A Season of Sabbath {Life Unplugged}

If you’ve been following this story for long, you know the last year of our life has been a little on the insane side.  In less than 9 months time my husband accepted a new job, we sold our beloved yellow cottage, moved to Tennessee, bought a Victorian farmhouse on land outside of Nashville, renovated it top to bottom, and moved in.  And of course along the way there’s been a mile-long list of other things happening as well, from travel to conference speaking to new dreams to heartache to parenting to promotions to hosting people, far and wide.  And etc. 

No wonder a few weeks back I found myself doubled over in tears for almost a week while my body screamed it was at its max.  Kidney stones.  For someone who prides herself on living a healthful life, you can imagine how humbling, literally.  The irony is not lost on me.

Part of living such a life, for us, is centered on the practice of Sabbath.  A day of the week certainly, but so much more.  And particularly when we’ve been thru especially busy seasons, we invoke Sabbath.  Meaning, we declare a certain period of time be deemed sacred intentional rest, and we guard it fiercely. 

I’d known since the day we knew for certain we were moving that Sabbath would round out the season.  It’s a rhythm.  Practice if for long and it almost becomes second nature.  Inhale, exhale.  But unaware at the time of just how much we were taking on, I wasn’t prepared.  And it was a lot, fast.  Think trying to take a sip of water from a fire hose.  Overwhelming is an understatement.  Even more, you don’t know how to make it STOP.  I find a lot of people live in this place, but that’s a whole other blog post.

Beautifully, the universe has a way of letting us know, ENOUGH.  Kidney stones sent the message loud and clear for this girl.  Every project was shifted, plans were canceled, to-do lists pushed out of sight.  And here we are. 

I get a lot of questions about what Sabbath practically looks like for us.  It’s very simple, although not necessarily easy.  But most importantly, it’s healing to the bone and marrow, even the soul. 

It begins with time blocked out on the calendar.  It can be as little as an afternoon or even an hour, but in general for us it’s a few weeks.  This particular time, a few months.  And it involves the following:

~very limited hosting

~intentional nourishing of our bodies

~time spent outdoors, in nature

~long walks and drives

~deep, heartfelt conversation, lots of processing

~thoughtful reading

~long quiet showers and baths

~going to bed early

~intentional periods of quiet

~picnics

~journaling

~naps

~reestablishing order in our home, cleaning and organizing

~the soothing ritual of hot tea, don’t underestimate it

~saying no, a lot

~keeping cell phone use to a bare minimum, on vibrate, and stowed out of sight

~communing with God

~and very significant, we do not apologize for disappearing

Simply put, it’s time alone as a family to regroup and be still.  It can involve any myriad of things from cleaning up our budget to reconnecting via a trip somewhere.  Even the simplest thing like intentional touching, holding hands. (again, don’t underestimate it) Anything of importance that gets lost in the midst of busy, we take inventory and reorganize. 

This particular season of Sabbath is proving more healing than ever, as prior to the final move we made some big decisions about how we want to live our lives.  And how we don’t. 

We totally unplugged.  No cable, no internet, no cell phone signal.  Text messages will come thru but never calls.  I deleted every single unnecessary app on my phone including Facebook and all kiddo apps, and it’s been nothing but sweet relief.  Mind you I still have a weak 4G signal so I can access the web if I need to, but it’s a headache and a half.  And I have zero problem with any of this.

Thanks to a DVD player in the car Ev is in no way completely deprived of the wonderful childhood indulgence of cartoons, there’s a Redbox a few miles away, and I drive into town for internet usage at a coffee shop if I need extended time.  So we haven’t totally gone underground, we’ve simply made a definite, intentional shift in how we do life.

Another deeply transformative element that has become almost as important to me as how we eat, is how we sleep.  After years of research on how light effects hormones and the necessity of truly restorative sleep for health and wellness, I knew we needed to be far enough out to live life without blinds.  I know, scandal.  It’s beyond wonderful and I never intend to have them again.  I want to rise and fall with the sun, precisely as nature intended.  I’ve been amazed at how quickly and effortlessly our bodies are adjusting to the cycles and rhythms of natural light.  Everyn began sleeping soundly thru the night for the first time ever and hasn’t skipped a beat since, not one single night. Josh still sets an alarm, but generally he’s awake before it ever goes off.  We indulgently ‘sleep in’ on the weekends until what feels like 10am, only to laugh when we realize it’s 7.   

We did invest in an incredible new mattress.  I totally buy into the whole ‘you spend 1/3 of your life on it so make it good’ sales pitch.  And also important, we put all our main lights on dimmers so once the sun goes down we transition to lower lighting to help our bodies move towards rest.  You can’t imagine how powerful this is.  (the same can be accomplished with lamps and low wattage bulbs)  We have no light pollution of any kind outside, only moon and stars and fireflies.  I kid you not, we lie in bed at night and watch dancing fireflies far as the eye can see.  When the moon is full it illuminates everything so brightly our entire room is bathed in soft soothing light.  It’s downright dreamy.  So beautiful.  I’ve desperately missed the experience of moon and starlight. As I kid in the country I spent half my life under the night sky be it wrestling with God or downright mischief, but somewhere as an adult I lost touch.  Jobs, exhaustion, big city living.   Normal, I think, but no less tragic.  There’s also zero sound pollution out here save nature.  Crickets, locusts, thunderstorms… echoing quiet.  There is one bird that sometimes sings a lovely melody in the dead of night, so bizarre and enchanting at once. 

All of this contributes to truly deep and healing restorative sleep, something we’ve perhaps missed out on most of our adult lives.  For a professed night-owl who’s never known how to unwind and quiet my mind to sleep, and thus never been a morning person and endlessly tired (hello thyroid and adrenal issues), you can imagine how life-altering this has all been.

Suffice it to say as we’ve practiced the art of Sabbath over the years it’s begun to saturate and affect our lives.  Not only how we feel, but how we live.  How we choose to live.  I cannot possibly imagine going back to the constant striving, producing, achieving, success-chasing life we once knew.  Add in social media and it’s enough to make an entire culture sick, and has.  But to us, this is success.  Slow living, intentional living, healthy living.  It’s the thing people spend their whole lives chasing when truly, it could be theirs tomorrow. No matter where you are in life even a penthouse apartment in bustling New York City, Sabbath is a gift within all our reach if only we open our hands to receive it.  It’s a perspective shift more than anything else, one that gives birth to entire new ways of thinking and living and eventually being. My husband is quick to point out that living a lifestyle of Sabbath practice does not equate to lazy.  On the contrary, we work incredibly hard.  But in his words resting well means working better, more efficiently. 

On a strictly spiritual level, the more I’ve practiced Sabbath the more aware and intentional my entire life has become.  A single bloom on a hillside or cloud in the sky holds the power to provoke me to tears.  The God of all creation uses everything, and I do mean everything under the sun to speak to me.  To illustrate love and affection.  To open my eyes to His truth and His character.  All of life has become a kind of constant worship where I’m forever astounded by His goodness and enchanted by His beauty.  I don’t know how not to be anymore.  It is constant communion that destroys fear and anxiety before it ever takes hold, the way He intended we live, trusting Him.  The life of Jesus clearly illustrates this for us.  He literally embodied peace and intention.  Never anxious, never hurried, never in a rush, and yet always on time and indescribably fruitful.

I realize as a whole this post could translate as both foreign and entirely out of reach.  I get that, because once upon a time I was there, too.  But as with any kind of lifestyle change or transformation, if begins with small steps.  Perhaps one afternoon a week you plan and practice.  Start there and build on it.  Go to the beach, picnic in the backyard, light a candle, take a nap, read a book with real pages.  No different than overhauling your diet, it takes time and consistency.  Sabbath is the kind of addicting thing that will work its way into your soul and take root without too much effort on your part.  Practice it consistently for a few weeks and you’ll find yourself longing for it more and more.  I’m an absolute testament to that.

I’ll continue sharing Sabbath moments via Instagram but if you’re interested in deeper study and reading, a couple of my favorites on the topic include:

Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, & Delight in Our Busy Lives by Wayne Muller

Sabbath: The Ancient Practices by Dan B. Allender

Saying YES to God {The Story Deepens, Part 3}

Although I’m never surprised by God’s involvement in the minute details of our lives, it’s no less staggering to witness on vivid display. 

After our offer was officially accepted, we spent the next couple weeks making trips back and forth to the farmhouse to meet with potential contactors, walk the grounds exploring, picnic just for fun.  I’d given a lot of thought to Barbara, the lady who’d built and loved this place so well the last 18 years.  She seemed such a kindred soul and I so wanted to pepper her with questions about the history of this place.  I knew that was very unlikely, especially given the emotion involved...  but one evening just at dusk we pulled into the drive to an unexpected car.  We had no idea she’d be there and despite our call, no one had told her we were coming. 

As Josh stepped away to meet a new contractor, the front door opened.  I had such a mix of emotions I wasn’t sure what to do.  She approached with a kind of authority I hadn’t expected, hand outstretched with a confident smile. 

“Barbara.  You must be.  It’s so lovely to meet you,” I gushed, wrapping her in a hug without thinking. 

She seemed a bit amused and apologized for her appearance.  Clearly she had been packing boxes and cleaning out sheds.  “Would you like to walk thru the garden?” she offered.  I couldn’t hide my delight.

She pointed out different fruit trees here and there, herbs I’d never even heard of along with long lists of uses.  There were perennial berry bushes, a long established asparagus patch, flowerbeds and rose bushes galore.  Turns out Barbara had served as an original founder of the gorgeous Franklin, TN farmers market.  It was precisely where we were headed the morning her house hit the market and rerouted our plans.  She was also an avid organic gardener, quick to point out this land had never been treated with chemicals or pesticides.  My heart was glowing.

As the sun sank behind the ridge the temperature dropped dramatically.  Standing in front of the house nearly shivering she struck me with a question I wasn’t expecting.  I had included a handwritten letter with our offer, sharing a glimpse of our heart and intentions and how honored we would be to continue her unfinished dream for this land.  I'd also hinted at the astonishing details that led us to her door she likely wouldn’t even believe… but I’d never in a million years expected to be called on them.  And Barbara wanted to hear the whole story.

Sitting across from her in the kitchen I wracked my brain trying to decide what to share.  There were so many details.  Years of prayers, years of dreams, years of hearing from God on the very specific details now literally surrounding me.  How do you tell someone that your friends actually hear from God?  Or that you do?  I didn’t even know if this woman was a Christian, much less someone who believed in such things.  I was verging on panic.  This woman may very well think I’m a lunatic, I thought.  Despite my hesitations I plunged ahead cautiously.  

She didn’t say a word.  Not one.  Leaning forward in her chair, eyes narrowed and chin propped in her hand, she listening with such intensity I didn’t know when to stop talking.  At a point I finally slouched back repeating over and over, “It’s crazy right?  It’s just crazy.  I mean, even the peach trees!  Crazy.  It’s just insane.”

I was relieved when she finally broke her silence.

“You know, since I married my husband I just haven’t been able to keep up with this place being an hour away now.  We always thought we’d live here eventually, but it’s just never quite worked out.  I’ve even tried to sell the place a couple times over the years, but the timing just never seemed right.”  She cocked her head to the side remembering, “But then driving down the road recently something just said to me, you can’t serve two masters.  I took that to mean my houses.”

She had my attention.

“All of a sudden I had this incredible sense of urgency that it had to be NOW.  The property had to be listed immediately.  We started getting it ready to list, and one day as I walked across the yard I noticed a strip of thin blue fabric at my feet.  I picked it up and scrawled across it read the words ‘Watch for God.’”  She motioned across the kitchen where I saw the blue strip still clipped to her fridge.  She smiled at me knowingly, “And now here you are.”

Over the next few weeks I fell more in love with this darling woman.  It was clear she was no stranger to hard work and was achingly proud of this place she’d built, most of it with her own two hands.  She took us on a hike thru the woods one evening to see the freshwater springs and boundaries of the property, followed by homemade cider to warm up from the cold.  She even sent me home with a basket of jam from the orchard down the street and homemade goat milk soap.  We messaged back and forth about who cuts the hay, local co-ops, when to cut the asparagus back.  She schooled me on the uses for the rose hips in the yard and lemon balm growing wild off the back porch, even the best places to build cottages in the woods.  And I was nothing less than speechless when she offered a claw foot tub, half a dozen gorgeous antique doors, and stacks of building materials.  I am quite literally gleaning in her fields, and it’s proving a blessing for both of us. 

Though we continue to message and make plans for dinner as soon as we get settled, the last time I saw her she was loading up pots of aloe plants and offered me a slew.  As Everyn and I played in the yard she took one last stroll up to the bench nestled near the edge of the woods that overlooks the property, and I could feel her pain in saying goodbye.  The words she shared that day still echo in my heart, “It’s hard to leave, but I find great comfort knowing it was God who brought you here.”

There are dozens of other amazing details as well.  That Barbara has a heart for adoption (and two adopted sons), that she had this land zoned agricultural so our taxes are nearly nothing so long as we cut the hay, even that the house is situated facing the back of the property so that our view is hundreds of acres of field and timber.  She even had a darling little ‘workshop’ that we intend to move and transform into our first tiny cottage.  And the address?  Beulah Church Rd, like the old hymn, or the reference in scripture meaning ‘the Bride of Christ.’

Only God.

I got a text from her a couple weeks ago.  She said she was in the area and asked if it might be okay to drive up to the house and take a look at our progress.  I was one part thrilled she wanted to see it and another part terrified she might hate it.  I was relieved to get a text a few hours later reading, ‘You guys have awesome ideas.  Can’t wait to visit again in March and see the progress.’  The day she sits down at our table to dine is something I envision often.

I find it outright fascinating that all the years she was building, toiling, planting Spring bulbs and individually painting no less than 4,000 cedar shakes by hand for the exterior of the house (I kid you not), Josh and I were literally growing up.  It’s astonishing to me.  God had been setting the scene, the scene of our dreams, before we even knew it was... 

The God who goes before us.  He is one who weaves His dreams, His purposes, into our very DNA.  And when we finally get down to joining Him in kingdom purposes we realize our dreams were His dreams first, and well, that’s a game changer.

So now what? 

Well, life is changing around here… in ways great and small. 

{Up Next: Going off the grid...  rest, disconnecting, returning to our roots.  For good.  Oh and that whole dream building thing.}

Saying YES to God {And Then the Stars Aligned, Part 2}

After that fateful backyard morning, we booked a trip.

(If you’ve followed this blog for long you know travel is our love language.  It's the character of God on vivid display that always brings clarity in the midst of life's chaos, and it changes us for the better with every stamp of the passport.) 

We had planned a trip to California the end of May.  San Francisco, Lake Tahoe, Sonoma Valley.  For the weeks leading up to the trip, I had such a difficult time seeing past it.  It was like there wasn’t anything beyond it, at least nothing that made sense.  I didn’t see us spending our days as usual.  It just wasn’t there.  Like blank space.

One sunny Dallas afternoon gazing out at sailboats on a blanket by the lake I said to Josh, “The clock is officially ticking down.  Our time here is limited.  I don’t know when, but I can’t see us being here past summer. It’s like this trip is a bookend to this whole 10 year season in Texas.”  I could feel it in my bones.

Two weeks after we returned from California, Josh got a call.  It was an offer we couldn’t refuse, one that left us stunned. I distinctly remember standing at the window talking to Josh on the phone and I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering despite the triple digit summer heat.  The presence of God was tangible.

* another domino clinked forward *

A hiring process that was supposed to take up to 6 months had us both on a plane to Nashville 2 weeks later for a final ‘spousal interview.’  It was shocking and yet resonated deeply all at once.  There was no question this was the hand of God. 

We listed our darling yellow cottage which had appreciated so dramatically in the two short years we’d lived there we still couldn’t get our brains around it.  (But knowing we wouldn’t be in Dallas long-term had only purchased the house as an act of obedience in the first place.)  And with the ‘give everything away’ instructions still resonating in our hearts we got rid of everything from furniture to my beloved flock of chickens, and set off to Tennessee.

My in-laws welcomed us into their guest suite for the time of transition, and we immediately began scouting out the area.  We knew what we were looking for.  God had given us plenty of detail over the years, clear vision down to the peach trees we’d find there. (Although I have to admit that particular detail seemed a stretch, even for me).  Much to our dismay after weeks of searching, we couldn’t find anything even remotely resembling the image God had seared into our hearts. 

I was gradually becoming discouraged.   Houses were sitting four mere hours in our old neighborhood in Dallas before being snatched up, and despite countless showings and open houses we’d had not a single offer.  We had long lists of compliments and post walk-thru dreamy faces to cheer us on, but no serious bidders.  We began to get antsy. 

To add insult to injury we couldn’t seem to find a real estate agent willing to work with us in Nashville.  Over the course of a few days we contacted a company who refused to return our calls, a second company who’s owner had a ‘reaction to cats’ and never got around assigning an agent, and lastly an agent so clueless she couldn’t help us even if she tried.  I would have been frustrated except it was so strange it almost felt eerie, as if God Himself was silently and deliberately holding us in place. 

No offers on our house.  No property on the market resembling the dream.  No agent willing to work with us.  But then.

* another clink *

A quiet Wednesday only a few days after all the realtor drama, Ev and I met Josh at Whole Foods to grab lunch.  I was loading up plates while Josh enjoyed a few minutes with his girl, and as I walked across to grab drinks I noticed him chatting with some random guy.  Something distinctly told me not to approach, so I busied myself browsing while they wrapped up.  As we sat down to eat I asked who he was. 

“Oh, just some guy.  He kept asking if we knew each other.  Kept telling me I ‘looked so familiar.’  He thought maybe we went to church together or something…” 

A familiar sensation ran thru me, “So he’s a Believer?  And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knows you somehow….”

Josh glanced up as the realization struck him.  He stared at me silently for a long moment.  “Yes.  And he’s a real estate agent.”

He went on to share that he failed to get the guys card.  He did however, give him his own.  And as fate would have it, sitting at his desk the very next day wrestling with frustration over our lack of forward movement in the real estate department, his phone rang.  It was the guy from Whole Foods.

The following Saturday morning we sat down with Clayton at a local coffee shop.  After two solid hours of laughing and sharing I had decided that even if we didn’t use him as our agent, we were all destined to be friends.  Kindred spirits, no doubt.  We had even felt at ease casting our entire vision for the land we were searching for to accommodate the dream seared into our hearts. 

Just as we were getting up to leave, I thought to ask him a final question about area taxes.  He pulled out his ipad to show me a quick example, and then went silent.  Slumping back against the wall he pushed the device across the table, “I’m just telling you right now… this doesn’t happen.”

I looked at him quizzically and began flipping thru the photos, my heart rate accelerating with every flick, “No way.  You must be kidding.  There’s no way!” 

There it was, the farmhouse.  It sat tucked down a long winding drive on 15 plus acres situated on the side of a low mountain, half in timber and half open field and meadow.  It was precisely where Josh had hoped to be, only minutes from the stunning vineyards that serve as one of our favorite picnic spots in all the world.  And it was shockingly in our price range.

I sat silently mouth agape, as Clayton leaned forward and almost whispered, “And by the way, that property just came on the market this very morning.  While we were sitting here.”

I locked eyes with him, “What.  You must be kidding.”

“Want to go see it?” he offered.  My heart was racing, “Um, yeah.”

Half an hour later we pulled down the gravel drive to the farmhouse.  As we climbed from the car we were met by the owner’s husband.  A call to the listing agent to approve our showing had already warned us this was quite the emotional ordeal for the lady who built this place.  It made me a bit nervous, but curiously she was nowhere to be seen.  As Josh and Clayton began asking their questions I wandered instinctively up to the garden area.  Birdhouses on posts, a darling garden shed and expansive area for beds that looked down and out over the farmhouse, horses grazing in adjoining pastures, wide open meadows ...  I stood there with Ev on my hip, a late summer breeze rustling the tree limbs overhead, and I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I knew this place somehow. 

As Clayton and Josh approached still chatting with the owner’s husband, we strolled down to the barn and then across the pasture to the edge of the woods to see the now vacant chicken coop.  This woman hadn’t actually lived here for many years.  I didn’t know the entire story, but clearly there was a lot more to it.  I just kept shaking my head in wonder. 

Strolling back thru the garden Clayton pointed off in the distance as he asked the man, “Are those peach trees?”  My head snapped to follow his gaze.  “Oh yes.  There’s a whole orchard.  Peaches, plums, apples.  Best cherries I’ve ever eaten, too.”

I locked eyes with Josh and mouthed, peach trees?!  What?!  His expression mirrored mine. 

Approaching the darling Victorian farmhouse it occurred to me that I was already insanely in love with this place, and we hadn’t even stepped inside the house yet.  We had a very specific idea of what we needed for the sake of ministry and had assumed all along we would have to build to see those details realized.  And we had zero interest in renovating.  I took a deep breath and stepped inside, bracing myself for disappointment.

What we found was nothing like I could have anticipated.  Just inside the front door it became obvious, this place had never been finished.  Bare floor, a lot of beautiful woodwork like a stunning coffered ceiling and trim work… but little else.  Walking into the next room was even more surprising, nothing but open studs.  Upstairs, more of the same.  One gorgeous vaulted room functioning as a nearly finished bedroom, but nothing else.  We actually had to crawl thru a window at the top of the stairs into the ‘new part’ of the house.  It was like an expansive vaulted ballroom.  No walls, no flooring, just a huge open room and widows with gorgeous views in every direction.  The whole house was 90% unfinished.

“So basically you can make this house whatever you want,” Clayton offered.  “And it isn’t a full renovation.  It’s just a finish out.  You get to do the fun part.”

An unfinished Victorian farmhouse on glorious acreage tucked away in the hills just outside of Nashville.  And it had been sitting vacant for the last many years, only to hit the market this very morning as we were meeting with a spirit-led man of God who just happened to be a real estate agent.  What were the chances...

A bit later as we pulled down the drive, I was processing thru the reality that until our house sold in Dallas, we couldn’t even make an offer.  Even if this was God, and it certainly seemed to be, we were still in a holding pattern.  Unless, I thought, how crazy would it be if we got home and finally have a call from our realtor in Dallas.

Sure enough.  A few hours later, I silently and wide-eyed handed my phone to Josh with an exuberant text from our realtor.  We had an offer.

In less than 24 hours we had met with Clayton, the farmhouse had gone on the market with us the very first people to see it, our house in Dallas sold, and we’d made an offer on our dream place.

What in the world was happening. 

{Up Next: When the story is better than you dared dream...}

Saying YES to God {The Unedited Story of How We Got Here, Part 1}

{And by ‘here’ I mean the Tennessee farmhouse, the ministry, the dream.  This first part of our story represents 12 years on the timeline.  I’ve condensed it dramatically, so you’ll have to do some reading between the lines or question asking, but please consider this your personal invitation into our story.  I welcome your thoughts and questions, and especially your own stories of dreaming and simply saying YES.} 

“Whose kingdom are you building?  Your own, or Mine?”

That was the gentle question.  The one that changed everything.  And for the first time in my 30 plus years, I could humbly and honestly say, “Yours, Lord. Only Yours.”

When it comes to ministry, there are few roles my husband and I haven’t known.  In our 13 years of marriage we’ve been youth pastors, we’ve traveled the globe doing mission work, we’ve scrubbed toilets after hours and bounced babies in nurseries.  We’ve stood before thousands across the country speaking and teaching, put on conferences and concerts and prayer meetings and assemblies.  We’ve been interns and ministry assistants and Sunday school teachers.  We have ordination certificates, years invested at private Christian Universities, lists of impressive connections, and enough scars to prove we’ve witnessed and experienced both the beautiful and the ugly of ministry. 

But if I’m gut-wrenchingly honest, though our efforts were always sincere and genuine, there was an underlying essence of something else present, too.  The building of our own kingdoms.  The one where all was done in the name of God, so long as our names were included in the acknowledgements.

And so in the devastating and loving way that only God can, he took us on a decade-long journey of learning what it means to ‘die to ourselves.’  And die we did, many times over.  Our own idolatry cost us a number of relationships and indescribable amounts of heartbreak, almost our marriage at the climax.  But like the harlot Gomer in the book of Hosea drawn away into the wilderness, God lovingly stripped us of all our idols before declaring, “I will betroth you to Me forever, I will show you righteousness and justice, unfailing love and compassion.  I will be faithful to you and make you mine, and you will finally come to know me as the Lord.”  Hosea 2: 19-20

He goes to incredible lengths to win us.

And when all of our selfish desires and aspirations finally burn away, something else quietly begins to rise from the ashes of our brokenness.  His desires.  His plans.  His heart.  And that’s where things begin to take off.  Like black smoke billowing into a blue sky, it cannot be ignored. 

Josh and I have long known we are called to feed people, mind, body, and spirit.  We’ve known it from our very beginning, in fact.  But the enormity of that task can and has been paralyzing.  It requires time, lots of it.  It requires energy, resources, and space.  It requires vulnerability, integrity of heart, willingness and wisdom.  And more that anything it requires selflessness.  Giving ourselves away.  And that is a humbling and sometimes painful calling. 

So early last year after a long season of wrestling, God spoke a clear objective to my heart: “Give everything away. Withhold nothing. And give your best.”  I knew that meant literal stuff, but also time and energy, my heart even.   What it practically looked like was spending long hours with friends far and wide, listening, encouraging.  It was delivering dozens of prized backyard eggs to our neighbors.  It was cooking beautiful meals and inviting people to the table.  It was emptying closets and mailing packages.  It was hours spent with virtual strangers, hearing their struggles, offering prayers.  It was baking muffins and cookies and dropping them on doorsteps with notes of encouragement.  It was late night conversations until I couldn't keep my eyes open.  It was taking care of kids I barely knew so struggling parents could run a few errands.  It was up-all-night praying instead of sleeping, very, very often.  It was delivering meals to new moms in the neighborhood.  It was stopping long enough to get to know my local cashiers, hear their stories, their struggles, their dreams.  It was my heart broken open.

And it was stretching. 

We had just come out of an incredibly intense season and I felt as if I needed rest and tending.  I needed ministry.  (I’m still learning that the most authentic and effective ministry happens at the end of ourselves.  That place where we run out, and God steps in.)  There were oh-so-many tears.  It exposed ALL my insecurities and fears.  As a new mom myself already feeling vulnerable and exhausted, I had already been required to shelf my personal aspirations.  Blogs went unwritten, book proposals unfinished, speaking engagements declined time, and time, and time again.

But little did I know it was a practice, specific preparation for what was coming.  Not only the giving, but the chicken tending, the gardening, the ‘pretend B&B’ we jokingly operated… the cooking and sharing of meals, the intentional meeting of strangers, all of it.

I also found myself struggling more and more with fully letting go of my own aspirations, primarily writing and speaking.  Intro: The Intention Project.  It was a simple exercise in awareness intended to halt the chaos of obligation and expectation that kept me running endlessly but going nowhere.  Insanely hard to admit at the time, but I wasn’t confident my personal aspirations had a place in this particular season.  What I did know was the incredible urgency and importance of my daughter.  My husband.  My neighbors and friends.  And my calling to be present with them.  To serve them.  Undistracted kind of presence.  Intentional presence. 

The simple practice of intention brought such peace and joy into my life over the months I began to wonder if I’d ever return to anything different.  Would I ever accept a speaking invitation again?  Would I ever finish the first of several book proposals?  Amazingly I found myself uncaring either way.  Sweet freedom.  Sweet joy in simply being.  No striving, no achieving, no doing.  Freedom to simply serve and love well.  I never could have imagined how fulfilling it would be.

A profoundly important detail of this entire story was our knowing that Nashville was looming in our sights.  Like a quiet melody humming in the background, we’d known with incredible clarity for the last several years that Tennessee was our next step.  We didn’t know how it would or even could come together, and for a long while we stormed heaven with questions of, “Show us how, Lord.  We are willing.  Just show us how.”  When your heart is so willing and no movement happens, it’s easy to become frustrated.  And we did.  Until one afternoon sitting in my studio while Everyn napped, His gentle response finally came.  “Don’t ask me how.  Not once more.  The how is not your business, it’s Mine.  The what is yours.  Ask me what, and I will take care of the how.”  The insight silenced me, in a good way.  Convicted and provoked me to a new kind of courage.

A few weeks later we sat sipping coffee in our backyard in Dallas, our tiny urban homestead as we lovingly called it.  Chickens pecking around, toddler playing nearby amidst pots of peppers and tomatoes, we sat in the shade of our ancient oak.  Despite fears and unknowns, despite lack of resources and past failures whispering their taunts, we said yes to the what.  To the dreams both small and large seared into our hearts over decades.  To all of it… 

To orphans.  To homesteading.  To sharing all we have.  To long meals and celebrations and opening ourselves and our home to both give and receive.  To building a place where people come far and wide to birth dreams, write melodies, hide away and experience God.  To honing a certain kind of atmosphere where both healing and inspiration happens, where books are written, where broken hearts find hope, new life, and purpose.  To garden-tending, bee-keeping, and egg-gathering for the simple sake of sharing.  To providing rest and respite for exhausted pastors and missionaries.  To working the land, to building cabins and cottages, to sunny picnics that give way to worship beneath star filled skies.  To a place of safety where God is present, His goodness on stunning display, His voice heard.  To washing the feet of those He sends.  To dreams we’ve yet to dream even, but mostly, to giving ourselves away on a grand and terrifying scale.

We confessed we had zero idea how any of it was within the realm of possibility, but He had made it clear that was not of our concern.  So we looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and said YES.

And just like that, the first domino clinked forward…

{Up Next: And then the story gets crazy...}

Colle Dell'ara {A Stunning Amalfi Coast B&B}

In booking our trip to the Amalfi Coast we considered a number of options from private homes to B&B's.  But when we stumbled upon this place, it almost sounded too good.  A bed and breakfast run by three Italian brothers and their father, complete with 'family' meals in the evenings if you so desired with most of the ingredients coming from the expansive organic gardens surrounding.  Nestled in the hills over Positano, no question it would offer breaktaking views down the coast (all the way to the Island of Capri, in fact).  But what really sold us was the idea that when traveling with a toddler, there might be a day or two we simply wanted to rest, and this place was essentially it's own destination.

(all of the following photos were taken directly on the property over the course of our stay)

We read thru endless reviews online, all raving about the brothers and the unparalleled views.  One or two mentioned 'the hike' from the road being a challenge, but we were undeterred.  I was enamored with the idea of a cliffside, family-run Italian B&B surrounded by lush organic gardens.  

The brothers nor their 'house' as they so affectionately refer to it, disappoint.  These guys know hospitality.  They welcome all ages from retired to young families and backpacking singles the world over, and I witnessed day after day as they made every single person feel like family.  Friendly, humble, passionate, whether it was a glass of water or suggestion for dinner, never once did they seem less than overjoyed to accommodate.  The views were rivaled only by their kindness, which they seem to have inherited straight from their father.  Timid but clearly full of joy, it was the father who greeted us in the darkness and physically hauled our bags from the road straight up, up, up the winding cliffside a solid 10-minute hike.  The man made me marvel.

The rooms themselves are simply furnished but spacious and comfortable with large private baths.  The property itself is impressively quiet nestled in those hills, and the views… the views are killer.  From every single room and terrace, simply stunning.

I couldn't tell you exactly how many acres their property covers, but it feels enormous.  We wandered thru the gardens and vineyards to our hearts content day after day, drinking in the mediterranean views and gushing over the astounding array of fruits and herbs and vegetables.  There was no way to adequately discern how much was being tended and how much simply grows wild.  It was such a gloriously harmonious dance of the two.  The brothers themselves didn't even seem to know.  They just smiled and shrugged with an obvious awe and appreciation for this rich and fertile land.  Their gentle respect towards the soil beneath their feet inspired me in a way I still can't fully articulate.

Every morning we awoke to a lovely spread of local fruits and jams and pastries, among other things.  Breakfast on the terrace gazing out at that view?  I promise, you could do it every day.  For all of time.  It is profoundly, deeply nourishing.  

One really fascinating bit is to inquire of the history of the house.  It's relatively new by European standards, built by the father some years ago.  But because it's located in a nature preserve, building any kind of new structure was and is illegal. The transporting of materials and the actual building process happened mostly at night under the cover of darkness.  

The sunrises and sunsets were jaw-dropping as I'm certain you can imagine, and one day we were even treated to an afternoon thunderstorm.  (you'll notice dark storm clouds in a number of photos)  Watching those clouds roll in, drench everything in sight and promptly roll out again was absolutely mesmerizing.  With the rich volcanic soil and Mediterranean climate, no wonder so much grows wild.  It essentially tends itself.  There can't possibly be happier vegetation on earth.  There just can't.

I found the infamous hike lovely.  Must say, it is not for the faint of heart.  Reading the cautionary reviews I shrugged them off thinking people were likely making a bigger deal than necessary.  They weren't.  It's a hike.  But it's beautiful. 

I opted for good shoes and thought of it this way: I can eat pasta and gelato everyday to my hearts content with zero concern!  

When your workout is built right into your stay at no additional cost, what's to fret about?  ;-)

Have I mentioned yet that this real life garden of Eden is shockingly affordable??  Yes, indeed.  Right at $120 per night, I can't imagine you could beat it, well, perhaps anywhere else in Europe.  For those dreamy views, the warm hospitality, a private terrace and bath, and lovely breakfast?  Not likely.  If you've ever traveled to Europe you know well the accommodations are no where near cheap, and even at that you'll likely end up with a tiny room and less than comfortable bed that looks out at a brick wall.

I have an entire post I've been putting together for awhile including tons of tips on how we travel affordably, and this Amalfi Coast adventure was no exception.  Our airfare to Italy was free using miles (incredible savings there, always) and with an affordable stay such as this that included breakfast (or typically brunch for us) all we had left to budget for was dinner.  And maybe the occasional… okay twice per day gelato!  Good thing gelato is cheap in Italy ;-)  

Another cannot-stress-enough travel tip is to spend the bulk of your food budget picnicking.  Go to the local market, spend a few dollars on fresh, delicious ingredients, and save yourself the ton of money you'd spend at expensive restaurants.  Besides, wouldn't you rather spread a blanket and take in the coast or Eiffel Tower or Roman Colosseum over dinner anyway??  A fraction of the cost, a hundred times the ambiance.  Definitely splurge on a nice dinner or two for the sake of culture and experience, but don't feel like you have to do that every day.  Your experience will be richer (and so will you) if you opt to go the picnic route.

I simply cannot say enough about this gorgeous B&B.  It's been several months now since we visited and during that time I began The Intention Project and took a little sabbatical from blogging, but with travel season upon us I had to share this with you.  (although I encourage you to look to 'shoulder' season for the best travel rates, no matter where you're headed)  Colle Dell'ara is simply way, way, way too good to keep to myself.  We fully intend to return sometime and I'm crossing my finders it's sooner than later!  

(tons more reviews available at airbnb.com)

Or for more on our Amalfi Coast Adventure:

A Return to the Amalfi Coast of Italy

Tangible Beauty on the Isle of Capri, Italy

Tangible Beauty on the Isle of Capri, Italy (continued)

An Unexpected Walk Thru Seaside Sorrento

Beauty in the Cliffs Over Positano

A Final Evening Stroll

The Intention Project

Life is such an incredible journey.  Always refining, evolving, redefining.  Add in the paramount role of parenthood and you can more or less multiply that by a thousand. 

Perhaps one thing I'm {learning} to appreciate most as a mother, is how quickly we learn what’s truly important and even more so, what isn’t. 

So here I sit, those very ‘things’ tip top of mind.  And it looks nothing like I ever could have predicted.  Motherhood has mellowed me, calmed me, brought so much I once dreamed of to a halt.  Some of those things sit on the back burner simmering, waiting to be brought forth again.  Some have been buried likely never to be resurrected.  And many new are being birthed even now, emerging from the soil like early Spring tulips and daffodils, always a pleasant surprise, often unexpected…  alive, vibrant, full of promise of what’s to come. 

As we’ve settled into a beautiful season at the cottage the last many months, what began as a wrestling to manage life and all its caveats, to take on parenting in addition to everything else… became exhausting.  Frustrating.  Disappointing when day after day it couldn’t all be done.  At least not without someone or something suffering.  I want so desperately to keep writing and blogging, to continue accepting speaking invitations, to submit book proposals and brainstorm new ideas and dreams.  But these things take an incredible amount of time and energy.  More than I have to give, quite literally.  And I’m not a halfway kind of girl.  I believe in putting excellence forth in everything I put my hand to.  And the reality is, there’s simply not enough time in the day anymore.  Not with a toddler.  Not with the desire for more children brewing.  Not with the reality of what God is showing us is coming in the weeks and months ahead.  (and let's not even discuss laundry and dishes and meal prep and grocery getting and animal tending and garden keeping and bill paying and errand running and endless day to day stuff)

It took me many, many long months of wrestling to finally admit that doing it all was frustrating and disappointing.  If I were really honest, it had become more burden than blessing.  More obligation than fulfillment.  So I prayed.  I spoke with my dearest friends and mentors.  I cried to my husband.  I prayed some more.  And finally decided to lay it all down.  At least for now. 

The weight that lifted when I finally made the decision was sweet, entirely unexpected relief.  Because letting go means one beautiful, timeless, sacred thing: I can now be fully present in my life. 

There’s so much more to this story, but I’ll let it tell itself when it’s ready.  As for now, I’m beyond happy to declare what this new season practically looks like.  In lieu of all else, our days will look something like this, including but certainly not limited to the following:

~hand written notes and letters

~tea time with beautiful friends and mamas

~reading, oh how I’ve missed it

~long walks

~coffee dates

~giving lots and lots of beautiful things away, just because

~picture taking galore

~many hours logged in my kitchen, particularly trying new recipes

~care packages, meals for new moms and sick friends and neighbors

~crafting

~picnics, tons of them

~sifting thru stacks of cookbooks

~ridiculous amounts of time spent watching the chickens peck around the yard

~never hesitating to take a nap with my girl if she needs me

~long meals with friends

~leisurely time in the baking corner

~hosting friends at family at our pretend b&b

~an ‘intention basket’ specifically for phones and electronics.  Once Josh arrives home for the day, no more mindless, exhausted zoning on social media.  Real rest and connectedness.

And more than anything else, uninterrupted, undistracted time.  With my tiny girl.  With my husband.  With friends and family.  Real connection.  Real life.  Beautiful, imperfect, sacred life.  I've been fondly referring to it as 'the intention project.'  Giving it a name creates a whole new level of awareness which I'm loving.

I’ll still be blogging from time to time, but more for the simple joy of sharing my heart at length with you.  I’m not holding myself to any particular number of posts or goals, simply when there’s something inspirational or beautiful to share, or when I want to capture some moment or memory. 

I will be spending more time on Instagram.  It’s such an incredible and encouraging community full of inspirational people and beautiful photos.  From artists and photographers to everyday moms, I’ve found it such a haven of rest and encouragement and beauty.  Not to mention it totally scratches my ‘must create’ itch in a single photo and few sentences.  We’re talking 5 minutes vs 5 hours (or lets be real, 5 DAYS) it takes when blogging. 

So there it is, where I’m at these days.  No specific expectations or goals, just being.  Living with intention and purpose.  Loving and serving well.  Rest and reprieve.  I can't begin to tell you how it thrills me.

I’d love to connect with you.  I’d love to hear your story, where you are on this gorgeous journey of life.  Send me a note or message, or let’s grab coffee.  Real connection.  It’s what life is about.

xoxo,

Terrica Joy 

P.S. If you'd like to join me, I'd love it.  Direct links to my personal social media accounts top right. #theintentionproject