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I remember being 6 years old in my dance class. My mom walked out of the parent waiting area and offered me a sip of her Sprite. Two sips in I heard the teacher say from the front of the room, "That's enough. She doesn't need any more sweets. She's big enough." Some of the other girls snickered. After we finished our winter show later that month, I never went back to dance lessons again. 

I remember being 8 years old and my parents had friends over for dinner. The youngest was my age so upstairs we went to play. I sat on the edge of my bed while she ransacked my room. I told her she was being too rough with my stuff. She turned around, poked me in the stomach, and out of nowhere said,"Well at least I'm not chubby." I had no words for her statement but I spent the rest of the evening avoiding her by pretending to help in the kitchen. 

At 13 years old, my best guy friend told me that he would be interested in dating me if my legs were a little leaner an…
Recent posts

Beautiful Things

I grew up with a mom who loves beautiful things. Her room is a treasure trove of drawers lined with velvet boxes of sparkling things to wear, mirrored trays of delicious perfumes to dab on wrists, a bed of feathered pillows to sink into, and a walk-in closet lined neatly with every kind of shoe imaginable. Growing up with her was like growing up with a queen in a castle. 

As I grew into a teenager, a lot of the wonder of my mom's way of life began to lose its appeal. I saw how hard she worked to own all the things she wanted. I saw how much time it took to clean silver, and wool, and delicate hand-painted porcelain. And I started to feel that I wanted to spend my life doing other things with my time. 
My first experience with what I now know is called a minimalist lifestyle, was when I nannied for a toddler whose parents were missionaries. They slept on mattresses on the floor, had only one bowl, one cup, and a set of silverware for each person in the family, and they bought rice a…

Inspiration

There's a secretary desk in my dining room that has been waiting to be fixed and refinished for almost four years. For almost two years after I triumphantly found it on Craigslist, it sat completely untouched. It's been moved from house to house and room to room, waiting patiently. I finally started pulling it apart two winters ago and still haven't managed to paint all of it. Every day it looks sadly at me as I go about doing the rest of the urgent things on my to-do list. Every day it gets pushed back to the bottom of the list. I don't have enough time. I don't have enough energy. I don't have the right tools for the job. And yet deep inside I know I want to do this project and should do this project and will feel so much better once it's done and looking all pretty. 

Sadly, that desk isn't the only project I haven't finished. My daughter's baby shadow boxes, my vegetable garden, my first book, and don't even get me started on my wedding al…

Komorebi

Komorebi.
It is a Japanese word that translated means "sunlight filtered through the leaves of a tree."
A word that encompasses all the wonder and beauty of one of my most beloved images. 
In the spring, the leaves are new and bright green and the light that filters through them is fresh and vibrant and whispers promises of new things to come. 
In the summer, the green, filtered light is a rest from the heat and the bustle of life. 
In the fall, the chill in the air and the array of a thousand colors invite us to come and play and be a child again. 
In the winter, the cold breeze blows unhindered through the naked trees, but their absence gives an unhindered view of the layout of the land.
Komorebi in each season of nature is a symbol of a season of my own life. 
Not too long ago I was missing those leaves and missing that sun. Anxiety, insomnia, depression, and awful physical symptoms plagued me until some days I couldn't even get out of bed. It was winter in my life and the ch…

Praying For My Other Half

Something happened in one of our friend's lives recently that made me stop and consider how quickly life can change forever. It also made me realize that sometimes all that stands between our loved ones and a tragedy is our prayers. 
So my heart has been turning over the subject of prayer since then and most specifically prayer for my husband. It seems that I pray for everyone who asks-- close friends, strangers, and missions groups in far away countries. But my husband, the one human whom I share a child, a bed, and a life with, hardly gets any prayer attention. When he does, it's because I'm upset and am asking the Lord to change him. 
I want to change that. I want to become a woman who prays for the most important and probably longest relationship of my life. 
So I went online and found some other women who were also doing the same thing and found some resources to help me stay in prayer for my husband. 
The Better Mom blog has printable cards for 31 days of prayer for my …

Do What You Love

My husband and I took a much needed and very overdue vacation a couple weeks ago. It was just he and I and the rolling farmland of Amish country. 

One afternoon we were enjoying a drive when we rounded a corner on a hill. From behind an oak tree on my right emerged a gorgeous chestnut horse racing alongside us. In the golden light, I could see his powerful muscles under his sleek coat. He tossed his head back and forth making his mane dance in the breeze. He kicked his legs in joyful freedom. My breath caught in my throat. My lips mouthed a slow-motion "woooowwww." 

I don't know if it was the euphoria of being on vacation, or the magical rays of late afternoon sunshine, or the novelty of seeing animals (since I didn't grow up with any) but that moment is forever etched into my memory. What I felt seeing that beautiful, powerful creature playfully and freely doing what he was made to do filled me with such joy that there was nothing more I wanted to do but stand there a…

Put it in Writing

I celebrated my 33rd birthday last week. It was such a treat to get a slew of birthday cards in the mail. I absolutely love cards. When I was younger I kept every single one in boxes and had created more of a problem for myself than anticipated. In the spirit of the minimalist project I've started this year, I no longer keep my cards in boxes; I will enjoy them to the fullest but they will be tossed in a few weeks. But for now, they sit like colorful butterflies on my fridge, flapping their messages every time I walk by or open the door, reminding me of all those who have been thinking about me, taking time out of their busy lives to send me their well-wishes. 

The summer has been full of activity and I've had little time to invest in writing to others. But now school supplies are on sale and the weather is getting cooler, and I can feel my heart yearning to write. This yearning is for more than just typing on a screen; it's for colorful pens and paper and handwritten words…