Lessons in Motherhood: The First Year

It has been almost a year since I last blogged. One of the last times I wrote was the day before my due date, and I was unpacking in my head and heart the truth that I was not in control of anything that was about to happen to me – when I would go into labor, how long I would be in labor, what labor would be like, whether I would have a baby boy or a baby girl. In the past year, I have learned even more intimately that I am not in control, and I haven’t blogged once because I only blog when I have something to say, and I’ve been too busy living and learning to have much of anything to say.

Today marks one year since the birth of Baby Brick, and I wanted to share a few things that have been on my heart, and just a few things being a momma has taught me.

What I’ve Learned…

1.       I can’t do this alone (It really DOES take a village)

Living ten hours away from family with a baby presents some unique challenges. I’m not complaining about not having family close (though I miss them every day). I recognize that we have made a choice to live here in New Orleans – BUT that makes getting out regularly for date nights, getting a last minute sitter, going away for the weekend, and such a lot more challenging. Thankfully, we Bricks are blessed with such an amazing group of friends who are like family. I don't know what we'd do with out Ashley who watches Elizabeth every day while Matt and I are at work. It is a gift to have peace of mind every day knowing that our girl is not just taken care of but loved on. Elizabeth also has so many babysitters (Ashley, Anna, Mary, Sara, Sarah, Torie, Rachel and Lucy just to name a few!) who have been lifesavers on many occasions, and who have loved her as if she was their own. And I am so glad to be building this network of friends who I feel safe leaving my girl with for hours (or sometimes a couple of days) knowing she will be clean, fed, snuggled, played with and loved on. This gift of community can’t be understated, and as a mother, I can truly say I don’t know what we’d do without y’all!

2.       I can’t have or do or be it all (and I don’t really want all of it all the time)

After a much needed and much appreciated 6-month maternity leave, I headed back to work. To be honest, up until Elizabeth was a couple of months old, I wasn’t sure if I would want to go back to work or not. But around Christmas time last year, I really felt confirmed that I was supposed to go back to work. I didn’t take this decision lightly. But I honestly do feel called to spend time in the workplace, building relationships, loving and encouraging my coworkers. As a recovering perfectionist who expects herself to excel at everything, learning to manage my expectations of myself in all realms of my life has been a learning process. I told a friend last week that I’ve realized that I’m not as good at many things as I was before. There is the same amount of ‘me’ to go around and more people/activities/things sharing in the pie, so just doing sheer math one can deduce that there would be less of me to give to each person/activity/thing. I am so thankful to be surrounded by a loving husband, supportive coworkers, and understanding friends. There are days when I feel like I’m failing at one or all of the things on my plate, but I’m trying, and I’m starting to learn, really learn, that you can’t have it all, but you can have pieces of all of it. That’s what I’m going for in this season.

3.       Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing (Learning to Be Present)

Between Matt’s job and my job we are busy people. In the past month, we’ve probably had four nights at home with no meetings to attend, or work to do, or people to have over. And while we love doing all those things, it has become increasing apparent (perhaps due to the sleep deprivation that has built up since Elizabeth stopped sleeping through the night two months ago) that sometimes we just need to BE. Sometimes we need to say no to hosting people, no to meetings, no to laundry, no to errands, and just enjoy the quiet moments at home. This has honestly been one of the hardest lessons for me. I have people-pleasing tendencies and often over-commit myself.  A couple of weekends ago, I signed us up for 2 events on Friday night, errands and grocery shopping Saturday morning, a birthday party in the afternoon, one-year photos in the evening, followed by dinner with some other friends. Needless to say, that was too much, and by 2pm on Saturday, Elizabeth was sleeping through the birthday party and I was a hot mess in the kitchen having a panic attack because I overcommitted us and then realized too late that it was all too much. So, through trial and error, I’m learning - learning to SLOW DOWN, to SAY NO to some good things so that I can SAY YES to the better things. Our time here is fleeting and I don't want to miss out on these little and big moments.

  

So, there you have it. My first attempt at unpacking a few of the thousands of lessons I’ve learned over the past year. All of this feels a little raw. My heart honestly feels a little raw still from all of the changes and all of the newness I’ve experienced. But I’m holding on to what I’m learning, giving thanks for grace along the way, and trying to extend more grace – especially to all the mommas out there. 

A Christmas Onion: Peeling Back the Layers

Christmastime is here, y'all.

So far this Christmas season I've been experiencing an internal struggle. Something within me has been feeling "off" or not fully into the Christmas spirit. Our tree is decorated. Some presents are wrapped (others still need to be purchased). Outdoor lights are hung. There have been Christmas parties to attend  or host. We've started watching our collection of Christmas movies - and if Elf doesn't get you in the mood, I don't know what will. We even have a new baby to celebrate with. Yet, I've felt disconnected, discombobulated, and otherwise lost somewhere in the Christmas cosmos. I excitedly purchased a new Advent book, The Greatest Gift, by one of my favorite authors, Ann Voskamp. However, I've even been struggling to connect with each day's devotion and questions. To be honest, even with all the good and exciting things there are to celebrate this time of year, I've just been feeling "blah". Does anyone else ever feel this way?

This morning at the Freret Donut Shop I was discussing my problems with Matt, mostly just processing with him that I was beginning to think that the things we most celebrate about Christmas (family, giving, gathering, etc.) are good things, but they don't fully satisfy because they are not the whole point or purpose of celebration. I was struggling, though, to quantify what I thought the meaning of Christmas was. I knew the surface level/Christianese answer about Jesus being born but even that wasn't enough. This afternoon, reading the Advent book I'd been struggling through, everything that seemed off and all that I couldn't verbalize jumped off the page and pierced my heart. Just like the people of Isaiah 9, who had been walking in darkness but were to see a great light, I feel like the Lord gave me a deeper insight than I'd ever before.

"Christmas cannot be bought. Christmas cannot be created. Christmas cannot be made by hand, lit up, set out, dreamed up. Christmas can only be found." (The Greatest Gift, p. 138)

And then, something awesome happened, friends. I found my Christmas, on the very next page!!

"We are saved from our loneliness because God is love and He can't stand to leave us by ourselves, to ourselves. That is the message of Christmas. The message of Christmas is not that we can make peace. Or that we can make love, make light, make gifts or make the world save itself. The message of Christmas is that the world's a mess and we can never save ourselves from ourselves and we need a Messiah. For unto us a child is born." (The Greatest Gift, p. 139)

Boom. Truth. And the message my heart was longing for. Right there.

So, I've imagined this year that Christmas is a little like an onion, with all these complex layers. 

On the outer layers, we have the truly surface-y things like parties, presents, and Santa. These are good things. Nothing bad about them, but they are only good. Then, as we begin to peel back the layers and delve deeper into the heart of the matter, we come to the better things - the generosity that is in people's hearts this time of year, spending time with loved ones, etc. The past few years, Matt and I have been moving more to this layer. We're doing fewer gifts and focusing more on planning time with family and friends. And it's been fun. We have been less stressed about running out and buying a bunch of stuff for the sake of buying. However, there is a deeper, fuller, richer, more meaningful layer, which is the best reason to celebrate this season - God is with us! Knowing what shape we were in, God, the Creator of the universe and all of us, CAME TO US TO SAVE US FROM OURSELVES. In my heart today, I've seen this as a reason to celebrate, something to really get excited about, and a way to rid me of the 'blah' feeling I'd been fighting these weeks. 

Merry Christmas, everyone. I hope this blog fills your heart with hope and joy this season. There's so much to celebrate - so many good gifts, so many better gifts, and the greatest gift - God With Us.

 

Advent and Babies

Advent, the four Sundays immediately preceding Christmas, has and forever will be one of my very favorite liturgical seasons. It is a time of excitement and expectancy, anticipation and waiting, joyful waiting. All of this buildup is okay because we know that at the end of that season of waiting, there is the best gift: arrival of Christ - the Creator coming to Earth, Emmanuel, God With Us!

I feel like I am in a season of waiting right now. Baby Brick is due tomorrow! However, all signs are pointing to the baby coming late, and likely me being induced in a week or so. Here I am at the end of what has been an 'easy' pregnancy, waiting not-so-patiently to meet this little one. I find myself researching wives' tales and other labor-inducing tricks. As everyone asks me how I'm feeling, I have begun to sigh and feign misery. The truth is, I feel fine. I'm slightly uncomfortable and there are some mornings where I don't feel wonderful, but overall I have nothing to complain about.

The issue, then, is more with my heart than my body. For the past 33 weeks and 6 days, I have been mentally preparing myself for November 5, the due date assigned to Baby Brick by the doctor. In my head, I set that date as the end point, the Christmas to my Advent season, if you will. So when I went to the doctor late last week and was told yet again that my body was not yet showing signs of labor, I was utterly disappointed. I spent the weekend moping and fretting and looking up tips and tricks to start the process naturally.

Yesterday as I was struggling and seeking solace and trying to find peace, I was graciously reminded by my Father that all of this will happen in His time - no matter how far I walk, or how much spicy food I eat or whatever other techniques I employ. I am having to let go of any sense of control over the situation, to learn to wait joyfully and not begrudgingly, to live in the truth that the gift at the end of this waiting is so worth the wait, no matter if it is a few days longer than I was expecting. My prayer for the next hours and days as I wait to meet my little one, to find out of I am a momma to a son or a daughter, is that my waiting would be full of joy, not tinged with bitterness because I am not in control (as if I ever am!). That my heart would be content just a little longer, until the timing is right for all this to happen. That I would live with expectancy and have an Advent mindset, not growing impatient.

Baby Brick, your dad and I are so ready to meet you! But we're willing to wait patiently, joyfully until the fullness of time for your arrival.

Upperline

This weekend we walked through our empty apartment for the final time, sat on Ramsey's couch and ate chocolate and drove away from the place no longer tenants. There are lots of exciting things about this: we are homeowners, we have a bedroom for Baby Brick, and we have lots more room to entertain. However, after a ride to our new home, I found my eyes filled with tears. I'm really going to miss that old apartment. Sure, it wasn't the fanciest apartment, and it had its quirks, including but not limited to: uneven floors that showed the ground below in some places, kitchen cabinet doors that were almost off the hinges, an unfortunate number. of nail holes in the walls from previous tenants, and windows that allowed vines to grow into our bathroom. In spite of all this, I find myself filled with gratitude for the nearly three years this apartment on Upperline served as the Brick House. Here are a few things we learned:

1. We learned how to be a family

We spent three of our first four years of marriage in this place. I remember being so excited when we moved in to have a place to set up our bedroom and a real kitchen table. We moved from a 300-square-foot apartment into this spacious one-bedroom shotgun double. Looking back I can't help but thank God for the kitchen I really learned to cook in. For the dinners we had at that table, recounting our days and learning so much about each other. For the late night talks in that bedroom, the ones we spent in desperation trying to solve some problem or resolve some conflict. For the early mornings when we learned one another's routines. What a blessing to have had a sense of consistency of place for our family during a season full of so much change!

2. We learned how to build community

Matt found our apartment when he got involved in a community service project, helping coordinate the volunteer effort to build a playground at our neighborhood park. We got to know Ramsey, our landlord, during the process of organizing the event and moved in shortly after. Little did we know at the time what an impact this man or this block would have on our lives. Ramsey is this unique kind of guy who knows a little about everything! He can relate to nearly anyone in any situation and we began to watch the way he interacted with so many neighbors. He always made each person he was talking to feel like they were the most interesting person he'd encountered. Some might call this being a good schmoozer or a politician, but those people don't know Ramsey. As we watched and learned from Ramsey's example and began to porch sit regularly and attend barbecues, we got to know interesting neighbors as Caitlin and Karen and Haché and Ed and Dave and Marie and Myrt and Lana and Alex and Marjorie. Then, in August of last year, we had the chance to put into practice some of what we'd been learning. Hurricane Isaac knocked us out of power for several days and we got to be part of a community weathering a storm together (eating red beans heated over our gas stove by candlelight) and picking up the pieces after (like the gutter and shingles and tree limbs we cleared from our little yard). My prayer is now for our new neighborhood, that we'd meet fun new neighbors and continue to put into practice what we learned from our little block of Upperline. 

3. We learned how to live in a city

We dealt with street parking and Mardi Gras traffic. We threw Spring crawfish boils and deep fried Thanksgiving Turkeys and watch movies on a blow-up big screen with neighbors in our park. We walked to our favorite restaurants and coffee shops. When we were feeling really brave we walked to Rouse's or Whole Foods. Matt fell in love with public transportation and I enjoyed the excitement of taking the streetcar to work on summer mornings. We learned how to utilize small spaces and get rid of unnecessary 'stuff' (disclaimer: I'm still learning). For two kids who grew up outside of an urban context, we have pretty quickly learn to adapt and absolutely love the noise and proximity of city living. 

4. We learned how to love a space

This might seem like a strange idea, loving a space, but what I mean is this: we learned to appreciate the beauty of our home, even if the aesthetics were less than perfect. I'll miss that piece of tile in the kitchen that was loose. I will miss the dented wood floors in the bedroom that I despised at first. I will miss my tiny navy blue kitchen and that annoying cabinet door that would almost fall off whenever it was opened. Why? Because for a very meaningful season of our lives, that was our home, our place. That was the place we danced to Jazz music and laughed a lot and cried and grilled out and slept together. That was the place we hosted friends and neighbors and anyone who would come in. We learned so much in those four rooms, and I will never drive by that little yellow house without smiling. 

So, thanks Upperline, for the memories. We Bricks love you and are so thankful for what time in your walls taught us. We're praying now for your next tenants, that they would love and appreciate you for what you are: a home, a really great one. 

Thanks in All Things

A few weeks ago Matt indulged my inner bookworm and ordered me two books by Shauna Neiquist, an author, blogger and woman I've admired for years. The books were titled Bittersweet and Bread and Wine. Bittersweet is a collection of her essays and thoughts on life's challenges and hard times and Bread and Wine includes stories and recipes and encouragement to be hospitable. I might focus on Bread and Wine in another post, but I've had some initial reflections from Bittersweet rolling around in my head for too long now, so I've got to share.

One of the memorable lines that has provoked much pondering in my own life pretty much sums up the book:"...a life of nothing but sweetness rots both your teeth and your soul. Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity" 

I  think one of the reasons Bittersweet touched me so deeply is that for the past several months I have been feeling a season of bitterness. I say 'feeling' because the actual depth of the difficulty or bitterness of the season may not appear to be especially great to a bystander - mostly safe and happy family, sweet friends, an encouraging husband, a Baby Brick growing inside me. However, I've felt more angst and struggle in these past months than any other season in my life (blessed my life has been!) Anyone who works in public accounting knows that busy season is brutal. It is a physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually draining season. This year was my first year in the role of 'in charge'. It was the first time I was asked to lead a team, teach and train staff, manage a budget, meet client deadlines and also balance executive expectations. The work is challenging and the hours are demanding. At the end of each day, I felt keenly aware of the reality that someone's expectations of me had not been met. On same days, it was my friends or family or husband because I wasn't available to them. On other days, it was my bosses, because I didn't deliver excellent work. And often times, it was me, because I felt frazzled and stretched far beyond my abilities. 

As the season ended, I expected to feel a sense of relief and joy. Surprisingly, I found myself feeling bitter, angry that it had been so hard, frustrated that I didn't manage it better, and really just kind of ticked that I felt like I was navigating these emotions alone, without feeling the presence of the Lord guiding me through. I sometimes wonder if other people go through these same emotions, or if I'm a lone crazy wolf refusing to accept grace and goodness in front of me. Anyway, in the midst of my post-busy season blues, I read this book,and was able to pinpoint part of the reason for my dissatisfaction. Shauna shared the following insight into her own life: "If I'm honest, I prayed the way you order breakfast from the short order cook: this is what I want. Period...I didn't pray for God's will to be done in my life, or, at any rate, I didn't mean it. I prayed to be rescued, not redeemed. I prayed for it to get easier, not that I would be shaped in significant ways. I prayed for the waiting to be over, instead of trying to learn something about patience our anything else for that matter."

Praying for what I want? Guilty. Praying to be rescued? Yep. Praying for it to get easier? to be over sooner? Check and check.

No wonder my attitude at the end of the journey I'd been on was so off! I had been missing the point the whole time, so consumed with myself and my personal satisfaction and comfort in the situation that I couldn't see all the opportunities for grace and peace and growth before me. Just like this author who shared her heart and journey through the most difficult season in her life, I was beginning to see how my own actions and attitudes had caused more pain and frustration in the end. 

I went to the book of the Bible I start with when I haven't opened it in a while, when I'm not sure where to go - the book of James. I think it has become habit since I started reading James more regularly a few years ago when my Maymee told me it was her favorite book. (If you knew my Maymee, you loved her and you'd read James regularly, too, just so you could learn to be an example like her.) Anyway, innocently enough, I turned to James and came to James 1:2-4, which says "Count it all joy, my  brothers, when you face trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing." The tears of my heart flowed as I realized that in my bitterness and frustration, I'd nearly missed out on the gift - the character and growth that come as a result of going through a trial. I won't say that I am not looking forward to a season of calm and work in life that are currently upon me, but I can say today that I am thankful for opportunities to grow in faith and steadfastness, even if the journey itself isn't pretty. I'm praying that the next difficult season I am met with will see a different response from me.

So friends, I'll leave you with this: if you are going through a hard time, a dark season, a period of bitterness in your life, don't do what I did. Don't lose sight of the point. Don't become overwhelmed. I'm thankful tonight for a loving Lord who showed me grace and the gift of my season, even if it was a few months after the fact. 

In closing, I'll let Shauna's words speak to you as they did to me Be encouraged, friends: 

"...when life is sweet say thank you and celebrate. And when life is bitter, say thank you and grow."

Good News

I woke up this morning feeling excited for the first morning in a while. After some incoherent mumbling about how early it was I rolled over and greeted Matt with a hearty "He is risen!" Growing up in the Methodist church, one of my favorite things about Easter Sunday was the greeting. "Christ is risen" the pastor would say. The people then respond joyfully "He is risen indeed!" As I've gotten older and no longer have that liturgy to look forward to, I have made my own tradition of sharing the greeting with friends and family who know the call and response. As we drove to Tulane's campus to set up for our Easter gathering, I sent a few texts sharing the good news with some old friends and eagerly awaited the reply.

I was reminded of the account of the sharing of the Gospel, the Good News, the Resurrection from Matthew. (I've always liked that one in particular). "1 Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2 And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. 4 And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men. 5 But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.6 He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 7 Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you."8 So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples." (Matt 28:1-8).

I share all this because this past Lenten season has been one of the driest seasons of my life. Work has been more difficult and consuming of my time and energy than I even imagined. I attempted to give up complaining for Lent, in an attempt to reign in my bitter and ungrateful heart. All I will say is that was a big fail and Busy Season is not the time to attempt such a feat. So between feeling like a failure at work and in my spiritual life, I honestly had not spent more than 5 minutes thing about Easter. That's why it surprised me that I woke up with a joyful heart this morning excited to share the Good News. I have been praising Jesus all morning for a joy that truly only comes from Him. Because my heart and mind had no room for any such joy but He pushed His way in and I am so glad! Our God works miracles big and small and igniting my heart this morning would qualify as a big victory.

This afternoon as I pause from Easter festivities and take time to write a blog I don't have time to write, my prayer is that this joy and excitement to share the Good News would be more than an Easter Sunday feeling, that it would've a daily excitement to share the Truth of Jesus' resurrection and love and victory with those that I encounter. That this Truth and His victory would reign in your heart and mine on the good days and bad days. During Busy Season, during trials, during seasons of dryness, during seasons of Promise.

I close simply with this: Christ is risen, friends! And that is some good news!!

Why New Orleans Matters (to me)

This post has been on my heart for months...here's hoping my words today can be clear.

Part of my reason for writing now is that twice in one week I have had conversations with people about the city and why I love it here. One of the conversations was with coworkers (most of whom were born and raised in the area and lived through Katrina). The other was with a group of girlfriends, as one was sharing about her struggles with adjusting to life in this city and how she just can't call this place home.So I think now is the time to write.

I should start by stating it simply. I love New Orleans.

When Matt and I first starting discussing my potential move and our potential future here, I was not thrilled, to say the least. However, my reservations had very little to do with the city itself and much more to do with its location 10 hours away from my family and hometown. But the fact of the matter is that I did not want to move. However, over a period of several months of praying and talking, I really felt like the Lord was asking me to step out of my comfort zone, and to move to this foreign land of heat, humidity, mosquitoes, old houses, raucous parties, and crazies. (Yes, sadly, this was my expectation for the place I would be calling home.) Anyway, I agreed.

As soon as I arrived, though, I was enchanted. There is something so inviting and mysterious about the city. It's as if you just want to keep walking or driving around the next corner, because you just don't know what you might see. There is always a new restaurant to try, a new festival to attend, new people to meet (and the people always have such interesting stories!). It didn't take me long to be smitten.  Before I really fell in love, I appreciated the same things other "outsiders" enjoy: the food, the music, Mardi Gras, the atmosphere. However, since I've been here for more than three years now, my love has grown deeper. Now, I appreciate some better things: I truly love the people, the history, the culture that is the fabric of life here. One of my favorite activities porch sitting and chatting with my neighbors. My favorite date night is at Dick & Jenny's, a neighborhood restaurant within a five minute walk from our house. Nothing beats the feeling of running on St. Charles at daybreak.

All of these conversations and ponderings got me to thinking about a book I read last year. It is called Why New Orleans Matters by Tom Piazza and it is beautiful and true. I even bought I copy for my Mom, and I'm hoping it will help her see why a girl like me could love a place like this. (I'd buy each of you reading this one, too, if you'd like....the book is that good!)

The books shares some funny anecdotes, and some sad truths. But this particular line stuck out to me:
"New Orleans is a city of elegance, beauty refinement, and grace. It is also a city of violence, poor education and extreme poverty" (76).

It is one of the deepest truths about New Orleans that it is a place of great juxtaposition. It is old and new. It is rich and poor. It is beautiful and broken. Aren't we all? I think that's part of what I love so much about this place. It is kind of like all of us. Sometimes I find myself focusing so much on one aspect that I forget the other exists. For example, during Mardi Gras time, when the city has put on her best dress, when beads are thrown and music is played, and people are just happy to stand on the sidewalk and just BE, on those days, I see beauty. On an evening stroll through the Quarter on our way to Irene's for dinner, with jazz notes hanging in the thick night air, I see beauty. I don't notice the trash or the debauchery or the darkness that undoubtedly resides around the corner. Other times, though, like when I am driving up Washington towards Claiborne, all I can see is poverty. When I am stopped at a red light by the interstate and see a man with a sign asking for money, all I can see is despair. When I watch the news in the morning and hear of the latest murders, my heart breaks and I'm not sure when or how it will ever stop. But no matter how distracted I can be by beauty at times and brokenness at others, I must remember that I live in a city that is both, simultaneously. I think we all live in places like that, no matter what city or country we're in. We live in a beautiful and broken world.

Matt recently shared with our church family about how as Christians we're called to live in the city with a purpose, taking the ministry and message of reconciliation that we've been given to those who need it the most - those who are poor (whether physically, emotionally, relationally or spiritually). And that is just what we Bricks are trying to do. Last fall, we spent a Saturday morning serving the city as part of Mayor Landrieu's NOLA for Life campaign. We helped clean up a park in Central City. We got to meet some of the kids who play in that park and help them make their community safer. We are looking forward to getting behind this or other similar causes in the months and years to come.

But this mission that Matt and I are involved with is more than community service - for us, its a way of life. It means engaging and loving our neighbors and sharing life with them; and I mean really sharing life, not just waving hello as we run from our cars into our front doors but instead actually getting to know them and what they do and where they're from and who they are. It is much easier to do this in a city, especially in a shotgun-style house like we live in where we share a front porch with our neighbors. It means living in a smaller house than we might if we lived elsewhere. It means street parking and long waits for the streetcar or bus at times because nothing in NOLA is ever on time. It means having to plan weekend plans during Mardi Gras around whether you'll be able to make it back home before they close streets down. But it also means having true community with aforementioned neighbors; getting to walk to dinner or the grocery or the bus stop. It means the dry cleaner knows our name as soon as Matt walks in the door and Cesar his barber gives him a special deal because he's been a client for five years now. I could go on and on. The point is, living with a purpose in this city (or any city) is tough at times, but when you love a place it is so worth it.

So, NOLA friends, I'd be interested to hear from you. Why does New Orleans matter to you?
And everyone else, come on down and see what all the fuss is about. But be careful, you might just have to stay!

Words of Wisdom

Lately I've been thinking a lot about my words, how I use them, and the impact my words have on my heart.

I was at a Christmas service recently where we sang O Come All Ye Faithful. Tears filled my eyes as we repeated the lines "O come let us adore him" and "For He alone is worthy". In the stillness of the moment, contemplating those phrases overwhelmed me. My mind rested on the word "adore" and thoughts drifted to its more commonly utilized cousin "love". I was convicted thinking about how carelessly I throw that word around. I say that I love my husband, I love my new shoes, I love pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks, I love Jesus. See how vastly different those things are? Do I really feel the same about my favorite pair of shoes as my husband? A coffee drink and the Creator of the Universe? Obviously I don't!

So then, part of the problem is that I am not careful with my words. I allow popular semantics and cultural norms to effect my speech. I ignore advice from the book of James. I have not tamed my tongue. One of the strongest analogies in James 3 is "Look at the ships also: though they are so large and are driven by strong winds, they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs." (James 3:4) It speaks right to the fact that our tongue, though small and seemingly powerless, has an unmistakeable impact on our very hearts and lives.

I am also considering how the words that come out of my mouth direct the attitudes of my heart. Or maybe it is the other way around and the attitudes of my heart impact the words that roll off my tongue. Either way, my heart and my words are inextricably connected and I know I need to be more careful with both. How often do I hear (and yes, even distribute on occasion) gossip - hurtful and ugly words about others? And how do those words shape my view on the person of whom I am speaking? How often do I allow lies spoken into my head "I am a failure"; "This outfit makes me look too fat/thin/young/old"; "I could never do that"; "I'm not worthy" come out of my mouth? Only I know the depth of the damage those words do to my self worth - and I can say it is pretty extensive.

With all these thoughts rolling around in my head, in the New Year, I am praying that I might be a woman of fewer words - more meaningful words, truer words, wiser words. That I'd use my words to encourage and not to tear down. That I would be precise, acknowledging that I enjoy my pumpkin spice latte, that I appreciate the beauty in my shoes, that I admire my husband and that I adore my God. I am praying, as the psalmist wrote, that the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart would be acceptable to The Lord, who is my rock and my redeemer (Psalm 19:14).

The Way I See It

I've heard it before, "Well, the way I see it..." That phrase often precedes the speaker sharing her opinion on a topic based on her perspective. Recently, I've been thinking a lot about perspective. And I've learned that the way I look at things really does matter.

I have been reading the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp (If you haven't read it - run, don't walk, run to the bookstore or click on the link and get it now!) and the book offered me great challenge and encouragement. I found myself saying "Me, too!" on page after page, thought after thought.

Ann (I'll use her first name like we're friends) writes of a life she lived for years, an unfulfilled life. Yes, she knew and loved the Lord, but often she found herself lacking something in a life filled with busyness - farm chores, six children to raise and homeschool, and countless writing and speaking engagements. Ann ultimately came to the conclusion that what she was missing, that which would satisfy her weary soul, was living a life full of JOY in the Lord.

Thus, Ann began a journey to discover eucharisteo, or thanksgiving, in her daily life. She decided to make a list, to count one thousand blessings in her every day. She named things like morning shadows across old floors (#1); mail in the mailbox (#22); kisses in the dark (#56); clean sheets smelling like the wind (#243); suds...all color in the sun (#362); forgiveness of a sister (#783); toothless smiles (#882). Every item named, recognized, acknowledged as a gift and thanks given for it.

And so, in response to Ann's journey, I've decided to take one of my own. I have started my own list of one thousand gifts, the reminders of His grace and goodness in the ordinary that I could easily miss out on if I didn't take the time to recognize them, to count them, to name them as blessings. But more than a list (because I'm a list maker and I'm task oriented and this could easily become more of an intellectual challenge than an act of worship) I am feeling a heart change, a shift in my point of view.  I am made more aware of how my perspective of a situation determines whether I name it as a blessing, whether I can find the beauty and see something worthy of praise in a song or a scent or a moment. And if I find beauty and give thanks in all the moments, isn't this life, these few short years, much sweeter? And if I am so busy being thankful that I forget to worry or fret or complain, isn't this life much more beautiful and worthwhile and pleasing to Him? To do this, to truly be able to give thanks and find joy, I am going to have to learn to be present in each moment, letting go of the past, not worrying about the future, and living, breathing, soaking up the now.

It is also worth noting that this sense of gratitude and joy I am seeking are not an attempt to permanently implant rose-covered lenses over my eyes or to ignore the reality I live in. Because the truth is, there are some things in life for which giving thanks is difficult. There are hard days, bad weeks, difficult years. We are hurt at times, cut deep by betrayal or pain or loss. There are times when giving thanks seems ridiculous because the situation seems utterly devoid of God. But if we believe that God is sovereign and that He is good no matter our circumstances, then we can't help but give thanks at all times in all things. I pray that in those moments I will be able to live the hard eucharisteo, to give the difficult thanksgiving. Because He is always worthy.

This morning I added to my list:
7. Truth in the Word speaking into the reality of my situation
8. Writers who inspire me
9. Warm hazelnut coffee

So maybe you won't make a list to one thousand blessings. But maybe it is enough to start seeing things differently. You could just start by answering the question: What are you thankful for today?

What India Taught Me

Back in April, Matt and I traveled to India to visit our sweet friends Scott and Wendy who live and serve there. Since we got back, so many people of asked how the trip was, and to be honest, I've not found an adequate answer: "Good"? Yes it was a good experience but that doesn't quite capture it. "Eye opening"? Definitely, but more than my eyes were opened to the things I saw. "Challenging"? It was a daily challenge to even navigate our way from our flat to Scott and Wendy's in the rushed, crowded pace, through the hot and thick air of the city. I haven't yet devoted a blog to our trip, mostly because it has taken me all this time to truly begin processing all that I learned and experienced, but given that we're in a global missions series at church, I thought now would be an appropriate time to jot down a few lessons I learned in India.

1. Community is Key
During our time in India, we were fortunate enough to not only visit with and encourage our friends, but also to meet some others who they serve alongside. One Saturday I got the chance to have some one on one time with about ten ladies who are living and serving in India. The occasion was a housewarming party for one of the newest additions to the team who had arrived in the country only weeks earlier. As a gift, each guest brought a favorite recipe along with all the ingredients necessary to make the meal. They shared tips with the newcomers (and with me) and also shared current praises, struggles and prayer requests with each other.

It was a sweet time and I was grateful to be in the presence of so many selfless and loving ladies. I was struck by many things about these special women - their creativity with the recipes (finding American ingredients in India is no easy task), their love for those they serve, their joy in the "little things" (like playing Minute to Win It) - but mostly what I learned from them was just how important community is. These women live all over the city (and surrounding cities) and serve different segments of the population. They spend a large majority of their time serving individually or with their families, and it would be easy to shut off and potentially become isolated. But they take the time on a regular basis to stop their work and encourage each other. Also, never once did I sense any territoriality or jealousy for others' success even in the midst of personal struggle. No, the women truly seemed to rejoice with each other, because a victory or praiseworthy situation in the life of one of them was a win for the common goal they work towards. I was challenged as I thought of the way so many of their US counterparts (myself regrettably included at times) bicker and battle jealousy and pride, struggle to truly celebrate the victory of another ministry or church, becoming jealous at their own lack of "success". I am so glad to have been reminded that we do Kingdom work, for a Kingdom purpose and living in community (with the focus on unity) is the truest example we have of heaven on earth. I am praying now for those amazing ladies, for the ladies I serve with, and for those in my community of friends - not to us but to His name be the glory!


2. Work Hard, Rest Hard
In India, simple tasks such as taking transportation or going shopping or even crossing the street were draining and difficult tasks. Walking through the slums in the midday sun was physically draining and emotionally traumatic. Culture shock, which our friend Scott defined as something you see or hear or experience from another culture that you wish you could change. Based on that definition, we experienced culture shock for a large portion of every day. I thought it might go away, that I might get used to the noise, the smells, the people...but even after two weeks I didn't. What I learned from this experience was that each day, in the heat of the day, after lunch, it was very important for us to go inside somewhere to eat and to cool down, to rest and rejuvenate before the evening's activities which often stretched past my bedtime. Being completely out of my comfort zone forced me to recognize my physical, emotional and spiritual limits - and to stop and rest.

Since we got back from India (and sometime before that, taking my Busy Season into consideration), Matt and I have been running pretty much non-stop. Last week, both of us began feeling really aware of our own weakness and recognized the need to stop and rest in Him. I read this blog and Matt and I discussed and he suggested we take some time off. So, for several days this week, we are unplugging and recharging our batteries. I was getting to an unhealthy place, and I am so grateful for wisdom from bloggers, friends and my husband to see the truth and guide me to it. I'll try to post soon about the results of the Bricks' resting adventure.

3. The Joy of the Lord really is our Strength

One of the hardest things about India, at least in my experience, was seeing the sense of utter hopelessness on the faces of so many people we encountered. As I have mentioned, life in India is difficult. The population has far surpassed the infrastructure that has been built. There are far more people than there are jobs or even houses. It was not uncommon there to encounter people doing even the most menial tasks for a few rupees. In many elevators it was someone's job to press the button for you. Men stood guard in most malls to open the door or hold your other shopping bag as you entered each store. It is also typical there for even those in the middle class to have house helpers, or people who come and wash your dishes, sweep your floors, etc. These people work so hard for so little. And they are the "lucky ones" who can find jobs. There were also many beggars and others who had probably given up asking altogether.

So, clearly, there is not much to be happy about and so much to worry about. The odd thing, though, the beautiful thing, is that when we visited the people of the church, we could see and experience the joy that the Lord had put inside their heart. It wasn't a matter of them having a better or different situation - all of the house churches I visited were located in the slums as well, with many people sharing the amenities of a one room shack - it was in the middle of their circumstances that these believers could smile and sing songs of praise and clap and share the ways the Lord had again proven Himself faithful. I am so grateful to have met these believers, to have seen the impact that the hope of the Lord had in their life, even in the midst of dire circumstances. I pray that I could display that same joy no matter my circumstances!



To close, I'll just share a few pics to recap the trip.

Sharing a meal with new friends

Taking in our first cricket match. I'll be honest. I fell asleep.

At the wedding of one of Scott & Wendy's neighbors.Awesome opportunity to celebrate the beauty of another culture. 

At the downtown train station

Waiting on a ricksaw

Enjoying some street food. It was delish!

Enjoying the Taj Mahal. More beautiful in person than the picture can portray.

I am so thankful to have gotten to go to India, to see and experience and learn. To encourage and love Scott and Wendy, and to discover more about myself, ministry, and all the ways the Lord is growing me.

Waiting Game

Lately, I've been in a season of waiting. A time where I know something big is bound to happen…just not yet. A season where things aren’t going quite the way I’d hope. A season of struggle. A “meantime”. Some people might even call this season a rut.  I have been waiting, yes, though not so patiently. I while back I was explaining these feelings to a friend over coffee, and she offered me some wisdom. (I’m so thankful to be surrounded by so many wise women). She shared with me a passage out of Jeremiah 29. When she started to speak about this chapter, I thought it was going to be the well-known and (too) oft-used Jeremiah 29:11, where the Lord declares, “For I know the plans I have for you, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” The passage my friend encouraged me with was actually a few verses before this one. She led me to Jeremiah 29: 4-7:

“Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.” (ESV)

In these verses the Lord is encouraging the Israelites to fully engage during their season of waiting. He doesn’t tell them to wish the season away; to make their own plans for the next season; to complain about the waiting. No, he tells them to build houses; to plant gardens and eat from them; to marry; to multiply; to seek the welfare of the city. He does not encourage them to hate the city because it isn’t their final (or desired) destination. Instead, they are to pray to the Lord on the city’s behalf.

So while I’m waiting, I pray that I can learn to really invest where I’m at, wherever that may be. That I could be a light in this moment instead of being so caught up with what the next moment might look like. That my current situation would be better because Jesus is in it.

Also, I pray that I can trust in the Lord in my waiting. That I would truly believe that no matter what circumstance or situation I find myself in, that He is in control and that He knows what is best for me, often even more than I do.

Bethany Dillon, one of my favorite Christian artists, recently came out with a new EP titled “To Those Who Wait”. The lyrics to the title track include:

“ Oh, my soul, wait on the Lord.
Keep your lamp filled with oil.
Oh, my soul, Be not deceived!
Wait for Him. Don’t be quick to leave.
Lord, today, You know what I need to do,
But you can do more in my waiting than in my doing I could do. So I won’t run anymore. I’m waiting on You.”

So as my ramblings for the day come to an end, I’m thankful – for wise friends, for Scripture, for God’s promises. I am trying to get better at waiting, of letting go of control and letting the Lord lead. Much easier said than done. But with His help and by His power I press (and wait) on.

Fear Not

What are your biggest fears? I have come up with my list. My biggest fears include:

• The dark 
• Being left alone 
• Failure 
• Disappointing people 
• Cockroaches 
• The Unknown 

A few weeks ago, I was listening to a sermon, and the thing that stuck out to me the most didn’t even really relate to the primary topic (it was a sermon on marriage). During his charge to wives, the pastor shared some encouragement; he said that the most-used phrase in the Bible is “Fear not”. The Lord encourages us to stand strong in the face of frightening situations. In Joshua 1:9, the Lord challenges Joshua: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened and do not be dismayed, for the lord you God is with you wherever you go.”

Last week I started reading through the book of Luke. And I was again reminded of the Lord’s urging to be brave. In Luke 1, we meet Zechariah and Elizabeth, the parents of John the Baptist. They are, shall we say, advanced in years. And Elizabeth is barren. Zechariah serves in the temple, and one day when he is at work and angel appears to him. As my translation puts it, when he saw the angel, Zechariah was “troubled” and “fear came upon him”. (Luke 1:12). Six months later, when the angel appears to Mary to foretell the birth of Jesus, he greets her but she is troubled and confused. He tells her, “Do not be afraid Mary, for you have found favor with God.” (Luke 1: 30).

In both situations, the recipients of the angel’s news were afraid and unsure. For Zechariah, this was probably a feeling of disbelief that a decades-long prayer for a child has been answered. For Mary her fear was likely a question of whether God’s plan for her future made sense – HER, a VIRGIN, to give birth to the Savior of the world? Seems unlikely..right?

We know how the story turns out – neither Zechariah or Mary let their fear stand in the way of the plan the Lord had for them. They trusted the Lord and knew that whatever He was orchestrating in their lives was ultimately for their best. I’m sure we’ve all had experiences where the Lord was showing us something, a plan He has for us, an obedience He is calling us to. As I shared some of my biggest fears, I’ve been wondering:

How often do I cower, retreat back when facing a fear? How often do I refrain from sharing truth with people because I’m afraid of their reaction? How often do I fail to try something new or different or study something because I might not be good at it? And more importantly, why do I do these things when the God of the Universe is telling me not to be afraid?

This week I’m praying that I’d be obedient to the Lord when he commands me to fear not; that I’d be strong and courageous. Would you pray that with me – for me and for yourself?

Not a Saint

At 2:30 this morning, my Nanny peacefully died in her sleep.

These are my thoughts as I process the loss of a very special lady in my life (and yours, if you know me):

When we first met, she was afraid of me. At least that's what she always told me. Most grandmothers aren't afraid of their grandkids, but I guess taking care of a premature granddaughter who is hooked up to various machines would be kind of scary at first.

It didn't take long, though, for Nanny to get over her fear, and for me to get better, and by the time I was in kindergarten, she had moved in with us. I honestly don't remember life at home before she came. What I do remember is how awesome it was to have her there. She was a second Mom to me. Not to take anything away from my own Mom, but Nan and I had a special bond. She was there when I got home from school, to make me snacks and watch Scooby Doo (which I couldn't watch alone because I was too scared). She made my dinner and did my laundry and was just there...all the time, because she never learned how to drive.

She was the second oldest of twelve siblings (a feat which still amazes me) born to farmers in Grainger County, TN. She moved out at fourteen (yes 1-4!) to work at the Inn in town. She got married and had kids. Then, when my Mom was 10, my grandfather died unexpectedly. So, my grandmother picked up her scattered life, and moved on. For the first time in her life, she worked outside the home. Eventually, she even owned a restaurant in town where she honed her fine country cooking skills. Anyone who knew my Nanny knew what an amazing cook she was - I can still taste her biscuits, green beans, roast, beef stew, greens, fried pies, cakes, candies, chocolate chip cookies as I write this.

Along with all of those things that I admire about her, Nan sure did have some frustrating habits. She was extremely opinionated and didn't mind one bit to make you mad as long as she felt that she got to have her say. She was pretty nosy, which made private conversations at home almost impossible. She like to have things "her way"... and let's just say it was a bad idea to try to do things any other way.

I visited my Nanny in November as she was in a Rehab Center, and everyone there could attest to the fact that she was a little cranky. She did NOT want to do the therapy they had suggested for her and she told anyone who would listen, from the nurses to the therapists to visitors.
I don't say all these things to defame or dishonor my sweet Nanny but simply to say this: She was not a saint.

My Mom and I had a conversation recently where she pointed out that so often when people die, we make saints out of them, remembering only the good stuff and none of the bad. So as I am processing the loss and the hurt I feel knowing that she is no longer with us, I am not only remembering the thousands of fond memories (her planting flowers each summer, working puzzles on the dining room table, watching Larry King every night, playing with her makeup just to name a few) I am also struck by her humanity, which also makes me acutely aware of my own.

So, here's to you Nanny (Mary Virginia Cameron Wells), you were not a saint, not by far. But you lived, and you loved and you taught me so very much. I am exceedingly blessed to have had you in my life for so long. I will miss you more than you know.

Guest Blog: A Christmas Without Nuts & Bolts

I can't take credit for this one, my older brother, Tate, wrote this earlier in the week and asked me to to post it when I next blogged...

Every year as I was growing up as Christmas neared my parents house was filled with aromas that would make your mouth water. There would be various cakes, pies, brownies, and cookies. There was fudge, both chocolate and peanut butter, and an assorted snack we always called Nuts and Bolts. Most of you have probably had this before but may know it by a different name. It is simply Chex Mix, Cheerios, nuts, and pretzels combined, covered in spices and baked. Even without the benefit of a calendar when you saw the nuts and bolts you knew IT WAS CHRISTMAS!

Where did all of this come from you ask? It came from nan. Nan is my maternal grandmother that has lived with my parents from the time I was in middle school. Why did she do this? That is an easy answer: LOVE. See baking is how nan showed her love, and she was good at it. She loved making baskets or tins for people at Christmas and filling them with the delicious treats she made. She had several cakes that were specialties of hers; Apple stack cake, German Chocolate, Caramel, and Red Velvet. Now don’t get me wrong while she loved the baking it was a labor. Many times I would see her throw out what I thought was a perfectly good layer for a cake because it didn’t meet her expectations. She worked hard in the summer drying her own apples for her stack cake so it would be just right. Anything less just wouldn’t do.

Sadly this Christmas is just not the same. My parents house doesn’t have the same smell. There aren’t cakes piling up for her to keep my hands out of. There is not that big jar of Nuts & Bolts for me to snack on. This Christmas instead of running from store to store for ingredients my mom is running to visit her ailing mother. See nan is laying in a hospice center laying in bed living out her remaining days. A body that has spent an entire life working is reduced to just laying and struggling to speak. And you know what Christmas just won’t be the same.

This is the part about growing up that absolutely sucks because nan is my only remaining grandparent. With the passing of each of my other grandparents there have been changes but they are most noticeable at Christmas. From sitting on my pappaws lap in his chair as a child with him calling me pappaws good boy. Also, watching maymee, my paternal grandmother, host Christmas at her house yearly while enjoying the presence of her entire family. Then, now there is the void of aromas brewing at my parents house this Christmas. Mary Virginia Cameron Wells I will miss you. I will miss your cooking. I will miss the shoulder to lean on when I needed it. I will miss my nanny. Oh and I will miss the Nuts and Bolts.

Why do I run?

Yesterday morning I met my friend Mary for a run through the streets of our beautiful Uptown neighborhood. Mary is training for a half marathon at the end of the month, and occasionally she cuts her distance and pace and indulges by running (or walking) with me. Mary is an inspiration to me in many ways, including simply the fact that she’s running a half marathon, given her history and former life, but yesterday she offered some sage advice that I’d been needing to hear.

As we were running - actually, I think I had to stop to walk at this point, but you get the picture - I was talking to Mary about how training is going for her big race. She shared that her training group has been one of the greatest encouragements she could ask for. I thought that was interesting given that her group is all women. I feel like in general getting a group of women together instantly breeds the potential for gossip, drama, tears, etc. But Mary said that this group is so encouraging, urging one another on, sharing stories from their past, celebrating victories and having each other’s backs. She then shared some words of wisdom that spoke directly to my heart, because they have more to do with life than with running.

Mary said that it is so important when you’re training for a race, or just running in general, not to compare yourself to those you are running with. You face different obstacles, have a different history, and are running with different goals in mind. Mary runs to give glory to God for saving her out of a really destructive lifestyle. She said she doesn’t compare herself to the other ladies she runs with. It wouldn’t be beneficial for anyone. With her focus set intently on her goal, all her training group will ever be is an encouragement because that is all she allows it to be.

Then (this is such a GOD thing), Mary forwarded me an email from her training group leader, sent yesterday after we ran, here are a couple of quotes that struck me as well.

“People run for a lot of different reasons. You've got to understand why you do it, and understand that the person next to you has different goals and incentives. Work on meeting YOUR goals--you might find out that the person next to you is aimed in an entirely different direction than you--and that's ok--running is for everyone to find their own happiness within.”

“Be proud to be the runner you are. We all exist on a HUGE continuum. There will always be people ahead of us. There will always be people behind us. “

Both of these nuggets of truth resonated with me. Here’s the deal: if I don’t know why I run, I am ALWAYS going to compare myself to others. And, as Mary’s trainer mentioned, there will ALWAYS be people ahead of me.

I am competitive by nature, and have been blessed with gifts in certain areas that allowed me to excel in most anything I tried growing up – school, dance class, sports, etc., so I never really worried about being competitive; I was always near the front of the pack or the top of the list. However, when it comes to running, well….it just doesn’t come as naturally to me. I really have to try. If my goal when I run is to be the fastest or the best or whatever, I am never going to be satisfied. Because I will never be the fastest or best, I could continually be disappointed. However, if I run for the fun of it, to be in shape, or like Mary, to glorify my God, then there is no disappointment to be had. Sure, there might be days were I run further or faster than others, but what pressure is relieved when I acknowledge that I am not doing something for me, but for God!

This message goes right along with our Vintage Women Bible Study material. Last week we talked about insecurities being one thing keeping us from recognizing and living in the joy that we have been chosen by God. One of the biggest struggles I have in regards to insecurity is feeling like I don’t stack up against some of the great examples of Godly women that surround me. I spend too much time comparing myself, thinking “I should be more like her. She has it all together”. Or “She sure does seem to be in touch with the Lord. I bet she does X,Y and Z. How much happier God must be with her than me!” This also applies to people I work with. I sometimes struggle when coworkers get praise when I don’t or get opportunities that I don’t. Aren’t those awful ugly thoughts? Maybe it’s too much for me to share them so publicly, but, they represent things that have gone through my mind, so I might as well put them out there.

In this week’s study, we are learning to be fully satisfied by Jesus, who is our Bread from Heaven, Living Water, our Sustainer. Being completely satisfied with Him and in His plan for me will free me from feeling like I must try to prove anything to anyone. And if I am focused on doing the work or running the race or living the life I am called to live, then I won’t spend time comparing myself to others. I will also be able to celebrate with them for their achievements and encourage them during low points as we all strive to run our race well. I won’t have time or energy to focus on negative thoughts or comparisons, which represent a very outward and worldly focus as because I will be keeping my gaze on the prize which is before me.

I am so thankful for all the women in my life who encourage and inspire me. This week I am praying that I would stop comparing myself, that I would live in the freedom of knowing I am chosen, and that I would continue to recognize my purpose. For me, that purpose is ultimately to give thanks and praise and glory to the One who created me in everything that I do. I pray that I would soak up and live confidently in that Truth, and would become so focused on my relationship with the Lord and my desire to love and serve Him that I can only be happy for and encourage those around me.

Just a quick list of a few questions I’ve pondered these past days:
- Why do I run (or do anything)? What is my purpose?
- What are my goals?
- Do my attitude, my thoughts, my actions, indicate that I am confident in my goal or purpose? If not, how can I change that?

Why I like Date Night

Since Matt recently posted a blog about the importance of date night in marriage, I thought I’d post a quick response.

My husband is a romantic. It’s one of the things I love most about him. He always knows how to sweep me off my feet. For us, that has never been achieved through extravagant gifts or vacations, rather Matt wooed me through his creative approach to declaring to me and the world that I am lovely and desirable and worthy of his affection.

I specifically remember getting butterflies as a 14-year-old when Matt surprised me with a homemade card for our one month anniversary. Yes, we celebrated months at that point, and yes, the card was awesome and had glitter on it and clearly took a lot of time and effort. I also smile thinking about the time he mailed me a large bouncy ball with a letter written on it while he was working camp one summer. Or the countless scavenger hunts and surprise dates we’ve been on. Now I know some of you may have just laughed out loud or thought about throwing up. Matt’s sentimental and romantic attitude and gestures may be too much for you, but I’d submit this thought: even if our methods aren’t exactly what you would employ in your relationship, the attentiveness and love expressed by Matt’s actions mean more to me than words can describe. More than enjoying receiving glittery cards or bouncy balls or being whisked off on surprise adventures, I savor the realization of the time and effort he spent planning and preparing for these things – time spent imagining my reaction, hoping that his hard work would be worth it, that I’d feel special and loved.

I think that’s why I like date night so much. And that is what it’s really about – my husband pursuing me and showing me that I am special and lovable and worthy of his time and attention. It means so much to me that in the midst of our busy-ness, he makes sure to set one night aside to turn off the noise of the lives we live and just talk with me, listen to me, learn about me and how I am doing and feeling and what I am learning. It doesn’t matter if we’re having a fancy dinner at Patois or takeout pizza for a date night in, because the atmosphere and food are only a small piece of what make the night worth remembering. What’s more worthy is our pursuit of our relationship; the ultimate goal is that through the cultivation of a healthy marital relationship, we are pointing each other (and the outside world) to Christ, who is our bridegroom as we are the Church. I can't think of a more beautiful picture than taking the way my husband pursues me and applying that to the way Christ pursues all of us. I am grateful to be pursued by both.

Outside my Box

For the last two weekends in July, Matt was given the opportunity to preach to our Vintage Uptown family. (You can check out the podcasts or his blog for his take on the experience). We were in the middle of a series called Identity, where we discussed who we are as the Church.

Matt's first discussion focused on Pursuing Christ Through our Mission. He walked us through Acts 3:1-10 and we learned about the importance of living every day with Spirit sensitivity. We closed by writing down one way we respond to the Spirit and posting it on a canvas. It was pretty challenging to take time to think of a specific way or area of my life where I promise to live with Spirit sensitivity and then post it on a board in permanent ink.

Last weekend Matt talked about Being Christ Through our Campus, allowing the story of Peter and Cornelius in Acts 10 to guide us. While there were many good points and lots of truth shared, the idea that I took away was this: Peter was the agent through which the Gospel was shared. Matt and I had discussed a lot that week the idea that throughout the book of Acts, we see time and again that, with the power and help of the Holy Spirit, humans are the medium through which the Lord shares his story with other humans. Even looking at the story of Cornelius we see that while he receives an angel to give him guidance, he doesn't truly hear the Gospel until it is shared by Peter. Matt challenged us to think about who might be a Cornelius in our life, noting that this is likely someone who 1: looks different (racially) 2: thinks different (religiously) or 3: smells different (economically) than you. I left last Sunday's gatherings feeling led to live in a way that I could be used by the Lord the way Peter was, in a way that changes someone else's life (and mine, too).

As I was packing last Sunday to head out of town for a week of training, Matt handed me a book that he'd read and been challenged by last summer. That book was called Peppermint-Filled Pinatas. I read the whole book last week, and once I got past the strange title, which the author explains, I was impressed. This book had very much the same theme of Matt's messages, particularly in that the author, Eric Michael Bryant, urges his reader to actively pursue opportunities to share the love of Christ in the everyday. In his case, this involves sharing with and getting to know people who look/think/smell different than him. You see, Bryant was a bald white guy from Texas who moved to a multi-ethnic, multi-economic and culturally diverse neighborhood in Los Angeles. His personal anecdotes helped drive home his points. As I white girl from East Tennessee, I related to his early difficulties assimilating to a much more diverse culture. Moving to New Orleans has definitely been an eye opening experience in many ways, not the least of which is the racial tension which is still raw and painful in many aspects of life in the city.

I'd like to share a couple of quotes which challenged me:

"The world is changing dramatically, and as a result, we cannot live the same way, hiding in our own cul-de-sacs, staying away from others who look or believe differently from the way we look or believe, because now they live next door (13)."

"If you want to become a diverse church, you need to have friends from diverse backgrounds. Many of us say we want diversity - but only if our children don't marry their children (123)."

I had a chance to talk through these quotes and other issues with my friend Anthony while we were at training. Anthony is an African-American born and raised in Uptown New Orleans, the same part of the city I live in now. He was able to answer some of my questions and bring me to a greater understanding of many of the racial issues that plague our city. He shared about his passion for better education and a stronger community foundation for many of the youth in the city, particularly those who are at an economic disadvantage. I learned so much from just a few short conversations and look forward to continued dialogue about this and other topics as Matt and I continue to develop a friendship with this awesome guy.

I thoroughly enjoyed Peppermint Filled Pinatas. And by enjoyed, I mean I nodded my head in agreement while reading every other page and then realized what a hypocrite I am for not living out the very ideas I so strongly believe. Ultimately what I realized is this: whether by diversity we mean the color of skin, socioeconomic status, or line of thought, I (like most people) prefer to be around those who are similar to me. I tend to befriend those who share my same values and my same way of thinking. It's much easier and doesn't require me to leave my comfort zone, but I am learning that in doing that, I am short-selling myself. I am not allowing my thoughts or point of view to be challenged or growing to understand another person, or allowing the Lord to use someone else to work out some issues in my heart or life.

So this week I am praying for guidance from the Spirit and seeking opportunities to step out of my box and spend time and place with those who are different than me. I also pray that I'll be able to celebrate those things that make others different than me. I hope you'll do the same. I think we'll all be changed in the process.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

I am. I always have been and I guess I always will be. Last Friday night is just another example of how silly my fear really is. Before you read this, prepare yourself. You may never be able to take the Bricks seriously again.

So here's what happened...

Matt and I had both had busy and exhausting weeks, so we decided to change up our regularly scheduled Friday Date Night and have a date night in. I guess I really didn't realize how tired we were until Matt fell asleep at 7:30 while we were watching a movie. After I finished watching the movie, I got ready for bed around 9:00, very much looking forward to a good night's sleep. But that isn't exactly what happened.

At approximately 3:00am I was awakened by the sound of footsteps in my apartment. You can only imagine how terrifying it must be to wake to hear footsteps INSIDE your apartment when both you and your husband are in the bed. I listened for a few minutes (seconds) and punched Matt in the arm and whispered for him to listen. He clearly heard the footsteps, too, because his body tensed up next to me. At this moment, we were both pretty sure some scary man was going to come back to our bedroom and shoot us in the head. That didn't happen, but we still felt the presence of a person in our apartment.

Before I continue with the story I should give you an idea of how our apartment is laid out. It is a typical New Orleans shotgun, which means that you enter into the living room and all other rooms are setup so that you could walk a straight line (or shoot a shotgun) from the front to the back of the apartment. So, in our place. The front room is the living room, followed by the kitchen/dining area, then our bedroom and bathroom in the very back. It is also important to note that our front door is the only door we have. Now on with my terrifying tale...

So, it's 3:00am, we're awake and sure that some creepy character is in our home. What did we do? Well, Matt leapt across the bed to close the bedroom door (because that is very likely to stop a murderous intruder). Then, we went on a search for a weapon. I'm not a big gun person, so we don't own one, and all we came up with was a shovel from our back closet. Not the greatest option, but it was our only tool.

At this point, we continued to hear noises, and though we realized by now it was probably not a person, a recent news story about coyotes in New Orleans had me pretty convinced that we had a wild animal in our house. I was too scared to let Matt go through the two front rooms of the house with only a shovel to fight a ravaging coyote, and I definitely wasn't going to go, so we decided to escape the house...through the bathroom window. So we climbed out and creeped around the side, through the underbrush, past our grill and bicycles. It seemed odd that the front door was still locked when we approached the front of the house. I wasn't sure how a wild coyote could have gotten in, but I knew he was in there alright. So, we got Matt's hide-a-key and sat in his car. For an hour. I am not making this up.

We were trying to figure out what to do. Should we call the 2nd District Police Station (and what would we tell them)? Should we call our friend and neighbor Mary and crash at her place until daylight? Should we call our friend Jeremy to come and fight this beast with Matt? I was pretty disappointed that we couldn't call the Ghostbusters. I'm sure they would have known what to do.

At one point Matt even went back to the side of the house and peered into the window. He came back and reported that it was definitely not a burglar because both of our laptops were still out. Moreover, it didn't feel like anything else had been moved. Our kitchen chairs were in the same position as they were at bedtime, and our garbage can hadn't been turned over. Still, I wasn't willing to go back in, or to let Matt go in alone, because if there was something there, he wouldn't have a clear and easy exit.

Finally, about 4:30, feeling braver, I relented and agreed that we could reenter our house. We had to climb back through the bathroom window because all of our keys were in the living room by the front door. So, we crept back along the side of our house and climbed back through the window. I was still pretty much terrified, but Matt I think had caught on and insisted that he at least open the door and leap for the kitchen light. I agreed, reluctantly.

So, bravely, Matt opened the bedroom door (shovel in hand) and jumped into the kitchen. He flipped on the light switch and we saw it.....

NOTHING. We saw nothing. Want to know why? Because there was nothing there! No burglar. No coyote. Nothing. I was relieved, obviously, and in shock. I knew I heard something - someone - walking on my wood floors. What could it have been? Maybe we had rodents in our walls...but this sounded much heavier than a rat or even a raccoon.

As I said, it was 4:30 and we were again exhausted. Matt went back to sleep pretty quickly, but it took a while for my heart to stop pounding enough for me to fall asleep. When sleep finally did come, it didn't seem to last long enough. I got up early and went to meet some friends. While I was gone, Matt called me. He had solved the mystery!!

Y'all will never believe what the terrifying sound was. A person. Walking on wood floors. Next door. Our landlord, who was out of town last weekend, had a houseguest who we didn't know about and the second bedroom in that apartment is right above our bedroom. I wasn't completely crazy, you see. I did hear something. It just wasn't what I thought it was.

Moral(s) of the story:

1. Don't believe everything you hear. Sometimes your mind can play tricks on you. Especially at 3:00 in the morning when you've had a long week and are exhausted.

2. Don't take yourself too seriously. It's been fun to share this story with friends and family this week (and now with the world wide web) and share a laugh at my own expense. I forget to do that too often.

Open House

Growing up in the South, you learn a lot about hospitality from a young age. My mom and Nan kept the house picked, partly because they liked to and partly because “you never know when company might stop by”. My parents’ house has been the center of many birthday parties, fancy dinners, and family celebrations and it was first from my family that I came to understand the concept of being hospitable, or opening up your home to others. As a child I thought of hospitality mostly as being good at keeping a clean home and having lots of snacks available for guests. Over the years, I have continued to develop my understanding of what it means to be hospitable.

Recently the idea of hospitality has been on my mind because living in community or 'doing life' with others is very important to Matt and I. One of the most important things to us when looking for an apartment last year was that it have a good size living room and room for a kitchen table because we wanted to be able to host people for dinner or share conversation on the couch.

We’ve met some great people who have shown us true hospitality. My friend Melanie is an excellent example. We met her family about a year ago. Not long after we met, Melanie and her husband invited us over for dinner. We were nervous and wanted to make sure to put on our Sunday best (as good Southern kids learn to do when going to somebody’s house for the first time). When they opened the door for us, Matt and I couldn’t help but smile. Walking into our friends’ living room for the first time felt warm and comforting to us; it reminded us of home. It’s not that our friends’ décor was similar to our parents’ (in fact it is quite different) but their home felt lived in. I don’t mean to say that Melanie is not a great housekeeper (she is), but it was SO refreshing to see that she hadn’t spent all of her time that day straightening every little thing. Instead, it looked like she had played with her boys (I remember a board game being out) and prepared for dinner (dishes still in the sink) with new friends. It made us feel much more relaxed and like we could be ourselves. The fact that their home didn’t feel like a museum allowed us to let our guard down and to just enjoy the evening getting to know new friends.

This past weekend, Matt and I were privileged to host a very good friend of mine for the a few days. To be honest, we meant to spend all of Friday cleaning the house and preparing for her arrival, but, life happened. Stuff came up. We had to run errands. We had some important conversations with each other that required us sitting and talking face to face (not running around discussing from different rooms while frantically cleaning). So, needless to say, a few cleaning chores didn’t get done. We picked up most of our junk and I did at least vacuum and clean the bathroom, but it was not our best work. As we headed to the airport to pick up my friend, I was a little nervous, hoping maybe in the nighttime lighting she might not notice (at least at first) that I hadn’t dusted the bookshelf or mopped the floors. But to my surprise, once we picked her up and got back to the apartment, I didn’t think twice about how clean or not clean things were. I was just excited to have a few days to share with my friend. Over the weekend, we shared memories and laughs, encouraged each other about our futures, and mostly just enjoyed being in the same space. It was a beautiful thing. And it didn’t matter that I hadn’t mopped the floors! I’m not sure if she even noticed, or if she noticed, if she even cared.

From all of that, what I’m learning is this: hospitality is more than opening our homes to people, it involves opening our lives and letting each other in. Even if they see our dirty floors. Even if they see our sin. Because the beauty of hospitality is not measured by the level of our decoration or the cleanliness of our home; instead, it is measured by the memories that are made there, the lives that are changed.

I read a book a couple of years ago by Lauren Winner called Mudhouse Sabbath. In it, she discusses this concept of hospitality, noting "Having guests and visitors, if we do it right, is not an imposition, because we are not meant to rearrange our lives for our guests - we are meant to invite our guests to enter into our lives as they are. It is this forging of relationships that transforms entertaining into hospitality."

So, if you find yourself at the Brick House for dinner or a chat anytime soon, please don’t judge if everything doesn’t look just perfect. We’re trying to spend the minutes before guests arrive praying for our time together rather than scrubbing our floors.