautiful to be reminded of how much grace we receive from God and therefore how much grace we can extend to others, even when it is not fair. hear the sermon here

Some struggle with not portioning out what they consider to be "just retaliation" more than others do. My husband is one who would admit to struggling with giving grace when it is undeserved.

When I asked his permission to mention this struggle, he said, "yes, but i will retaliate later for it." Gotta love his humor. :)

There have been moments...let's just say hypothetically ;)...where I complain- loudly- about briefcases, shoes, dirty workout clothes being in random places throughout the house (you must be thinking about how lovely I am to live with. yes, thank you. it is lovely to live with me). Grant's reaction is to immediately shut down and give me the silent treatment for an indefinite amount of time (which he just told me is the reaction of a two year old. see, at least we know we are ridiculous human beings).

We can go on for days about why my reaction is not great, but for the sake of staying on topic, we can focus on how we punish people when we are mad/hurt/upset. Even those we love. Especially those we love.

While silent treatment isn't necessarily my go to and retaliation isn't really my biggest struggle, I can feel the damage of it and see the ways that I feel just in responding in a similarly punishing manner.

What a great reminder that even when we are wronged or feel wronged, we can (should) act out of love. It is freeing to know that we are not the ultimate Judge and how dare I, someone just as messed up as the next person, determine what is fair and just. I don't mean to say that we should overlook injustice. In fact, we are called to work towards justice. I am referring to all of the everyday moments that we feel wronged and then consciously or subconsciously determine the "punishment".

When was the last time you gave someone the cold shoulder?
When was the last time you did the opposite of what your husband/wife/friend/coworker asked of you just to "really show them who is in control"?
When was the last time you stewed over your frustration for months without forgiving?

There are endless examples of how we feel entitled to "teach them a lesson".

But friends, this is so the opposite of grace. Where can I, you, we, see areas of our life where we don't need to hold that grudge because we are free to give grace freely and love extremely? Where can we walk the extra mile even when we were unjustly caused to walk the first? Where can we, instead of exclaiming "it's not fair" to our parents (bahaha...silly throwback example), remember the grace that God offers us and extend that to others?

The Weekend Expectation

On a normal weekend, how do you spend your time?

Excluding travel weekends, a solid weekend for me usually consists of a few of my favorite things...

shopping trips to Target/Home Goods/Trader Joe's
a walk outside (dreaming of walking outside when it is too cold to do so)
church
cooking a real meal (because I can't seem to muster up enough energy to do that during the work week)
playing some sort of game (preferably Settlers :))

The complexity enters into this conversation because it's not exactly what I do on the weekend that matters as much as it is how I do it. I can leave a weekend more exhausted than the week because I did not get enough introvert time or I ran too many errands/did too many chores/did too much work. I can leave a weekend feeling lonely because I spent the whole time running errands by myself or had little to no real conversations with people I love.

I am still learning the right balance for me. I am still learning how much time I should spend with Grant and the exact tipping point where we miiiiiight just want to spent some time apart (A little healthy alone time does every marriage some good. ;))

Grant and I are still navigating our different expectations for weekend activities (also, note the only thing I can think about when I say "activities" is a scene from Stepbrothers. anyone? anyone?)

While he has, what can probably be deemed, a more "adult" expectation for a weekend- one that includes completing fix-it projects, reviewing the budget, filing documents, blah, blah blah- I can't seem to want to work on those tasks for more than two hours. I know it's an unrealistic expectation to avoid chores on the weekend... But a girl can dream.

 The "how you do things" piece enters in here.... Head down, get it done approach v music blaring, take longer than necessary breaks for chips and salsa approach. So now we are talking about navigating the how we do chores and the amount of chores. Because now it's not just what works for me or him, but what works for us.   

I love hearing how different couple's handle, what I will call, the weekend expectation. My parent's for example, the cutest little married things in the world, spend a lot of time apart and are totally content. I have other family friends who literally do EVERYTHING together (I'm not even sure they go to the bathroom separately....ok, I probably can be sure about that. but still.)

It is about finding what works for you. Plus, a little trial by error never hurt anyone. Let me know what works for you.