Sabbath Rest.

"When we live without listening to the timing of things, when we live and work in twenty-four-hour shifts without rest – we are on war time, mobilized for battle. Yes, we are strong and capable people, we can work without stopping, faster and faster, electric lights making artificial day so the whole machine can labor without ceasing. But remember: No living thing lives like this. There are greater rhythms, seasons and hormonal cycles and sunsets and moonrises and great movements of seas and stars. We are part of the creation story, subject to all its laws and rhythms."

- Sabbath by Wayne Muller

One of the most life-giving trips I've ever taken is our 1 year anniversary trip to New Mexico, because on this trip, I learned the meaning of rest. Our dear friends had given us access to their cabin in a valley in a tiny town that's barely on the map called Las Mochas. As we drove 11 hours through the dry, flat plains of west Texas and then into the green, winding landscape of New Mexico, we felt our souls take a deep breath in anticipation of a week totally removed from busy, modern life.

When we arrived, we saw that there were a few houses scattered nearby, but we didn't encounter a soul. The cabin was nestled between stately evergreens with its backyard emptying into a creek with unspoiled rushing water. On the other side of the creek, the forest trail led to fields of wildflowers.


After unloading our bags in the house, we jumped back in the car to drive to nearby Taos, a lovely, artsy little town, and strolled wide-eyed through Cid's Food Market marveling at all the unique locally-grown, organic food items, throwing them into our cart one-by-one. Juicy tomatoes, ripe peaches. Homemade granola. Sweet potatoes. And plenty of free-range eggs. We returned to the cabin, unloaded our bounty of food, and covered all the clocks with tape.


For the next week, we had no concept of time. We lived by the rhythms of nature. We went to bed when we were tired. We used only candlelight in the house after dark. We awoke not by alarm, but when our bodies rose naturally. We spent our days photographing hummingbirds, reading, and wading in the creek. The days were so long. And we rested.



Fast-forward two years, and I wonder what happened to the "me" who went on that peaceful trip in New Mexico. I so long to find her again.

A few days ago, I was sitting at my desk at the end of a long week, and in the middle of typing what seemed like my thousandth email, I suddenly burst into tears. I just sat there and sobbed for several minutes until I felt that I had cried out all my frustrations, sadness and lost-ness that had been building up inside for awhile. I couldn't articulate exactly what was making me cry, though. It felt as if simple things were throwing me over the edge. My computer freezing. Adding another thing to my mounting to-do list. Picking clothes up off the floor. I thought about calling a friend to ask for help, but I honestly didn't know what to say. I didn't know what exactly it was. So I just dried my eyes and got back to work.

This weekend, I'm reading my book, Sabbath by Wayne Muller. It's one of those books I want to read and re-read in my life and buy copies to have on hand to give to everyone I know. It says...

"Without rest, we respond from a survival mode, where everything we meet assumes a terrifying prominence...when we are moving faster and faster, every encounter, every detail inflates in importance, everything seems more urgent than it really is, and we react with sloppy desperation."

That explains the emotional breakdown over socks being left on the floor.

"There is a South American tribe that went on a long march, day after day, when all of a sudden they would stop walking, sit down to rest for a while, then make camp for a couple of days before going any farther. They explained that they needed the time to rest so that their souls could catch up with them."

That was what I needed. I needed to give my soul a chance to catch up with me.

I'm learning what it means for me personally to have a "Sabbath rest." My husband could be surrounded by 20 of his closest friends 24 hours a day and be utterly peaceful and at rest. That is a rarity for me, and I often feel drained after being with people constantly. This is a battle within, because I love having our home open to people, I truly do. But if it's constant…one busy weekend leading into a busy work week and back to a busy, social weekend, I start to crumble and cave into myself. In fact, I utterly fall apart.

With my work, the problem is that I feel that I'm always capable of more. I've heard many people in "ministry" jobs say the same thing: I can do more, so if I can, why shouldn't I? This is not how we were meant to function as creatures. We were meant to listen to the rhythms set before us by nature, not constantly push ourselves against nature. Sitting at a desk all day with hands and head and neck in stationary postion. Shoveling in food on a 25 minute lunch break only to quickly get back to work again. Staying up all hours of the night and waking up to a blaring alarm.

"If busyness can become a kind of violence, we do not have to stretch our perception very far to see that Sabbath time – effortless, nourishing rest – can invite a healing of this violence. When we consecrate a time to listen to the still, small voices, we remember the root of inner wisdom that makes work fruitful. We remember from where we are most deeply nourished, and see more clearly the shape and texture of the people and things before us."

This weekend is a Sabbath Weekend. What I'm learning in this book is that there are many, many ways to celebrate a Sabbath, and it doesn't always have to be on Saturday or Sunday. We can have "Sabbath moments" for a few minutes or "Sabbath walks" for thirty minutes. The point is to celebrate God's goodness and provision and being. So far this weekend, I have sipped a lot of hot tea, propped myself on the couch with my feet resting on my husband's lap, and listened to the sounds of the Olympics humming in the background. I've sat on a big fluffy bed and read and gazed out the window. I took a walk in the neighborhood.

And amazingly, I feel much more prepared for Monday.

I admit, I still don't know how to balance my intense desire to achieve and accomplish, particularly in a work setting. But I'm still reading and learning and reading and learning, and I look forward to gaining more clarity as I go.

"Like a path through the forest, Sabbath creates a marker for ourselves so, if we are lost, we can find our way back to our center."

As for this gorgeous, peaceful place, I hope to return one day...


...but for now, I've got to find rest in the midst of this crazy city. The point is taking my hand off the plow, knowing I can't do it all. Knowing that God can and will work through me, that His strength will be the life that courses through my veins. And that by keeping my focus on the rhythms He gave us in this world, I can truly find rest.

"Sabbath is a way of being in time where we remember who we are, remember what we know, and taste the gifts of spirit and eternity."

All quotes from Sabbath by Wayne Muller.

A day at the pool.

I've often shared my memories of swimming growing up...and how much I was looking forward to visiting my beloved town pool when I returned to my hometown in New Jersey this summer. Well, I got to spend two glorious late afternoons there...swimming underwater for as long as I could hold my breath.

It has been about 5 years since I was in New Jersey in the summer, a glorious time full of warm days and cool breezes. Summer there reminds me of women toting Land's End beach bags and an evening coolness that brings goose bumps and requires long sleeves after swimming all day.

On this trip, I could barely contain myself as we threw our bags into my mom's car to head for the pool. In my mind, I was 8 years old, ready to do handstands with my childhood friend Tara, and play "exploring" in the tree-covered area while our parents swam, and perhaps eat an ice cream pop (or two) while my hair dried in the sun. What would it be like? Would it be the same?

As soon as we arrived and claimed our parking spot by the woods, I heard the familiar sounds of my childhood - the diving board banging against the poles followed by a big SPLASH!, the bell of the Good Humor truck, and laughs of children sitting on the Three Big Rocks eating their pops on wet towels. Yes, it's been exactly the same for over 30 years. And I love that.




Once inside the pool gates, my mom and I claimed a spot on the grass in our usual location, surrounded by some of the same families who have been spending summer there since I was a child. It may seem a little overly sentimental or perhaps a bit dramatic to be this passionate about a pool. What is so special about it? Well, for one, it's the symbol of summer. Its opening heralds the arrival of longer warmer days, and its closing signals the start of a new school year and new possibilities. It's also colossal, bigger than any pool you've ever seen...with slides you would find at a water park, Olympic-size lanes, games like badminton and tether ball, and parties, and community, and personal history for so many people in this town.

Today, I stood on the edge of the 5 feet area and adjusted my swimsuit, about to make my maiden dive in several years. Almost 31 years after I first entered these waters, it was as if I was looking at a reflection of my own life. How many times had I stood in this exact spot, at all different ages, sizes, and good grief...bathing suits?

I dove in, feeling just like the girl in "A Moment of Clarity". I soared down to the bottom and felt my fingers and stomach brush the white concrete floor. My shadow swam along with me. We swam. And swam and swam and swam.

It was so quiet under there.

When I rose to the surface, I looked around for my mom. Not surprisingly, she was already fully engaged in her laps, the tip of her side-ponytail-braid skimming the top of the water with each stroke.

It's been so long that she and I swam together. She asked me if I would show her my freestyle, so she could be sure I "still knew how to do it." I indulged her without hesitation, taking a deep breath and showing her my most perfect 4-strokes-and-a-breath, 4-strokes-and-a-breath. When I came up for air, she was smiling.

At some point in my teens, I remember going through a stage when I declared that going to the pool was "dumb." Maybe it was rebellious adolescence combined with feeling awkward in a bathing suit, but those days I didn't want to swim anywhere near my mom and I got impatient with her, begging her to get out of the water before the last whistle blew at closing time at 7:30pm. She was always the last person left in the pool.

Today, I was chatting beside her as we swished our arms through the water and fluttered our feet, hoping that 7:30pm wouldn't come too quickly.

We began to reminisce about some of our memories here, and I unearthed one of her less favorable ones, which happened the last time I was here 5 years ago. The water slide. In her Jersey accent she quickly retorted, "Neva again! You know what happens when I go down that slooide!"

Boy, do I know! I'll never erase that image from my mind.

I had brought my friend Suz from Nashville to New Jersey for a short trip, and we were excited about going to the Moonlight Swim, one of several nights that the pool is open after dark for you to swim and bring water floats and listen to live music. That night, Suz and I were feeling bold and challenged my mom to go down the giant water slide in the diving tank.

I have to preface this by saying that my mom does not EVER go underwater due to an almost-drowning incident as a child. But that evening...for some reason...she accepted our challenge and went down that twisty tall slide in this photo, the image of which has now become legend.

Suz and I stood in the lap lanes across the pool, ready for the show. My mom climbed the stairs and paced back and forth a few times uncertainly before giving us a last nervous glance and sitting down to launch herself from the top. Then she was off...hidden from our view for 1 second...2 seconds...3 seconds....4 seconds...(seemed like a million seconds) in the twists and turns until we saw her emerge at the final turn. In a matter of seconds, her appearance had somehow completely changed from when she had started at the top: Her side ponytail was smashed and soaked. She was trying desperately to sit up but was kind of teetering on one hip, trying to keep herself from laying on her back. Even from afar, we could see that blue eyeliner was smeared under her eyes and running down her face. Her face held a look of sheer terror. Her arms were spread out to the side to brace herself before the final SPLASH.

Suz and I were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe.

The unforgiving slide then dumped her into the diving tank at full speed. We waited a few seconds, holding our breath until she finally floundered to the surface. We clapped and yelled cheers for her from across the pool. In fact, I think the whole crowd was cheering! Dawn Piccione had gone down the slide and lived to tell about it.

She emerged from the diving tank, hair matted and dripping wet and stomped across the deck with an "Are you happy now??" look on her face. She then started giggling along with us. That is one of the reasons I love my mom.

Just remembering the story today, she reminded me that she was "NEVA doing that again, so don't even ask". But that's OK. Because today I appreciate this place for what it is....and I appreciate time with my mom because it won't last forever.

The lifeguards blew their whistles at 7:30pm, just like always. I climbed the ladder out of the water and turned around to look at the unbroken, peaceful waters. We wrapped towels around our waists like two mermaids and lef the pool together, soaking wet and happy.

Color palettes.

I cannot live without color. I love a neutral with a bright punch of saturated yellow or red or green or pink to liven it up. Decorating my home is like painting strokes on a blank canvas - it is my artistic expression and a way to welcome others into my world...and hopefully, to make them feel comfortable here.

So, after much online-fabric-browsing, dreaming, and tearing-out of magazine pages, I'd like to share my color palette for the guest room. I like to think of it as natural.cheery.joyful.serene.asian.bohemian.

(Click the image to see it larger)

Ahhhhh. Just looking at it makes me smile. In fact, I'm thinking of moving into the guest room permanently. With the new, FREE King size bed that our friend's Granny gave us (to which I added a fluffy white comforter and white sheets), it's even more tempting! I'm not sure which paint color to choose, as I love them both equally. The fabric is all from Anna Maria Horner's new line, Garden Party. The fabric on the right is going to be perfect as a headboard, which is so easy to make on your own! Top it all off with paper lanterns from Luna Bazaar and white branch curtains from IKEA. Now, I just need to put it all into action!

The other room in progress is my office - where I spend the majority of my days. I just painted it "Rain Washed" by Behr a few weeks ago, and now it's the perfect oceany calming blue, so that's one step in the right direction. Now, I need to add some more splashes of color! My inspiration began with this photo I took in India...

(Click the image to see it larger)

Here's how "Rain Washed" looks currently on the walls...


It's amazing how my tastes have changed over the last 10 years. My freshman year of college, everything was about sunflowers. I had the sunflower comforter, matching sheets, throw blanket, picture frames, photo albums, and even posters of sunflower fields on the wall - you know, the ones you buy at the campus bookstore. And all my accessories that weren't sunflower were either hunter green or royal blue. Oh, the horror. Then, after college, I wanted my entire house to look like the beach, so I replaced everything with natural wood and seafoam green. Getting warmer...

Now, I'm into bright flowers and vintage/bohemian patterns, and I think I'm here to stay. Thank God my husband lets me decorate how I want to. When we moved into this house 2 years ago, he wisely designated the inside of the house as my domain and the outside as his domain, and oh, how I love him for that! Men, we realize you have to remove 150 decorative pillows from the bed before you can go to sleep each night, but please, if you know what's good for you, let it lie. Just...let it...lie.

Inspired...

Lovers, keep on the road you're on
Runners, until the race is run
Soldiers, you've got to soldier on

The new Coldplay CD makes me want to...

...walk through New York City in the snow in a big, fluffy classy coat with a cappuccino in hand.

...take a train through Europe, getting off on a whim to roam small villages and exciting cities.

...ride my bike through a town in Tuscany and eat bread and drink wine in a piazza for hours and hours under an umbrella in the sun.

...go to the Christmas Market in Munich in tall boots and a pretty scarf on an early, gray, December day.

...lay on the grass and listen to the London Symphony Orchestra in the rain.

...stroll through the streets of Prague, taking photos of colorful buildings and people.

...drive with the windows down always.

...sit on a dock on a lake with my husband at dusk with a towel wrapped around us and setting sun on our faces.

...drink up, savor, and enjoy every single day of my life.

My Daddy.

"There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter...

...and gradually over the years...

...it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth...

...that feels like love itself."
~John Gregory Brown

Happy Father's Day to my wonderful dad!

Whimsical mermaid stones.

I recently discovered the whimsical art of McCabe of Dancing Mermaid and after viewing her Etsy shop, I knew I had to have some of her lovely painted stones. I needed herb markers for my garden so I asked if she would paint some for me. I received them today, and they are so lovely! They are perfectly charming, colorful, and unique!

She even included a lovely scented votive candle and 3 extra inspirational stones. The words could not have been more perfect...




I'm not sure where I'm going to put them yet...any ideas? Perhaps lay them in a bed of sand in a glass bowl? Or add them to another flowerpot in my garden?

To me, they are little treasures. Others have supported me as an artist, and I know that this quote is true...

“Throughout the world sounds one long cry from the heart of the artist:
Give me the chance to do my very best.”
~ Babette’s Feast

Sorry, I just had to...

Our Greta...she is just the cutest, sweetest dog in the entire world!

After the rain...

"The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain."

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Rewards of the simple life.

"To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter...to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird's nest or a wildflower in spring - these are some of the rewards of the simple life."

~John Burroughs

Lately I've been doing a lot of thinking and being thankful for my simple life. It's amazing what having a garden - big or small - can do for your spirit. Sometimes you need to be quiet in nature, in a secret, covered place. And I've not only found this in my backyard, but also at the Cedar Ridge Nature Preserve, which is only 25 minutes from my house.

When I left Nashville, I never thought I'd find another place like Radnor Lake, with its glass-like lake that was a centerpiece for the mulch-covered trails that winded around it. It was my haven in the city (a city that seems like little more than a town now, compared to Dallas…). I've lived in Dallas for almost 4 years, and not until 2 months ago did I discover what I was missing nearby. Cedar Ridge Preserve is like Radnor times ten - with multiple trails and prairie flowers and exotic succulents and birds and cattails and rocky paths winding down cliffs to lead you to bridges over the clearest creeks filled with sandy stones. My friend Bonnie took me there the first time, and we did a trail run that left me practically crippled for a few days but after that, I could not get enough. I've gone back 4 or 5 times now, mostly just by myself to have some quiet, simple time alone in nature.


Sometimes I walk; sometimes I run. On a running day recently, I needed to let off steam and went barreling down the hills at full speed, leaping on my toes down the railroad-tie steps and dodging rocks that could twist an ankle if I wasn't careful. And then, almost involuntarily, I suddenly came to halt when I saw a brilliant flash of blue just ahead on the trail. A bluejay. Fluttering from one tree limb to the other, he welcomed me to his little neck of the woods. I started walking ahead again, slowly, and he was gone.

I continued to meander down the mulch path between the towering trees with limbs that through the years have bent and crisscrossed one another as if to form a cathedral ceiling. The light crept through the "windows" and covered me and the ground with dots of light. It was the best church I had experienced in awhile...



I walked on, and came upon a clearing in the trees, a space where everything opened up to blue sky and the cool breeze hit my face as I found a pocket of sun. I stopped. I stood there with my face pointed upward, letting the sun wash over me. I breathed in deeply to the scent of evergreens and fragrant jasmine. I listened…and there were no sounds from people or cars or interstates. Just the trees peering down on me from up above, waving and showing off their new spring leaves with a swish-swish-swish. It was an August Rush moment.

Sweaty and happy, I finished the trail and made my way to the butterfly garden to cool off. I meandered the gravel path amongst the wildflowers and found a solitary bench in a back corner under a tree. I sat and held my knees to my chest, closed my eyes, and was thankful for a place like this so close to my concrete jungle. It was put here to be enjoyed. It was put here as a reward for those who stop long enough to see the beauty of simple life.

The welcoming of Summer.

"A Moment of Clarity" by Eric Zener

"Then followed that beautiful season...

Summer....

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood."
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Memorial Day weekend, although not technically summer yet, always rings in the summer season for me. Of course, it's the inaugural weekend of the Madison Community Pool in my hometown of Madison, NJ. It's the weekend that throngs of children and their weary parents have been waiting for – ready for a break and some freedom splashing, doing handstands, playing Marco Polo, and eating ice cream while sitting on a wet towel. As I lay here in my hammock writing this, my parents are probably there at the pool now, living out another one of thousands of warm summery days they - and I - have spent there. Yes, at this moment, my dad is probably floating on his back flashing my mom a goofy grin as only his toes and head stick out of the water. And surely my mom is doing her water aerobics, the ever-present side ponytail bouncing in the wind.

Usually Steven and I travel up to New Jersey in autumn now (a season which is equally memorable there in its own way), and it's been several years since I was in Madison in the summer, for one of my mom's impeccably-planned Moonlight Swims, as she is the pool's social director. But this year, I get to travel home in June, and the main thing I'm looking forward to is going to the Madison Pool. I'm already imagining how wonderful it will be to swim underwater exploring the thousands of square feet of underwater caverns, just like I did when I was 10.

You see, a few weeks ago, we found out my dad's health was threatened, and I am going home to New Jersey to be there during his surgery. It's not the greatest reason to return home, but I'm really anticipating this trip in an odd way. It's scary to face one of your parents potentially being ill, and there's something about it that forces you to see life differently, to say the least. The wonderful news is that after the surgery, my dad should be well. But now, I hold even more tightly to memories of him. Swimming with my dad, bracing myself on his slippery back as he toted me around the pool like a submarine, is one of my favorite memories. And I hope I get to enjoy summer with him for many more years until he is old and his Cheech Marin mustache is gray and he can still carry me on his back in the water.

"Metamorphosis" by Eric Zener

As you can probably tell from the absence of posts here lately, I've felt mostly uninspired. When I have felt inspired, I haven't been able to get out the words that are floating around my head. But somehow I can always write about this. Summer runs deeply in my blood, and the enjoyment of it will never fade until I'm 90 years old, wearing a Granny bathing suit and bathing cap with a plastic flower over the ear. In between now and that time, I want to live my life excited about summer each year, as I am now, and as I always have been.

"Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language."
~Henry James

I'm off to my friend's pool with Steven, to drink some icy cold cream soda with my feet dangling in the water. Wishing you rest and joy this weekend as you anticipate summer, wherever you are.