Everyday Life: In Sunlight

It's amazing what a little sunshine can do.

I felt like a wreck last week before we left Chicago.

I believe the best word to describe it was desperate -- and I just left it hanging out there, my last written words of the week.

The morning sickness, the fatigue, the overwhelming emotions, the anxiety -- it all seems like it was exasperated by the cold and the dark and the dreary of early February in the midwest.

But here it's all soothed by sunlight and warm and slumber.

And, I think, by being together and just being.

The little gifts are actually the big ones, and it's astonishing how much that reality is magnified right now in my heart.

I've already had to stop myself from trying to find a way to stay here in this bliss instead of boarding a plane home in a week ... reminding myself to live intentionally in the moment, reminding myself to drink in gifts as they are given. 

This week is for drinking in gifts.

And praising boldly for gifts given

one by one by one. 

Bigger Picture Moments: On community and creativity

I was desperate.

By last week Thursday, after weeks of feeling like we're at the over-saturation point with all the demands of life -- a small business in limbo, my new job, my writing and John's increasingly demanding full-time job -- bleeding over the lines we'd carefully drawn to protect our family life and our inner lives, we didn't just need to put the brakes on, we needed to full out stop the car, fling open the doors, get out and breathe together.

So one night we did. While that time was exactly what I needed with my husband, I still felt in need of refueling --  but I needed a stop that would take longer than one at the pump.

I needed nourishment and strength -- the kind you get only when you surrender from the road for an entire night after you've been driving wildly for days {weeks?} on end.

When life goes into overdrive, what suffers most {behind, unfortunately, our marriage when we're not careful} is my inner life. 

When my voice goes quiet here for lack of time or energy to write my heart out

when there are no hours to spend with people who get and love me

when prayers become quickly shot arrows into heaven

when stillness is found only in the few silent moments before drifting off to sleep

there's a slow sinking of my heart, my inner life into a sand trap of depression.

As we rested heavy into Saturday's Creative Soul with times of writing, reflecting, sharing and pouring our hearts out onto blank canvases spread before our hands forming Visual Prayers,  I was reminded that we weren't made for a life of long-term over-drive. 



But, rather, we created for a life of rest stops

where we refuel around the table

together

Photo courtesy of Melissa.

not just to eat but to be nourished.

where we reconnect through stories shared,

remembering where we've seen Faithfulness

weave into our interwoven lives.



where we refresh our souls through

Conversation that often happens in the quiet.

A weary traveler, I stopped in my desperation to refuel this past Saturday.

But instead of simply just filling up the tank,

I found renewal in the purpose of continuing the drive.

Link your Bigger Picture Moment at Corinne's!

{Interested in Creative Soul? Read more here! Also, we're doing it again, and we'll release details soon!}

Bigger Picture Moments: The Question I don't Know How to Answer

Editor's Note November 2012: If you are looking for information on restoring your digestive system, please know that The Body Ecology Diet helped me, but it didn't completely restore my health. My body actually stalled out on the the diet, and I needed to go off it to heal other parts of my body. You can read about my last steps in healing by clicking here. 

It's the question I don't know how to answer.

When we walk into church and we're greeted by faces familiar with the prayer requests.

Or when I workout at my club after a long stretch of vacation.

In responding to emails

texts

phone calls

greetings.

"How are you?"

And the truth is I know.

But I don't know.

I am better, yes.

But I'm not better.

I'm well.

But I'm not totally well -- totally recovered from the monstrosity of a gut flora imbalance that not only wreaked havoc on my digestive tract but also my mind, my emotions, my vitality, my energy and my sense of mental and even physical, yes, physical balance.

I've healed in so many beautiful ways, and I'm better.

But I'm not.

Yet.

And I keep saying yet.

Because, honestly, I'm still waiting for the restoration, for the full healing to sweep over my body.

And that's funny because I haven't exactly known what it is that's still not right other than something is still not right. I've been walking around not completely sure of what's out of balance other than the obvious smattering of seemingly unrelated physical persistence of feeling slightly off kilter in stance coupled with headaches and food sensitivities and other abnormal but mostly boring and mild annoyances.

Until I wasn't.

Monday afternoon, a little call from my primary care physician with the results of an easy saliva hormone test gives name and precise diagnosis to what I've been long been told is a hormone imbalance of some sort.

The call sent me into a tailspin of memories as we talked about this being both the likely cause of the two miscarriages last fall and the likely cause of all my latest ailments, too.

But it's fixable, he said. There are creams, shots.

I don't want that kind of fix.

I'm not a throw-a-patch-over-the-hole-in-the-tire kind of girl; I'm a find-the-stretch-of-road-where-my-car-ran-over-the-nail kind of fixer who wants to clean up the box that spilled so it doesn't keep happening.

And that's a lot harder because it's not just a matter of finding someone who understands my body in that kind of detail; it's money, time, energy and effort {on repeat}, all of which are resources that have dwindled significantly during these past nine months of focused healing.

I tossed myself into bed Monday evening completely overwhelmed at the thought of starting fresh with this new but actually old health issue and resigned to prayer and reading my Bible when Jesus seemed to ask me the question I've kind of come to dread: the old "how are you?" but in Jesus speak.

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burnt out on religion?"

Except, in that moment, I didn't hesitate like I normally do when asked, filtering through what I want to say and what I ought to say and what would be short but complete enough to be honest and genuine.

Instead I just breathed out what I really felt, what I've really been feeling.

Yes.

Yes. Yes. And yes.

"Come to me, and I will give you rest." {Matthew 11:28}

Haven't I come so many times already? I asked.

My morning devotion came to my mind immediately, a barely audible whisper reminder.

"You have not because you ask not." {James 4:2} ... which was followed by "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find." {Matthew 7:7}

And in the stillness of confession, of answering the question to which I'm always struggling to find the perfect reply, I realized that maybe it's not so much about finding the right answer but finding the rest that allows me to say no matter the circumstance

that even though I'm well

but not totally well

 it is well

so very well

with my soul.


Each Thursday we come together to share the harvest of intentional living through sharing a piece of life gleaned: a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week. Link up your gleaned moment this week at Jade's!

Link your moment at Jade's this week!

Everyday Life: On Vacation

 

"As the sun on summer days gladdens us with beams more warm and bright than at other times...so is it with the mercy of God; it hath its golden hours; its days of overflow, when the Lord magnifieth his grace."  - Charles Spurgeon

One glorious week spent beneath August sun on the sands of a tiny lake in Michigan, and I find myself full.

Full from a feast of gladness.

Every now and then we have to get brave

and brake

in order to break up this steady daily rhythms of the rushrushswoosh of time.

Every now and then

{despite the pull to just keep swimming through the currents}

life needs to be interrupted by

waves gently sweeping over sandy beach

toes immersed in clear water

laughter erupting from little lips

crickets singing in the crisp air of dusk

whispers uttered beneath stars, amid burning embers.

And then

like the golden summer light of August, of summer making way to fall

mercy begins to drip thick

like honey from a hive

as the heart hears

and the eyes see

and the lips confess

all of the small and beautiful blessings

we breeze over in the day to day

but realize in full

when we brake

and break

from the spin cycle of the everyday.

Thinking, that's All: We're not in Chicago anymore

Beneath afternoon sun and clouds, only the shadows of tree leaves and branches danced besides our own, shading tiny stretches of sidewalk beneath our feet, as we walked with purpose and precision in search of lunch.

Though shops and restaurants, boutiques and businesses lined the brick-paved walkway, almost all had signs propped in windows quietly sharing a secret that those of us from the always vibrating and lively Chicagoland didn't know:

Closed Sundays.

"I guess we're not in Chicago anymore," I'd said aloud and shrugged my shoulders, half amused, half irritated.




As we walked the beautiful yet deserted streets of downtown Kalamazoo finding only a smattering of open doors, only a few other bodies moving along the streets, I felt our pace noticeably slow.

We drifted away from the task at hand and lunch as planned as we slipped into conversation and an rogue open doorway for a tea and coffee before we headed back to the cabin to make a meal of garden veggies and turkey slices that found their way into the vacation cooler we'd packed just two days before.

And somewhere amid closed doors and that one that opened, a wave of relaxation swept over me; as the sleepy city rested and breathed, I found myself doing the same.

When we returned to the cabin, nestled against the still blue waters of a little lake tucked into rolling hills just about 20 miles beyond the little-big city, I quenched my hunger for food, but the one for that feeling of deep rest lingered long in my chest.

And it left me really ready to let go of the shoulds and needs and musts for this week of scheduled family vacation -- this upcoming week where I'd told myself I'd press the brakes and take a break from all of our normal life affairs {how lucky are we that we have good friends who babysit our garden and our house and our business?!}, including writing -- my very first intentional writing sabbatical.

No deadlines. No schedules. No memes. No edits. No publishing. No work. No feedback.

Just my pen and lots of open, empty journal pages while my family and I enjoy time together and the beautiful spread of this lovely lay of far-from-home land.



Because, no, we're not in Chicago anymore.

And, you know, that was the point all along.

*****

While I'm on my hiatus from blogging, I have the privilege of introducing you to my little sister! 

Jill's going to be here all week telling stories -- like how she was a rock-star during the home-birth delivery of her daughter and maybe also about how our mother gave us mullet hair cuts when we were younger along with an apology letter she penned her sweet baby E regarding the former hair debacle and genetics. 

 She'll probably also try to tell you about the time I was pulling her in a wagon and went around a corner too fast and tipped the wagon thus breaking her finger. And she'll probably tell you I was being a little snot when I did that, and probably, you'll believe her because she's the charming, younger sister ... and if you do, we can still be friends. Because I don't blame you; she *is* charming.

She'll be hosting Bigger Picture Moments  HERE this THURSDAY, too, so be sure to come and share life Thursday this week as she hosts her first link up!

Bigger Picture Moments: Flood Waters

My mind has been absolutely drenched this week with a torrential downpour of thoughts. 

And I'm left struggling to remember what to do with all this water after such a long drought. 


We had a relatively quiet winter and spring event-wise and decision-wise, which was good because so much of our energy had to go into simply just parenting and connecting with each other and making it through each day while I was entrenched in such intense healing. 

A drought of major life events and a break from heavy decision-making was needed for sure.

But it feels like during the past month, the clouds have rushed forth, broken open and begun pouring on us; it's not necessarily bad, because you know, rain is needed -- both in gardens and in life. 


It's just, well, heavy and saturating.


Earlier this week, on what was my anticipated due date prior to miscarrying last fall a sweet little love, I realized I'm not just dripping wet and soaked with thoughts about, well, everything but that I've actually been caught up and washed away in the flood.

I've been short in patience, fast to sleep, slow to rise and quick to get all wires of communication crossed, my overworked brain unable to transmit correctly all of the information floating around in my head.

Classic over-saturation.

The beauty of this is that I now realize when I've hit that point of feeling like I'm floating away on all the rainwater of thoughts before I'm tumbling over waterfalls.

But I'm still further downstream than I'd like, flailing and kicking and grabbing onto tree branches, attempting to pull myself out.

Yesterday, as I grasped at leaves, God in all His goodness threw me a line first thing in the morning in my devotions. And then again -- just to make sure I didn't miss it -- while I was at our last Bible study session of the summer.

"My sheep listen to my voice; I know them and they follow me." Jesus in John 10:27

A call to quiet the downpour of thoughts. A whisper to stop fighting against the current and let the Good Sheperd pull me out and carry me against His chest.

Because, I remember in the midst,


sheep were meant for still waters


not deep, rushing, rolling floods. 

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your gleaned moment this week at Alita's. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Everyday Life: Rest and Rain

It rained on our vacation while we we were at the lake.

I prayed it would. 

Normally, I don't pray for weather beyond begging to be spared from two feet of snow in April.  

But we've been entrenched in this forever-long feeling drought; this summer has been one of endlessly sunshiney days with hardly any lost to rain or chill.

And we've done what most midwesterners who've been cooped up during long prairie winters do -- we've taken advantage of the sunny skies, filling our days with parks and swimming and walks and friends and cramming each one from sun up until sun down. 

Though it doesn't show as obviously as it does on the trees, the plants, the flowers, all distressed with their brown leaves, drooping stems, wilting blooms, I began to notice the harshness of the deep-summer elements taking a toll on our family last week. I felt like I was at my breaking point before we left for the lake this past Friday as I impatiently barked orders at my squabbling boys. 


We've been feeling just as scorched as our plants. 

The rain that would normally send us inside for a quiet afternoon or inside day of play hasn't come. 

We've been as out of rhythm as the weather. 

So Saturday, after a long day in the sun, when the wind started blowing and clouds started thickening into gray just over the lake while we were getting ready for dinner Saturday night, I prayed it wouldn't just rain on our parade


but that it would pour

because the parade has long needed a reason to stop

and just be still.

There's growth in the sun, yes.

But there's refreshment, rhythm repaired in the steadiness of a good rain.

Thinking, That's All: Sunday Morning {Solo}

Yesterday, I posted a collaborative piece from the prompt Sunday Morning by Ani DiFranco where I shared my captures and my partner's words.

Below are the words I penned for the prompt and captures.

Sunday Morning {Solo}

Head sunken into pillows, hips into the cushion of a wool-topped mattress, I used to sleep long and late into the morning, gracious husband downstairs with two little boys scrambling eggs and scrambling to find church clothes, dress two boys.

Inevitably, there was always rushing, some tears, frustration billowing freshly like just-brewed coffee. Sunday mornings groaned for restoration.

So my sleep has since been traded for early-rising, frustration for the fruit of patience and hot tempers for hot breakfasts together beneath summer sun. 

And I was reminded that before redemption could restore and penetrate my heart while sitting beneath the steeple that it had to begin in the heart of my Sunday mornings first. 

Everyday Life: Summer Liberation

Today is G's last day of school, which means summer vacation begins this afternoon!

I thought about making a summer must-do list and checking adventures off one by one. 

But. 

I'm trying to declutter our lives, simplify our schedules and make enough space to burn with passion -- so adding more to-do lists to the fridge would be sort of defeating. 

Instead, I've been thinking about all the liberation summer brings.

So here's what you won't catch me doing this summer:

Copious Amounts of Cooking 

Yeah, I said it. I'm not going to spend a bunch of time in the kitchen preparing meals. Of course, we're not going to feasting on boxed dinners or processed food either. Rather, we'll be eating plenty of fresh food from the garden, grilling our meats and veggies and rarely turning on the oven. 

And if my kids want celery and almond butter for lunch with a side of blueberries? Cherry tomatoes right from the vine? Raisins and nuts?  Go for it, littles. Go for it. I'm not doing the food fight this summer. {But I will still be culturing my coconuts and veggies and giving the old Vitamix smoothie-blending workouts; I haven't totally lost my mind.}

Grocery Shopping the Middle Aisles

Speaking of the food fight that I'm not engaging in during meal times -- well, I'm not doing the food fight during snacks either, which pretty much means I'll be bypassing the middle aisles of the grocery store a large percentage of the time.

With so much fresh fruit and veggies, which both boys like one or both, we'll be snacking on easy-to-prepare snacks like strawberries and nuts, pears and peanut butter and carrots and hummus. Because we are NOT spending all summer debating which snacks are sometimes snacks and which ones are always snacks. 

Scheduling 

Even though we're involved in really good activities and we enjoy so much time that is scheduled and planned, we're not filling the calendar days this summer. 

Today, the sun was bright shining and beautiful and it was so nice to say yes to a friend's text message asking if we wanted to meet at the park in our neighborhood. When weeks are totally scheduled, though, it makes those kinds of impromptu fun dates impossible. 

I kind of want to see what happens when we wake up and just live the day. 

New Projects

My brain twin and I are masterminds of projects. But this summer, as soon as we wrap up the first-ever Little Lake County Green Guide, we're writing down ideas and tabling them until school restarts. Mostly, I've decided to say no to any new projects simply so I'll have some time to work on my long-awaited and already started e-book and its corresponding site. 

Sorting Socks

Now that I have my barefoot shoes for working out, I'm tossing all of our socks into a bin and saving them for cold weather; I've spent way too much time lately trying to tame the sock explosion.

And I'm allowing my children to buy and wear the croc shoes I've been adamantly against for several years. {Do I have the only kids in the free world who hate wearing sandals every day? Why do they prefer gym shoes?}

Fight the Daylight

Bedtime is a huge struggle during the summer months because of the lingering light -- this summer, so long as we don't have crabs scurrying around the house or yard, we're not enforcing lights-out bedtime at the normal 7:30-8:00 time period. 

And because we aren't scheduling, it's no biggie if we sleep later in the morning and eat breakfast at 10 a.m. 

So. What are you NOT doing this summer so as to live the simple life for a few months out of the year? Please share your ideas!

Thinking, That's All: The Space of Rest

We all quickly pour ourselves in through the door, breathing out the chaos of the day and inhaling the quiet of the space stretched out before us

Weekly we come together to slow down, to discuss life in this foreign land of busy, seven polar explorers* trying together to navigate the harsh terrain of our over-busy, over-scheduled lives in bodies that weren't meant to pushgopushpushgo.

You know that jar analogy? one of the seven asks, a half smile spread across his face. The one with the rocks and the sand and how if you put the rocks -- the big pieces of life -- into the jar first and then put the sand -- all the small, less important stuff -- in, everything fits?

The rest of us nod, all too familiar with the jar and the overflow of the sand spilling out everywhere and the rocks never all fitting.

It's a lie, he says, spitting out the words like bitter fruit.

I lean my head in to really hear what he's saying, and he continues.

All of that sand, all of those rocks -- you just can't fit it all. Some of that sand, some those rocks just have to go, he finishes, relieved to have spoken up against the prevalent thought that if we just ordered it all right it would fit.

The jar is only so big, someone else pipes in. 

It's true, I say. There's only so much space. 

We sit around this truth like its a fire radiating warmth into cool arctic air, explorers intent on thawing cold noses, hands, hearts that have been captured by numbness.

I know this all too well; time and space have long been rigid squares on the flipped open calendar I'm forever trying to pen my life into.

Thing is, though, just like the jar, all of the life I'm trying to cram in doesn't fit in two by two inch squares.

Just like we can't make the jar bigger, there's no way to add inches to the calendar boxes.

And, the truth be admitted, we weren't made to fill every crevice of time, every inch of the jar until both are overflowing out of control.

Truth be admitted, we were meant to rest, remember every one day out of seven.

Sabbath.

It's a  foreign sounding word here in the arctic -- archaic and bound up in thoughts of rules and judgement and nos.

But at its roots in means rest and remember.

After we unlearn all of what it isn't, breathe in a bit of understanding that was lost in translation of restirction and culture and supposed righteousness, what remains seems to be this enormous box with a ribbon.

And all I can ponder is if I'm really going to unwrap it instead of just picking at the paper.

*Annie Dilliard first related our journey here in this time and space to that of a journey of polar explorers who find that they cannot do life alone in such harsh elements. Her short essay appeared in our VantagePoint3 material that detailed what it looks like to live in community. Our group of seven is journeying together through year one of VP3. What we discuss in our groups is sacred, and I sought out permission before publishing from the group member who shared about the jar before sharing here his revelations that have lead to truth in my mind, just to be clear. :)

This piece is a product of our Bigger Picture Blogs Writing Circles, where writers come together virtually to share a work and then offer encouragement while giving constructive criticism while applying benevolent pressure to others in the circle.

Thinking {that's all}: The Space to Burn

The more I feel the lure of busyness wooing my heart, the more I want to sharp turn left and veer into radical unbusyness.

Because since starting the journey toward uncluttering our calendars and seeking to live intentionally in the moment about a year and some months ago, I've found at times what it means to live in the wide open space of air and light.

Last summer, I read this for the first time. {TOTALLY worth your 60 seconds to read}

What makes a fire burn is space between the logs, a breathing space.
Too much of a good thing,
too many logs packed in too tight can douse the flames almost as surley as a pail of water.
So building fires requires attention to the spaces in between, as much as to the wood.
When we are able to build open spaces in the same way we have learned to pile on logs,
then we come to see how it is fuel, and the absence of fuel together, that make fire possible.
We only need to lay a log lightly from time to time.
A fire grows simply because the space is there,
with openings in which the flame that knows
just how it wants to burn can find its way.  

Fire, by Judy Brown  

I've taken the deep breath of virgin air, held it in my lungs, cold and burning and let it clear out my mind, while soaking up the oxygen in the depths of my spirit.

Ignition.

It's been good. So good that when I slip back into over committment and over booking, I sort of feel like I'm that over-logged fire -- suffocating, the passion burning inside me dwindling into just a flicker from a flame.

Says the girl who used to have something scheduled every morning and afternoon each day of the week.

And so I ponder, as we head into 2012, how to keep this sacred space for burning free of another log on the burn pile when so many logs seem like they'll be magnificent additions.

A Sabbath Experiment: Scheduling

This is part four of a series detailing our family's journey on our Sabbath experiment.

Part One: Indications of needing a rest day
Part Two: Why we need a rest day
Part Three: Simple steps for implementation
****

The house is cleaner.

The days {and stress levels} are more manageable.

The overall tone of our home has changed from rushed to {mostly} rested.

BUT.

There are still Kashi Os scattered near the dining room table floor at any given moment.

And I'm still known to rush the children out the door when they are dragging their feet.

So perfect certainly doesn't live here {and never will}.

But calm{er} does.

During the implementation process of our Sabbath Experiment and even before the that, we knew we were way too busy.

And that our busyness was sucking the joy and peace from our days, keeping us from living intentionally and with a decided heart.

So before we put our Sabbath into practice, we took a pretty detailed look at all of our commitments.

And when we did, I found my list was overflowing -- brimming with good stuff, yes, but brimming nonetheless.

My mentor suggested I make a list of commitments and tasks and narrow from there.

Seeing all of my tasks on paper made my blood pressure rise -- no wonder I'd been feeling overextended.

As I began cutting out activities and commitments {prayerfully and with the wisdom from my husband and mentor}, I began to find relief from stress.

1. Obviously, you won't be able {nor would you want} to cut out mothering your kids, being a wife to your husband and caring for your own spiritual, mental and physical well being, so those priorities remain.

2. But I started by identifying doubles -- double volunteering opportunities that other people could do just as well as I could, double Bible studies or ministries that were good but not necessary for my growth. I'm sure you get the picture.

3. Next, I affirmed that just because there is a need that needed to be filled didn't mean that I was the ONLY one who could fill it. And I found, indeed, that I wasn't the only person who could fill those spaces; others wanted and were ready to step up the plate.

4. Because, really, some of those activities weren't actually ones where I felt called anymore. Every commitment I asked myself if that's where my deep desire and the world's deepest needs collided. And I found myself answering no to quite a few things.

5. I prayed about cutting out activities and sought council before I actually made the sever.

6. And I found that wisdom from my mentor actually shed new light on my thinking and pushed me to consider where I should focus my efforts ...

7. based on my season of life.

My most important goals right now are to grow in my faith and health, support my husband and raise my boys into men of integrity.

This is all largely determined by my season of life, so these take priority.

8. And my mentor also helped me understand which commitments I needed to hold onto based on my strengths.

After taking the Clifton Strengthsfinder assessment, affirmation was given in my strength of communication -- the written word, especially, for me. My mentor saw this before I ever did, and she encouraged my meaningful writing adventures, like blogging, because while blogging I was functioning out of a natural God-given strength.

9. I made concessions by acknowledging that my deep desire and the world's greatest need did NOT meet in regard to cleaning kitchen counters and scrubbing toilets. However, that's part of my job during this season of life where I've chosen to be a mostly stay-at-home mom, so that's just part of caring for my family.

10. I made a flexible schedule to allot for my activities during the six days of the week I was available for work and activities with the end goal of Sabbath rest, relaxation, trust and celebration on Sundays.

11. I've been affording myself grace {highly encouraged by my husband} if I haven't gotten everything on my list done by Sunday, and I've allowed myself the ability to rest anyway -- an extension of God's mercy and acknowledgement from my lips that the world would continue to spin if my to-do list was not completed.

12. I've been holding myself accountable to my tasks during the week instead of spending so much time on time-sucking activities like, for me, Facebook and surfing the web.

I hope this helps encourage your hearts toward exploring Sabbath rest and embracing intentional living. Like I said, life isn't perfect now, but it's calmer. And more enjoyable and simple liveable than it was while we were engaging in the over-committed, unrested lifestyle we had.

Questions and comments encouraged! Ask anything at all!

A Sabbath Experiment: Who has time to rest, really?

Monday mornings were always the worst.

Exhausted, I'd pull my dragging body and tired mind out of bed at the coaxing of my generous husband who needed parental relief from looking after our small boys so he could leave for work.

As I'd shuffled down the stairs, the rat race we'd been running the day before simply just continued right where we left off -- with mountains of laundry, overflowing sinkfuls of dishes and a busy calendar.

The days of the week felt like one long blur interrupted nightly by a few hours of rest. Weeks blended into months and months into seasons, and I'd often wondered why time seemed to be spinning out of control.

Though I'd been consciously cutting down on our number of committments and responsibilities since the beginning of 2011, I still felt so tired -- like I was never rested.

So a few weeks ago when we began our fourth quarter of Vantage Point3 - The Emerging Journey course we've been engaged in for the past six months -- I audibly laughed at the topic of our study material for the week: Taking a Sabbath.

I thought to myself, well, I'll do the reading, I'll do the homework, but I simply could not implement the practice of taking a rest for 24 hours out of each week because I couldn't even accomplish everything I needed to do during the week as it stood.

If I lost a day to rest every week, how exhausted would I then become? I'd never be able to complete all of my tasks. There weren't enough hours in the day to begin with.

****

As I carefully tread into the reading material, I found myself simulataneously wanting to enter into this beautiful idea of Sabbath rest once a week while also resisting it and labeling it unrealistic.

In our workbooks, the authors compiled a self assessment of warning signs for burnout. I thought I was doing all right, as I'd only checked three, but one check mark stood out, bolded, dug itself into my chest and buried itself deep in my heart:

A frequent friction with family or friends {easily frustrated or angry, easily impatient}

Of those three descriptions, I've consistently struggled with frustration and impatience; both have been a moment-by-moment battle since trekking into this beautiful, but tiring jungle of motherhood.

I continued to read about Sabbath with that check mark firmly imbed in my heart: the impatience, the frustration with the people I love so much largely stems from being so busy, from being so unrested.

If I lost a day to rest every week, I'd never be able to complete all of my tasks.

But perhaps by losing a day to rest, I'd be gaining something much more valuable, much more precious than cleaned laundry and a tidy house and fulfilled responsibilites:

Perhaps, I'd gain patience and peace and love within in the mess around for the people I loved the most.

Maybe that would be worth never being able to complete my lists.

And, thus, began my Sabbath Experiment.

There's too much to write about in one post, so I'm going to detail this lovely but counter-cultural, against-the-grain-of-Western-life journey into a designed day of rest in segments.

Part Two will detail why we need a Sabbath and how to determine why we need one.

Part Three will explain logistically how we as a family essentially ditched an entire day from the calendar week amid our extremely busy schedules and designated it for rest, worship and family {and some ideas for how to implement your own}.

{Maybe there will be more parts as we continue our Sabbath experiement.}

In the meantime, I will share just a few things we've discovered after having successfully completed two weeks of taking a Sabbath rest {we're in the midst of preparing for our third as I write}:

Our house has never been cleaner.

Our to-do lists have never been more managable.

Our kids have rarely been so agreeable.

And I have NEVER felt so ready for a Monday morning as I have during these last two weeks.

Ever.

And I've rarely felt such a tendancy toward patience and peace.

It's not been perfect or extremely easy, but my body and my mind and my heart {oh my heart} have fallen into this beautiful rhythm of Sabbath-infused life.

And I wonder how on Earth it could have taken me so long to enter into this rhythm for which my soul, my body was designed.

I look forward to sharing this journey.

{If you have any specific questions you'd like me to {try really hard to} address {from my so-far-novice-vantage-point} will you either leave it in the comments or send email me so I can be sure to ponder them before I write the next segments?}