An Update On Peach Pesto Pizza (and a summer thought on delight)

I had to pay $20 to Squarespace this week for my domain renewal, so I figured I’d make use of that twenty bucks and share a few words. Here they are:

It’s summer again and I have a newborn in the house again. Also a toddler, which is chaotic. But the best kind of chaos. Especially right now, in these dog days, when everything is hot and slow and Sam is always sweaty and smelling like outside and Josh and I are almost exclusively drinking white wine spritzers and rose and Jane is just starting to smile.

Summer is, always and forever, my favorite. Summer bursts with life and fun and goodness and bounty and delight.

This summer in particular has been one of practicing delight in little things. It turns out that I, a lover of grand gestures and big plans, am finding the greatest joy in the simplest moments: my weekly zinnia and dahlia harvest (I am ruined; I simply must have zinnias every summer from now until I die), running errands alone as the sun sets (summer twilight is a magical time), sitting in the blow up pool on the deck with a novel, an evening at home with friends. It’s all small. But it fills me all the way up and each time it happens I try to capture the feeling and tuck it away for the days that I feel like I need more: more excitement, more clothes, more trips, more treats, more things.

I really don’t need more things. But more delight is always good. More treasuring up simple beauty. Here, in the summertime, raising some babies and watering some zinnias. Although—full disclosure—it is absolutely Josh who rolls the hose out every day in the heat to water the zinnias. I just cut them and arrange them in vases all over the house.

Another delight of summer for me is pizza. Specifically (as presented in my post from two summers ago) Pesto, Peach & Prosciutto Pizza. I thought I hit the nail on the head with my original recipe, but it turns out two more years of summer pizza making has resulted in an infinitely better product. So here it is!

Summer Peach, Pesto & Prosciutto Pizza

You’ll need:

• 1 *Trader Joe’s pizza dough (the actual fresh dough! It’s next to the cheese)

• Corn meal (optional, but it’s nice)

• Fresh pesto (next to the fresh dough and the cheese, or you can make your own)

• 1 peach OR nectarine (turns out either one works)

• Prosciutto

• Shredded mozzarella

*This recipe is not sponsored by Trader' Joe’s but it probably should be

Set the dough out to rest for 20 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 450 degrees and lay out a piece of parchment paper. Sprinkle with a generous amount of cornmeal. This gives your pizza that very legit fancy-pizza quality and makes it not stick to the paper.

Prepare toppings: thinly!! slice your stone fruit and tear prosciutto into small-ish ribbons.

Once the dough is ready, shape (to the best of your ability) the dough into a circle and place on the cornmeal/parchment paper. Cover with pesto. Leave some room for crust.

Sprinkle with a thin layer of mozzarella, then place your peach and prosciutto pieces however you like. Top it all with more mozzarella.

Bake (on the parchment paper, directly on the rack) for 8ish minutes. Then pop the broiler on for a couple of minutes to make the cheese brown and bubble a bit. Keep. An. Eye. On. It. or it’ll burn.

And that’s all! It’s summer on a pizza pie. It’s the easiest clean up in the world (which matters to me now like it never has before). And it’s a delight.

Cheers to summer. Cheers to finding and creating moments of delight, in whatever season of life you find yourself. May those moments point you to the Creator of Delight and serve to remind you of his goodness. Amen and amen.

Peaches for a slow summer

Two summertime things to share:

One: We’re out of that bleary-eyed newborn stage now and the summer days have been long and sweet. A funny thing: this season is pretty quiet and slow—a reality I thought would bother me about new motherhood. Slow and quiet have never been my preferred way of living. But I’m finding I truly enjoy these endless summer days with their monotonous rhythm. The consistent drumbeat of eat, wake, sleep guides each hour. Spontaneity is a little bit harder to come by and a 6:30 a.m. wake up call means the days are quite literally longer. And yet every day is full of so much learning, growing, and newness (for me and for Sam), the days don’t feel even a little bit stale.

Two: Peach season never quite feels long enough. Kind of like summer itself, which always seems to fly too quickly by for my liking. Gotta make the most of it while you can. Same with peaches. Below are four simple recipes to celebrate the last of the season’s fruit.

I’m going to be so honest with you: none of these recipes are “recipes” in the sense that I can give you actual amounts or measurements. It’s kind of a wing-it vibe. More like guidelines than actual rules, if you will. But that’s half the fun.

Homemade Whipped Cream

You’ll need:

Half pint heavy whipping cream 

Powdered sugar

Vanilla extract or cinnamon (for a little added flavor!)

1 peach per serving

Pour the cream into a large bowl. Whip with a hand mixer until it begins to stiffen. Add in a little bit of sugar and either a capful of vanilla or a few dashes of cinnamon and continue whipping until stiff peaks form. You can add as much or as little sugar as you like. Just do a little taste test and adjust accordingly. Always start small.

Spoon out whipped cream onto cut up peaches. Maybe also sprinkle with cinnamon. I’ve found that you can leave leftover cream in the fridge until the next day, and it’s really lovely in your morning coffee.

Peach & Prosciutto & Pesto Pizza

You’ll need:

1 frozen pizza crust (Trader Joe’s sells a two-pack that I always keep on hand)

Pesto OR a dash of olive oil and garlic clove, peeled and cut in half

1 peach

Prosciutto

Shredded mozzarella

Preheat the oven according to the pizza crust instructions. On your (still frozen) pizza crust, spread a base of pesto (if you have it) or minced garlic and olive oil. Honestly, either one will work great!

Sprinkle a light layer of cheese, then arrange your peaches and prosciutto. For the peaches, make sure the slices are super thin--big slices will make your pizza soggy! 

Finish with another generous layer of cheese, and maybe a quick dash of salt and pepper.

Bake according to crust instructions. I also like to throw the broiler on high at the last second so the cheese browns and bubbles like a real pizza. But DO SO WITH CAUTION. Many a pizza crust has been burnt by the broiler. Keep both eyes on it.

Let your pizza cool a bit, then slice it up and enjoy!

Peach Hand Pies

You’ll need:

Frozen puff pastry 

1 peach, cut into small cubes

Cinnamon sugar, cinnamon, pumpkin pie spice (probably any warming spices would work)

Thaw the puff pastry. While that’s going, cut up your peach and toss in a pot with whatever warming spices you have and a little bit of water. I used cinnamon sugar, a little more cinnamon, and a dash of pumpkin pie spice. Heat up and stir until the peaches get warm and soft--but not too mushy! 

Roll out the pastry and cut into 5x5 (ish) squares.

 To make the pie: Spoon peaches onto the pastry squares. Using your fingers, lightly wet the edges of the pastry (this helps the pastry stay closed). Fold the pastry over to make a triangle, pressing down firmly and crimp the edges with a fork.

Sprinkle pies with a bit more cinnamon sugar and bake at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes.

They taste delish fresh, obviously, but these pies are also delectable at room temp for breakfast the next morning.

Peach Basil Bourbon Smash

What to do with one last leftover peach that’s starting to look a little iffy? Throw it in a cocktail, duh.

For two cocktails, you’ll need: 

Half a peach

1 lemon

A few leaves of basil

Simple syrup

Bourbon

Ice

Peel your peach and cut into small cubes. Split the peach between two rocks glasses (so a quarter of a peach per glass) and muddle with a few basil leaves. Add an ounce of simple syrup and the juice of half a lemon to each glass. Add 2-3 ounces of bourbon. Stir, then fill glass with ice. 

Cheers!

A letter, since you're almost here

To my little love,

You’ll be here very (very!) soon. I’m simultaneously counting down the days until I get to see your face with wild anticipation, and also counting down the days I get to sleep in with a bit of trepidation. But mostly, I can’t wait for you to get here.

Here’s why: this morning is beautiful. The sun is out. It’s chilly but lovely—just like early March should be. Spring is on its way, but slowly. While I was talking to your Aunt Emma earlier, an Amazon delivery man dropped off a package on the back porch. Walter felt the need to protect the homestead and I could hear him barking from the other room. Apparently the delivery man heard him, too, because when I went out to get the package…there was a pile of dog treats sitting on top of it.

I’m not sure why it warmed my heart so much, but it did. In that moment I was filled to the brim with love for the Amazon delivery guy, the whole world, and everything in it. God felt very real and near as I bent down to pick up a little handful of Milk Bones and gave a couple to Walter.

Sweet little one, I am so excited to welcome you into this world. It’s not perfect. It is messy. Sometimes I shudder over the messiness. I don’t know what your growing up will be like—what battles you’ll face, what unrest or struggles or upheaval you’ll be a part of. Hopefully you won’t have to be part of another global pandemic, but who knows.

But I do know that this world was created to be good. The Creator of it all looked at His creation tenderly and said, “this is good”. And He meant it.

Sin has wrecked a lot of the goodness, it’s true. The world you’ll arrive in soon is not the world as it was intended to be. Individual sin and corporate sin have broken and continue to break a lot things. The poison of sin is laced through everything and the prince of darkness really does seem to be getting his way most of the time.

But on mornings like this one, I’m reminded that this fragile and breaking world is not beyond redemption. In fact, the moment the world broke, God put into motion His plan to fix it.

You’re coming into the middle of that plan, little one. When you arrive you’ll get to step into God’s beautiful story of redemption. Since the story is still in progress, you’ll have to experience the brokenness and pain of the world as it is. But my deepest prayer is that you’ll learn to see signs of God’s redemption story, and you’ll know there is cause for great, audacious hope.

I pray you’ll see hope in sunny days and the kindness of Amazon delivery people. I pray you’ll see it in the way food tastes and the way your community will love on you. I pray you’ll see it in the way Jesus enters into your darkest days and brings comfort.

Sometimes I worry about you in this big, scary world. I’m reminded daily how out of control we are, and how much I want to protect you from every hard and bad thing, and how much that is an impossibility.

But I also can’t wait for you to get here so you can see how wonderful it all is. There is goodness to be found, by the grace of God. And He and I both want you to experience it and revel in it and see Him in it, for your good and His glory.

Come on, little one! The Creator and Redeemer of the cosmos has made a beautiful, good world for you to play in, and I want to show it to you.

Quarantine Diaries, Vol. 2: A Thrill of Hope

We’re not technically in quarantine anymore, but given that I started what I apparently meant to be a series in April and the rona is most definitely still with us, I felt that a part 2 was appropriate now. Anyway!

Our church started Advent two weeks early this year. Like actually moved up the Advent sermon series and started singing carols in mid-November. I’m not a big Christmas-before-Thanksgiving kind of person, but if ever there was a year to kick off the season a tad early…2020 seems to be it.

Auntie Mame had it right: it seems we all need a little Christmas right this very minute.

I’ve seen more lights on houses, bigger decorations, and more Shiner Cheer in grocery stores than I’ve seen in recent years past. It feels like everyone is rallying hard to find some joy and merriment to offset what has been a stinker of a year.

But even in the rallying, I sense deep weariness. Everyone is exhausted. All of creation feels exhausted. As I’ve read the news, talked with friends, and lived life these last 11 months, I’ve felt more than ever what Paul calls in Romans 8 “the groan of creation”.

Our longing for a bright and cheery holiday season points to a deeper longing, I think. It’s not about the holly or the ivy or the presents or the lights. For me, this year has drawn attention to a yearning for someone or something to “disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death’s dark shadows put to flight”.

Do you know the feeling?

As I’ve sung carol after carol these past weeks, I’ve been struck by how many holiday hymns hold the tension of real sorrow and great hope.

There is no blithe, Pollyanna optimism in the songs of the season.

Instead, I’m finding that these songs acknowledge the truth of the world—all the broken, messy, painful truth of it—then rejoice at the gift so graciously given that will turn it all around. They are, in fact, the perfect songs to sing in a year that has been marked by difficulty, despair, and weariness.

I’ve read here and there sentiments that seem to suggest the gospel isn’t enough to bring redemption to present circumstances. That, perhaps, the gospel is a false hope that tries to gloss over real problems in the world.

Nothing could be less true.

The longer this year drags on, the more this truth becomes clear: the fact of Jesus’ birth, life, death, and life again is enough to right the evilest of wrongs, bridge the widest of divides, heal the deepest of wounds and bring true, abiding unity. Only in Jesus is there full, total, glorious redemption for all creation.

That is why there is joy to be found, even in the darkest days. That is why we can sing “Joy To The World”, either with smiles on our faces or tears in our eyes.

Advent is about hope. It is about a season of expectation and waiting and yearning for what is to come, even in the midst of the difficulty that is. Hasn’t this whole year felt like a season of advent?

Christmas is about that hope fulfilled in the most unexpected way: in the form of a tiny baby boy born to save the entire cosmos in a completely upside down way that still doesn’t make sense. And though we are stuck momentarily waiting for him yet again, there is assurance that he will come.

From Revelation 22:

He who testifies to these things says, “Yes, I am coming soon.”

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

Come, Thou long expected Jesus

Born to set Thy people free;

From our fears and sins release us,

Let us find our rest in Thee.

Israel's strength and consolation,

Hope of all the earth Thou art;

Dear desire of every nation,

Joy of every longing heart.

Born Thy people to deliver,

Born a child and yet a King,

Born to reign in us forever,

Now Thy gracious kingdom bring.

By Thine own eternal Spirit

Rule in all our hearts alone;

By Thine all sufficient merit,

Raise us to Thy glorious throne.

Quarantine Diaries, Vol. 1: Things that bring joy

photo found on the web

“Life looks different right now” is probably the understatement of the decade.

There are so many big thoughts and feelings swirling around these days. Maybe I’ll be able to gather mine up and line them up and inspect them at some point, but that day is not today.

For now, I’m finding that keeping my eyes and heart peeled for little joys is making the hours and weeks bearable…dare I say, bright? For, truly, these quiet spring days that are so unlike anything I’ve ever experienced have had some very bright spots.

The Good News is this: joy can always be found—even in the greatest grief—because Jesus is alive and active and present and real, and He has already saved the day.

That’s what we’ll celebrate tomorrow. I really do love that we get to celebrate Easter in the middle of a pandemic. What a perfect, timely reminder that Jesus knows our suffering, knows our pain, and knows what it feels like to have the world come crashing down. For all the fury of creation crashed down on Him, in one single moment.

But because He rose again, and defeated death, we are able to say, “sin’s curse has lost its grip on me.”

And we can find deep, real, sparkly joy, even in pandemics, because He lives.

Keep an eye out for the joy, my friend! It’s there, because God is good.

1. Waving Neighbors

   Now that everyone is stuck at home, our ENTIRE neighborhood goes on afternoon walks (and morning walks and evening walks) with incredible regularity. First of all, I love that. But the thing I love more is that everyone waves. And not the fake, two-finger wave. Quarantine has turned us all into comrades-in-arms and now we wave with our entire arms and biggest smiles and a cheery “HOW YA' DOIN’?!”

2. Zoom Dance Parties

   Zoom Dance Parties are a step up from the regular Zoom chat for a lot of reasons, but mostly because last week me and my gals got to learn real live Phantom of the Opera choreo from from a Christine understudy herself (Hi, Jenna) from the comfort of our own living rooms and if that’s not #BwayDreams I’d like to know what is.

   Related: I’m thankful that empty schedules mean more time for long chats and silly Zoom calls. It feels like all of humanity is collectively stretching out hands to grab hold of connectedness. I hope that realization of a need for community (which is always there, just maybe drowned out in regular times), leads us all to deeper relationships and intentional pursuit long after this whole hoo-ha is over.

3. Gin Rummy

   The first thing I did when I heard a safe-at-home order was coming to Nashville was rush out to buy Bananagrams and Rummikub. Idk. It felt like a need. Then I bought a gin-themed deck of cards so we could teach ourselves to play gin rummy (again…IDK IT FELT LIKE A NEED). And can I be honest? I love gin rummy. It’s best when played with the Ocean’s 8 soundtrack on in the background and while drinking a Last Word.

4. Actual Sunshine

   I know we all know about vitamin D already but Y’ALL the importance of sunny days while stuck at home cannot be overstated. There is never a good time for a global pandemic to shut the world down, but can you imagine if this was happening in January? YIKES. Truly, the gift of springtime has never been so sweet.

5. This Gâteau au Chocolat recipe from Lunch In Paris by Elizabeth Bard

   This recipe is somehow nowhere to be found on the internet (food bloggers really letting me down)…so HERE IT IS. Make it, right now immediately. It is joy and gladness and the happiest you will ever be—all in one 5-ingredient cake.

   You’ll need:

   Butter and sugar for the mold

   7.25 oz bittersweet chocolate (I use Ghirardelli)

   2 tbs strong coffee (leftovers from the morning will work just great)

   5 eggs, separated

   1/2 cup sugar

   A pinch of salt

   Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly butter and sugar a 10 inch tart mold. In the top of a double boiler or in the microwave (or in a glass bowl precariously balanced on a pot of boiling water), melt the chocolate with the coffee. Let it cool.

   Separate the eggs – whites into a large mixing bowl, yolks into a medium mixing bowl. Whisk together the yolks and 1/2 cup sugar until it is a light lemon yellow.

   Pour the melted chocolate into the egg yolks and quickly whisk to combine (it’ll be thick but carry on).

   In the large bowl, beat egg whites with a pinch of salt until they hold a stiff peak. I’ve done this by hand and I’ve done it with a hand mixer—please save yourself and use a hand mixer.

   Gently fold a third of the egg whites gradually into the yolk mixture. Then add the chocolate mixture back into the remaining egg whites and fold gently to combine.

   Pour the batter into the prepared dish and bake for 20 minutes. Touch t center—if it feels reasonably firm, you’re done. If not, give it another minute or two but no more!

   Bon appetite!

On Ebenezers and God's Faithfulness

I find myself, pretty often, staring at a photo from my friend Jamie’s September wedding. It’s a goofy snap of the husbands and fiancés of my childhood friends, while they waited ever so patiently for us to be done taking group pictures of ourselves for posterity.

It’s a cute picture (mostly because Josh Hurt is the cutest, obviously), but I come back to it again and again because it reminds me of something important that I need reminding of right now: God keeps His promises.

Not that God promised me or any of my friends husbands—He didn’t. But He has promised to work everything out for our good and His glory.

That He has certainly done.

When I was 15, I had a lot of ideas about my future good. I was wrong about most of them. But some of the hopes and dreams I had then have come to the most beautiful fruition. Still being friends with my gals is one of those.

Most of us have known each other since we were grade school. We’ve been in and out of each other’s lives for nearly two decades (if you round up). And here we still are, together, in what feels like a season of perpetual celebration (we’ve had a wedding a year since 2016 and this summer there are two more).

How thankful I am for a sister tribe bound together by time and shared loves and shared grief and life lived together!

What a sweet picture of God’s provision; that we’ve been able to grow up together and now we get to celebrate things like marrying our dream boys. I don’t think, in high school, that we could have imagined the sweetness of being in our mid- and late-twenties and planning each other’s bridal showers and growing our collective husband gang.

In seasons like the one I’m in now, when I feel like something I want deeply and surely deserve is being held away at arms length, it helps immeasurably to look over my shoulder and see specific moments that God has shown me His faithfulness. 

It is then that I remember this: God has withheld no good thing from me. That isn’t how He operates at all. 

How does the hymn go?

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought

My sin, not in part but the whole,

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, o my soul.

This sad little sinner has already been redeemed at the greatest expense. That is the kindest gift I ever can or will receive. Based on that fact alone, God has withheld nothing from me. Quite the opposite: He has given everything for me.

Yet…here I am, still longing. And God has proven time and time again that He cares about my longings, too. In His very perfect timing He has answered my pleas with dear friends, rich community, dream jobs and dream shows and the dreamiest husband (that’s the short list). There is much to be thankful for.

In the Old Testament, Samuel sets up a stone to commemorate God's help to the Israelites in their victory over the Philistines at Mizpah. 1 Samuel 7:12 says that, “he named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far the Lord has helped us.’”

I think that’s why I find a blurry picture of husbands and fiancés particularly comforting right now, in the tension of waiting. It’s an ebenezer of sorts.

The picture reminds me of friendships that have been a life-saving gift over the years. It reminds me of divine rescue and forgiveness. It reminds me that God does indeed delight in giving us the things we want, and He often knows what we want even better than we do. 

It reminds me that God lavishes us with good things.

It reminds me that God is faithful, always.

And even if a particular desire never comes to fruition, this fact is still gloriously true: my sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more.

So, praise the Lord, oh my soul.

30 Things For Before 30

I’m 29 today. 29 feels younger and more fun than I would have thought a decade ago. 29 kind of feels like the beginning of the big time, whatever that means. (Honestly, I think I thought 10 and 16 and 21 and were the beginning of the big time, too...so maybe it’s a perspective thing.)

Either way, I’m excited to be 29. I told some friends this week that I’m starting to get a picture of the kind of grown up I want to be and am turning out to be. And ya know? I really like her. She’s not perfect, but she feels right. She’s very Rachel.

This list isn’t about any specific thing or theme in particular...it’s just a list of things I want to be true about grown up me. Specifically, 30 year old me (which will be 365 days from now). So here it is: 30 things for before 30.

Cheers to the last year of my roaring twenties. Roared, they have.

1. Have a tried-and-true skincare routine. No one cared about their skin at sixteen, but by now you should. Take your make-up off, tone, and moisturize. At least.

2. Be able to do your every day makeup routine in 5 minutes or less. 

3. And know which products you’re willing to splurge on (there should only be a couple). Save money on the rest.

4. Be a member of a church and be invested in it.

5. Solidify your personal style. Not that this won’t change over the years--it certainly will. And you, a fashionable and updated woman, will move with the trends. But don’t move with all of them. Know what styles you look best in and what makes you feel like a million bucks, and fill your closet with mostly those things. Let 80% of the fads come and go.

6. Go to the symphony or the theatre or the opera a couple of times a year, at minimum. Cultivate an appreciation for the fine arts.

7. Start to get an idea of who are your forever people. 

8. Have a week’s worth of quick dinner recipes that you know mostly by heart and can whip up in 30 minutes or less. 

9. Appreciate the body you exist in. Right now is the best it’s going to look because, let’s face it, age isn’t quite just a number.

10. Have a go-to cocktail. You know, so that you don’t look like an idiot when you get up to a crowded bar and stumble over your words when trying to order from a harried bartender. Be able to say, swiftly and with a coy smile, “Gin and tonic, please.”

11. Know your favorite wine (pinot noir).

12. Related to the above: know your booze limits and adhere to them. Hangovers should be a thing of your past by now. 

13. Know what fills you up. Whether it’s watercolors or writing or a good book or a pedicures or cleaning your house. Know how to refresh your soul (and make time for it).

14. Memorize some scriptures for rainy days. 

15. And sunny days.

16. Be confident enough to leave the house in basically-pajamas and no make-up...but don’t do it all the time. There’s no reason to look like a slob. But also, remember when you were fifteen and got up a whole ~lewk~ just to go to the movies? It’s nice that those days are over.

17. Save money. This is not a thing I did in my early twenties. I wish I had, because it would have set me up better for now...when Josh and I are thinking about a house and a family and traveling and all the sudden I’m thinking “I spent too much money on Chick-fil-A when I could have been saving”.  But c'est la vie…no time like the present!

18. Try to keep at least one houseplant alive without your husband’s help.

19. Have a subscription to a news source. Read it at least once a week.

20. Own a bathing suit you feel sexy in. There is nothing better than lounging by the water and feeling like a total fox. 

21. Always use sunscreen. You don’t need tan now more than you need no wrinkles later.

22. None of your underwear should have holes or stains. If they do, get new ones. Have 3-4 pairs of black undies to wear during your *time*.

23. Travel. Go to Europe or go across a single state line. But make time and spend money to get out of your routine and see the world from a different angle. It will make you feel small in the best way.

24. Be a person who prays for people. Not a “thoughts and prayers” person...a person who gets on her knees and earnestly petitions on behalf of those she loves. 

25. And be the kind of person who trusts God to answer.

26. Be confident about what you like. Interior decorating, food, style, movies, or how you want to spend a Friday night. Have an unapologetic opinion.

27. Find a new thing to love about your husband once a week.

28. Have 5 favorite books that you can recommend to a friend (or a brand new acquaintance). It’s good to be well read. (Little Women, The Horse and His Boy, Persuasion, Bread and Wine, Johnny Tremain)

29. Make a practice of inviting people into your home. 

30. Know Jesus better at the beginning of each year than you did at the beginning of the last.

Year One.

photo by Abbey Sargent

Today I’ve been married to Josh for one year. 365 whole freakin’ days. Waking up next to him every morning feels super normal now. Calling myself “Mrs. Hurt” still sounds foreign and funny, but also very wonderful.

One year has absolutely FLOWN by. How has it been 12 months? Didn’t we just have a wedding? Didn’t we just start dating? WEREN’T WE JUST FRIENDS FIVE SECONDS AGO.

But here we are. A whole whopping year in. I now know what Josh’s favorite breakfast is and how long it takes him to brush his teeth and that he almost always sneezes in groups of three. He knows that scary movies give me nightmares (because I wake him up when I have nightmares) and that I don’t sweep very thoroughly. (This is the stuff of romance, you guys).

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this first fast and glorious year, it’s that “becoming one” doesn’t happen over night. We got married a year ago today, in front of God and all of our favorite people, and that was that. A covenant was created. A knot was tied. Two became one in every legal and spiritual sense of the word.

But in 365 days, I’ve found that just because we became one doesn’t mean we feel like one, and “becoming one” for real is a little more of a process. Becoming one involves joining bank accounts and combining all our books on shared shelves and legally changing my last name (all of which took more time than they really should have). Becoming one is stacking days upon days of Home Depot runs and making dinner and decorating for Christmas and going on walks. Becoming one means learning each other better, a little bit at a time.

Becoming one also requires learning to die to myself in order to love my husband better, both in little, tiny things and in big, important things. Turns out, I am far more selfish than I thought. 365 days have been filled with 365 choices between “what do I want?” and “what does Josh need?” and, trust me, I have answered wrong more times than not.

Blessedly, there’s grace for that. Both from a loving husband (who is learning the same lessons), and from a gracious Savior who gave us the gift of each other in the first place, in order to bring us closer to Himself.

At our wedding, our officiant TJ told us to hang on to this scripture from 2 Timothy:

Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead.

Some days I remember better than others, but that gospel truth is real every day regardless. We love because He first loved us.

By His mercy, I get to be a wife to the most wonderful man I have ever known (I know I have a penchant for hyperbole, but that one’s actually true). By His mercy, we get to do the hard and holy work of being husband and wife. And by His mercy, we’re not doing the work alone. Christ is near.

This first year of marriage has been my greatest joy and privilege. But I’m even more excited for year 2, and 10, and 40. The journey has really just begun, after all. I can’t wait to be more and more “one” with Josh, until we’re that tottering old couple who accidentally wears matching outfits to the grocery store.

To my sweet husband, I love you!! I’m so glad I get to be married to you. Happy year one!

The Gospel According To A Desk

A little bit ago I had one of those weeks that was a struggle in the ~feelings and drama~ department. You know when you just get in a funk? When nothing seems right and it rains too many days in a row?

I was truly a pouty, pitiful mess. I chose to internalize and pick apart every single little thing that went remotely wrong and, in doing so, threw a blowout of a self-pity party.

Self pity is a sticky, tricky thing. Sometimes it is super obvious. Sometimes it sneaks in and breeds discontent and bitterness in the most sly way so that you think you're TOTALLY JUSTIFIED in feeling unloved and misunderstood and victim-y. 

That is the place I found myself. I was all, "I am trying so hard here and it is obviously everyone else's fault that I feel crappy. Woe is moi."

Specifically, I was frustrated at my (incredibly gracious, kind, and dear) boyfriend. For the record, he had done zero things to deserve my pitiful wrath. But somehow I had decided I was the victim and the problem all at the same time, and it was clearly his fault that I was not feeling very loved on and OBVIOUSLY THAT IS MY BOO'S JOB, RIGHT.

You guys this is one of satan's best self-pity tricks. He gets us to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves because:

1) We think we aren't good enough to be loved and

2) We feel we are owed love because we are obviously trying to be lovable.

Ew. Ick. Bad. And also...flawed logic in the biggest way.

Operating under the delusion that love needs to be earned, that it is a reward for good behavior, is toxic and dangerous and prideful. It leads literally only to self pity. The inner monologue goes something like this...

I'm not ever good enough, but even when I try to be the love isn't reciprocated like I think it should be. I am so unlovable. People are so unloving. UHG.

Have you ever been there? It's a terrible cycle, and one that traps us far, far too easily.

So there was me: pouty, tragic, and hurt. Holding a grudge against the person who least deserved it. Full of self pity. Over. It.

I came home on a Tuesday, drug myself up my bedroom stairs, and STOPPED DEAD IN MY TRACKS.

You guys.

There was a brand new (to me) desk in my room, set up with my books and mirror and a lamp turned on to make everything cozy. A writing desk. From the sweetest boy in the entire world. Who saw my bad attitude and raised me the most gracious act of service.

I could have cried. (I did, a little bit.) All the wind in the sails of my self-pity sailboat immediately died. And in that moment, I was hardcore gospel-ed by a desk.

This wasn't love that I had earned, because (let's be honest) I most definitely had not earned it. I was the opposite of deserving. But my boy loved on me anyway, because that’s what real love does. The way love works—the only way it can ever work—is when it is given like a present on Christmas Day. (Or a desk on a Tuesday.)

Love, when it is given as a gift, is freeing, mind-blowing, and completely disarming. It leaves no room for self pity. It leaves no room for fear or selfishness. It deflates the ego while simultaneously bestowing worth. (Which, incidentally, crushes satan's two-pronged self pity attack into one million tiny pieces.) 

And while being given a desk by your boo is a really tender picture of what love is, here's the real joy, y'all:

Any gift-love we experience from another human points us directly to a sweet Savior, our one truest Love, who quietly whispers:

Beloved, you don't have to be perfect in order for me to want to lavish love upon you.

The gift-love of Christ is extravagant and precious and it changes absolutely everything. 

We are the least deserving of grace and love from the Creator of the cosmos. We cannot and never will earn the favor of God. But he still looks each of us right in the eye and says, 

I love you. I will move mountains to have you.

That truth can change us. That truth is meant to change us. The love of Christ is the wellspring from which everything else flows. It means that fear, anger, and pride have no place. Instead, we can operate from places of love, humility and courage. If we know we are loved extravagantly, it frees us up to love extravagantly. 

If you're deep in the throes of self pity, sit right here for a minute:

You are loved more fully than you can ever comprehend, by a Savior who died to rescue your undeserving soul. Whatever pity party you're throwing is a giant lie meant to distract you from the life-altering beauty of the gospel. Don't miss it. Don't be held captive by the lie that you can earn love. Earning love isn't love at all. 

Gift-love, on the other hand, will rock your world in the best way. And THAT is what Jesus offers each of us. Take it. Soak it up. Revel in it. Bid pity parties adieu.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5:8

Amen, y'all.

"Slow us down enough."

What is it about growing up that causes us to lose our sense of wonder and delight? Because we do. When was the last time you let yourself be absolutely, giddily delighted?

I think it's really easy for us to get caught up in one of two things:

1. The mundane tread of the everyday, or

2. The busyness of whatever we've deemed the most important, has-to-be-accomplished thing.

Boring and busy. That seems to be the pendulum on which we find ourselves swinging. There is little room to stop and smell the literal roses. And would we even care if we did?

I have a gal pal named Ruth. She's almost three. Ruth is delighted by all kinds of things. Recently, it began to flurry on a Sunday morning as we walked into church. Ruth screeched with joy,

"Rachy IT'S SNOWING! LOOK AT THE SNOW."

Y'all there were literally five and a half snowflakes. But that didn't dampen Ruth's enthusiasm. She was head over heels for those five and half snowflakes. She showed me, she showed her friend Belle, she showed her parents. Everyone needed to know.

Nothing in Ruth's world is mundane. This is probably mostly because she's making new discoveries constantly (having only been around for three years). For those of us who have been around the sun a few more (dozen) times, the world in general can seem a little more...blah.

But my oh my...our little world is anything but blah. Have you ever caught a glimpse of a sunrise so bright pink, it seemed otherworldly? Or stepped out into freshly fallen snow? NOT BLAH.

All too often, though, we miss those things. Because we're not looking or (even worse) because we are looking but we don't care. 

A friend of mine sent me this in a text the other day, and it stopped me in my tracks:

Confession of Sin

Family: Eternal God, your Spirit moved on the waters—and there was light, your first creation. You delight in your creation. You spread your colors of reds and golds, purples and greens for all to see. But we get caught up in speeding through life, looking for quick and easy answers, intent on accomplishing more, yet somehow enjoying less. Open our eyes to the wonder all around. Spin us around to see and appreciate. Let music touch our hearts and laughter fill our souls. Slow us down enough to marvel at the splendor around us and to offer a prayer of thanksgiving. Stir us to be a community of joy, a people of praise, a center of healing, and a gathering committed to your truth. Amen.

Y'all. Those are the kinds of words that make a heart skip a beat. 

What would life be like if we knew how to be THAT delighted, every day? Probably as much fun as Ruth's, honestly. 

I think we were made for delight. All of creation is capable of stirring our affections and pointing us towards the Creator himself, if we will allow ourselves the time to notice it. 

God created this universe meticulously and tenderly. He made it very beautiful just because he could. And he totally delights in it, I am positive. He kept saying over and over again, "Yep, THIS IS GOOD U GUYS." 

Then he gave us the same love for beauty that he has, so we could see his creation and stand in awe of it. So that music could make our eyes get dusty and sunsets could make us laugh with joy. 

I'm saying this to me as much as I'm saying it to you: don't miss it. Don't miss the gift of being delighted. Read the words of that confession over and over: Wonder. Splendor. Joy. It's all right there. When we're paying attention, there is no end of marveling.

Here's to delight. Here's to spinning around (like Julie Andrews on an Austrian hillside) and learning to soak up the splendor of life.

Around the Table: Enchiladas Bring People Together

I made it my goal to cook through Bread and Wine this summer. Well, here we are halfway through September and I’m a whopping 3 recipes in. I attribute this failure to two things:

1. A lot of the recipes are for wintery things, like soup.

2. I ate too much Chick-fil-A this summer.

And I got stuck on the enchiladas.

Y’all, I made the freaking enchilada recipe three times in a month. They are so good. I have the recipe memorized. At this point, if there is a need for food for any event and you ask me to fill that need, I will show up with enchiladas. Without question.

The first time I made them was for a friend who had recently had a baby (side note: as I get older and a lot of my friends are popping out infants, I stand more and more in awe of the whole event. They are all my heroes. Babies are hard.)

Incidentally, in Bread and Wine Shauna suggests this recipe as a perfect meal for new mamas. I followed her advice, and also invited myself over for dinner because...duh.

Let me tell you, there is no greater joy in this world than holding a sleeping newborn baby in one arm and eating spicy enchiladas with the other. No.greater.joy.

Enchilada Night No. 2 was one of my favorite nights of the whole summer. My family drove through town on a Thursday night, so I gathered them and seven of my dearest friends in the kitchen and we ate enchiladas and chips and watched the International Space Station fly over our heads at exactly 8:13 p.m.

This is the super high-quality, artfully-posed photograph I took to commemorate the sweetest evening ever.

Add this to the list of No Greater Joys: watching all my people hang together. I don’t want to be overly sappy (yes I do) but I LOVE IT when a bunch of people I really like sit around a table and enjoy each other and their dinner. My feelings explode. All of the heart eyes.

The third enchilada experience was maybe the most magical, though.

A few weeks ago, my mom, my sister, and some of our growing up friends spent the weekend in a beach house in Connecticut. And, yes, it was EVERY SINGLE BIT as lovely as it sounds.

There is something untouchably sweet about being around people who have known you for a long time. Friendships that last through awkward growing up, shared joys, and seasons of disconnection and tragedy shape us in ways that can’t quite be put into words. Know what I mean?

On our last night we all put on our bathing suits and made dinner together in our little beach house while listening to the waves and the soundtrack of “Little Women”. Then we ate chips and guac and enchiladas and margaritas on the beach, basking in the sunset.

I did not make this guacamole, and I did not take this picture. But the enchiladas were in the oven at this point so that has to count for something.

Enchiladas bring people together. Enchiladas are for celebrating new life, old friends, and family, both blood-related and otherwise.

It's easy to lose sight of in our transient twenties--that despite feeling unstable and topsy-turvy A LOT of the time, there are roots there, holding us down. Community, history, family...whatever those things look like for you, they are a sacred part of who you are.

A month of making enchiladas reminded me that I am not as all by myself as I sometimes feel. And, boy, am I thankful for the people who will eat enchiladas with me.

Around the Table: Bowed Heads and Gaia Cookies

Photo by Abbey Sargent

I love my little church. I love how it functions more like a family than a group of friends. How it is a jumble of twenty-somethings and toddlers and old men and babies, who all know each other by name and laugh together over coffee and donuts and break bread and drink wine. If you were to ask me to describe us in three words, I would say loving, transparent, and boisterous. 

This summer we're taking intentional time to pray and seek Jesus. (Like, duh, I know. But also, sometimes it's good to make a serious point of it, all together). So we gather up our little body and sing good old hymns and pray out loud. 

It feels very holy, and not just for the obvious reasons. 

The other night my friend Meagan read to us from Acts, about how the early church functioned and what that means for us. Sounds like they were pretty much a jumble of twenty-somethings and toddlers and old men and babies, who all knew each other by name and functioned more like a family than friends. 

While we sang, I thought about that. About a group of people hundreds and hundreds of years ago coming together for the exact same purpose--to meet with Jesus--and to sing songs and pray together. I felt a deep, holy connectedness, all the way back to Roman streets and candlelit tables and the very first generation of people who called themselves the body of Christ.

It seems to me nothing short of miraculous that one gospel could bolster and encourage and bring together generation after generation, community after community, heart after heart, so seamlessly and beautifully.

The consistent heartbeat of the Church throughout history is one of the most convincing proofs I can think of for the unshakable truth of the gospel. (You know, besides God Himself.)

We are doing nothing new when we come together to pray. Nothing millions of other before us haven't done, in seasons of joy, or grief, or excruciating pain, or wild celebration. And that feels really good. Really good to be a part of something so old and sacred and special. Something that is not just a routine for the sake of show, but something we know can shake the world to its core.

Walking into the presence of God together is not something we do for kicks and giggles. It is the first and last resort. It is our lifeblood. Just as it was for the first church.

When our hope seems lost, we gather and pray. When our community is broken, we gather and pray. When we want revival, we gather and pray.

And because we are a family, we eat cookies together, too. We pray, we sing, we sit in the presence of our Maker, and we eat the best chocolate coconut oat cookies ever (because sometimes it's my week to help with snacks and I seize the opportunity to try out another recipe from Bread and Wine).

People say that prayer isn't the answer to anything. That it isn't enough. 

I solidly disagree. When the body of Christ gathers together and lifts up a united cry for grace, justice, and revival, God hears. And when God hears, He acts. When God acts, friend, it is BEYOND what we could ever ask or imagine.

So, like our brothers and sisters before us, we will gather our community and lift up holy hands in worship and petition.

And we will be met.

Around the Table: Chaos and Curry

Moving is a pain in the butt. It takes weeks to get everything ready, and you begin to wonder if you’re a hoarder and need to nominate yourself for that TLC show before you finally get to the point that you start throwing stuff in the trashcan, just so you don’t have to move it.

I know this because I just moved, and it went about like that. And right in the middle of everything, when the house was maybe in its most chaotic state, I decided life would not be complete unless I threw a dinner party.

Don’t even ask me why. Honestly, I should have been doing about one million other things.

But I needed, deep in my soul, two things:

1. People.

2. Food. (Specifically, mango chicken curry.)

We ate off paper plates and used plastic silverware because half the kitchen was in boxes.

We had to hustle the dining room table onto the deck because, days before, my roommates and I had sold the outside table at a garage sale.

I didn’t plan enough time to make the mango chicken curry so it turned out more like soup.

It was the kind of wild and messy I'm not entirely sure The Barefoot Contessa would approve of, but that dinner party was exactly what needed to happen. 

 I think there is something holy and grounded and filling about sitting around a table and eating together. It's different than grabbing a beer or sitting in the living room. And, even if it's kind of thrown together and the curry doesn't cook all the way, gathering around the table is nourishing for body, mind, and soul.

Around the table feels like family.

Around the table is a place people have been gathering since the beginning of time, to fill up their bellies and their hearts.

Around the table is a place of rest, even in the midst of total upheaval. 

My summer goal is to cook all the way through Shauna Niequist's book Bread and Wine. For two reasons:

1. I want to get better at cooking things besides fried rice.

2. I really, really like feeding people.

I'm gonna blog about it, too, in order to keep myself accountable. We'll call it something cute like, "Around the Table with Rach and Shauna" or "Recipes That I Just Barely Pulled Off".

And if you want to come over for dinner, just let me know. 

(This is not a joke, I am very serious. Holler at me and you can come over for dinner.)

Here's to chaos and curry and God's goodness and gathering around the table to celebrate all of it. 

When Life Feels Like a Handful of Sand

Here's a question: how often do you find yourself hustling hard to keep up with a self-imposed idea of what your life should look like?

It's easy to become dissatisfied with the current state of affairs in our tiny little worlds, isn't it? When the world seems a little off, I spend equal amounts of time assuming everything is my fault, or everyone else's fault.

The list of dissatisfactions can be endless and annoyingly repetitious...

I'm not meeting my potential. I want deeper community. My job isn't fulfilling. I am adulting very poorly today.

Do you ever think those thoughts? 

Do you know the feeling of scrambling to make everything go a certain way because you're so certain you have the right game plan? Then the feeling of being frustrated beyond belief when you don't succeed?

I find myself often trying to hold a bunch of things together on my own strength. But I've noticed that the harder I hold on, the more things seem to slip away. Like when you squeeze a handful of sand and it pours through the cracks between your fingers. Holding on to sand is very tricky business.

Can I encourage you to stop hustling for a minute and just...relax?

I don't mean stop working or doing or anything like that. But if you are scrambling around, trying to chase what you think your life should look like, take a break from that. 

I tend to walk with my head down, concentrating on my steps and getting to my destination. The swifter the better. Often, I treat life the same way. Head down, brow furrowed, just gotta get to the next thing. Hustle, hustle, hustle.

The other day I walked with my head up, figuratively speaking. For the first time in a good while I saw a lot of beauty in my current state of affairs. Instead of focusing on all the things that needed fixing, I realized there are an awful lot of things that are actually pretty sweet.

I have to tell myself constantly there is no checklist for life. I'm not doing it wrong. I don't have to control it all.

I can't control it all.

And the truth is, while my life may not look quite like I think I want it to, it's looks pretty freaking beautiful.

So chill out, pal. Slow down a little bit. Walk with your head up so you can take in the beauty of springtime. 

Stop squeezing that sand quite so tight. As it turns out, sand is a lot easier to hold when you relax your grip and hold it gently, cupped in your hands. 

A Love Letter to the Church

Church, you are a funny gal.

You are equal parts holy and unholy, a joy and a pill. You sometimes cause more damage the you fix.

You are lovely and ugly.

You are messy and gorgeous.

You are the beloved Bride of Jesus, who suffered enormously so he could woo you and call you his own. You are meant to be a physical representation of God's love on earth. A pillar of hope in an otherwise unhopeful place.

Sometimes you do that well.

Sometimes you really, really don't.

But I truly, deeply believe you can. Maybe that's the cock-eyed optimist in me. Or maybe it's a bone-deep belief that Jesus won't leave his bride floundering, no matter how buried in muck she might be.

I've seen you wound people deeply. You have withheld love, judged harshly, set unattainable expectations and created rules out of thin air for the sake of self-righteousness. You have sinned and tried to hide it, only to have it come tumbling into the public eye. You have argued and bullied and broken apart. 

But I've also seen you on fire. I've watched communities gather together, bolstering one another when everything hits the fan. I've seen you show up and love hard, because that's just what you do. I've seen you drop every pretense and raise your arms in humble surrender and adoration. And Jesus has been there. 

I've seen you royally screw up and ask for forgiveness. I've seen you be open and honest and inviting and kind. And Jesus has been there.

I have sat in sanctuaries and hotel event spaces and auditoriums from China to Haiti to England, and seen first hand what the Body looks like in foreign places. And my breath has been taken away at the beauty of unity. There is nothing quite like the intimacy of worshipping with strangers.

This is staggering to me: the orphan in Port-au-Prince worships the same God as the student in Oxford. And that same God loves them both immensely and has knit them together in a family called the Church. 

The Church is a million little voices chanting the same thing: Great is our God, worthy is He of praise. 

Some people say church is pointless, and we can all get on just fine with our own private spirituality in the safety of our homes. Because organized religion is a mess, and people are terrible, and Jesus is just as present in your living room as he is in a sanctuary. Maybe, sometimes, more present in the living room.

And those points are valid. Religion is a mess. People are terrible. Jesus will meet you anywhere.

But to say the Church is irrelevant?

I wholeheartedly disagree. You, Church, are as vital as breathing. You may be a total train wreck, but you are necessary. You are a stronghold for your members, and a safe haven for everyone else.

But that only works if the people in the Church know the point of church. It's not a status symbol, or "just what you do on Sundays", or a social club.

The Church, as it is meant to be, is a collection of people who are walking towards Jesus together. The Church exists to lift high the name of Jesus and shout "HEY. A lot of things are broken, and we know Who can fix it. Come meet Him."

And the thing is, Church, you don't always do that. Because your people (me included) are sinful and broken and very, very messy. 

But, MAN, there is a lot of grace for you, coming straight from the Bridegroom. And if He has grace for you, then so can we all.

That's true on the grand scale of life and the whole earth and people in general. It's also true in my small little world. 

I heard a sermon once, in Oxford, about how important it is to love the Church. Because Jesus loves the Church, and He has such great plans for her. I think he was right.

What does it look like to love the Church? On the small scale of our own communities, and on the large scale of the world? Probably prayer. Lots of it. Prayers for revival, wisdom, love, and grace. And also honesty. Honesty about what's messy. Honesty about what's true. 

Earnest prayers and transparent honesty. And a whole lotta Gospel. I think that's the ticket. 

Church, you are worth fighting for. I love you even when you're messy. I'm for you, big time. Just wanted to let you know.

xoxo,

Rach

Additional Thoughts On Running

I went running with my friend Bethany the other night, because the weather was perfect and she assured me we would only be gone twenty minutes.

I should have know she was lying about that time frame when she said, "We're going to run to the park!" 

I knew how far away the park was. I knew there was no way in the world I was going to make it there and back in twenty minutes. But I believed her, and borrowed a pair of running shorts.

Here's what you should know: Bethany is actually a runner. She runs, and she loves it, and she can literally run circles around me (I know this because she did so).

Very shortly into our run, Bethany was leaps and bounds ahead of me. Meanwhile...my side hurt. My breath was labored. I was well past my two-block running limit and pretty over the whole thing.

But STUPID BETHANY wouldn't let me quit. When it became clear I wasn't going to run the literal whole way, she said, "Let's do interval training!" She picked a distant target and made me sprint there. Walk, run, walk, run. 

All. The. Way. To. The. Park.

Whenever she hit the goal ahead of me (which was literally every time), she would turn around and yell "YOU CAN DO IT. DON'T STOP," until I got to her. 

On the run home, I was every kind of done. EVERY KIND (which I continued to let Bethany know. Loudly). But Bethany was having none of it. She continued to coach me through how to run, and breathe, and wouldn't let me stop doing either one.

So there we were: Bethany running with energy and strength, graceful as a gazelle prancing into the sunset. And me. Wheezing and shuffling along behind her, glasses bouncing on my nose (incredibly disorienting), and arms flapping. Like a little basset hound puppy. But not in a cute way.

If I'd been running by myself, I'd have quit long before that point. But Bethany The Distance Running Olympian kept calling over her shoulder, "You're doing great! Keep going!"

As I heard her far-away voice yelling at me, I had another thought about running: 

When someone else is running with you, and encouraging you, and in the fight with you, it is possible to run a lot farther.

You know what? I am quick to read a sentence like that and say, “Right! My community! That’s whose encouragement I should be listening for!”

And, yes, it's really great to have a tribe of people who (hopefully) love you enough to yell at you to run faster even when you don’t want to. (s/o to Susie, Bethany, Kelby, Keltcey, and Alyssa: y'all were the real MVPs this week.)

But they’re not the ultimate source of encouragement.

In the moments you are too weak to carry on by yourself, and burdens become too much to bear, and you want nothing more than to give up, the greatest encouragement will come from the One who already finished the race.

The beautiful thing is, Jesus isn’t just waiting for you at the finish line, shouting at you to run better.

He will run right to you, then fall in step next to you and whisper encouragement in you ear: 

In me, anything is possible. In me, you can run without getting weary. Keep going, beloved. 

Oh. How. Sweet. You are not running this race alone, friend. I say that as someone who literally just realized yesterday that she was not running her race alone.  It's a game-changer of an epiphany, let me tell you.

(Which maybe means I should keep running. The spiritual analogies are almost worth the pain I am currently feeling in my legs.)

When you're ready to LITERALLY THROW UP from the effort of running your race, there is great encouragement in Hebrews 6: 

So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf.

He ran ahead of us, to prepare the way. And he runs alongside us, to enable us to finish the race. 

Amen amen amen. Cool cool cool.   

The Times, They Are A-Changin'.

Photo by Kelby Wenger

The shifting of winter to springtime is maybe the most joyful handful of weeks in all of creation. Sharp winds turn into breezes, trees start blooming, the sun stays a little longer each day and people literally can't keep grins off their faces. 

I love this change of season.

Other kinds of changes I don't like so much. In fact, in general, I tend to not like change so much. Especially when I don't choose it.

I don't experiment. I like to find something that works and stick with it, ya know? I've used the same hairspray since high school, and the same brand of peanut butter since the beginning of my time on Earth.

Sometimes, like with hairspray, not changing is fine. Other times, like with life, it's not. 

Often I find myself white-knuckle hanging on to seasons and people and things, unable and unwilling to let one pattern fade into another. When I sense a shift I don't like coming, I begin to scramble in a valiant effort to keep things just the way they are. Even if the way things are is not super great.

The scrambling comes from the intense desire to be comfortable, I think. This is easy, this is nice, this works. It's known. I like known. Sound familiar?

The need to hang on to things we know, when the world around us is so very unknown, can run deep.

But when things maybe need to change, and you don't let them...that's where life gets uncomfy. I find myself in that place often. Do you? Do you ever cling to something out of fear and pride and the need to be comfortable?

Here's something I'm being reminded of today: God's best work doesn't happen when we're comfortable. God's best work, I've noticed, happens when things are topsy turvy. When we are decidedly uncomfortable. He uses change to spur us forward--to shake us and grow us and make us better versions of ourselves.

If nothing ever changed, we wouldn't need His solid unchangingness to steady our hearts in the midst of upheaval. 

Change is not a punishment or a failing, or even a negative. I often think it is. Because some changes are hard. Like when friends begin to pull away, or dynamics shift, or you turn 30. (I've never turned 30, but I've heard.) Change can hurt.

But, maybe, it doesn't have to hurt quite so badly.

One of my favorite authors says that the only way to not get dragged down by waves in the ocean is to relax and just ride them.    

In a world that has seasons and puberty and time, change is inevitable. So, maybe, the best course of action is to ride the wave. To not hang on quite so tight to finite, changeable things and cling instead to the the One who is unchanging, even while everything else is in constant motion.

And, truthfully, the next wave probably won't be all that bad. As one pattern disappears another will begin. And it will be different, but probably also good. Because God is good. 

The goodness can't be appreciated, though, unless you let go of the thing before and choose to ride the wave.

7 Things To Do Instead Of Freaking Out Right Now

Are you freaking out right now? About a boy? Or your job? Or paying bills? Or your friends? Or something wildly out of your control? Your mind is racing, your thoughts are churning, maybe you have a headache and a stomachache and you kind of want to scream. 

Pal, I've been there. It's not the best of times. Here are some things you can do instead:

1. Run around the block

Playlist: jock jams (LET'S GET READY TO RUUUMMBLEEEEEEEEEE)

As we all know from Reese Witherspoon: "Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy." I am BY NO MEANS the queen of exercise. I pretty much hate it. But there have been at least a few occasions when a swift sprint around the block has cleared my head and helped release a lot of nervous energy. 

2. Make spaghetti

Playlist: Etta James with a side of Louis Armstrong

Get in that kitchen, Donna Reed. Put on an apron and create something. You don't even have to be fancy (spaghetti is by no means gourmet). I have found that spending time in the kitchen is therapeutic because it's equal parts productive and relaxing. You're focused on a project (productive), but taking time to prepare a meal means you have to slow down and go one step at a time (relaxing). Add a glass of wine or a lil brewski  and BA-DING. 

3. Clean the bathroom

Playlist: Original Broadway Casts (Sing along. Obviously.)

I've said it before, and it bears repeating. Cleaning anything, but most especially a grimy bathroom (oh, yours never gets grimy because you clean it so regularly? .....how nice for you.) bathroom, might be the ultimate redirection of stress-energy. You know, when you feel like you need to take immediate action or you might spontaneously combust? Yeah, scrub some tile til it shines like the top of the Chrysler building.

4. Learn this Justin Bieber dance

Playlist: obvious

I realize you think I'm joking. I sincerely am not. My roommates and I once spent a snowy morning doing our top-notch best to recreate this dance from start to finish. We...basically nailed it. And we felt awesome.

5. Read a book

Playlist: the 1994 Little Women movie soundtrack 

Make yourself a cup of tea and snuggle in your armchair. You have two reading options: recreational, or educational. Either will work.

Educational: Mere Christianity (C.S. Lewis), The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness (Tim Keller), The Ragamuffin Gospel (Brennan Manning), any biography or autobiography under the sun (I like Fred Astaire's and also Julie Andrews')

Recreational: Little Women (Louisa May Alcott), Cold Tangerines (Shauna Niequist), Death by Living (N.D. Wilson), My Life in Paris (Julia Child), Harry Potter in its entirety (J.K. Rowling)

6. Talk about it

Playlist: the soothing sound of someone saying "I hear ya."

For the LOVE OF PETE, get whatever is bugging you off the hamster wheel in your head by talking out what's going on. I am an over sharer, so I say this with great caution, but sometimes you really do just need to talk stuff out. (While I personally appreciate talking to a real human, I think journaling falls in this category and can be equally helpful.) Call your mom, or your sister, or anyone that will let you sound a little crazy (a very real possibility) and still like you afterwards. 

7. Breathe deeply

Playlist: silence

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Slowly. Maybe with your eyes closed. Maybe in some super zen position, if you're here for that kind of thing. My friend Brittney knows some yoga poses, I'm sure she would hook you up. Or just do it while you're driving down the street. Really any time. Breathing is a wildly underrated calm down technique. 

The thing is, whatever is freaking you out is not actually the end of the world (barring, of course, the end of the world occurring at this moment). I say this as someone who tends to feel like her world is ending a lot. But it isn't.  And this freak out is, more than likely, an emotional reaction that will start to dissipate in a few hours (says me, who has strong emotional reactions that tend to dissipate after a few hours.)

Chill out. Give your mind and body something else to focus on, and remember: you're gonna be okay.

I ran two blocks and had a thought

On Saturday the high was 65 and I woke up with an itch to run a mile, because I get that itch about once a year and Saturday was that day.

(It was a beautifully mild day for late January, especially considering a week before we'd been buried in eight inches of snow. Go figure.)

If you are a runner, or a lover of exercise in any form, I applaud you. I'm wildly jealous of you. I wish I was you. When I say "run a mile" what I really mean is that I have the desire to run, but what I actually did was power walk most of the way and prepared for what ended up being a two-block sprint right at the end.

...And naturally, after block one, I felt a huge cramp coming on. (My body is literally 100 years old--I choose not to think about how out of shape I am most of the time.) 

Ordinarily, that would be my cue to stop running. I am not one to push through pain. (This applies to running and also other things.)

But I looked up, pathetically panting and wheezing, and saw how close the goal was. One more block. And I thought, "Okay, feet. Keep going. Okay, mouth. Breathe." 

And MIRACLE OF MIRACLES, the sharpness of the cramp started to lessen. As I pushed past the discomfort (let's be honest--it was more about discomfort than actual pain), it became easier to go on.

For that brief moment I was a better runner than I had been before.

And, okay, running two blocks is about the most unimpressive thing in the world. I realize that, and maybe we can pretend it was two miles instead, ya know...for the sake of illustration.

But in that three-minute sprint, God did a thing. He did the thing where He says,

This is a snapshot of a bigger truth, my girl. Sometimes you have to push through discomfort and pain. You'll want to stop, but don't. There is freedom and strength and newness to be found if only you are willing to keep going. 

Life feels pretty topsy-turvy right now. To carry on with our exercise illustration: there are a lot of little races I've been running that have started to get uncomfortable and painful. And I want to stop. 

Have you been there? Whether it be a relationship (romantic or otherwise), work, job search, passion-hunting, spiritual journeying...One minute you feel like an Olympic champion and the next, you're doubled over with the mother of all cramps digging into your side.

And you really, really want to stop running.

There's a super popular verse in Hebrews about running with endurance. This isn't that one--this is verses 12 and 13:

Therefore lift your dropping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed.

Endurance is one of those Christian buzzwords that gets talked about to the point that I think we forget what it means. Or at least I do. It sounds cool, but what is the practical application?

To run with endurance means pushing through the hard stuff. The cramps. The discomfort. The moment when you say, "I literally cannot keep going."

But then you find you actually can keep going. And right on the other side of endurance is strength. Not, like, Superman strength or anything, but strength that didn't exist before. Every time you push on you build a little muscle. And next time you'll be able to run a little farther. 

So I sprinted for two blocks today. Well, four, since I did the same thing on the way back home. That's pretty lame by a runner's standard, but it's not bad by mine. 

Next time I'll go further. 

Is there a race you're running that is starting to get the best of you? Pal, I FEEL YA. But keep going. Push on through the cramps and take a few deep breaths. There's good work going on.

New Morning, New Mercies

In January of 2015, I chose intentional as my word for the year. I wanted to live with greater intention in a lot of areas.

Two of those were pursuit and self-centeredness. I wanted to pursue people way better and think about myself way less.

Guess what I struggled with the most in 2015?

IF EVER YOU THINK GOD DOESN’T HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR, THINK AGAIN.

So yes...2015 brought with it a lot of proof that I am super into myself, and also not as good at loving people as maybe I want to be.

And I FREAKED OUT, y'all.

Which means that what I did was spend a ton of time analyzing and over-analyzing and beating myself up for being such a horrible person.

If we’re being honest, I gave God very little room to extend grace.

There was a preoccupation with getting it right. The inner monologue was:

Okay, I didn’t love so-and-so very well in that moment. I'm really screwing this relationship up. Next time I will do WAY BETTER.

Oh, no, I’m so self-centered I MUST STOP THINKING ABOUT MYSELF. STOP, SELF, STOP.

Yeah, okay, like that did any good.

A lot of times, I forgot this very big, very key truth:

We can’t fix the mess ourselves. We are not made to be able to fix the mess ourselves.

In fact, we are made to need God to fix the mess for us.

I would do this really cute (not cute) thing where I mentally ticked off all the things at which I was failing, and made game plans for how to do them better.

My fear skyrocketed when I saw the depth of my depravity, and realized I didn’t actually have the strength to do anything about it.

I saw how messy the mess was, and legitimately thought, "No WAY God is big enough for this. No, no, no way."

(LIKE WHO DO I THINK I AM, HONESTLY.)

Have you ever convinced yourself that your sin is too big for God’s grace?

Have you ever believed the lie that you have to fix yourself by yourself?

I have more than one page in my journal with desperation scrawled across it.

Why can’t I fix it, God? Whyyyy?

For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. (Romans 7:18-19)

I ran around the mulberry bush of my sin over and over. I oscillated between being hopping mad about it, and dissolving into big ole crocodile tears.

And every time I cried out, I got this gentle answer:

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. (Romans 8:1-2)

For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you. (Isaiah 41:13)

Morning by morning, new mercies I see. (Not in the Bible...still accurate though.)

Wait...what? WAIT WHAT. 

1) No matter how big the mess, the record is clean. Straight. Up. Clean.

2) There is no need to live in fear of sin that seemingly can’t be defeated. The Redeemer has promised His help.  

I don't know why those two concepts are so hard to take hold of. Except that maybe it's some weird combination of fear and pride and being a ding-dong of a human being. Bless our hearts.

So all that said, the word for 2016 is grace.

This year, I want to learn how to mess up, repent, receive grace, and carry on.

I want it to be a knee-jerk reaction, not a conclusion I come to after I’m already worn and exhausted from trying to make everything right on my own. 

And I think the first step in real repentance is having a heart that believes grace and mercy wait on the other side. 

A heart that is living in fear of condemnation can't really repent. 

A heart that deeply understands grace has no choice but to repent.

I want 2016 to be filled with new and deep understanding of the Grace that has the power to redeem every atom of creation.

Because I have a feeling that understanding grace way deep down in one's gut changes a lot of things about the way one does life.

A LOT OF THINGS.

So here's to 2016: The Year of Grace. Praise God for His unending faithfulness, and the fact that, really, every year up to this point has been a year of grace already. Even if we didn't know it.

Cheers!