5 on Friday: Meaningful gifts I’ve received

My birthday is tomorrow. Which got me thinking about gifts. Not because I’m totally gift-focused because I’m not. Receiving gifts actually stresses me out a little bit because I’m not good at giving an instant reaction. My thanks is better expressed in how I use the gift than in the exact moment I receive it.

Photo courtesy of Stock Exchange | http://www.sxc.hu

Here are some memorable gifts I didn’t ask for that touched my heart. (Please don’t be offended if you’ve given me a gift and it’s not mentioned here. These are the first five that came to mind and they aren’t all birthday gifts. The danger of making a short list is leaving someone out.)

1. A pink Columbia brand fleece jacket. The first Christmas Phil and I celebrated as a couple, this was his gift. I remember how excited he was to give it to me, and it is still my go-to outerwear in spring, fall and sometimes winter. My husband is great at giving gifts. I could spend an entire post on the best gifts he’s given me, but I’d probably lose readers.

2. The Book of Common Prayer. A couple from church gifted this to us as we’ve expressed an interest and love for liturgy, the church calendar and the use of the lectionary. I have used this book almost daily for months, and it continues to touch my heart because it is a gift I would have never thought to ask for from people who haven’t known us long but were thoughtful enough to present us with a gift we will cherish.

3. An ice scraper and a spray-on window defroster for my car. In the early days of my relationship with Phil, we spent a lot of time at each other’s houses, often driving home in winter in the dark, when northern Illinois temperatures drop below freezing and leave frost on the windshield. One night, Phil’s brother and the woman who would become his wife, gave me this gift to ease the process of driving home in winter. It was especially meaningful because at the time, our relationship was not strong nor was I terribly kind or loving toward them. Over the years, that has changed and I’ve learned that they, too, are exceptional gift givers.

4. An all-expenses-paid trip to a writers conference in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. I will forever remember the generosity of a couple from my hometown who saw an advertisement for this conference and felt led to pay  my way. I had never considered going to a writers conference. I was working as a journalist at the time with no concrete writing dreams beyond what I was doing. It was a stretching experience for me as I drove the whole way by myself, took in some sight-seeing on the way back and let God open my world to the opportunities in Christian publishing. It was a life-changer for me, and I consider it an investment that has yet to accomplish its full return.

5. A royal wedding tea cup. When Prince William and Kate Middleton got married, my English friend and pen pal sent me a tea cup with their pictures on it. I was having sort of a blah day when it arrived and I was so tickled because of the uniqueness of the gift.

This is a small slice of the meaningful gifts I’ve received over the years, and recalling them makes me feel blessed to have special people in my life. It also challenges me to take more notice of my loved ones and find gifts that would be meaningful to them.

How about you? What meaningful gifts have you received?

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Why I need to belong

One of my favorite TV shows returned last week, and though I was a little disappointed by the episode (sorry, I’m not familiar with The Hunger Games, so maybe it’s my fault), I’m glad it’s back. And a couple of nights ago, I dreamt about the cast from another of my favorite shows.

Either I’m watching too much TV (true) or I’m sorely lacking in friends (also true).

Now, before you throw me a pity party or get mad (Hey! What about me? I’m your friend.), let me clarify.

Recently, I identified a need, one that hasn’t been filled in a while. (Even saying that sounds selfish, but everyone has needs and filling those needs makes us more complete as people.)

Photo by Stephanie Hofschlaeger/SXC.HU

I need community. A place to belong.

Having transplanted from Illinois to PA Dutch (German) country, belonging might be wishful thinking. It’s not that people here aren’t nice or friendly; it’s just that most of them have lived here a long time and have family nearby.

And life is busy. I get that. Most of the time I forget the hole created in my life because I don’t have community.

But then we’ll stop at our friends’ house in western Pennsylvania and we’ll share Chinese food while our kids run off together to play and sleep in each other’s rooms. We’ll watch The Golden Globes and make fun of celebrities. And in the morning, over coffee and donuts, we’ll find it hard to pull ourselves away.

“Can’t you just stay?” our hosts always ask us.

And my heart screams “Yes!” every time.

One of my deep longings is to be surrounded by people doing this life journey together. I want to share meals. And childcare. And burdens over cups of coffee. I want to meet regularly with a group of people–women, especially–who don’t have it all figured out and just need space to vent and cry. I want to pray together. Laugh together. Cry together.

To me, this is a picture of how the church is supposed to function. Every day, not just on Sundays.

I have found community online with like-minded readers and creators, but it’s not the same as having flesh-and-blood people in your life. (I have those. And I love every one of them, but even 30 minutes or an hour seems too far away sometimes.)

In my frustration and sadness at not having community, I’ve closed my own doors. I’ve self-focused on our home. Our kids. Our crazy life. Frankly, I’m often embarrassed by the mess that is our house, the little that we have to share (which is still a lot by comparison), the uncertainty that is our life.

But this week I realized that I can’t wait for community to find me. I can’t sit around waiting for people to knock on my door and ask to journey with me through life. (About the only people knocking on our door these days are Jehovah’s Witnesses. They come to speak with my husband. In his absence, I fear they’re going to start in on me.)

No. Community starts with me.

With an invitation to share a meal.

Or a commitment to pray for a situation as it’s presented.

Or a Valentine treat for a neighbor.

Or a question about how someone else is doing with this whole life thing.

For community to happen, I have to lose interest in myself and my problems (at least for a few minutes) and seek out others.

This show that I love that returned this week, it’s called Community. It takes place at a community college and revolves around a study group that first got together for mostly selfish reasons. A shared class brought them together regularly, whatever the motivation. And over time, these regular meetings morphed into friendship. Yeah, they’ve had ups and downs. But they’ve stuck together. And, as one of the characters pointed out this week, they’re going to change and face changes together but they’re still going to be friends.

I believe community is a God-given longing. Jesus could have walked the earth by Himself, healing people and doing miracles, but He picked a core group of people to walk with Him. Probably more for their sake than for His, but then again, Jesus knew community from the time time began. God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit are three-in-one, a holy community.

I don’t know what community is going to look like for me or my family. I just know that I have to be the one to open the door and invite others in.

And it won’t be perfect.

It might even be messy.

But I’m okay with that.

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Saturday smiles: alternate reality edition

Generally these weekly smiles are about my children. And they’ve still managed to make me smile from afar. But a week without children has not been a week without smiles. So, here’s the tally for this week.

Watching TV shows in real-time, instead of days later on the computer. Especially when we get to see commercials like one for LifeAlert where a woman says she’d give up “bread, beer, wine and soda” before she’d give up life alert. And one about sexual issues (not Viagara) that made me want to hide my face.

Take-out Chinese, watching TV and laughing as loudly as we want to without fear that the kids will wake up.

Dinner with a friend.

Coffee with friends.

Date night. (And trying to find a good place to take a picture. And realizing your husband’s eyes are closed for it.)

Hubby starting his new job and finishing his old job. (Repeat after me: change is good, change is good.)

A successful first day at aforementioned new job.

Mostly this week has been a breather. A chance to step back from the crazy pace of life that seems to come with parenting two active kids. To focus on things that take a back seat to the kids’ needs. (Like date night, time together, writing, sleeping.)

We pick them up tomorrow. And I miss them, so it’s good to be reuniting as a family.

We dodged a hurricane. We rested. We refocused.

And now it’s time to return to reality.

Happy weekend!

 

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Issues? What issues? Review of She’s Got Issues by Nicole Unice

I started this book almost two months ago, and I’m usually not a slow reader. But where some books I read are like a bowl of ice cream I gobble up in a few minutes,  She’s Got Issues is like a multi-course meal I wish wouldn’t end. Author Nicole Unice gives us–women, especially–plenty to chew on.

At first glance, I wanted to deny. Issues? What issues? Then I scanned the Table of Contents: fear, anger, insecurity, unforgiveness. Oh. Those issues. The journey into and through your issues, whatever they might be, can be scary, but Unice is like a seasoned travel guide through the darkest valleys. She doesn’t preach from on high. She’s talking to us from the trenches of transformation. Her style is humorous, fresh and real. She doesn’t hide her own struggles, and she doesn’t want us to hide them either.

I started journaling when I began reading, and I’m glad I did. Otherwise, the whole book might be underlined. Unice offers thought-provoking questions, surveys and quizzes, as well as honest prayers. At the end of each chapter is a link (and one of those smartphone doodads) to watch a video related to the chapter. (Yeah, I’m tech savvy.)

Here are some of the truths that have stuck with me:

• A blessing is the infusion of something with holiness
• Every woman becomes either beautiful, bitter or beaten (having given up on life) by the time she’s 40. We either face our stuff or we don’t. Six years from the big 4-0, I’m tracking toward bitter or beaten. That’s a hard truth to face, but my eyes are open to how I can face my issues and let God work through them.
• There’s a Lord for that. I don’t have to hold it all together.
• Growth is awkward. What if we began to think of our insecurities not as shameful places to hide but as opportunities to see God working in our lives?
• Secure women know their strengths and aren’t afraid to own them. They also know about their weaknesses and aren’t scared by them. They admit when they’re wrong but don’t beat themselves up. They take risks and fail but try again.
• When it comes to comparing myself to others or wishing I had someone else’s life, this statement punched me in the gut: The competition is between you and the you God wants you to be. Ignore everybody. Stay in your own lane.
• Among Christians there is a fear of rage, a surplus of resentment, and a shortage of indignation.
• Sanctification is about the very interruptions and issues I want to ignore.

Seriously, get a copy of this book. It’s not self-help because Lord knows, I’ve tried to help myself through these things. No, it’s more like a self-can’t-help book. It’s, as the subtitle to the book says, “seriously good news for stressed-out, secretly scared control freaks like us.”

Check out Nicole’s Website, or connect with her on Facebook or Twitter. The book has a DVD curriculum, too, which I’m guessing would be a great Bible study/women’s group resource.

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Wait! Everything’s wrong! A review of A Sweethaven Homecoming by Courtney Walsh

A week ago, the long-awaited, much-anticipated sequel to A Sweethaven Summer released. (I wasn’t the only waiting for this, right?) And I could not wait to dive in to A Sweethaven Homecoming, return to the Michigan town of Sweethaven and find out what the gang had been up to.

Earlier this year, author Courtney Walsh introduced us to Campbell, who after her mom’s death, journeys to Sweethaven to meet her mom’s core group of childhood friends and help reconnect their lives. I don’t want to spoil anything from that book, so I’ll keep the plot recap to a minimum. Let’s just say the first book left a bit of a cliffhanger, with much to be resolved.

I eagerly dug into the sequel, which focuses more on country music star Meghan Rhodes’ battle for her kids in a not-so-sweet homecoming to Sweethaven. I trudged through the first chapters, not because they were poorly written but because no one was happy. This book is FULL of hard situations. Broken relationships. Insecurity. Feelings of helplessness, bitterness and unforgiveness. At one point in the story, a character says, “God, what is going on? Everyone I love is hurting right now.”

I. Am. So. There.

When I read, I often want to escape the reality of life. As the characters struggled and struggled and struggled some more, I just wanted to put the book down and walk away because I didn’t want to hurt anymore. (I know, it’s just a story, but man, do I love these characters.)

Isn’t that how life is sometimes?

What’s great about this story is that the characters make hard decisions. They do unexpected things: like forgive the unforgivable. They reconcile. They choose to fight for what’s important. They love, even when they aren’t loved in return. They take risks. I was especially impressed with the love and commitment the men in this book demonstrate. They don’t give up on their women who have issues. (There are men like this out there. Don’t give up on the male of the species, ladies.)

And they learn that some things are worth the pain.

So, lest you think I didn’t like this book, let me leave no doubt: TOTALLY WORTH IT.

In fact, I find myself a little sad right now because I finished the book so quickly and had to leave the town of Sweethaven for a couple of more months until the finale, A Sweethaven Christmas, releases.

I’ve heard said that great authors create a world readers don’t want to leave. Walsh has created a charming, inviting, homesick-inducing world with Sweethaven. I want to hug the ladies featured in the book and learn from them. (Am I weird?) I want to eat Adele’s food (she’s kinda like Paula Deen) and see Campbell’s photography and attend Jane’s Bible study and hear Meghan’s songs and drink Luke’s coffee. (Okay, so he’s not a lady, but he does figure into the plot.)

A hearty “well done, friend” to the author.

And to fellow readers, this is a series you don’t want to miss.

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A sentimental journey: Review of Promise Me This by Cathy Gohlke

The Titanic sinks. Britain enters World War I.

I promise, I’m not reviewing the first season of Downton Abbey. But my husband and I had just finished watching that when I started reading Promise Me This by Cathy Gohlke. Set in the same time period but  nowhere near the same story. I was all set for the setting, and with the Olympics starting this week in London, I have England on the brain.

All of that, and the fact that this is a heartwarming, breathtaking, gut-wrenching story of sacrificial love, made for an enjoyable read. I can’t wait to pick of Gohlke’s next book, releasing in September.

Orphan and “gutter rat” Michael Dunnegan forms an unlikely friendship with Owen Allen, who is sailing for America on the Titanic. Michael stows away on the ill-fated ship and Owen saves Michael’s life — at the expense of his own — when the ship sinks. Michael makes it to America and takes up Owen’s dream of prospering the family garden business and bringing Owen’s sister Annie to America. What follows is the lengths to which the characters will go to protect family and make good on promises in light of the sacrifices of a man they all loved. It is painfully sad and joyously hopeful and even if you’re tired of Titanic-themed stories (I thought I was), check this one out. The ship’s sinking is the catalyst for the story but not the main action.

Even when I enjoy a book, it’s rare that I dog-ear a page to save a quote, but I did just that. (To my husband’s mock horror that I would “ruin” a library book.) I was moved by this:

It can’t be that easy. It can’t be that whatever happens, you  just keep going. Michael was sure of it.

“That’s all there is to it,” she said as if she’d heard his thoughts. “Each morning, when we wake — if we wake — we pick up whatever it is we’ve been given to carry for that day, with the sweet Lord Jesus in the yoke beside us to tote the load. Each night we lay it down, giving it into God’s hands. If it’s still there in the morning, we pick it up and begin again. If the burden is gone or if there is something different, we know where to start.”

Want to read more? You can find the first chapter here.

The characters in this book face some heavy burdens. Don’t we all? This story is a ray of hope in ever-increasing darkness.

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A tribute to a memorable man

The Championships at Wimbledon always make me think of John. As does the French Open. Or anything tennis related. Or cycling related. But I don’t know much about cycling anyway.

John, however, was a guy who knew a lot about cycling. John knew a lot about a lot of things.

Especially loyalty.

The semester I went to England, Fall of 1998, John was a student at the same school. And by student, I mean he was 20 years older than the rest of us.

That’s John on the left

But John was friendly. And helpful. And cheerful. And knowledgeable. And a little bit daring. Despite the age difference, he fit right in. And despite the miles that separated our class after the semester was over, John found a way to keep us all in touch with a Facebook group, connecting old friends and making memories.

Memory. That was another of John’s strengths. I think he remembered every conversation we ever had like we’d just had it yesterday.

I’d noticed that John had been absent on the Internet lately, but that wasn’t unusual for John. He struggled to find work and to make ends meet, so he was often on with his Internet access for a few months, then off. Nothing to worry about.

Except that it was.

John died last summer. Unexpectedly. And it would seem that none of us knew until now.

I’m not sure what’s sadder: that he died, or that we didn’t realize it.

John didn’t travel much, from what I understand, and when he did, he didn’t go far.

Except that one semester. When he joined a bunch of college kids for an unforgettable semester in England.

These are his words, written at the end of that semester.

In real life, I’m an introvert, so it really meant a lot to me to have people make the first move.

I was wondering how I’d be accepted when I came here, but I’ve never been around such a supportive group of people in my whole life. I’m used to eating meals alone, and all of a sudden I had fifty people saying hi to me while I was waiting in line, and asking how my weekend was, and trying to help me through some rough times.

I know that to a lot of you, heading for Harlaxton was kind of a routine thing. Your older siblings had done it, or your friends, and especially at UE you know a lot of people who’ve done it. But in the world I come from, the decision you made to leave behind your friends and loved ones was truly exceptional. Hardly anyone I’ve ever met has traveled the way you have, or had a chance to get a worldwide perspective at such a young age. I applaud you for the courage it took, and for sticking it out and making the most of it.

I’ve been amazed at the amount of talent and intelligence this class has shown. I learned a couple of months ago that it was impossible to typecast anyone here, everybody had surprises.  I’ve enjoyed being in classes with you, and watching you perform, and just plain having you around.

Most of all, as an older guy, I’m just plain proud to have known you. Shared classes and interests have helped me to know some better than others but the semester would not have been the same if any of you hadn’t been here. I k now that not getting to know all of you better has been my loss.

I’ve been quietly amazed by some of you, and I’m sure that all of your futures are bright with promise. I expect some amazing things from you. I wish you all the best in the world. Be happy.

Sincerely, John Calliott

John may be gone, but he is not forgotten. He was exceptional and I am proud to have known him. And there is suddenly a hole in my life and in my heart that I didn’t know he filled.

If you knew John, feel free to leave a memory of him here. I’m looking for more stories from our days at Harlaxton. I’d like his family to know how much he  meant to us.

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Guest post: Bringing home strays (informal foster care)

Today, I’m honored to have a guest blogger. Carol Cool (yes, that’s her real name, and yes, she lives up to it) is a speaker, editor, writer, pastor’s wife and dear friend. Carol has been a mentor, encourager and supporter to me in countless ways. She and her husband, Les, serve in the same denomination my husband and I are part of. Find out more about Carol and how you can be a superstar where you are here. And if you’re looking for a retreat or event speaker, she’s your woman!

Today, Carol writes about her and Les’s journey with adoption and informal foster care. May is National Foster Care Month. Check out Carol’s blog for more stories, stats and tips that are helpful in ministering to and supporting people working in and with foster care.

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“You and Les should do foster care,” said the guy sitting next to me at my brother’s wedding. He was the head of a children’s home, so he had a vested interest. Les happened to hear the comment and knew it would break my heart if I ever had to let a foster child go. So his reply was, “I’d have to have a personal message from God before I would ever let Carol do foster care.”

There was no personal message from God.

And yet over the years, Les and I have had 10 kids live in our home for periods of time, as well as two young adults and a single mom. Some were with us for only a few weeks, some a few months, the mom and her kids for almost a year, Joy forever. Not one came through a placement agency, government or private.

Les always says, “Some people bring home stray animals; Carol brings home stray people.” But I’m not the only one bringing them home; he’s brought his share. They’ve come as we’ve kept our eyes and ears and hearts open to how people are hurting. They’ve come as we’ve recognized a need we could fill. The family came through a thought God pressed on Les’s heart (so I guess there was a message from God).

Did my heart ever get broken? Multiple times. Eighteen-year-old Lori “left” before she even came, calling me before boarding a bus to head back to the mentally ill mother who had kicked her out at age 13, the mother who would attempt suicide two days after Lori arrived home. As she explained her rationale and the eagerness to be loved by her mother invaded her voice, I sat on the floor of our bedroom, hugging myself and sobbing. I was pretty sure this would end badly for Lori. I believed I would never heal.

Les and Carol Cool with Debby (green) and Joy (red)

When 14-year-old Debby and her 13-year-old sister Joy came into our home, we had known them for several years through our church and got along well. We were going to adopt them. The four of us were going to be a family. Some complications required us to get permanent custody first. The day the permanent custody papers came for us to sign—20 months after they moved in with us—Debby walked out, never to return to us. I was at work. Les called to say she had left in a fight over a candy bar (Joy can still tell you what kind it was). I thought they were joking. We all grieved. We all believed we would never heal.

Two years ago, our adopted granddaughter Ashlee came to live with us. She wasn’t adjusting well at home and had become a threat to her brother and Joy. She seemed to do well for the seven months she was here. She wanted to go home. Three weeks back she imploded and things got so bad the adoption was terminated. Again we grieve. It feels like our hearts will never heal.

They do heal, but there are always scars, tender spots that, when poked by a memory, produce pain. And yet . . .

Our lives have been enriched by the presence of each person. There’s the chunk of coal still in our front yard (moved 4 times) from Lauren. There’s the “Bedtime for Bonzolinas” song I made up for Max and Katie that still runs through my head. There’s the word “crookalized” that’s still in our vocabulary thanks to Joy (and her presence in our lives and hearts always). There’s memories of the Chinese tea ceremony at Leslie’s wedding. There are the funny stories of Hannah and Gloria whose Korean father thought it was fine to have his 12- and 13-year-old girls drive on I-95 on the way to Washington, DC. There’s the “Welcome Home, Mor More” sign from Ashlee hanging on my bulletin board. There’s a friendship with Cyndi that’s lasted 30 years, in which she still calls us Mom and Dad.

Yes, I’d do it again. (Why do people ask that? Do they ask that of people who had difficult times with their birth children?) Yes, I’d do things a bit differently. Yes, I’d ask God to help me be more patient with all of them. Yes, I’d try harder to get Lori to stay, to convince Debby to come back, to keep Ashlee here in Pennsylvania (although I don’t believe any of them would have).

Eleanor Roosevelt said, “Do something every day that scares you.” We didn’t set out to do that, but when you open your heart and your home, it’s scary. Things can break. It’s worth the risk to love as God loves (however imperfectly we manage it).

Open your eyes. There may be someone who needs the warmth of your love and, possibly, your home. Step out and take the risk—even if you don’t receive a personal message from God.

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Brave Old Girl in a Safe New World

Through a friend’s post, I recently was introduced to the Brave Girls Club. Check out the site. To tell you who they are and what they do and why they exist would take more words than I can write here. In joining this online community, you’re asked this question: “What does being brave mean to you?”

Simple question, right?

Not so simple answer, though I came up with something like “not being afraid to try new things and fail.”

Being brave — that’s not really my thing. Leaps of faith are rare in my life. My favorite hymn is “The Solid Rock.” Firm ground. Unchangeable truth. Solid. Safe. These are words I cling to.

The word “brave” for me evokes images of scaling a rock formation while wearing a harness or jumping out of a plane wearing a parachute or driving cross country with a map and no plan.

I’ve done a few brave things in my life. Leaving the country for a semester in college to study in England and travel in Europe was brave for a girl who hadn’t been on a plane since she was 2 and had only barely been into Canada and Mexico. I once drove myself from my hometown in northern Illinois to North Carolina to attend my first ever writer’s conference by myself without a clue as to why I was there or what I would experience. I have other similar stories. For some reason they all seem to involve travel.

That’s part of what has me thinking about bravery again. We’re about to take our first family vacation in a couple of weeks. The four of us are driving to Florida to meet my parents for a beach/Disney trip. We’ve traveled long distances in the car with the kids many times, but this will be our first trek into new territory with hotel stays and new driving routes.

I’ll admit it: I’m part excited; part scared. I’m a constant worrier about what could happen (bad) and ever fearful that I will not be able to enjoy the trip until we arrive safely in Florida and I won’t be able to really breathe and relax until we’re back home in Pennsylvania. (I would have made a terrible pioneer.)

See, I feel like I left the smidgen of “brave” I had behind when I had kids, although maybe some would say having kids is also brave. Some days, just leaving my house with two kids to run errands seems brave.

So, what’s your definition of “brave” and how has that changed?

I’d also like to compile a post of “the bravest thing I ever did” stories. Want to participate? Send me an e-mail: lmbartelt[at]gmail.com with a story about the bravest thing you’ve ever done. Put “Bravest Thing I Ever Did” in the subject line. I’ll keep your name confidential, and I’ll publish the stories in a future post.

Let’s encourage each other to do something brave.

Ready? Me, too.

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Saturday smiles: groundhog edition

We’ve been talking groundhogs in our house for a week now. Last week at the library storytime (which is a recurring smile that I don’t mention often enough) Isabelle learned about groundhogs, heard many stories about groundhogs and made a groundhog craft. She’s been eager for the day since then.

© Luckynick | Dreamstime.com

Watching a bunch of old guys in hats and tuxedos pull a scared and innocent-looking groundhog from a tree stump early in the morning to tell us we have six more weeks of winter is not necessarily my idea of a good time. I’m not normally sympathetic for the rodent types, but the poor thing looked pathetic. Actually, the kids’ commentary made it all better: Isabelle said, “Corban, it’s called Punxsutawney Phil.” And Corban responded in song: “Tawny Phil, Tawny Phil.” For the rest of the day, they danced around the house to this song. We watched the drama unfold on TV. Maybe if we’re still in Pennsylvania in the coming years, we’ll make the pilgrimage to Gobbler’s Knob in the western part of our fair state.

Other smile-worthy moments this week:

Having friends over to play.

Receiving confirmation that a piece I wrote will be published by a local church for a Lenten devotional.

Surviving the first day/night of my husband’s last seminary semester.

Singing with my husband in church. And with my kids when they go to sleep.

Playing outside. When it’s almost 60 degrees. In February.

Zumba.

Long walks by myself around town.

A good book. This one particularly. (Stay tuned for a review and interview with the author in a couple of weeks!)

Hearing our almost 4-year-old use the word “apparently” like it’s her job. “Apparently, I do know how to do this.”

Our 2-year-old’s response to almost everything right now is “oh-kay,” kind of drawn out but not sassy yet. Just cute. What can I say, I kind of love my kids a lot and mostly think they’re adorable.

A clean house. (Not that I ever really see this, but I did a fair amount of cleaning this week. The thing is, the more you clean, the more you find to clean. At this rate, I’ll have a perfectly clean house when I die.)

God speaking a similar message to my husband and me, offering us some comfort about the future.

A cumulative 10.4 pounds lost since the first of the year.

Sleep. Which is what I’m off to do soon. For me, there’s not much that beats a good night of sleep. Except maybe a great cup of coffee. And if I have the former, I don’t so much need the latter.

Good night, and keep smiling.

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