Weeds in a Vacant Lot


So the other day I posted this picture on Facebook: chickweed

Asking whether it was a weed or a real-on-purpose plant.

And the comments took were not as cut and dry as I was expecting.  There was some debate.  Was this Creeping Jenny, or Chickweed?  Is this plant something desirable, or an invasive pest?

(Spoiler alert: chickweed- although the discussion has now convinced me to pull up the free plant that appeared in my yard and replace it with it’s near twin that I will purchase at the store.  Sometimes gardening- and America- makes no sense…)

But over the past 24 hours, something that was just a passing query has now taken root (pardon the pun) in my mind.

How do we determine the value of something?

Is it beauty?  Usefulness?  Rarity?  Convention?

What makes chickweed a weed and Creeping Jenny a desirable plant for your garden?  (I know that there is probably an extensive, fact based answer to this particular question, but please, for the sake of discourse, let’s let the metaphor stand…)

When is something mundane, and when is it an invitation to marvel?  What is the thing that separates the ordinary from the remarkable, the humdrum from the holy?  Is it something inherent to the object, or is beauty truly in the eye of the beholder?

If you look in the Bible, God uses ordinary objects over and over again to break into our reality.  A bush.  A donkey.  A star.  A stable.  Bread.  Wine.  Things that have ordinary uses, and yet, when viewed with kingdom eyes, shimmer with transcendence.

Children are so good at recognizing this duality.  Daily I am handed a wilting dandelion or a particularly remarkable stick?  Why?  Because, in my little people’s eyes, these are treasures.  Little boy’s pockets are always filled with rubber bands and acorns and fragments of paper, because they need an arsenal of miracles within their reach at anytime.  Poking a dead bee with a stick becomes an hour long activity.  A pile of dog poop next to the sidewalk becomes the inspiration for a 15 minute fantasy tale of the doggy that left it (don’t scoff- this happened to me this past Sunday afternoon).  To a child’s eye, the world is chock full of magic and imagination.  An adventure just waiting to happen.  To an adult, these same things simply hold face value.  Where did the whimsy go?

A few months ago, I read a poem, and then immediately took a paint pen and wrote the poem on the wall in the bathroom.  Why?  Because I only have about 7 minutes a day of uninterrupted time to shower think.  And I wanted these words to surround me during that time…

Praying by Mary Oliver

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

Just pay attention.  For me, this concept is summed up in the word Selah.  As I have noted earlier on this page, Selah is a word used in the Old Testament.  Although  the definition isn’t precisely known, scholars tend to agree it means something along the lines of “Stop, and think on this.”  When used in the Psalms, it is thought that this word could signal a musical interlude in the song.

Either way, it is an invitation, even a command, to stop.  It is a doorway into silence.  A moment that grabs your attention, that reminds you that there is more to this life than the next thing on your calendar.

When is the last time you paused?  Even just for a few breaths?  When is the last time you gave yourself permission to stop, and think on something?  To simply be grateful? Do you live an interruptible life?

I seldom do.  And yet, I am constantly seeking small rituals that can serve as reminders to pause.  To breathe.  To be aware that I am not what matters in this life.  To marvel and to give thanks to a good God who is with me all the time.  In the blue iris and in the handful of small pebbles my preschooler just handed me.



not my story.

It’s that time of year.

The time of year when my Instagram fills up with sweaty, post workout posts.  When Facebook is filled with testimonials of the newest 137 hour fix and beetroot wonderfood shake.  I am always proud of my friends who are working to transform their bodies and their lives, but I must admit, often times these posts take me to a dark place.

A place filled with shoulds.  A place where my inner voice starts shouting about all the diets I should be on, and all the new workouts I should be trying.  Of the way my body should look, and the ways I should be spending my precious down time.  I often tell others to stop shoulding all over yourself.  It was time I took my own advice.

My history with self image is… fraught. There is a strong family history of unhealthy body expectations and practices that is ingrained into the way I view the world. Whenever I go one a diet, I am immediately transformed into a different person. One who is hyper-focused on the number on the scale.  My entire week’s success or failure hangs on the results of my weigh in.  Meal planning and denying the voices shouting in my head takes up all my mental energy.

So, a few years ago, I decided to hop off of that train.  No more diets for me.  No group exercise because frankly, I spend the entire time comparing myself unfavorably to others.  I decided to love myself, and realize that who I am is WAY more than what my body looks like or a number on a scale.

But most of all, by giving up dieting, I gave myself permission for that to NOT BE MY STORY.  I do not want my kids to grow up remembering me as a person who jumped from one diet to the next.  Someone who shied away from photographs and bathing suits.  I didn’t want my daughter to see me constantly evaluating myself on outward appearances. I wanted them to remember a mom who was joyfully present.  Who baked with them.  Who showed them how much FUN playing outside could be.  A mom who took care of herself, soul, mind, AND body- and did her best to keep the three in balance.

Does that mean I gave up taking care of myself?  No.  In fact, I have actually lost weight since stepping out of that ugly cycle.  Instead of focusing on denying myself the foods I can’t have, I focus on feeding myself well.  Of celebrating with others with cake and champagne, but also falling in love with the crisp simplicity of a salad.  I realized that exercise could be a reward for me.  That I like using my body.  But that I like to exercise alone.  To give myself a chance to clear my head and process my life.  Or to take a walk with a good friend.  For me, that’s about as sweet as life gets.  And it turns out it’s good for me too.

Should everyone quit on diets?  Of course not!  For me. they became an idol, and they chipped away at my sense of self worth.  But more than that, for me, I decided that I wanted my life to be about more than just that.  That this was a priority I was consciously putting aside.  And I feel stronger by engaging in that process. By giving myself a divine permission to walk away from that unattainable standard.  By embracing the everyday grace available to me, and recognizing my infinite worth in Christ, which is separate from the worth given to me from the outside.



Santa Claus: when my kids ask…

**SPOILER ALERT** if you 1) can read and 2) are on facebook or WordPress and 3) are reading this instead of watching cat videos, I assume you are mature enough to handle the real deal… 

I love Christmas. The whole shebang. For as long as I can remember I’ve started my Christmas shopping in June. Started sneaking listens to Christmas music in September. Stockpiled glittery red dresses and Christmas shirts for my kids from thrift stores year round. 

I love the traditions the cookies and the stories that surround Christmastime. 

But last week, when my 5 year old asked me if Santa was real… I couldn’t not tell him the truth. 

Because Jesus. 

There are so many stories that circulate this time of year. Elf on the shelf. Rudolph. Frosty the Snowman. Santa. Buddy the Elf. That eggnog tastes good. The stories make this time of year sparkle. They fill us with whimsy and wonder and excitement for what is to come. But they don’t hold a candle to the other Story we tell this time of year.

Sometimes I wonder what happens in our children’s minds when the truth gets mixed in with all that fiction. 


When my sweet little boy asked me if Santa was real, I just couldn’t say yes. I just couldn’t perpetuate the confusion, the dilution, that is Christmas these days. 

So here is what I said: 

“Well Colton, answer me this… Are superheroes real? (this is a conversation we’ve already had multiple times) 

“We know it’s really fun to pretend that there are superheroes.   But the truth is, there’s no one magic (wo)man that can beat up all the bad guys. Instead, there are lots and lots of good people who go to work every day as policemen and firefighters that help protect us all and keep us safe. And there are even more people, just regular people like you and me, who do kind things all the time. They help people that need help and work to make our world a happier place. And all of us working together can do more than one superhero could ever do.

“and Santa Claus is the person we say brings gifts and joy on Christmas Eve. But really, what brings us happiness is each other. The things we do together. The family we get to see, the special things we do as friends and family. And of course the gifts we choose for each other. But  the thing that truly brings us joy is the reason we celebrate Christmas – that baby Jesus came to the world and through Him God sent his son to save us from our sins. That’s what we are really celebrating at Christmas time. 

“I’m telling you this because I want you to know that I will never lie to you about things that are really important. When I tell you something is true, I want you to believe me. We can tell lots of stories and have lots of fun, but at the end of the day I want to always be someone you know will tell you the truth.”

And after all of that, my sweet son looked me in the eye and said in all seriousness: “Mommy you are wrong. I KNOW Santa is real. I sat on his lap.”

Oh well. 

You win some you lose some. 

And to all a good night. 

Advent-ures Part II

I have to brag for a moment – I have the best neighbors in the world. I live in this magical cul-de-sac full of smiling people who do kind things for one another. One of those kind things included coming home to two plastic wrapped chocolate Advent calendars one afternoon early in December. 

I’m not sure if you have children in this stage, or remember what it was like to be in this stage, but things don’t get much better than chocolate filled Advent calendars. Each day you get to poke your fingernail into a fresh perforated square, open a never before opened door, and pull out one single perfect piece of molded chocolate candy. What will be today? A trumpet? A teddy bear? An Angel? 

This delicious anticipation also happens to be equally matched with a dizzying sense of loss after the box is opened and the chocolate is consumed. Immediately, you want to open the next day’s door. To eat the next day’s candy. To hoard all of tomorrow’s blessings today.

Luckily for me, my advanced age and lifetime of wisdom keeps me from coveting my future self. I am perfectly content to take each day at a time and not spend my life wishing for the future… 

*oh wait*

No, that’s actually what I spend the majority of my time doing. Wishing for the next piece of chocolate in my metaphorical Advent calendar. Wishing for non-metaphorical chocolate at all times as well.

I think that it is very significant that two of the most celebrated times in the liturgical year, Advent and Lent, are both centered around waiting. We spend our entire lives waiting. Waiting for the next life stage. Waiting to achieve a goal. Waiting for this to trial to pass, or for that far away blessing to come. Thinking that life will truly be happening whenever {fill in the blank} finally happens and you are no longer {fill in the blank}. 

But isn’t it true that we are perpetually waiting? And isn’t it true that its in the waiting that we grow? It is my experience that when things are going smoothly, I seldom feel driven to fully rely on God. When I can see my way out of the situation, I don’t often pause to lift it up in prayer. When I feel in control of my life, I tend to feel like I deserve credit. 

It is in the waiting that I realize this story is not about me. 

It is in the waiting that I remember to turn, again and again, to my Provider. 

It is in the waiting that I am shown my insufficiencies. The areas I need to grow. The ways I deal with others that are hurtful, sinful, unloving.

The waiting forces me to grow. It forces me to turn to God. It forces me to become a better disciple, mother, wife, friend.

Waiting is not a trial, but a gift. And an extremely useful gift – dare I say even more useful than the Instant Pot you’ve been eyeing on Amazon? In this season of Advent, we are waiting for the celebration. For the Messiah that was promised – long waited for. The covenant that was fulfilled in ways unforeseen. 

Even when this gift was given, it was in the form of a baby. The fulfillment of the covenant was happening, and yet still creation waited. For the baby to grow. To learn to eat, to walk, to crawl. To speak, to pray, to change the world. Even when the promise was being incarnated, there was still waiting. And even now, as people of the New Covenant, we wait.

What a gift we have been given. To wait expectantly, fully confident in a God that will not fail us. To realize that we don’t know how the story will play out, but we do know the One who is writing that story. 

As you wait for Christmas day this year, allow the waiting to be formative. Ask God to show you how this period of waiting will bear fruit. And don’t forget to be grateful for the gift that waiting is to you, to me, to all of us.

Isaiah 40:30-31 Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. 

What art teaches me about God, Part 1

This year has been a year of creating for me, and the majority of it has been visual, not written. 


I’m not sure. I just know that making something, creating beauty, even if it isn’t a masterpiece, feeds something deeply hungry in my soul. For some reason, combining form and color and meaning is a balm for me. It’s one of the few times in my day where I become fully present. Completely immersed in the thing in front of me. My thoughts stop spinning, my hand may ache and tingle from holding the brush, but my heart is in harmony. And for me, that is enough. 

Enough to know that the process of making art is important. Refreshing and life-giving to me in a way that makes me pay attention. I think for me, art may be one of the thin places, a place where the veil between the sacred and the earthly becomes blurry, a place where I encounter God. Because I sense this, I follow that trail. I allow myself to use my brush, my glue gun, my paint and my palette as instruments of worship. Worship not for the thing I am creating, but for the Creator in whose image I am formed. 

I truly believe that we, as men and women formed in the image of the Almighty God, all have a spark of creation buried within us. And when we fan that spark into flame, we bring glory to God and fullness to our souls. 

Does that make us all artists? No. (although I think we all tend to be much too quick to disavow any artistic talent- don’t get me started on art injuries…) But does that make us all creators? I would argue yes. I think each one of us has some God given ability, interest, or activity that makes our soul sing. 

We all have a handful of things that fully immerse us, and, regardless of talent or outcome, bring joy. That thing may be making art, but it also may be making an omelette. Running a 5K. Telling a killer bedtime story. Knitting a truly great sock. Keeping the busy schedules of a family singing like a symphony. You may be enamored with creating spreadsheets or balancing budgets. Perhaps your have created your home to be an oasis of peace, a welcoming place for neighbors. Whatever your thing may be, when you bring it into the world, you bring glory to the One who made you that way. 

Can I just say out loud (well, in print… on screen?) to all of us results obsessed Americans that sometimes the process is of more value than the outcome? So what if you are not the best at something? There is only one best, and guess what- it’s not you. BUT. Does that thing bring joy to you? Does it make you feel? Does it renew you, center you? 

Then do it. 


We all seem to feel a bit abashed when we let our light shine. Yet, shouldn’t we be unashamed to do things that bring us joy? If I create art as an act of worship, then who cares what it looks like? I mean, really? If you run because you love it and it gives you mental space to encounter God, then your split time doesn’t prove your worthiness, does it? 

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.

Matthew 5:14-16

Who looks at a picture a child draws and critiques it? Who turns their nose up at a home cooked meal made by a loved one because it isn’t haute cuisine? So it is with us. When I really stop and look around me, the main critic I encounter is… me. And why should I dim my own light? 

So what I am saying is… go do your thing. And be awesome. Yay God. 

Snowstorm Sabbath

2015-02-26 09.01.32

One of my favorite things about living in the South is our kooky reaction to winter weather.  As the first flakes of frozen precipitation begin to fall from above, we feel compelled to act as if the sky itself is falling.  School is cancelled.  There is a run on the grocery store.  Motorists on all major thoroughfares immediately smash into fellow  vehicles.  We stack up our firewood, pile on the blankets, and drink mug after mug of hot chocolate.  It’s amazing.

We have just weathered one of those storms, and, as we emerge from the blizzard of 2016, I find myself realizing what it is that I love so much about our winter panic- in the midst of the storm, everything stops.  We stay at home.  Engage with our families.  Cook luxurious meals and excuse ourselves from going to work, to the gym, to board meetings and the other obligations that fill our days.  We shelter in place.

In essence, we take a sabbath.

I cannot tell you how much the last few days have meant to me.  I have had real conversations with my family.  I have gotten down on the floor and played with my children. I took moments to pet my dog.  Wash my dishes by hand.  Talk to my neighbors.  I have marveled at the beauty of nature, and listened to good music.  In essence, I have taken time to stop and truly enjoy this beautiful life I am living.

In typical Southern fashion, the weather today is heading towards 50 degrees.  On the street outside of my office I see people in winter parkas walking next to others in t-shirts.  And I find myself a bit sad about the thaw.  Because although I appreciate the return to normal patterns and schedules, I know I will miss the freedom and space created by the snow.

For the record, no, I am am not wishing for an eternal winter. But I do find myself asking what it is about these snow days that are so meaningful.  What practices can I carry forward into the sunshine?

Here are some questions I have been asking myself in the discovery process… maybe they will resonate with you as well:

What do I cherish the most about snow days?

What elements of this time can I begin to incorporate into my own sabbath practices?

How can I hold myself accountable to engage deeply in relationships with those I love in the midst of my busy-ness?

Are there any new traditions I can put in place in my life to capture some of this whimsy and peace I love so dearly?

life is made for living.

One of my friends and chief encouragestree shared this passage with me today, and every bit of it rang true.  In fact, I think the truth of this passage goes beyond being an artist, and touches upon our humanity.  There is something in you, your individuality, your uniqueness, that has never been seen on earth before, and never will be again.  The world is better, richer, for your being here.  Our lives are small, our days seem unremarkable, and yet the stories we tell wihtin these lives are endlessly rich and varied.  What are you making of your life, today?  What story are you telling?  Is is one of adventure and whimsy, or do you find yourself trudging through your days, not allowing yourself to be interrupted in the course of your life by the act of living?
Is joy part of your story?  Or is your inner critic muting your ability to laugh, to risk, to wonder?  The world suffers when we cease to be ourselves, and just become the sum of our activities.
I needed this reminder today.  Did you?