Coffee For Shoes

Lately, especially, I've been quick to welcome any upbeat story I can get my head around. Soothes the soul and all that. Then I remembered that I forgot (yeah, that's a constant state in my mental world): I had one to tell!

Here's the picture that sums it up.

Say what?

Here's the four critical plot pieces you need to know: 

1. I'm thrifty. 
2. I work out 3-4 times a week. Hard. It's part of my machine, and I need good shoes to do it.
3. The shoes were expensive. (See #1)
4. I lost said shoes somewhere in the Y.

My Teva's retail at 120 bucks. Didn't buy 'em for that: I'd rather grow yucca trees and craft my own rubber soles than shell out that kind of dough. Instead, I ordered them online during what was probably a 10-minute window of opportunity. I paid $20. Free shipping. Swish.

Really like them shoes. But apparently they don't trump my inherent propensity to forget anything that's not actually attached to my body in some fashion. So far, my children are the only exception. (Cross fingers here and wink). So, just before Christmas, I worked out. Just after the holiday, I realized I didn't have my shoes: frenzied search commence. When I didn't find them in the digging of the lost and found - which, by the way, was a fairly nasty experience I neither recommend nor wish to repeat anytime soon...here's to hoping the heart-covered bikini bottoms and car keys with the "Born to Sex You" keychain DON'T belong to the same person - word got out with the staff that Candice lost her shoes.

Now, I have relationship with Y people. Been going for 6 years. They're all good. And God plants us where He means us to grow, so I value them. Talk to them. Listen to them. Call them by name. Relationship, right? Well, I sure got blessed back this time. Jill, a childcare worker who took care first of Elijah as a tot and now Judsen, was so upset for me. Genuinely upset! She took it upon herself to search that Y high and low, unbeknowst to me. A few days later, I'm checking Judsen in, and I see a bag appear before my eyes. I look up to catch her sly grin, but I say nothing. I look inside. And you can surely guess what I find.

Now, losing my shoes mattered to me. They represent the work I do that's a part of my machine. They represent my efforts to reduce expense in our home, regardless of needs. ("Thrifty" is rarely about money, you now). Yet, what strikes me more than any on this list is that losing my shoes mattered to Jill. Her heart was one of concern, observation beyond the obvious, and an honest desire to serve a friend. What a gem.

I hugged her. Lots. Thanked her. Lots. Then I wrote her a letter of appreciation and value and bought her a Starbucks gift card. Coffee for shoes seemed right somehow: the pairing of an essential with a luxury.

Rather like pairing a need with a friend.

One Question

"Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written." John 21:25

What I don't know about God is immeasurable. The questions I have for God are countless. The answers I seek are personal. Powerful. Pivotal.

But if He granted me just one answer...just one.. 

If He gave me His direct line and promised, "Call with your one question anytime, and I'll answer what you seek..." 

Well, I'd call Him today.

With my one question.

And I'd say: "Hello, Father. Is David there?"

If I Stand

Today, someone else's words are far better than any of mine could ever be. Rich Mullins is my favorite songwriter...favorite. Every song he wrote evokes such intense emotion from my spirit. Ever felt like a writer has dipped his quill into your private inkwell of thought and feeling and put it to paper? Well, that's Rich Mullins for me.

"If I Stand" was the first "Christian music" song I ever heard. Ever. I was in Craig's car driving to church with a bunch of other believers. But I wasn't yet a believer. I was "keeping an open mind," as they say. These lyrics moved me: while the other six people in the car were chatting about the ins and outs of everyday life, I was struck by the heart of this man who would write and sing about this "Giver of all good things" who was, at best, foreign to me. I remember tearing up. I remember looking at my hands as I sat, feeling quite alone, in that front seat. I remember feeling someone watching me. I remember looking up to meet Craig's face. I remember him saying simply, "Good song, huh." Not a question. An observation. I accepted Christ three days later.

This is a song about looking to God when life doesn't make sense, accepting that this world is bigger than Earth. Bigger than the Milky Way. Bigger than what you can even most grandly imagine. I long for Him. For home. For something bigger that doesn't require pain and tears and suffering and wondering. And waiting.

And here's the kicker: Rich Mullins died on September 19, 1997, in a car accident just before a concert. He was 41 years old. This man was humble and gifted in ways one cannot put to words: it is more of a feeling of that simplicity than any oral or written expression of it. Craig and I went to a concert he gave at Iowa State in 1995. I cannot describe the presence of the Holy Spirit quietly dwelling in that place. Like a guest of honor seated at the high table. In many ways, Rich Mullins reminds me of David Hames, actually. Same humility. Same simplicity. Same ability to affect with few words: the talent speaks for itself. When Craig and I heard of Rich's death, we actually pulled off the highway to turn up the radio. I cried. Just cried. Right there, with my husband who cried, too. It was as if a beloved friend had died...I suppose one had.

As we stand, waiting for God to answer our plea for David to come home, I thought of this song and of how much Rich Mullins' music has ministered to me for 15 years. It still ministers to me today. I hope it ministers to you, today, too.

Here's a link to Rich performing this song:

Rich Mullins and "If I Stand"

And here are the lyrics:

There's more that rises in the morning
Than the sun
And more that shines in the night
Than just the moon
It's more than just this fire here
That keeps me warm
In a shelter that is larger
Than this room

And there's a loyalty that's deeper
Than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs
That I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes
For the allegiance
I owe only to the giver
Of all good things

CHORUS:
So if I stand let me stand on the promise
That you will pull me through
And if I can't, let me fall on the grace
That first brought me to You
And if I sing let me sing for the joy
That has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home

There's more that dances on the prairies
Than the wind
More that pulses in the ocean
Than the tide
There's a love that is fiercer
Than the love between friends
More gentle than a mother's
When her baby's at her side

And there's a loyalty that's deeper
Than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs
That I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes
For the allegiance
I owe only to the Giver
Of all good things

CHORUS(2x)

And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home

New Year, New Purse

I felt it was a good day for a lighter post.

By my  nature, I'm creative. My favorite outlet is, by far, writing. But I also like to scrapbook, decorate our home and, especially, crochet. Since I don't like to watch movies or most tv without doing something else during, crocheting is a good fit. I can hear what's happening on whatever I'm watching with Craig, but I feel productive while I work on my project. And there's nothing like curling up with an afghan I made with my own two hands or knotting my newest scarf on a cold winter day.

However, my favorite of favorite projects is a new purse. Though I don't especially like carrying a purse for myself- if it don't fit in the pocket, it ain't necessary - I've found it's helpful now that I have three wee ones. And, since I certainly am NOT going to carry a diaper bag, purse, activity tote, and the like, I choose to wear a satchel-style purse. This lets me drape the monster across my body thereby freeing my hands to chase said wee ones and, of course, hold all their varied paraphernalia of crafts, schoolwork, coats, and snacks that somehow - ??!?! - find their way into my previously empty hands. Sigh. The big tote also leaves room for the extra diaper on Sundays, gloves and lotion on days of brrrr, and the crucial supply of chapsticks, tissues, pens, and sippies.

So here's the latest creation. Working out well so far!

Grace's Big Play

Life trods on in Colorado Springs. Last night was the long-anticipated evening of Grace's big play, "The Granny Awards." The details of the plot aren't that scintillating, so I'll spare you the minute by offering the summary: there were fairy tales (ugh) and silly costumes (laugh) and lots of kiddos feeling their shine (grin).

Grace was "Prof" - clearly being some sort of music department code for "narrator" - and was instructed to dress as a newscaster. We went the route of old-time reporter with her Daddy's hat and a "Press" badge stuck in the brim. She chose to memorize all her lines rather than read them in the view that this "made her more convincing."

All in all, it was a pile of work for a mere 45 minutes but, like the MasterCard folks have coined, it was "priceless."

                      Judsen   had the best seat and pointed to "Sissy" all night.

Grace in "costume."

Nana (Craig's mom) came for the big to-do.

And we even snapped a quickie of Mommy and Daddy.      A good memory of Grace's Big Play.

It's a New Dawn. It's a New Day.

Sometimes I wonder if I see only what I want to see, if maybe what I imagine is as plain as the nose on my face (being as how it's as substantial as it is) is simply a trick of my mind. A play of my imagination.

I'd guess, sometimes, that's true. I'm sure, sometimes, that's false. I know the trick is in knowing the difference. And, like most renderings I'm considering these days, that trick leads back to faith. I at least can say the following is what I saw for sure. It was really there, like it was sitting on my porch waiting to be discovered, a specially-wrapped package holding I didn't know what.

And here's what I saw IN this picture: a pocket of hope. It appeared suddenly, like an explosion - GASP - rather than a slow emerging in a photo bath. The reds got redder...

The pocket got bigger...

And my hope was renewed.

Beyond that, I got nothin'.

So I just told Him, "Thank you."

A Project Worth Mentioning

National Public Radio is sponsoring a project called "This I Believe." The goal is to unite people's hearts, minds, and souls through the written word as an expression of who we are and what we believe in this world. The content is easy to navigate whether by authors, subjects, popular views, etc. Some of the writers are professionals, some are historic figures, some are celebrities, and some are everyday you's and me's.

They're all moving. Or head-scratching. Or, at the very least, interesting.

I invite you to take a look.

http://thisibelieve.org/

Will it be well?

If you're a thinker and go to Vanguard, this has been a mind-blowing week...literally. If you're a feeler and go to Vanguard, I imagine this has been a heart-afire week...literally. I'm a thinker, so I've been pondering ceaselessly. I've asked God, "What does this mean? What are You doing?" I've asked others, "Why is that? What can I do?" I've asked myself, "Who will you be? How can you be better?" And at one point or another, I've even asked David, "Where are you right now?"

Some of my questions have been answered. Most have not. Trevailing is rather like that - a labor of the soul with no clear finish in sight. I just keep going, day by day, trying my best to live my best according to who God is and to whom He's made me to be. Some hours are good. Others are not. I don't do well in the face of the worst in people. I have to do better with my judging and disappointment. I "do do" well with people inspired to worship God and serve their family - church and nuclear. They call me to a higher level of faith and admiration of just how deep God is in the hearts of His people. I've come to scant conclusions but, while few, they are strong.

Here's one my soul knows very well:

a plea and an ultimatum are not the same.

I have chosen to believe God for a miracle of life and reunion until He answers my plea with a "No." Others approach the throne differently: I do not know what's right or wrong. Or even if it's that simple. But I know who I am, what I'm called to do. So I do that. And I have peace. I have wondered why. Why not the boat in James rocking to and fro on the tossing waves of an emotional ocean? The answer: Because, though my plea is a cry desperate and consuming from my soul, it's not an ultimatum. My "Lord, please let him live" isn't followed by an "or else." I risk that He'll say no, but not that His no will cost me Him. For sure, I am betting on God, but my odds are good because I know He'll do what's Right. What's Best. What's Him. And that, though sometimes wrenching, is never wrong.

But if I demand - even in the most secret of my secret place - God do what I want or I'll ________ (insert some wager of flesh here), then I just gave Him an ultimatum. I fear that, though coming from a similar place of desperation, is always wrong. It's too risky for me; the stakes are too high. I beg Him for David on behalf of Renee, of two small boys...and, yes, I beg him for me. I beg him for anyone and everyone who makes the same plea in the service of a friend. But I won't leave my God or turn from Him or deny He is Who He says He is. The cost is too great. The price is too high. I'm beleaguered, but I'm not lost.I try to encourage hope wherever I can be and pray for peace wherever I cannot. I think and ponder and wait with everyone else.

And I suppose I continue to meditate on one thought that, even in the face of so many questions, isn't a question at all so much as a prayer for us all: "Whatever your answer, Lord, whether celebration or grief, let it be well in our souls."

The Precipice

There is a kind of precipice on which I've stood in my life; a type of cliff that teeters between the here and the there...the faithful and the faithless. Before I stood on this precipice, I would have told you that no such place exists, that the difference between these two doesn't come down to one "choice" line in the sand of the believer's desert. But it does.

When God pushes us into a refining fire, we seem so surprised that it's hot. We ask God to show us who He is, but then our flesh wants to edit Him...deleting the hard parts and cutting and pasting them with the good. The warm and fuzzy. We want God to be the Giver of brand new healthy babies, yet we struggle with the truth that children die the world over every day. This is hard. If there's a heart in your chest, it should be hard. He knows it's hard. But it's not until the fire He pushes you into leaves you begging with a soul consumed by one purpose, one plea, one call to the Living God Who created the heavens and can open up the earth...it's then you reach the precipice. Because, see, faith involves risk. By faith, you ask for what your soul yearns and find yourself facing this most difficult question: What if He says no?

There's your line: will you still believe God is Who He says He is if the answer isn't the one you craved? If yes, you stand. If no, you don't. I want to be a friend who believes in others I care about...no matter what. I don't want to tell them I didn't think they could do it when they achieve a great goal. I don't want to remind them of the odds against them or the obstacles  they still face when they're in the fire of God. I want to stand in the gap for them, lifting them up, letting them feel love. And I don't want to be that believer, that daughter of God who thinks small and finds herself surprised when God delivers BIG packages. I choose to believe.

I have stood on this precipice four times in my life; ironically, what I once didn't believe existed is now familiar, albeit tenuous, territory. Three times, God said yes to my cry...and my husband lived. Once, He said no...and our baby died. This is real. This is raw. Three times I celebrated because God was exactly as I thought He was...as He should be. And once, He reshaped my very soul. Celebrating is fun. The refining fire is not. But I assure you, I am better for it on the other side. When I've stepped away from the cliff to choose faithfulness, a reboot happened. Today, I'm more like Him than I thought I could be...and am more aware of how much further I have to go.

And now I stand for the fifth time. Waiting. On my precipice. With the full knowledge I'll still choose Him. I'd rather have Him as He is in His fullest, than edit Him so I can feel better. I want it all. I want all of Him.

But it doesn't make the precipice any less scary.

I wake up today with hope renewed: my faith will not waiver. It is as if God has fixed it permanently like a firm staff, a beacon, waiting to report the news that God has gripped the rubble and plucked out our friend...crushed but not bruised, broken-hearted not abandoned, pressed down but not destroyed.

I have to believe.

When faith is hardest, you will either stand or fall. I choose to stand...not by my own strength but by the belief in a God who conquers immeasurable odds. I will wait for your return, David, with the heart of an expectant believer.

I still believe.

A Different World

When I went to bed Monday, the world was as I knew it. When I awoke Tuesday morning, I went about my day. I prepared Craig's and Grace's lunches. I fed my children their breakfast. I kissed my husband and bid him a marvelous day. I met with a friend for coffee and cleaned my house. At 02:53:10 PM (MST), I was readying to fetch my children from school and thinking about what to make for dinner...all relatively mundane, normal activities. Except that the world was changing at that precise moment in Haiti. And a dear friend's life was changing right along with it.

The Face of a Friend

 
Now the world is different. Surreal. Ethereal, even, as we await news of David's survival. I try not to allow negative thoughts for they are as worthless as a quick mist, vanishing fast and taking my hope with it. So our family forges ahead as supporters -  believers in every sense of the word - standing in the gap for Renee. And Aidan. And Zander. I will not relent until I have final confirmation: I do not stand in a room with Renee. I am not digging in the rubble. I cannot fix or even understand what is happening. But I will love them with my prayer and belief in all fashions of miracles. 

And I will stand with them in their different world. 

 

"For he will command his angels concerning you
       to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands,
       so that you will not strike your foot against a stone." Ps. 91: 11-12

A Memory Worth Making

In these pictures, we happened to be playing the latest Cranium family board game.

But that's not the point of this post. Like most family times where activity breeds memories, the "thing" you're doing isn't the point - it's what you see, learn, memorize, embrace, and so on. Here's the shot that most clearly represents what I learned from this particular game night:

Craig and Elijah have the same hands - big and small versions of the same print.

One of the activities in the game was partnering to draw a picture with one person's eyes closed while the other guides the hand. Neat idea. Even better result because I saw how God's made a son from a man and knit them as one. Just as Craig's hand was guiding Elijah's here, so it is also guiding his life, his sense of self and, eventually, of his masculinity...of what it takes to be not just a man, but a man of God.

My firstborn son won't always be mine. For that matter, neither will my second son. Some day they will leave their mother to cleave to another woman, their soul-mates...great women of God, I pray.

But, always, they'll have this hand leading in love all the years through.

That's a memory worth making.

Can Jeans Change Your Life?

Well, they changed mine, anyway. Here's how: I'm thrifty. I prefer "thrifty" because I'm not cheap. Or even frugal. And definitely not penny-pinching. Thrifty: this means I live my spending life according to two key questions:

Do I need it or want it?

How can I spend the least amount possible to buy it?

Clothes are one way I ponder these questions, sometimes daily. We have five people in our house and, yes, they all wear clothes. Nakedness is so out. Thus, we must purchase clothing for three growing children, one picky woman, and one XXLT man.

That's a lot of cotton.

Since I dress most according to mood and function, I find my clothes encompass what I call the Colorado "caz" - aka jeans and t-shirts. I also wear gym clothes. But only 3-4 days a week, after which I shower and then change into one of the aforementioned ensembles. So, I used to figure, why buy high-priced brands when I can shop clearance?

While I still adhere to this principal of shopping, I've added just one small addendum. After Judsen was born and I spent the next year sweating my way back to pre-baby size - for the third time, ugh - we knew we weren't having any more children, and I started wondering, "Why not invest in what fits my body and makes me feel best? There's now no more rubber-banding as I swell and shrink according to pregnancy, so now's the best time to look and feel my best, right?" Right. Enter jeans changing my life.

If women's fashion had but one commandment, I'm certain it would be "Know what works for your body and wear it." Period. Levi jeans work for my body. All of them. Really. 501 straight slouch? Check. 505 button fly super lowcut dark? Check. 524 boot-cut, wide-tab, twist wash? Check. I never need to alter my size. I never need to wonder about the cut.

They. Just. Fit.

And oh do they feel good! Now, they are not Lucky's. They are not 7's. They bear no fruit on the pocket, no designer name on the band. But they're also not the cheapest...that is, if you get the bonified brand. But wearing them makes me feel comfortable and functional. And pretty. And all those feelings are important. And that's okay. So now I buy just one jean - that's all that's in my closet. Now I'm not suggesting all women have to do this: I'm merely suggesting we consider figuring out what we want to prioritize in our wardrobe according to the simple mantra of buying what we need because it fits and it feels good. Oh, and did I tell you the kicker?

I found a little-known gem on the web: www.levisstore.com. Here, you can buy Levi's Original ("Bonified") Blues. I shop their clearance and wait to receive a free shipping code via email. I never buy a pair for more than $19.90. Yummy for the wallet.

So, do I want it or need it? A bit of both, I suppose. How can I spend the least amount possible to buy it? Find a gem like I did, knowing I'm adhering to a life discipline and feeling good about the product all the while.

Ah, Levi's.

They have changed my life.

Holy-huh?

Being holy is hard. Any concept that it elementally tough to define...well, you know it's going to be even harder to live it. To me, simply put, holiness is the condition of existing as Christ's character. Set apart. Consecrated. Living well as well is defined. By Him. Despite my fleshly tendencies. I struggle most in this area in one key way: overlooking others' sins and failures as they relate to my relationship with them.

It's a lifelong, ain't never gonna stop, hard-hitting, character-building, roller-coaster ride of total success and complete failure...and everything in between. But, like most things, it's worth the effort it takes when I hear Him saying to my soul, "Well done. That's it. You are capable of this." And the brutality of hearing Him say, "That's not me. Not this time. Try again." is always enough to make me want to do better. Be better. Be holy.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Other people's birthdays are a bigger deal to me than my own. I love celebrating the day God brought my dearest loves into the world. I mean, He picked the date, He chose the time, He celebrates your arrival every day...why not throw a party?

That said, our house doesn't mark the adults' birthdays with a party every year...or, at least, not a party in the standard sense of the word. Every year is something special and, we've found at least, that as we get older, the number in the party isn't as significant as the people in the party. In other words (surprise, surprise), once again, quality trumps quantity at the Covak house. Craig's 37th birthday party was no exception.

And boy did we have fun! Listen: there's a freedom beyond phrasing when a group comes together and can just be. Just be, I say! Your opinions aren't censored, your laughter isn't contained. You can be feisty or quiet, flamboyant or subdued, riotous or calm...whatever emotion you've got...well, you can just be. Sometimes, those opinions are coarse - nobody cares. Often, your level is just a skosh too loud - nobody cares. Maybe your demeanor is just a bit timid - nobody cares. But your presence, your joy, your feeling of being loved and valued - about that, everybody cares. It is the art of friendship savored.

God's still there. He's still honored. He's still observed. But there's no pretense of having to be, of needing to be, even, on your best behavior. You can just be. That simple.

So, we came together with valued friends and relished our time spent. At Craig's request, I made Chicken Arrugula (a Covak signature dish) and his favorite dessert, Peanut Butter Icebox. We laughed. A lot. There was never a lull of awkward silence and all time was forgotten. Then we laughed some more and celebrated our friend's birthday just because he matters.

Now that's a good time.

That's a party.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

The Zitzmanns, The Covaks, The Bowles

Is Love Blind?

Craig turned 37 on January 2nd. It's funny - I look at my husband and realize he's fast approaching 40, but in my heart's and mind's eye, he's still the 21-year-old man I saw walking down a hallway carrying his Bible as I thought, "This is it. This is the one. I love this man." Sometimes I wonder if he'll always be this picture in mind even when gray peppers his brow and laugh lines crease his eyes. If I asked some endearing elderly man married some 60 years who still pulls his wife's chair out to seat her, would he tell me his eye still sees the woman he saw walking down the aisle in white? Is love blind in the absence-of-vanity, truly-see-your-soul kind of way?

I hope so. I believe so. For it is so...at least for me.

Divine Dining

I don't like to cook. I like to entertain and cook for dinner guests because I like to be hospitable and serve in my home. But I don't like to cook.

Thus, it comes as no surprise that I love to dine out. My favorite date, it should go without saying, is my husband and my best friend. But second to him, my favorite dinner dates are my core group of women: there's nothing more fun than enjoying good food and better company with the gals who absolutely influence my very character. It's divine dining, this delicate balance of edibles and earnest edification.

On this staycation, I got to go out to dinner with my friend, Z, with whom I sat for 4 hours at a restaurant, laughing and chatting and having just the best time. I relish her sharp brain and key insight and invaluable ability to process a situation in equal light of emotion and intellect. She is more compassionate than I, more prepared to let missteps go in favor of embracing the subtle joys that even the hardest situation can bring. She is godly, pursuing God wholeheartedly even as she admits her shortcomings while crediting Him her successes. She makes me want to be better in those areas without ever making me feel as if I'm lacking.

This, to me, is friendship - that ability to see me truly while accepting me fully.

And I didn't even have to cook.

The Blessing of Staycation

Yep, it's an urban dictionary kind of word, not high English. No, sir. Of course, the activity it describes isn't an example of lofty living, either...unless you reconfigure how you define lofty living. Other countries have cornered the market on the idea already, otherwise Americans wouldn't quip about how we need a siesta or an all-day happy hour or an escape to...well, anywhere they have staycation built into their general culture.

I learned the term in the way all education foremost occurs these days...on Facebook! Joke, of course. But a friend from college posted she and her family of 7 were on staycation. Now, noting the number of children she and her husband have beautifully birthed, I deduced this must be code for "temporarily out-of-touch as we search for our lost sanity amidst the generally overwhelming chaos we face each day and call, affectionately, life." Alas, this was not the case. Upon my inquiry, my friend, Laura Lynn, explained to me that staycation is the world of escape where you spend no money to eat, lodge, or travel but still effectively remove yourself from everyday living. How you accomplish this feat is entirely up to you...here's some of what we do.

We steadfastly refuse to get up and moving from our house before the rooster-crowing hour of 10 am. Yes, 10 am. The only morning person in our flock is Grace who is, thankfully, happy to settle into a good book or craft project until the rest of the house is ready to engage. Craig and I take turns sleeping in and keeping the morning routine simple. I like to cook big breakfasts, so I'll do that when the mood and hungry bellies strike. After that, we have no schedule. The Covak Couple aren't big lovers of the schedule...surprise you? I may be type A, but I'm married to a man who has built his own type - one that most definitely does not include either the need for tight structure or the desire to please anybody. Thus, as God has ingeniously planned, Daddy has brought Momma around to his way of thinking, and I no longer need a schedule or structure to feel happy. In fact, I argue that having no plan is, in fact, having a plan. Let it go. Live. Make it up as you go along!

Some days, we go to the gym where Craig and I can work out at the same time, if not together, since we can't do this regularly. We either eat out or order in more often than our usually budgeted once a week so I get a relief from cooking. We play board games, turn on the Wii, and read whole books in one afternoon (well, Gracie and I do). Craig and Grace also play Farmville and strategize on the best crop return (yea, I don't get it. But they love it, so that's great). We might hit the library, paint a wall, crochet a new purse, or oil the kitchen cabinets. We take naps and only throw in laundry when the underwear supply gets low. Listen, this is the way to enjoy a vacation, and we highly recommend it. And, while it does take some sacrifice (Craig plans ahead to take the entire last week in December off to revel in a staycation), it's worth knowing that we've relaxed without the hustle and bustle true vacations require...how many of us have returned from a trip away only to droop our shoulders and moan, "I need a vacation from my vacation!" Uh-huh.

But the best part of staycation is the mood it strikes. Though we're all at home, we're removed from the "real world," engaging only when and how we want. This leaves us all feeling rejuvenated, open to the peace that type of calm brings. So we end up having the conversations we most want to have when we're trying to squeeze in dinner around school, church, friends, jobs, errands, chores, basic hygiene....We talk to Grace about how much she loves her brothers. Elijah explains whole chapters of his internal book of how the world works and God within it. We notice that Judsen's face is becoming more little boy and less baby. I hold my husband and watch silly movies, thankful for another year of hearing his heart beat. And, best of all, I sit on my couch and look at them all...every face and little body...I hear each laugh and smell every head, reveling in how God's let them all be mine. At least for now. I picture every friend's face and reflect on spending time with each one of them, and find my cup overflows. I have been blessed.

So, try it some time, and let me know what you think. And, if you do it already, viva la difference! Screen your calls and leave your evenings to yourself to recline emotionally and physically, engaging your family more than your planner, Iphone, Blackberry, or Outlook. And hear your body and soul as they sigh, repleted, with a hefty, "Ahhhh. Thank you." And know that you are blessed.