doing time

Confessions of a literature snob: Every summer during college, I spent months reading what I refer to as “fluffy romance novels.” Novels which pretty much always took place in another century. They involved long pretty dresses and people with titles. Absolutely necessary therapy after stuffing my head with Shakespeare and James Joyce for nine months. There was just a limit my brain could handle without overheating and spilling boiling British literature all over the place. Which would not be pretty, let me tell you. Particularly the Joyce.

I had to escape.

Years later, I have not given up my lit-nerd ways by any means. Every morning when I walk/run/hobble for exercise, I listen to podcasts of—are you ready? The Tolkien Professor. It's the highlight of my day. Laugh if you will. I don't care—I live on a higher level. Or a completely fantasy one.

But a quote I heard one morning stopped me in my tracks, literally. When confronting public distrust of escapism, Tolkien asks, “Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home?”

And now you ask, what the heck does that mean? And what about it made you stop in the middle of the sidewalk, to the dismay of the bicyclist behind you?

Because he put into one sentence what almost every human being feels and cannot define. We would never tell a prisoner that his cell is all there is, and a world outside it, a world he once called home, doesn't exist. If we did, he'd call us the crazy ones. Of course it exists, and of course he'd far rather be there than in the cell.

The nutcase is the person who would paint a rainbow in his cell, light vanilla cookie candles, and start singing, “It's a small world after all.” (Of course, one could argue he wouldn't even imagine rainbows if there was not a real other world out there, but that's another theological question.)

I love this quote because it tells me that escapism, for the purpose of seeking something better, should not be laughed at. It shouldn't be something we're embarrassed to admit to. It's the most normal human response to a world we sense is fundamentally flawed. It's what any reasonable person who knew in her heart that home was somewhere else would do.


Notice I said for the purpose of seeking something better. Not just to retreat into your one little Unibomber cabin away from the world. (Though goodness knows I do want to do that sometimes, too.) We know there's something better. After weekends like this one, especially, we sense that. Something is very wrong with the present prison cell. 


The question is, do we light the cookie candle and pretend it ain't so, or do we recognize that we're looking for something that is more real than what we see? Something that, maybe, has the power to break into this broken world and shine some of that fantastical beauty on it? And are we courageous enough to admit we need to escape toward it?

As another of my favorite writers put it, "If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." C.S. Lewis

What do you consider escape?

six-dollar receipts

Working on our budget is depressing more often than not, but it doesn't usually make me tear up. But yesterday, while sorting receipts, I happened to pick up one from our favorite little coffee shop, La Spiaza in Wheaton. And it reminded me that two weeks before, I had sat there with middle child discussing literature, theater, and the likelihood that frying pans really would make great weapons in a pinch.

Which, of course, reminded me that she's not here, off to another corner of the world again, being young and adventurous. Hence the eye-moistness.

But this is not a poor-me-I-miss-my-baby blog. I mean, I've already done that. For me, its a reminder that the little things tend to turn into the big things.

The small kindness you show turns into a memory for someone that helps her turn a corner.

The meal you bring a couple college guys on their own becomes a thoughtfulness they pass on to the next person.

The compliment you paid someone who felt insecure with her self-image gave her the courage to hold her head up that day.

The two hours you spent tie-dying shirts with kids in a rough neighborhood made one think he had some value to someone after all. (Go, child #1!)

The six-dollar receipt you dig up from the bottom of a pile brings a bittersweet reminder of something very, very good.

I'm convinced that lots of little things make up the big things. Lots of little things can change the big things.

“Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies.” Mother Teresa  

crazy bright courage

Nail polish is making a big splash these days. If you don't believe me, just take a quick browse of Pinterest. (No, guys, we won't take away your man card if you do. Although if you do start pinning a bunch of nail designs . . .) 

I'm pretty sure child #3 alone has “pinned” about forty-three ways to “do” your nails. It's the new fad.  

But even by those standards, the lady whose hands held my book at the table stood out. They glittered, swirled, and scattered light in a crazy pattern of bright. I loved it.

Then I looked up to see to face attached to the hands and noticed. She wore the tell-tale cancer scarf tied around her bald head. I complimented her nails, and she told me the story.

“I can't look the way I want to everywhere. It's taking its toll, and not just on my hair. But what I can do, I do. And I can make my hands stunning.”

And right then, I felt stunned by far more than her hands.

But what I can do, I do. I hesitate to add anything to that. It says it all. What's our excuse for so many things we never do? I've never done that. I'm not going to make a difference. There are just too many things in my way. I don't have enough time, talent, money, whatever. Someone else can. But what if . . . Maybe another time.

What I can do, I do. She couldn't cure cancer, or make her hair grow back, or run a marathon for research. But she could look for the positive in life. She could encourage other women with cancer. She could paint their nails (and she did). She could spend a day with her favorite thing—authors and books. She could spread beauty and joy in her corner of life, despite circumstances far worse than those that normally make the rest of us start grumbling into our Starbucks and whining at the first unlucky person to ask, “How's it going?”

What are your “fingernails”? What can you look at and say, “I'm going to make that beautiful, no matter what else isn't? I'm going to take one thing, and do what I can do with it?”

It doesn't have to be a part of you. It could be a part of something around you. A small bit of a larger cancer. Like the Section 8 neighborhood my daughter wants to make a garden in. It won't solve their problems. But it will be one stunning spot.

What I can do, I do. This lady could face life with courage. And stunning fingernails.

down and dirty

If you've seen the photos, you know. I was a dirty girl this weekend. For the second time. For the uninitiated, the Dirty Girl Run (and I use the term 'run' very loosely) is a 5K through a mud-covered obstacle course, all to benefit breast cancer and also laundry detergent manufacturers everywhere.

When my sister asked if we wanted to do it last year I thought, well why not? Actually, there are a lot of reasons why not, notably being I have never done a 5K in my life and I might seriously injure myself, but those did not occur to me. I just wanted to have fun with my sister. We are both cancer survivors, so we deserve it. Plus, I could fling mud at her like I did when we were kids and no one would punish me. (She would say no one did then, either, and she would probably be right.)

I thought I hated “Get Over It” most, the wall you have to climb over with footholds sized for a three-year-old's feet. A very small three-year-old. Scary. But this year, there was worse. “Netchix,” an endless pit full of deep, slimy, mud covered with a heavy net. Claustrophobia kicked in big time with the weight of that net on my head as we crawled. Did I mention I will not be joining the marines any time soon?

But I am not someone who will go around an obstacle unless it is pretty much court mandated. So, through we went, my youngest daughter and I.

My favorite part of the course, however, was not the well-deserved finish line. Nor even the even more well-deserved shower. It was the hill climb. Two big ropes, up a steep, muddy hill, then down it. This picture is me going down, which was quite fun, really. (And oh, I beat that young thing next to me down the hill, by the way.)

But the best part of the day was watching that hill climb. Before me went two other women. One looked to be in her seventies. The other, well, carried a lot more weight on her than she probably wanted to. When each woman faltered and looked as if she might not make it up the hill, every women at the bottom started cheering. Clapping. Yelling encouragement. Making a lot of noise. Letting two strange women know that we believed they could do it. And they did.

“Finally, brothers and sisters, rejoice! Strive for full restoration, encourage one another, be of one mind, live in peace. And the God of love and peace will be with you.” 

(2 Corinthians 13.11)

It's kind of embarrassing, honestly. A bunch of women who don't know each other are doing a better job of this than we are in the church. They instinctively knew what those women needed, they put themselves in their place, and they cheered, loud and long.

But in the church? I have to wonder if the reason it doesn't always feel like the God of love and peace is with us is that we aren't doing the first things mentioned here. In a recent Barna poll, the majority of people in churches, when asked if they experienced God's presence each week, said no. I'm grateful I do. But I wonder if there's good reason most don't.

Strive for restoration. Don't walk away from hurt, retaliate, or gossip. Restore relationships. Tough work. But if we want a God of peace we'd better invite peace into our presence.

Encourage one another. Show up for each other. Have each other's back in the tough stuff. Push them up the hill, if necessary. If instead we pull them down because we're jealous, or frustrated, or angry, don't look for a God of love.

Be of one mind. No, not agreeing on everything. That won't happen. Plus, it's boring. But agree that some things are more important than personal opinions, feelings, or preferences. Things like, ““Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. And love your neighbor as yourself.”

Something to learn from a bunch of dirty girls.

it's a love-hate thing

"All endeavor calls for the ability to tramp the last mile, shape the last plan, endure the last hours toil. The 'fight to the finish spirit' is the one characteristic we must posses if we are to face the future as finishers." Henry David Thoreau

This morning, I was thinking that Thoreau had it about right. Not as in the above quote, mind you. As in, I think I'll get away from humanity and live in a ten by ten shack because even the lack of indoor plumbing has got to be better than dealing with people on a daily basis. Yes, that is the mood I woke up, perused my email and facebook, and drank my tea in.

Has that ever been your mood? OK, I would not be a pastor if I didn't love people, deep down. But there are times when that love gets so tested, tried, and yes, broken, that I really do want to abstain from human society and all its messiness and yell at everyone, “OK, fend for yourselves now. Jill has left the building!”

I know some of you get that. It's so much easier to hide than try to fix things, especially since some of those “things” are human beings, and they are historically resistant to “fixing.” Sometimes, it just feels like a cabin would be a better option for the duration.

A cabin not being a real option, a long walk this morning sufficed. If nothing else, it would help get me ready for the 5K mud run this weekend I am woefully unready for.

And Mr. Thoreau. He is right. Quitting isn't an option. I want to be a finisher. Part of my frustration right now is that so many people are not. They're in it until it gets messy or difficult or even just slightly annoying. I don't want to be that person. I want to be a finisher.

Could the reason humanity is such a mess be that so few of us are finishers? So many are ready to walk away in the face of fear or struggle or insult? Is the lack of a "fight to the finish spirit" the reason so many people leave marriages, friendships, churches, and jobs? I don't remember Jesus saying, “Hey, I did the hard part. The rest of this 'love God and people' thing will be nothing but an easy slide into home plate.”

I do remember him saying it would be hard, and we would be attacked, and heaven help us if we stand around eating potato chips and checking our botox in the mirror when we should be gearing up for battle. (That's a loose paraphrase.)

I want to be a tramper of miles and a shaper of plans. I want to be a finisher. How about you?

new thing Tuesday

Sassy  Pants’s bad behavior pushed everyone away. A close encounter with an electric  fence helped her begin to notice and care, but too late. No one trusted her. 

How do you fix a friendship when you are  the one who broke it? 
 
Follow Sassy Pants as she works to repair the friendships she broke! Find out how Sassy Pants learns to apologize, ask forgiveness and make amends with the help of two special friends. Making amends is not easy, but having friends is worth it!


Sassy Pants is a great resource for homeschoolers. It has also been used in recovery groups (!), because of the simple way it explains the step of "Make Amends."


Author Carol A. Brown says, “I began telling stories when I had enough brothers to make an audience!” (She has four brothers and one sister!) Carol is a retired teacher who was raised in a rural farming community in Iowa. She enjoys reading and writing, nature and music, piano, knitting, crocheting, painting and telling stories! “I am dedicated to knitting sweaters and spinning yarns!”


Check out Sassy Pants Makes Amends today only for special promotions by Carol. /http://www.sassypantsmakesamends.com/

current nonwisdom

Seven for May is over. I am fully restored, if I so choose, to my seven banished forms of electronics. Welcome back, Facebook, Pinterest, Jigzone, car radio, iPod, television, and gps. Gollum/Jack Sparrow, I have missed your voices telling me where to go. 

I have felt both better and worse for being so unplugged for one month. Yes, I have felt out of touch, and I have not liked it. But, I have also felt more time in my life, more quiet in my life. And God said, it was good.

So the question weighing on me the last couple weeks has been—How do I maintain the good gain while “replugging”?

So maybe some of my new strategies for management will help some of you as well. Or maybe, you'll have better ideas to springboard off these.

First, email—Current time management wisdom is to handle email once or twice a day so it doesn't become an interruption and time sucker. Current wisdom is often wrong. For me, it's really a better use of time to try to answer it as it comes in. If I don't, chances are it may sink into the deep dark anonymous hole that becomes my inbox. Trust me, I will never find it again.

Plus, I just get overwhelmed when there is a ton of email to go through, and I procrastinate on it. Does this happen to you? So, it's easier to take care of it right away, and it actually takes less time.

Important caveat--I have to make sure I get back to the task at hand afterward. If I remember what that task was. For someone who can't remember why I opened the refrigerator, that can be tricky.

The other thing I did about email was to create a ton of separate folders within my inbox. A huge source of stress for me is the mental clutter of knowing there are messages, phone calls, and appointments out there in free fall but not knowing exactly where they are. Or knowing they're all in my endless inbox. Thus, a neat arrangement where I can pay attention to one segment at a time. Church, blogs I follow, writing group, theater, etc. All neatly organized so I can deal with them one at a time. Yeah!

Once a week, I'll now go through each of those boxes and deal with anything left over. Yes! I am going to love this.

That's one area of electronic clutter I am learning, through 7, to “de-noise.” I'll talk about some of the other areas another day. Anyone else have great suggestions?

new thing tuesdays

I'm starting a new thing on Tuesdays, and I think I'll call it . . . New Thing Tuesday. Has a ring to it, no?

There are so many of us out there loving to write but loving to market? Not so much. And these days, it's pretty much all on us. Unless you're Stephen King. And I'm not. Ick, I'd be scaring myself on a daily basis. I already do some days.

So on selected Tuesdays, I'm going to be bringing attention to new books and telling you a bit about them. If it's a genre you like to read and it sounds interesting, there are usually some free gifts associated with that day's launch, so click on through. Like this one: http://tammyhillbooks.blogspot.com/p/knowing-launch.html

So to kick off . . . ah, what was that again? New Thing Tuesdays (what will I do when it's a an old thing?), here is the first writer, Tammy Hill (pictured above), from where I'd love to be, the south of France. 

Ember Matthews has a gift...

Sixteen-year-old Ember Matthews is tired of being the person everyone else wants her to be. Although she is nervous about moving to a small town and leaving behind the comforts of her old life, Ember welcomes the opportunity to escape the mistakes and pain of her past. 

Ember truly wants to change, but when faced with temptation and peer pressure from some new friends, she finds herself slipping into the same old patterns.  As she reconnects with God, Ember begins to realize that she is no ordinary teenager. She sees things that no one else sees and knows things she has no business knowing.  Will Ember learn to use her God-given gift, or will the burden of her calling be too much for her to carry?

Readers Reviews:  

 "Tammy Hill has hit a home run with her first published novel."

A Christian Supernatural Novel for Teens, Knowing:  A Series of Gifts.  Today only:  Purchase your copy and enter to win a Kindle. http://tammyhillbooks.blogspot.com/p/knowing-launch.html

is anything bugging you?

It was one of those split-second decisions. Which is not normally how I operate. FlyLady (http://flylady.net/) said that I had to clean out from under my bed last week, and when FlyLady speaks, I've learned to listen.

I knew what was under that bed. Almost forty years worth of a collection that has now spanned two generations. When I was eleven, I took a summer school class in biology. (Yes, for fun. Call it weird if you want. I'm OK with that.) In that class, we learned two things: how to play Frisbee, and how to collect insects. I'm still pretty good at both.

Collecting insects appealed to me, because 1) I love collecting things; 2) I love identifying things; and 3) I love wildlife. And no, it is not inhumane, since, as was pointed out to me, insects live for a grand total of about two weeks anyway. So it's not like you're ridding the planet of the spotted snow leopard or anything.

Later, two daughters would continue the saga, and one would amass a hefty collection of 4H championship trophies for those efforts. Her work was superior, by any standards.

But it was time, I realized, for that collection that we have all stopped adding to to find a new home. I've been avoiding that decision for years, because parting with almost 40 years of memories, hard work, and a great deal of family memories into is a tough, tough thing to do. So before I could rethink it, I googled natural history museums, dashed an email off to one of them, and offered up those years.

Reaction of daughters who owned part of collection:

#1—Well, OK, I guess. Maybe. But can I look at it one last time?

#3—Psh. So?

You can guess which one won the trophies.

So on a very rainy day last week, nine boxes of six-legged critters found a new home at the Midwest Museum of Natural History (http://www.mmnh.org/). To say the staff was ecstatic when they saw the extent of their bequeathment (I thinkI just created that word) is like saying the Field Museum was happy to acquire Sue.

Which is what made the parting easier. Someone will love that collection. Kids will learn from it. Instead of being tucked under my bed with nowhere to display them, they're out in the world. (And really, my friends already think I'm odd. How do you think they'd feel about us if we did display nine boxes of dead insects in strategic locations around our house? “Hi—welcome to dinner. Oh, don't mind the giant wasp behind the table. Just part of our ambiance.”)

Bottom line: They're being used and profiting other people in a way they could not in our possession. And people think we're generous benefactors instead of scary psycho freaks. It's a win-win.

Do you have things like that in your home? Or maybe not tangible things in your home, but perhaps cramming your soul? Those things that may have been useful and valuable once, but now they are collecting cobwebs? A lot of us have talents hiding under our proverbial beds, or gifts that we hold close rather than use. We've been storing them up, but no one is benefitting from them because we are afraid or too busy to take them out and set them free.

I look forward to a trip to the museum to see our collection finding new life. Dust off a talent or two and see what you can do, as well.  

still thankful, even when she looks like this

I am not a person to entrust with much of anything at 7 in the morning. It's a wonder my daughter still allows me to make her lunch at that hour. Heaven knows what I might put in there. But today, I signed up to spend that hour in prayer as part of Alpha's International Year of Prayer, a plan to cover the world in prayer in 2012. (http://www.alphausa.org/Articles/1000120501/Alpha_International_Year.aspx)

Not having found my guidelines for this project yet, I figured beginning with thanksgiving might set the tone. What did I have to be thankful for? What do I have that most of the world doesn't?

This happened to put me in the car driving my youngest to school at the start of the hour. In the first five minutes, I found more things than I could keep up with, even given the 35 mpr heavily-enforced construction speed limit.

First and most obvious, the kid sitting beside me. Happy, healthy, and reasonably sane given her genetic inheritance. If she's a little too attached to her cell phone and computer, well, thank you Lord she has ten fingers and can read.

I can send said child out in the neighborhood or give her the car keys with as sure a guarantee you get in this world that she'll come back. I don't worry about crossfire or kidnapping armies on a daily basis.

I can feed her and clothe her, and if we join the farm co-op I've got my eye on, I can feed her better. Can't promise the same for the clothes. Get a job, kid. Which, she can. And I'm thankful for that.

A road. Even under construction for two years. A car. Even nine years old. Gas. Even at four bucks a gallon. I do know these are luxuries, even if I throw hissy fits about their inconvenience too often, possibly.

A cell pone in cae I run out of gas, an all-too-real possibility if her sister has driven the car last and I discover the empty gas tank only as we are pulling out with no time to spare. The phone is a far better option than walking three miles home in my pajamas and slippers, the usual driving-to-school garb of choice.

Thank you, God, for pajamas and slippers.

I am making jokes, but you know what? I just kept finding things everywhere I looked that reminded me: I should not spend one minute of my life in self-pity and complaint when I really recognize what most people do without every single day of their lives. What so many people have to fear every day of their lives. And I don't. If I had spent the whole stinking 24 hours in thanksgiving prayer today, I would still not run out.

And thanks for friends who read this. Amen.

time suckers

This isn't working. By "this" I mean, the 7 experiment. At least so far this month. Yes, I am taking more time for prayers, reading, and other great things I love. But Mother's Day yesterday pretty much proved to me that this isn't working like it's supposed to be.

Yes, it was a good Mother's Day. We had a great time at church. We had a fabulous lunch. Then, I sat down to check my email. For just a minute. Everyone else sat down to do something similar. And an hour or two later, that's what we were all doing. Sitting in front of screens. Zero human interaction. Zero recognition that it was a gorgeous day outside, we had just bought a croquet set at a garage sale the day before, and for heaven's sake anything should be a preferable use of time next to taking quizzes on "Celebrities that start with 'G'."

We're good at shaking our heads at people who watch TV thirty hours a week, or can't sustain a real relationship because they spend too much time on Facebook, or make us fear they're part of the zombie apocalypse after fifteen straight hours of video gaming. What kind of people behave like this?!

Ahem. Those people are us. We. First person plural. Maybe not guilty of those things. But what right have I to judge when I can spend an entire evening with my family in the same room and none of us talks to one another because we're all behind a silver screen with a half-eaten apple on it? (OK, mine is blue. I have a crazy-cool case on mine. Silver is for boring people.)

And maybe it's not the forbidden 7 sites or media centers. But it's something. Because we're trained to fill that time with something. And when a void presents itself, it's human nature to fill it. Not usually with the best stuff but with the most convenient. I hate this, and I am a huge part of it.

My vow for this week is not to fill space with the closest thing. Swearing off three favorite sites is clearly not enough. No more. No more anything mindless that is just taking time from where it needs to be. Instead of opening the computer (or the phone--got my first smart phone Saturday. I am already sensing the danger) as a first resort, I will make an effort to find something else. Maybe even something involving other human beings.

It's a thought. What do you find sucks your time away? How do you restrain it?

empty space: the final frontier

One week into eliminating seven forms of media from my life. I have gone one week without Facebook, TV, iPod, car radio, Pinterest, Jigzone, and Phileas. For those of you who are not in the know, Phileas is my GPS. Every appliance needs a name to feel loved.

Things I have noticed:

• It's very quiet in the car. Really quiet. I like it. Except when I don't. To fill the empty space, I have, however, been known to become so engrossed in prayer (eyes open) or planning that I miss an exit. That doesn't happen with just the radio on.

• I have no idea what's going on in my friends' lives. I don't like it. I want my Facebook back. It's not a useless part of my day; it's a valuable tool for keeping up and caring about others. I really, really miss your status updates! But, I probably spend too much time there.

• I am having electronic jigsaw puzzle withdrawal symptoms. This includes sitting in my chair in the morning with my cup of tea staring at my computer thinking, What do I do? What is this object in front of me, and how on earth am I supposed to start my day? I mean really, how much can be expected of me at 7 am anyway? Funny, but now I'm starting my day with the Bible. What a concept. Not that I didn't read it before, but now it's first. I hope to maintain that habit.

• It is very easy to fill space with other things that don't need to be done. Why do we do this? So I'm not spending that first half hour of the day with Facebook and Jigzone. You know what? It takes very little time to realize I can rediscover StumbeUpon and Sporcle (a trivia quiz site) and waste equal amounts of time there. Maybe not waste, because we all need breaks, and there is some level of brain exercise involved. (Heaven knows those quizzes on 70's TV shows must be warding off Alzeimer's right?).

For this week, I've been trying to learn not to fill space. To just let it be. To let quiet be quiet, to let mornings sounds be birds instead of keystrokes, to allow for reconsideration of simple rhythms. Overall, yes, I like it.  

eliminating the buzz

May 1st. Do you know what that means? Besides that we should now have the temperatures we had in March? It means I can legally shop anywhere I like today. Except, I don't really need to. Most of these months of having only seven options, I've almost counted the hours until I could eat something other than chicken and lettuce or wear something other than the same three shirts. But today? I have really, really enjoyed limiting the options and time spent driving everywhere for things I can do without. Maybe a plant nursery on the way home . . .

This month, however, does not promise to be so enjoyable or easy. Seven forms of media need to be cut out of my life for the month of May. The challenge in this is that I don't use that much media. Oh, I am glued to my computer for a lot of the day, make no mistake. But not much else. So is it cheating if I give up TV, which I almost never turn on? If it is, call me a cheater, because that's in there. Seven is a lot to come up with, so give a girl a break.

Will we all spend more time together this month? Will our semi-unplugged family look up from our computers and say, "Wow, when did you go blonde?" I can only hope. That's the point anyway, to take those things that get in between people out of the way and see what happens.

Seven forms of media I'm taking a break from in May:

• Facebook. You knew that had to be there. I'll still be around for professional communication, but I will not be scrolling down my wall (or whatever they are calling it now) to see what you all are up to. No matter how much I am tempted. And the world will have to do without my sparkling wit in daily status updates. Who am I kidding? I update statuses like an anaconda eats--not at all for a week and then six times in one day. 
• Pinterest. Sadly, I will have no idea what the newest recipes and garden decor are for May. Sniff. I can hear my family crying now. They were actually eating some good stuff since I discovered pinterest food boards.
• Online jigsaw puzzles. There, now you know my computer addiction. I have never seen the appeal in Farmville or Angry Birds or any of the other 101 games you've all asked me to play. I am sorry. But I spend way too much time doing puzzles in the morning when I should be working. So, no more. That's going to hurt.
• TV. That's not going to hurt. It would if the Olympics were on yet, but otherwise, I don't really care.
• The car radio. Silence in my car. Wow. That might be so totally foreign I won't know what to do. I am a music person, so I won't like this either. But at least I will no longer have to switch stations when female artists with two first names and inane lyrics come on. There is that.
• My iPod. Ouch. Yes, I sometimes use it for music while I'm walking, but the truth? I usually listen to a lecture from The Tolkien Professor. Call me a geek. It's better than when you called me a cheater. But I so love them.
• I can't think of a seventh one! I really can't! Can you help me? Offer suggestions--I'm open. Can't give up magazines, because one of my chores for May is to clean out our vastly overflowing magazine bin. And I really, really don't want to give up texting. Can I pretend I ever actually used my Twitter account and then give it up? What else? Help!!

taking it home

Only one more week of shopping at 7 stores to go. I'm not all that excited to go back to "normal." OK, I admit, I am dying to go to a nursery. Those little hostas and heucheras have been crying my name for a month, and I am willing to answer their call. But I have lived just fine without.

And I do miss eating out. With the only restaurants on our list being Starbucks and Jamba Juice, well, let's just say no one goes to either one of those for the food. (Although Jamba oatmeal is unparalleled, if you didn't know.) On the run and wanting lunch, I've felt the limited options. But I have lived just fine.

I've been trying to figure out what all this is teaching me. Giving away things, wearing only seven things, shopping at only seven places--it hasn't been that hard. Isn't something like this supposed to be earthshakingly difficult? Shouldn't the deprivation have formed me into an ultra-generous, Gandhiesque person by now? Shouldn't some life-changing lesson have jumped out at me like one of those pop-up ads that spins and sings? (Good thing it didn't. I would have closed and ignored it immediately, the annoying little bugger.) If an experiment doesn't return immediate observable results, shouldn't the scientist throw it out?

Not necessarily. Sometimes, something stands out not because it's loud and flashy but because it's quiet and slow, in the midst of a world that prefers flash. If every dog in the shelter is yapping like a crazed chihuahua, you may not notice immediately the silent one that just looks at you with eyes that say, "I'm yours." But when you do, chances are good you'll take that one home.

What I'm "taking home" from this month, the last three months, of limited options is the opposite of what it implies. It's that I have a lot of options. And one of those options we often forget is the choice to choose nothing.

I can choose not to stop at a store and get something I don't really need.
I can choose not to answer my phone and be available to someone who doesn't really need me.
I can choose not to keep something just because it's mine.
I can choose not to eat something just because I can.
I can choose not to spend time and money searching for the perfect thing and accept what works fine.
I can choose not to do and just be, especially with my family.

One of the strangleholds of the millennial generation is the plethora of choices they have. So much spread out in front of us paralyzes us to the ability to choose anything. So, learning to choose nothing is a skill I didn't know I didn't know. It's one desperately needed. And I'm glad I get to take it home.

the worst/best place to go

This week, I went Easter basket shopping for three teen-twenty-something daughters at Menards. And it was fun. I realize that does not sound possible. After all, it was one of those daughters who, years ago, gave us this conversational gem:

(Setting: Dinner table, serious family theological conversation)
Child #1--"The worst place to have to go is hell, right?"
Great theologian mother--"Yes, that's right."
Child #3--"No, the worst place to ever have to go is Menards!"

Apparently, child #3 had been on far too many trips with her father, who is known for his need to examine a single 2x4 for 30 minutes to ensure that it is the perfect 2x4 for the job.

Only seven stores to shop at in the month of April, and guess what? Easter generally falls in April. So, off to Menards it was. True, we can also go to Target, so hammers and paint brushes were not all they received. Nevertheless, it was a good time.

Did you know you can get fuzzy pink socks at Menards? And lots of candy? You probably do know this, because it seems you can buy anything at Menards, including your shampoo, right next to the plumbing aisle. I saw the tank tops and camis, but I passed on them. I just imagined the conversation when child #3 wore one to high school.

"Oh--that top is sooo cute. Where'd you get it?"
"Um . . . I . . . I don't . . . remember. Nope. No idea. Really."
To use child #3's favorite word lately, Awkward.

And, I figured, two of them will leave home in the next few years, so they will need things like hammers and screwdrivers and things to patch the holes in the walls that they will inevitably make. (Note: I did not purchase the girly hammer kits. My girls now own real hammers, thank you very much. However, I would definitely use a flowered hammer.)

So the lessons learned in our first week of shopping at only seven stores?

--Creativity. If life hands you Menards, make Easter baskets. It stretches your ability to find value where you didn't think you would and make something out of nothing. That's a good exercise for all of us.

--Simplicity. The baskets were less full this year. And you know what? No one cared. They loved what they got. I didn't go around to twenty different places looking for exactly the "thing" I thought they needed. I had only a couple choices, and they were plenty.

I already love shopping at only seven stores as much as only seven items of clothing. Simplifying my world, one shopping trip at a time.

no one cares

And so we begin April, the month of "We may only shop at seven stores." 


March was not too bad. I must say I was quite successful in wearing only seven articles of clothing. Mainly, because it made life so much easier. Yes, most people react to the idea of wearing only seven things for a solid month with fear and trepidation; easy is the last thing they associate with it. 


But honestly? Waking up in the morning and asking myself, "What shall I wear today?" and having the answer be, "The only clean shirt you have among the three allowed"? Totally freeing. I never had to think. 


OK, I had to think the one Sunday I was preaching a sermon. I do feel like people deserve a pastor who doesn't look like she hasn't done her laundry in two weeks and wore whatever fell out of the drawer first. Still, I easily was able to stay within the seven.


I loved the freeness of not worrying about it. Just get dressed and go. There were complications. No one anticipated the 80-degree weather of a March in Chicago when we chose jeans and long-sleeved shirts. Still, I sweated on. Until the evening I fell down the steps and sprained my ankle. Hard enough to make me unable to walk for several days. 


Which means, that since no one else in the house has a genetically programmed code for tossing in a load of laundry, including six of my seven articles of clothing, I had to chose to violate the seven covenant or sit in the living room naked. I really didn't think anyone wanted the latter. Although it might have been enough to motivate some laundry action. 


I considered this a circumstance beyond my control and surrendered to other clothes. Although, some might say that if I watched where I was going on the stairs, it would have been completely within my control. 


It all makes me think, of course, of those wonderfully wise words of Jesus, knowing as he did how much we worry about things that matter so little.

“That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?

“And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing,yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you." (Matthew 6)

We care so stupidly much about our clothes, and our "style," and our need to put a good fashion show on for anyone who sees us. But I dare say not one person noticed that I wore only three shirts the entire month of March. No one pays as much attention as we either hope or fear. Only we put so much faith in what we look like and so little in the one who created us and called us beautiful. 

Not saying we should all go around looking like we don't care. That's really another form of pride. But maybe breathing in the unalterable fact that he promised to care for us, both in terms of our needs and in terms of being crazy in love with us? No matter what we look like when we wake up? 

I think I'm ready to add some clothes to that pile of things to give away we started in January. I just don't need that much.

embracing the unexpected. Not.

"Word to the wise: You just never know when the Universe is gonna goose ya."


For this post, I scanned the internet for an appropriate quote on the unexpected. I found inspirational quotes on how beautiful it can be to embrace the unexpected, how our paths are defined by doing so, and how inner peace is attained by accepting it. 


So not where I am at right now. Then I found the one above, and it's just about right on the head. Found on a yoga site, no less. I consider that pretty ironic. 


To make the story short and not become one of those old ladies (I am not old) who traps you for 2 hours lamenting and listing her ills, let me sum it up. For the past month, as soon as I start getting up from some physical ailment, another one shoves me down. Pretty much literally, as in, my green chair is permanently imprinted with my backside. We have had a lovely spring, but I have not seen it. And the latest, a sprained ankle, has just made me bereft of any of that "look on the bright side" spirit. Sometimes, life just gooses ya, and it stinks.


We often look at lousy circumstances and ask God, "OK, what are you teaching me here? What am I supposed to learn?" Or sometimes, when it's been a bit much, "Don't you think I'm done learning this *#%@& lesson by now???" (No, of course I don't do that. But some people do.) 


One surprising thing I've learned is that sometimes, it's not all about me. Maybe, someone else is supposed to learn a lesson through what's going on in my life, and I'm just supposed to sit still and let it happen. Or at least, not get in the way. 


Maybe that sounds like I think I'm some kind of amazingly spiritual role model that God uses as his shining example. Um, not . . . exactly. Or perhaps it just sounds like I'm a human guinea pig for God's cosmic experiments. First, I don't believe God messes with people like that, and second, if he wanted to, he's God, so I guess I'm OK with that. He can do what he wants with things that belong to him.


I told my family, for instance, that maybe they're supposed to be learning how to manage to get through a day without Mom/Wife running the ship. You know, about the fifth time you're asked "What's for dinner?" or "Where is my piece of paper I left right there?" you're highly likely to explode with something like, "Yes, I'm faking it. At night when you're all asleep, I get out of this chair and rearrange the house with all your stuff! I haven't stood up in a week, how am I supposed to know what's for dinner???" (No, of course I don't do that. But, again, some people do.) 


Maybe they're supposed to learn to develop a "sight" outside their own little worlds. Seeing places they're needed and ways they should help the world function. Realizing those "other" needs might break into their own agendas. Opening eyes to things that are not in the plan. Maybe starting with the dishes . . . 


I say it half-facetiously, since when asked they are pretty good at helping out, but I'm also quite serious. Most of us are so encased in our personal agendas we simply don't look around to see where we could be stretching ourselves. And I have learned that this is true of myself, as well. 


It's not all about me. When bad things happen to me, it's still not. Saying, "God, what are you going to teach me?" is still rather self-centered. It's still about what I can get out of a lousy situation. What can someone else get? A different perspective, I think.

still our kids

I last walked the Great Wall of China ten years ago. Almost, anyway. It will be ten year in October. I know the date, because I turned forty in the air above the International Date Line, and I have maintained ever since that it never really happened, since the day disappeared.

Ten years is a long time chronologically. But emotionally, it can be a heartbeat, and I feel like I could go back tomorrow and the faces we met at the orphanage would still be there, still smiling, still making me smile. Of course, they are not. They are teenagers now, or even adults, and they have new stories and new dreams. For ten years, our family has kept up with those dreams, because for two weeks we were part of their lives, and now they will always be "our kids."

Our own kids were 6, 10, and 11 when we packed them up to fly halfway around the globe and learn how to eat, sleep, play, and (the worst, in their opinion) use the bathroom in China. Of course, that wasn't the main thing we wanted then to learn.

We live in a suburb. In one of the richest counties in America. We don't fit in, really, but that's beside the point. Culturally, our kids absorb daily the idea that things are gods, you are your successes, and anything (or anyone) that isn't convenient is disposable. That osmosis process is deadly to their ability to be the humans God intended them to be. So, we thought radically and decided a dose of another culture was in order.

We also rebelled against the typical church culture that told kids their main purpose was to be entertained and educated (in no particular order) until they grew up enough to be of use in the church. Where did that crazy idea come from? Definitely not from Jesus. Kids have gifts, too, and we wanted ours to know they didn't have to be sidelined at any age.

I can't begin to chronicle here all the things we experienced that woke us up and rattled our complacent thinking. I still, ten years later, don't know all the echoes that will result.

In fact, it took a book to chronicle it, and I'm very excited it's finally done. No, the entire book is not about us (how boring would that be?). It's about how other families can, and should, have this kind of experience for themselves, whether in China or Chattanooga. And--insert big confetti party here--it's now available on Amazon! In paperback at the moment, though I hope to have the ebook version available this week.

So many parents look at me when I talk about this this and say, "Wow--I could never do that!" To which I want to reply, "Why in the world not?" So, for those who find the entire concept scary and overwhelming, I wrote the book. I thought it was that important to let other parents know it's not scary and overwhelming. OK, it is, but in a good way.

Among the things addressed: how to find the right place, pack, apply for paperwork, prepare your kids emotionally and spiritually, follow up afterward, and a whole lot of other stuff. I am very excited, and when I'm excited, well, I want to let my friends know. So, now you do. And if there is a family, church, organization, etc. you think would also be excited, can you pass on the link? Thank you--you are fabulous. http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Forget-Pack-Kids-Missions/dp/0615581188/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1331567617&sr=8-1

So far in our 7 experiment (http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2011/12/26/an-experimental-mutiny-against-excess), we're about 3/4 for 2. Or something like that. Month one, January, we were supposed to give away 7 things per person in our family. We got about 2/3 of the way there before we ran out of time. But we continue, so at least that's not a fail. I'd say we got a B for January.

February--eating only 7 foods. D. For me anyway. Maybe a D+ for grace. I tried, really. And the funny thing was, my errors were not so much ones of willpower as simple forgetfulness. I'd be making a recipe, and it said to toss in carrots and mushrooms, so, I did. Or I'd see a plate of brownies at church, and I'd just put one in my mouth. Sometime around the second chew I'd realize. I'm not supposed to be eating this. And we all know it's kind of rude to spit out brownie mid-chew in the middle of church. Especially if said brownie maker is nearby.

When our book group read The Happiness Project last year, the author had a chapter on Mindfulness and its link to happiness. I knew before reading it that would be the problem chapter for me. I am so not mindful. If I ever had to identify for police what my child was wearing this morning, I couldn't even verify that she was wearing anything at all, let alone color and style. I don't pay attention. This is a fatal flaw for a writer and, I am guessing, not too great as a human being.

Thus, the barely passing grade in eating the right foods. What does it teach me? That, yes, paying attention matters. Being present in the moment matters. Telling my daughter she looks beautiful in the morning because I noticed matters. Looking carefully at that food I'm about to eat, or that person I'm about to forget the name of, or that sentence I'm about to let slip that I shouldn't matters.

I will always struggle with this. It's not in my makeup to look outward and notice things. But I'll keep trying.

Now March. That's going to be an A. Wearing only 7 articles of clothing. All month. And no, since I know it's your first question, underwear do not count. You know why I know I can do this? Because I'm already realizing the great month it's going to be for laundry. That, I noticed right away.