One Quiet Life

This weekend we picked out pumpkins and chrysanthemums for the front porch. Glancing over various shades and textures, I was so worried that the steady drizzle would become a downpour that I hardly took notice. My daughter was struck by the abundance the farmer's market had to offer. I was preoccupied with thoughts of getting out of the rain. Tinges of yellow and rust dot the skyline. The leaves are starting to fall. As creation prepares to hibernate, it erupts into a final array of glory; a memory to take with us into the months of short days and long nights. I drive by without giving it much thought, focused instead on whatever destination or task lies before me. As a child I carefully gathered leaves from the maple tree in our front yard, selecting various sizes and shades. Mama watched over my shoulder, gently guiding me as I pressed the iron over the sheets of wax paper to seal my treasures. I was in awe of the bright colors, how they burst forth in a blaze and suddenly vanish...

In this first, quiet month I am: ~ enjoying reading at a much slower pace ~seeing how much my Bible study, daily Bible reading, and other reading are fitting together. Some difficult, but necessary lessons. ~planning to share what I'm learning soon. At least portions of it. ~reconciling myself to the fact that I can't stop high school graduation or the ensuing departure for college. I might have cried when reading college acceptance letters. ~watching the Lord unfurl my girl's wings in preparation for her flight from the nest. ~curious to know what the empty nest will feel like, and trying hard not to think about it. ~happy for seasonable weather, at long last! ~savoring the empty spaces left behind by Christmas decorations tucked away again. ~revamping my homekeeping schedule, marveling at how much better it works for me, and wondering why it's taken me so long.  ~learning the importance of balance in all things. ~accepting the necessary place qu...

I've long struggled with the place reading has in my life. I've decided to control my reading this year, instead of letting it control me. You can take a peek at my reading list by joining me at Out of the Ordinary.

My husband and my daughter both are unassuming and modest. They rarely speak of their accomplishments and they have a difficult time accepting praise. He takes no part in social media. She uses her accounts to keep up with her friends instead of posting things herself. I could learn much from them. Instead, I wrestle with the overwhelming temptation to post everything I'm doing - the music I'm listening to, the books I'm reading, the places I'm going. I find myself drawn to the idea that people I'm acquainted with are actually interested in the minutiae of my life, the pithy things I post. When I first began blogging nine years ago, I was often preoccupied with the question of whether an event or conversation was blog-worthy. Today, social media platforms have no room for that question. Everything is worthy of social media, thereby diminishing any true value it may have. I've been struggling with this irony moreso than usual lately. Or maybe it'...

This space has remained quiet for a long time. Perhaps too long. Sometimes I wonder if I should brush away the cobwebs, start writing here again. I look at the list of half-written draft posts and ask myself if I'll ever finish them. Then there's the question of who's still reading, and if I'm writing for you few or for myself. Every time I think of blogging again, I inevitably ask myself what I want this blog to be.  It seems paradoxical to talk too much, given my blog title. I live a quiet life, filled with ordinary days. Nothing particularly noteworthy to share. The things that mean the most to me are the simple moments that make up my days. Long conversations with my daughter about today, tomorrow, and the dreams of her life. Sitting on the front porch with my husband, talking about subjects both serious and not-so-serious and watching blue birds dart through the evening sky. Getting lost in a good book. Nurturing relationships outside of a compute...

During the time between my grandmother's passing and her funeral, the four granddaughters sifted through photos to put together a memorial collage. Looking at those pictures, many of which I'd never seen, was like walking through my grandparents' life together. As we narrowed them down to create a collage that adequately captured my grandmother's spirit, one in particular jumped out at me.  I couldn't stop staring at it. To see the photograph and read more, join me at Out of the Ordinary .

A while ago my friend Trisha reviewed Pursue the Intentional Life by Jean Fleming. I already had the book on my wishlist. Trisha's review  sparked me to move it off the wishlist and into my shopping cart. Sometime after that, Becky told me she was reading as well and suggested the three of us write a series of blog posts about the impact the book has made on our lives. Join me over at Trisha's lovely blog today as we continue discussing how to finish well and pursue an intentional life.

After a summer sabbatical from Out of the Ordinary, I'm back to pay tribute to my grandparents. They lived their lives in accordance to Psalm 16:5-6 The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance. You can read the post here .  Meanwhile, I'm continuing to ponder long and hard the intentional and ordinary life.  

Two women stand behind us in line. I judge they are perhaps 10 years my senior, but it's hard to tell. I inwardly cringe as one bursts into a litany of complaints and coarse language. The other can hardly stop talking about who she's tweeting and snap chatting while we wait. One as salty as a sailor, the other as giddy as a schoolgirl. I see myself in these women. A complainer who makes those around her miserable. A foolish woman too mesmerized by social media to be a friend to someone standing right beside her. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Lisa's friend passes away. A woman I've never met, but will one day. Her example to Lisa became an example to me. While she is just beginning to understand what it means to worship God fully, her family and friends mourn a life ended too soon. I consider the woman I long to be. A woman who, in Lisa's words , "...believes the good news of the gospel to be true; she believes it, she needs it, she banks her life on it." ...