The Cultivated Life

cul·ti·vate   [kuhl-tuh-veyt] 

verb (used with object), cul·ti·vat·ed, cul·ti·vat·ing.

to promote or improve the growth of  by labor and attention.

to develop or improve by education or training; train; refine. 

 I was sitting outside the other morning, drinking my coffee and reading my bible when I cam across a passage in 1 Thessalonians that I've previously read many times, but on this day, occurred to me in a fresh way. 


1 Thessalonians 4:11
and to aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we instructed you,


I've always liked this verse. It's one of those verses that's underlined or highlighted in nearly every bible I own and written in many of my journals. I think I've had this dream, a romantic notion of a what a quiet life is and had assured myself that one day I would finally achieve said dream. When God called us to Lubbock I was sure this is where my "quiet idea" would finally come to realize itself. It felt like a small town, a certain requirement for a quiet life. I had a beautiful, big new backyard that actually had greenery, roses and cool temperatures to boot; all external factors seemed conducive to achieving a quiet life. I'll admit  it: I wanted the Mayberry lifestyle. I wanted to bake pies, sit on my porch with the neighbors, and even make pickles. (That last reference was thrown in for all you bona fide Andy Griffith fans, may he rest in peace.) I was invited to an ice cream social after being here only a few weeks. When we arrived we were seated by a lake, with homemade ice cream and we sang hymns and folk songs to a banjo. "This is it!" I thought, God had finally given me a perfectly quiet life.

Then it happened. My quiet life got loud, really loud. All of a sudden our calendar was full, our house was still unpacked, I had company coming in from out of town, I tried to start teaching school again,  and I began serving at church. Sshhhhh, I wanted to yell.  This isn't what I planned, this isn't a quiet life. Or . . . is it?


As I read the verse from 1 Thessalonians that morning, I realized all these years it wasn't the whole verse I liked, but just the first half.  I really liked the part about being quiet and minding my own business, but God's word doesn't stop there. This verse is not an invitation to be lazy, uninvolved or sedentary. In fact, it plainly goes on to instruct us to work with our hands. As I meditated on this verse and working with my hands, the idea of cultivating popped into my mind. Cultivate? Why am I thinking of cultivating as I try to plan my quiet life? I did a word search in the bible and came across Hebrews 6:7. 

Hebrews 6:7
For land that has drunk the rain that often falls on it, and produces a crop useful to those for whose sake it is cultivated, receives a blessing from God.

Was I cultivating a crop that was useful for those around me? That is, was I at all working at or trying to grow in Christ that I might develop and live a life full to the measure of joy, contentment and love? Or was I sitting back, dreaming of the life I wanted, reading about the life I wanted to live, and watching movies about an ideal life that I failed to do the work God had placed before me. The work that would, in fact, bring me the quiet peace I so desperately sought. Obviously the answer is the latter or I wouldn't be writing this blog.  

You see I came to realize living a quiet life isn't about being not busy, having free time or having an idolized routine. When I work with my hands, when I joyfully embrace what the day brings, when I seek to build a life centered on Christ and take action to create a crop, an environment, that is a blessing to those around me, the noise in my mind stops. When I am focused on others instead of my negative self-talk, when I am serving rather than waiting to be served, when I am creating a life that brings me joy rather than coveting someone elses' joy, all the chatter and the world's temptations get quiet. Shhh. Can you hear it? It's the sound of silence; it's the sound of a quiet life. 


  

Members Only

When we moved to Lubbock we agreed we were going to join a gym. I had been working out fairly regularly in Arizona whether hiking, yoga, running or even just an exercise video off Netflix. I would, of course, lament the fact that I didn't have a "regular" schedule and always feel like I should be doing more. In fact for a few crazy weeks I was working out twice a day. An unhealthy practice for me on many different levels.

Anyway, we heard about a gym in Lubbock that had two pools for the kiddos, a rock wall, kids' gym, etc. It sounded perfect and we made the appointment to sign on the dotted line and become members. It was going to cost us $110 per month. That may not seem like a huge amount, but in our financial world it is 25% of our grocery budget. Ouch. I wasn't even at the gym yet and I was already in pain. Although we didn't say anything to each other initially, in the week leading up to our signing appointment Erik and I each had reservations about the time and financial commitment we were preparing to make. He was already working long days, sometimes not getting home until 8:30. I was balancing school for the girls, unpacking a home, adjusting to a new city and trying to squeeze in a few meetings and lunches with my new church family. We knew this was what it was going to be like in the first few weeks, maybe months, of our life in Lubbock. We were not only prepared for the demands on our schedule, we were excited and looking forward to the same. What a joy to see my husband wake excited for work each day and loving the work he was doing. It was fun to discover a new city and new routines with my girls as we navigated this interstate move together. However, I feared adding another time commitment to our life right now could cost us more than the membership fee each month. 

Ultimately we discussed joining a gym and realized that, for us, in doing so we would be poor stewards of our resources, namely our time and money.  Although I knew we were making the right decision, I was disappointed. An hour all to myself to workout uninterrupted has it's appeal, you know? But, my bigger disappointment, if I am brutally honest, was that I would not have the facilities necessary to finally achieve the flat abs and thin thighs I so desired to take on our vacation this summer. I would like to tell you that my desire to join a gym stemmed from my lofty goals of caring for the body that God gave me and to set a healthy example for my daughters. If I told you that though, I would not only be prideful, I'd be a liar too. No, it was not caring for the temple that houses the Holy Spirit that drove me to want to me a member of a gym, it was the temptation to be a member of the world wherein you are not valuable if you are not a perfect physical specimen. In His great mercy and infinite wisdom, God taught me a lesson and provided a way for me to resist temptation with an answer I rarely like to receive to prayer: No. 

So, now what? Do I start an extreme exercise regimen at home? Cut out all my carbs to offset my lack of treadmill availability?  Or do I simply give up, eat junk and resign to the fact that health will come later when I have more money? Um yeah, pretty sweet example for my girls, I know. Or, is this a prime opportunity to show them that health happens in their everyday life? Could it be that caring for our bodies is a daily act of worship that comes through our normal food and activity choices? On the day we were supposed to join a gym we actually spent three hours doing some pretty grueling yard work. We vacuumed and mopped the floors and folded a few buckets of laundry. We even found time to share a meal at the table of fresh sandwiches and awesome conversation. The girls and I walk Bella up to a pond near our home and play at the park. Erik is going to start playing basketball with men from our church each week and hopefully find time to golf. Today we had sandwiches and salads for lunch. And guess what? We aren't panicking about trying to find time to go to a gym to workout. We aren't even counting calories or cutting carbs (yay!!). We are simply making better choices, each day, each moment, in an act of worship and gratitude for this life we are privileged to live. 

I'm not saying that gym memberships are evil and that I will never join one. I may even still do an exercise video now and then. I guess what I am saying is that for me, for now, my "workouts" are happening in my daily routine. "Health" is happening when my daughters pick a new fruit to try or offer to make me a gourmet lunch of salad and fresh baked bread (yes, they really did this.) I want them to know that just as church isn't something that happens once a week on Sundays, health isn't something that happens once a day in a gym. I want physical activity to be their norm, and not some manufactured routine they couldn't fit into their day.  

So, alas, we are not members of a gym. But, I have discovered simply being a  member of God's family and taking care of my own family provides infinite opportunity for strength, growth and a steady diet of daily bread.

In His Service,

Back Home

We are finally getting settled in our new home in Lubbock, Texas. We are quickly getting acquainted with all things Lubbock and have received definitive answers to the following questions:

Are people in West Texas really as nice as everyone claims?
No. They are nicer, by a long shot. (See how I'm already using some western lingo - nice, right?)

Can it really be that windy?
No. It is windier. (Is windier a word or should I say more windy? Somehow when I right 'windier' I feel like I'm describing a country road that curves a lot.)

How will the kiddos adjust?
Considering we've already had a sleepover and are making dinner plans with their new friends, I'd say they're transitioning well. Perhaps I can shave a couple years off the therapy sessions for which we save...

All in all, the move has gone well and it is starting to feel like home rather than an extended vacation. Not to the dog, though. I'm pretty sure she's waiting for us to go back home. I'm trying to resist using the phrase "back home."  When I say that it makes Texas sound temporary and somehow not worthy of being called home. So, while Arizona was home (and a great one), this is home.

It's home because we're here. Wherever we are, when the four of us (five, sorry Bella) are all together, we're home. So when we arrived at our new house on that first day in Lubbock, we were "back home." Okay, I'm tired of the word home. Let's move on.

Random Thought Time (RTT):

We don't have cable here. I used to say we didn't have cable in Arizona but that wasn't exactly true. We had 23 channels, mostly so I would have access to Fox, CBS, and NBC during football season and PBS for my Doc Martin addiction.    But here, when I say we don't have cable, I am being truthful. We did by an antenna (I'll wait until you get back in your chair from laughing so hard) for sixty bucks and we got...drum roll please: one channel. At least it is NBC so we get some news in the morning. I was missing Matt Lauer.
Matt + coffee = tolerable mornings.

We do have Netflix and through this happy medium I have discovered two new favorite shows. My first is Take Home Chef with Curtis Stone. Have you seen this? You must. Curtis, an Aussie chef, approaches people in the supermarket and offers to buy their groceries and help them cook dinner to surprise a special someone in their life. I like it because I like listening to him talk. I like it because the episodes are only 20 minutes - easy to squeeze one in while I fold laundry. I like it because he makes stuff I will never in a million years cook for my family.  But, during one brief episode I imagine that I will in fact start buying fresh groceries everyday and make seared swordfish over sauteed fennel with layered chocolate mousse and creme brulee for dessert. Because, how hard could it be? Then the episode ends and I remember to put my hotdish into the oven.

My other favorite show is The Last American Cowboy. If you think you have a really hard job or your day with the kiddos has been extremely exhausting, watch this show. If, at the end, you don't feel like you have it pretty darn easy,  you must have the worst job ever. Because unless you are birthing 20 calves and shoveling poop in a blizzard, you, like me, live close to luxury my friend. This show chronicles three ranchers in Montana and brilliantly displays both the brutality and attractiveness of a simple life lived off the land. Note I said simple - not easy. While this show makes me appreciate my life, it also inspires me to work harder and do more with my day. I feel silly when I say I ran out of time to do yard work or squeeze in a workout when there are families who work sunup to sundown to put food on the table. 

Well, that's all for now. My new couches will arrive on Friday at which time I will finally post pictures of our new Texas digs. BTW - I am writing today in my new studio. Okay, from 10-3 it's a school house, but after they leave I am happy to call it a studio where I can write, sew, scrapbook, etc. OMGosh, I kind of feel like a real crafter/artist. HeeHee

Until next time y'all! (I did it again, did you catch it?)

In His Service,  

Hello Goodbye

This is the current state of my living room. More importantly, and I am slightly embarrassed to admit as much: this is the cleanest and most organized my home has been in a long time.
























Ok, I digress. Anyway, I have redecorated in cardboard not in a misguided attempt at minimalist, modern home decor, but because we are moving. To Texas.  In a week. Cue hyperventilation. End scene.

We are actually quite excited to move to Lubbock, Texas so my husband can begin his new hob as an associate pastor at Raintree Christian Church.  Even the girlies are counting down the days. Their excitement was of course subsequent to the required crying and requisite guilt trip for ruining their entire life by ripping them away from all of their friends. Five minutes later they were asking how big their rooms would be and could we go any sooner.  But, it's often that way for kids, isn't it?  The pain of goodbye gets so quickly and easily eclipsed by the excitement of hello.  The girls have completely embraced the idea of moving. It's a joy to see  all of the fears which normally accompany a huge change like this have not overshadowed their exuberance and gleeful anticipation.

I had a glimpse of my nine-year-old's outlook and wisdom the other night at dinner when we had the following conversation:

Erik: So they (friends of ours) wanted to know if we were going to put you in school to help you make friends.

Jilly: Why?

Erik: I guess because it's a new place and you won't know anybody right away.

Jilly: Ok, but school can't make friends for you. You have to do that yourself.

The proper response in our house to such a wise beyond her years remark is as follows: Place right hand on right side of your head. Make the blowing up sound and accompanying hand jester. Because, yeah, she blows our minds.

But, Jilly is spot on the mark. Fear is not trusting God to provide wonderful opportunities and not trusting yourself to have the courage to seize those opportunities. Jilly knows God will bring friends into her life. She also knows, she's going to have to put forth some effort to make friends.

Erik's grandfather, who became a very dear and precious man in my life, told me the first night I met him to never say goodbye. Goodbye was too final, he said. Instead, it was, "See you later."  In fact,  the last time I saw him, just before he passed away, the last thing I said to him was, "See you later." So it is with the goodbyes I must say in a week. They are not forever goodbyes. They are simply a see you later in which the later is just a little further off.

And the hellos? Well, often those can be even scarier can't they? But for me, it is hello to a whole new set of friends, opportunities and possibilities. And maybe, just maybe, hello more regular blogs posts. Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

So, Hello, Lubbock. And to all of our friends and family we leave behind...

See you later.

 

Oh, Hey, I Didn't Even See You There

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10

You know what we had to do today? We had to have a picnic, by our pool, sipping on freshly brewed sun tea and chowing on homemade egg salad sandwiches. We had to do our daily lessons outside, by the water. We had to do this. Why? Because when God provides you with an 80 degree day on January 2, you don't tell Him no. You don't say, "Nicely done, God. Good on ya! But, unfortunately I must sit inside and stare at my computer, tv, walls (if that's your thing) and I will have to catch up on your abundant blessings another day." That's ludicrous, right? The correct answer is yes. It is ludicrous because our only have to, ever, should be saying yes to God.  But, how do we say yes to someone we don't recognize and can't hear?

Jilly -- working hard by the pool

Our classroom

Emma--doing her "home" work

There's a line from one of my favorite movies, Sleepless in Seattle, where the father, having just said something inappropriate notices his son standing at the door, listening. He asks his son, "How long have you been standing there?"  His son replies, "Forever."  I do this with Jesus.Whether it's a glorious feeling that washes over me and I finally take notice of the presence of God and dare to ask, "How long have you been there?"  Forever. Or perhaps it's in my darkest moments of shame when, through tears, I whisper, "How long have you been there?" Forever. In the business of my everyday life, as I choose me over Him, my ability to recognize Him diminishes and ultimately fails. I don't see that He is in the sunshine that beckons us to come outside. I don't hear Him in the laughter of my children as they beg me to read one more chapter or play one more game. I don't feel Him in the gentleness of my husband's kiss as he tries desperately to distract me from making dinner. Each moment I choose important instead of more important is a moment when I haven't noticed that it is Jesus calling, madly in love with me, trying to get me to notice Him. I've missed out on the fullness of life He promised and, indeed, on the very fullness of Christ himself.

This year, my only resolution is to look and listen for Jesus, everywhere, that I might say yes to His promptings, yes to Him. Life is full, to the measure, with rich and abundant blessings that I miss all too often. As I recently looked at pictures of our Christmas festivities, guess what I found? He was there in every picture, and to think I almost didn't notice. Just take a look where I found Him.

He was . . .

under the mistletoe.

in her smile.

in her courage.

in their love for one another.

in the warmth of a hug from your sister on a chilly Zoolights trip.

in our blessings.

in my home.

May you have a blessed new year and may you recognize and enjoy the fullness of Christ in the simple pleasures of everyday that He provides.

In His Service,

Homemade Happiness

To say in a raspy, somewhat muffled voice: The pit of despair...

If you're not a fan of The Princess Bride the aforementioned reference means nothing to you (and there is something seriously wrong with you.) However, it was the above quote I would hear in my head every time I dared to venture into my closet. It was this dark, depressing cave of clothes I never wore, shoes stacked in corners, sweatshirts spilling off the top shelves and poor hubby's ties buried beneath my mountain of belts and scarves. It reminded me of the dark, clearance corner of a department store. Seriously, that place creeps me out and makes me sad. All of these clothes, forgotten, and destined to end up on a sad 75% off rack near the elevator in a Dillard's never to be worn and appreciated. I digress. Anyway, my closet had become such a place and I began to wear only 10% of what I owned because it was just too taxing to try and find anything. Or worse, find it and realize it doesn't fit anymore. Crikey. Something needed to be done, like yesterday.

Thankfully, hubby agreed that drastic measures had to be taken. Unfortunately, his first drastic measure was for me to go through everything and purge. Disgruntled but agreeable, I did so and 5 trash bags later we were left with what actually needed to go back in the closet. After the clean out, here was our starting point:

Here's what I envisioned: bright white, a mini chandelier, shelves to the ceiling lined with beautiful boxes to house all of my folded items. I also wanted an ottoman in the middle with an island for my jewelry. What? A girl can dream. So, why do I have the best husband? Ever? Because he didn't tell me no, he didn't tell me it couldn't be done, he didn't laugh at me. He told me it could be done but we would have to all of the work ourselves and be creative. I love this man. Budget - his department. Creative - just turn me loose, brother.

We started by painting bright white:

 We added a row of shelves (and by we I of course mean he):

And then it was my turn to make my boxes and here's what I did:

Start with a cardboard file box - I bought a 10 pack at Staples.

Choose your material - I bought mine on clearance at Hobby Lobby. Get yourself some mod-podge and a brush.

Measure enough material to completely wrap around your box with a couple inches over hang on the top and bottom.

Remove the handle tabs.

Start on a long side of the box and pull the material to the mid-point.

Wipe on liberal amounts of mod-podge. Work quickly and in small areas as it does dry quickly.

Continue to work around the box, smoothing the material and pulling tight as you go.

Always put mod-podge on top of the seams to keep them from fraying.

Mod-podge the bottom by wrapping like you would a present.

Snip the corners at the opening, mod-podge and fold in to the box..

Finished product: a decorative box to hide all of your closet clutter.

I ended up making ten boxes. Each one only took about half an hour 

and I spent less than $30 for all ten.

Our finished closet:

The homemade decor also continued with a small project in the living room. Needing something for a big bare wall, and having seen this in a MaryJane's Farm Magazine, and loving books as I do, here is what I made:

It's simply old book pages, folded into cones and secured to a wire floral wreath.

 

 It feels good to finish projects and I do believe I love my closet even more because I had a hand in creating it. I think I'll tackle some more of these projects. Goodness knows I've enough ideas on my Pinterest boards to keep me busy at least until the new season of Doc Martin hits Netflix.


In His Service,

The Gift of Loneliness

So, as you may have read, my last blog was all about my life changing trip to the Dominican Republic. It was simply amazing, and I mean beautifully simple in every sense. A couple of weeks ago it was Erik's turn. He would be leaving on a two week mission trip to the slums of Nairobi, Kenya. This was a trip we weren't even sure he would be able to make. He had committed to going in January and we began fund raising immediately. However, shortly thereafter we were blessed with his internship at church. This, however, also meant fund raising our income. As such, we mutually agreed to put Africa on hold and focus our efforts on monthly income in order to support those inconvenient habits of meals and electricity to which we had grown accustom. We were blessed yet again when friends of ours informed Erik they would be funding almost his entire trip as they did not want this to be one more thing for him to worry about in our time of transition. Feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and humility we accepted their generous gift and began to prepare, with excitement, for his adventure.

Prior to departure, I must say I was his biggest champion. I encouraged him to go, convinced him his work would be fine without him for 3 weeks, convinced him we would be fine without him for 2 weeks, and I was excited to share with family and friends about his upcoming trip. And then Tuesday, July 5 arrived and suddenly it was time to drop him off at the airport. I knew I would miss him and I think I even knew it would be the hardest separation we had ever endured, but I was doing okay. I didn't cry at the airport despite comforting my daughters through a very tearful goodbye. He hugged me, kissed me and said he would call me from the plane via Skype at 8:30 that night. I held it together until the drive home and then I let it out, crying quietly so my girls wouldn't notice. "Just make it until 8:30," I told myself, then I would hear his voice again.

July 5, as some of you may recall, was the night of the big haboob. No - for those of you non-Arizonans, haboob is not a mistype. A haboob is a huge dust storm that produces a fast moving wall of dust hundreds of feet high. I read on the British Airways website that Erik's flight was actually the very last flight to leave Sky Harbor airport before they grounded all air traffic in and out of Phoenix. Okay, that's enough to make a wife become a little concerned. But, I knew he was most likely fine and after all, he was going to call and say goodnight at 8:30. 8:30 came and went, 9, 9:30, 10...he wasn't going to call. That's okay, I thought. I knew he landed at 5 am our time, would find some WiFi in London, their first stop, and give us a call. 5 am came and went, 6, 7, 8...I held out until 11:30 my time, 7:30 London time before I actually tried calling him, even knowing how expensive it would be if he could answer. I shouldn't have worried about the cost, he never answered. Agony. It may sound dramatic to you, but that is the best word I can think of to describe what I was feeling. Finally, at 12:30 my time, 7 hours after he landed, he called with a friend's phone. He was happy and fine, on his way to Buckingham Palace as a matter of fact. WHAT? I'm worried you're lying in a London ditch unable to reach me and you're on your way to tea with the Queen? I hung up relieved he was okay, angry he had put me through that. This was the beginning of the uglies. What are the uglies? The emotions I didn't want to admit to everyone else I was having while my husband was selflessly serving in the largest slums in the world: anger, jealousy, hurt, depression,loneliness. Shameful? Yes. Was I really feeling these things, really? Truth? Yes.

Thankfully, rather than being able to suppress or ignore them, God made me deal with these emotions. It ended up being a very healing process, albeit very painful. Without being alone, these emotions might not have surfaced and I could have avoided some necessary, serious self examination. In short, without Erik leaving, I would never have had to lean further into God than I ever had before and would never have known the joy of falling further into the Savior's mighty grasp. Loneliness became the blessing that allowed me to have my own life changing experience right here at home.

After a few nights of crying myself to sleep, staring at the computer waiting to hear anything from him and snapping at my beautiful girls, I realized I was letting satan win. I would look at pictures of Erik posted on Facebook and feel relieved to see his smiling face and feel a pain so deep it would take my breath away. Weren’t we supposed to be doing this life together? How could the man I love and gave my heart to, my life to, have this life changing experience, in Africa no less, without me by his side? We were supposed to do this together. It’s an experience we would never share: a first trip to Africa. I was overwhelmed with sadness, and if I’m honest, jealousy.

But, then I understood. Yes, I am supposed to love my husband, and I do. Yes, I am supposed to respect him, and I do, immensely. And yes, I pledged to spend this life on earth with him, and I want to do just that. But, give my life to him? Give my soul to him? Put him in charge of my joy? Nope,I’m sorry, I need to ask for those back. They belong to another man. You see, Erik can’t bring me complete joy and peace no matter the circumstances, but He can. Further, it is so unfair of me to expect my husband to do any of those things. I have loved my husband more than Him, and that’s not fair to either of us. So I'm taking the burden off my amazing husband and giving control of my joy, my life, back to the one person to whom they belong, Jesus Christ.

God gave Erik this time in Africa, and not me. And for awhile that made me mad. But then I realized, He gave me two weeks with my girls. He gave me moments that are only mine. Memories that I won’t have in common with my husband, but will forever change me and be imprinted on my heart. God didn't need to send me to Africa, or the Dominican for that matter, to have a life changing experience. Erik will never look at life the same after being in Kenya for two weeks. But, here’s the thing: I will never look at life the same after being here for two weeks. The life change I needed was right here all along, in my home, in my heart.

So, in the end, I could not be more proud of my husband or more thankful that he made this trip. I also could not be more thankful for my time here, and the lessons I learned. Someday, Erik and I may got to Africa together, but for now, I'm okay with my mission field being right outside my office door. In fact, I need to go as they're calling me to come play.