Book Club...need I say more?

See this book? This is a book of lovely. This is a book that reminded me why I love to read. Why I get totally absorbed in a book and don't notice the time. Why characters often feel like my friends.

I'm sorry, I'm a book nerd!

This past Friday was the last book club I'll be able to attend while living in Riverside (we'll see if I'm able to make the trek at any point from Temecula), so I thought I'd share a little bit about this club that has been such a blessing to me these last 9 months.

You know when you move somewhere super random like Riverside, CA and don't know anyone? Well, that's what happened to me when I got married. Thankfully, some ladies from the church I attended in college -- just 20 min down the road -- opened their arms to me and invited me to their weekly Bible study and their monthly book club.

I remember the first book club I showed up at...I really didn't know what to expect. I had only read about half the book (if you get time to read "A Thousand Splendid Suns, it was one of the best books I've read), had gotten lost, and was feeling a little flustered. Later that night I told Adrian I wouldn't miss another one.

It's a haven for the book lover.

Imagine - a Friday night after a long week. Appetizers. Desserts. Wine. Pink drinks. A wonderful book to argue about. Everyone excited to talk about their favorite part.

It's kind of awesome.

I'm so thankful for this grace-gift of a book club.

The Creeping Vine of Change

As I sit here on my couch this morning, surrounded by still stacks of laundry calmly waiting to be put away, I'm thinking about change. More specifically, the change that is taking over my life, as it really can't help but do. I'm kind of amazed how how much I love and live for the slow the growth of my plants outside - faithfully watering each morning, exclaiming at first sprout, watching the unfurling of leaves, loving the stretching out of branches - but can't stand to see any measure of change unsettle my little world.

In about two weeks and two days, Adrian and I are moving. This first little apartment that so kindly agreed to be our home for our first year of marriage will no longer be ours. In about four months, Adrian will start seminary (Lord willing), and the next years of our life will be some of uncertainty, busyness, and not spending quite so much time together (actually that will start in about two weeks and four days when Adrian start commuting to work). I'm loathe to allow change in. I find that I face even small changes either by ignoring them or getting angry. Ann Voskamp says, "All these years, these angerings, these hardenings, this desire to control, I had thought I had to snap the hand closed to shield joy's fragile flame from the blasts. In a storm of struggles, I had tried to control the elements, clasp the fist tight so as to protect self and happiness. But palms curled into protective fists fill with darkness. I feel that sharply, even in this...and this realization in all its full emptiness: My own wild desire to protect my joy at all costs is the exact force that kills my joy."

Do you know this? Have you felt this? Are you experiencing this now? The irony of this statement kills me. When I fight to protect my joy, I kill it. No! I'm making myself joyful. Do you know what joy is?

The last two mornings I have gotten to Jeremiah 9, vs. 3 and stopped, not able to read more: "...for they proceed from evil to evil, and they do not know me, declares the Lord."

Do you know your Savior? Do you know who He is? This is what I asked myself this morning. Do you know God?  Because He gave up everything for you, everything, enduring the cross, scorning its shame, for the joy set before him. The great joy. The joy of seeing the Father's face.

This morning I'm looking for glimpses of His face. Let me tell you a little bit of a different story.

In two weeks and two days, Adrian and I have the privilege of moving for three months to a small guesthouse on a vineyard. It's beautiful. I invite you to come stay with us this summer and enjoy it with us.

Adrian has just been awarded more than 50% of his seminary tuition at Westminster! What a gift.

I am in the midst of writing my second newsletter for the printing company I work for and it's my favorite part of my job. Not only this, but I get to take my job with me when we move because I work from home. So blessed.

God has just graced us with rain this morning and my plants outside are loving it! I took a moment to admire the way the raindrops hung on the leaves and right now I see the sun fighting through the clouds and making an appearance. 

I have had the privilege this week of praying with my husband every day for our two sisters who are still in college and the school we love so dearly. Tomorrow morning I get the privilege of hearing my husband speak in chapel. I can't wait to hear him speak the Word of God.

What are the glimpses you see this morning?

Across the Sea

It was pretty spontaneous. I said, "We should go somewhere!" And Adrian said, "Where?" On a whim we looked up ticket prices. We were surprised how small the numbers were. We said, "Maybe we really should go somewhere." So we did.

A few short weeks later, we were on our way to Ireland. An Adventure. A Gift.
The funny thing is that somehow in the midst of packing, and last minute hotel-booking, and my incessant need for research, I think I forgot a couple of things. 1) It was a gift, 2) It wouldn't fulfill me.

It sounds simple. But the first couple of days were really hard for me. I had said I would be carefree and adventurous, but when I insisted on walking until finding the pub I had my list that e needed to visit, or when I walked up and down the street fearful of missing our bus, or when we actually did miss our bus the next day, or when we were standing in the rain being smashed by people trying to get a picture of who-knows-what parade float, I did not remember it was a gift. I remembered that I couldn't let things get out of control. That I had a plan. That my plan had a plan (probably). And then God totally blinded me with breathless beauty and tore me apart.



I've been thinking about this trip today, because it seems to be the story of my life (the controlling planning anyway). Today I'm remembering the good gifts of our trip to Ireland.

• A bed and breakfast in Dublin with lots of character (squeaky floors, small silver tea pots, long hallways, a bright blue door)
• Wandering around Trinity College at night
• Touring the Guinness Storehouse and learning all about the process of making beer
• Eating fresh fish and chips on the wall outside of Christ's Church
• A beautiful wooden pub with walls of old, colored beer bottles
• Getting madly lost in the streets on Dublin
• Eating traditional Irish stew (lamb stew to die for)
• Hiking the national park - coming around the mountain bend and seeing the lakes laid out before us
• Eating many, many Cliff Bars
• A bus driver who gave us our own personal ride to where we wanted to go, since we had missed the only bus that day
• Standing cramped inside an ancient building, seeing the way the light was made to penetrate the darkness
• Long conversations on the bus, driving through the rain
• Walking along narrow roads besides pastures
• Morning light through glass doors
• Hearing the Gospel proclaimed
• Stopping to buy a picnic-worth of food
• Driving through the sunshine, coming around the corner to see green hills laid out in splendor
• A breath-taking walk, discovering a path along the lake, rainbows, sunsets over mountains
• A long pub dinner and live Irish music
• Fresh scones right out of the oven with jam and cream
• Seascape - cliffs and jagged rocks, small ocean-side towns, running breathless in the rain around a deserted castle
• A morning walk
• Castle exploration
• A hill-hike fulfillment, chasing sheep
• (See all pictures on facebook)
  

I saw and felt how little all of this did to fulfill me. I realized that if I would just take time to be thankful, I would see the graces of God around me, even in California. But I am thankful for this trip. I am thankful for our adventures. For our conversations. For the people we met. For the beauty. For the beer. For the pictures. I will hold this trip dear in my heart.

Mornings

I love the way my husband slips out of the room every morning, early, and as I hear the door slip shut, my mind drifts back into a confused dream land. I hear the way the water turns on, an hour later, and my mind slowly creeps and crawls its way to an awake-fog, even though my body is still and my eyes are closed. Then drawers are opening and closing and arms slip around me and hold me tight, telling me to wake up. And as I lie there willing myself to come to clarity, husband makes coffee for me to tempt me out of the warm covers. I hear him cracking eggs and opening bread, preparing our morning meal. And as I stumble out to our small table, with the straight-backed chairs, I love the sound of his voice as it prays over our food and our day, even as my ears can barely distinguish the words, just the sound.

I love sitting on my couch--the tan one my husband carried up the steps before I was here and called to tell me about and sent me pictures of--listening to the steady ticking of the clock. It tells me that I am enveloped in stillness. Each soft tick quiets my groggy mind. And I sit, thankful for the Word of God, even as I drift on in thought. I find myself staring at the bright, trumpeting daffodils and small, purple blossoms and I'm glad for life-changing friendship and the person who taught me about the joy flowers can give to a chaotic home. Even in the midst of the mess, I taste beauty--the outside beauty, the kind that comes from sunshine and fresh dew and shoots that fight their way through the ground.



I make sure my phone is near, because it's likely I'll get a text or a call from my husband, sometimes about what he heard on the radio, sometimes to say he loves me. And even though I'm not a morning person, I'm thankful for these mornings, looking out through my porch doors, reviving.

House Sitting

I sit at the counter and my long legs dangle from the tall chair. My hand brings the small blue and white mug to my mouth, feeding it with cooling coffee, as my eyes pour over each word on the page. I pause.



I hear the soft ticking of the clock behind me, marking each passing second. I let my eyes focus where they blindly stared and I see the roads of lights making their path across the wall, hiding and illuminating the large blue and green painting. The beams hit the clouds.

I think about how many hours I have spent in this home. Helping my best friend to maneuver her crutches, making breakfast, sitting out by the pool in the quiet of the morning. Plugging in my computer and situating myself at the study table for hours as I methodically typed each word of poetry paper. Laughing in the hot tub. Falling asleep trying to make it through West Side Story. Crying through Dead Poet's Society. Soaking up each jab and tease as the baby is passed around and Easter dinner is prepared. And the best of all: Walking through the glass enclosed room, the house exposed, and finding people hidden everywhere. Tea pot filled, tea cups prepared. Sandwiches waiting. Gifts piled up. Waiting for me. Waiting to celebrate my impending marriage.


I love the feeling of my sock-clothed feet padding, and occasionally sliding, across the tiled floor. I love the wooden ceiling, and the beams everywhere. I love the memories that I was welcomed into here. Invited to take part in. An open home--where light streams in from the skylights--was opened up to me. And today I just sit here, letting my fingers pluck away at the piano, wondering with Watts. "Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small."

Les Miserables

Rach and I will be off to see Les Miserables tomorrow. We wanted to have read the book together before we saw the play but - sadly - that seems like it may now be impossible; since there is now only 26 hours till we'll be watching the wonderful musical. Is there anything more amazing than experiencing the raw and transforming grace that Jean Val Jean goes through at the beginning of this story?

Recently Married

Do you ever feel like you have too much stuff? It probably only happens when you move. Rach and I have recently found out that, even though we've never lived on our own, we still have accumulated way too much stuff.