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What it looks like to follow a dream: Review of Two Roads Home by Deborah Raney

One strength of family sagas like this one by Deborah Raney is the chance to zoom in on one family within the family while still catching up with characters we met before. Two Roads Home shows us Corinne and Jesse Pennington, who are living the dream. Sort of. (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book through Litfuse Publicity Group in exchange for my review.)

two roads homeWith three girls and a beautiful house, Corinne is satisfied with her life as a stay-at-home mom, even as chaotic as it can be. Jesse has a good job that provides for his family, but he’s been harboring a dream and he’s afraid to tell his wife because it will mean drastic change. Then he’s hit with harassment charges by a co-worker with a grudge, and the Penningtons are forced to act to save their family and protect their daughters.

Meanwhile, parents Grant and Audrey Whitman face trials with the inn they’ve dreamed of operating. With an empty nest, they, too, are living a dream, but wrestle with maintaining a balance between work and family.

Two Roads Home is the second book in the Chicory Inn series. To read about the first story, Home to Chicory Lane, click here.

I know you’ll love the Whitman family with all their problems. Raney weaves real-life annoyances and major setbacks into these families’ lives making them all the more real. (I’m not personally a fan of the TV show Parenthood, but I think if you liked that show, you’d like these books and this family.)

This story in particular resonated in my life as the whole topic of dreams and major changes is one I’ve been thinking about. This quote stuck out:

There’s never a perfect time for change. Sometimes you just have to do it.

I look forward to the next installment of this family’s drama and I’m so glad to have finally discovered Raney’s writing.

Two Roads Home Deborah Raney 

Should we stay or should we go? (And is there a third option?)

It’s been two years since we signed the lease on this partial house that feels like home most days. How we got here is a story all in itself, and if you haven’t heard it, you can read the back story on this blog. (Search for the category “how we got here” in the drop down menu on the sidebar.)

And so we’re here. Still. A year ago, I was in awe of the work God was doing in our lives, the healing He was working just by us being here in this place. It was good, that first year, the kind of rest and recovery we needed after a hard season.

Now, at the end of our second year here, there’s a stirring in my soul and I’m still deciding if it’s holy or selfish or something in between.

See, part of me wants to stay. Here. Forever. Or at least until my kids are done with school. We love our district and the school our daughter attends, which will soon be the school of both of our children. I am making friends with moms at the school and we enjoy living in an area that is diverse and speaks to our love of both city and country. It is becoming home as much as any place can and I am reluctant to even consider leaving it.

Another part of me thinks that’s selfish, though. To be comfortable and happy in a place–is that okay? Doesn’t God want us to suffer a little when we’re following Him? Why would He allow us such joy?

And yet it’s there, in the Old Testament, spoken to a people who spent a hard season, generations really, in slavery in a foreign land. To them, God says, Enjoy the land I’m giving you. Settle down there. Raise your families. Feast on the harvest.

I know these are not direct promises to our family’s situations but these words show me a God who cares about His people, especially those who have suffered. We can rest in His goodness. We can enjoy good things. Not every season has to be a trial. It is okay to flourish in a place that may or may not be home.

—

Our church had a Skype call with some missionary friends recently. They have served in their country for five years without a lot of results, at least the kind you can see. Our friend expressed his family’s weariness, their wonderings if maybe it was time to move on and find a place that was more receptive to the Good News of Jesus.

Five years seems like a long time, but when Jesus spoke about the kingdom of God, He compared it to things that were small and slow and steady. A mustard seed that doesn’t look like much but grows into a giant tree. Yeast that is almost imperceptible but works through the whole dough. A wheat harvest. There were no timelines, no instant-growth guarantees. Just constancy and faithfulness.

That’s hard.

Sometimes I wish it were easier.

—

I am mildly obsessed with houses that are for sale. Anytime I see a for sale sign on one of our routes through town, I make a mental note to look it up when I get home, and then I google and scan real estate sites, looking to see how much and what the house is like on the inside.

A house, to me, would mean we were staying. At least for a while. And staying only makes sense if we’re certain. At least that’s what I think. A mortgage, a home that we’re not renting, those are commitments. And there is a bit too much uncertainty yet for me to feel comfortable with pursuing this dream of a house we can call our own.

But the kids are outgrowing their small shared room and though we are making this house ours as much as we can, it will soon be time for us to move on.

Other things have to happen for that to happen, so we’re calling on the God who moves mountains and parts seas to show us the way.  We cannot find it on our own.

—

Breno Machado | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Breno Machado | Creative Commons | via unsplash

I hate moving, but sometimes going and leaving seem easier than staying.

When I moved back home after college and I was interviewing for jobs, they all asked the same question: how long do you plan to stay? I don’t know if it was because I was 22 or had a restless look in my eyes or what, but my answer was always the same: I’m here until the fall when my best friend gets married. After that, I don’t know.

One job wanted a two-year commitment, which sounded to my 22-year-old self like a life sentence. The job I eventually took I stayed at for 7 years. Life is funny sometimes.

I wanted to go but I was forced to stay and in staying I found friends and a husband and a part of me I didn’t know existed.

Since then, the longest I’ve stayed anywhere was five years, our last home, the place where my husband was in seminary (I still want to write and say “cemetery.”  Freud would have a hey-day with that) and I was constantly looking for a way out.

It’s this way with me: if we’re not going to stay then I’m not going to invest and I know I missed out on relationships and experiences because I was always looking to “next.”

Now, staying has me scared. Because staying means committing. To a place. To a people. It means going deeper in friendships and relationships. It means caring enough to get hurt. It means being faithful even if we don’t see any results.

In some ways, staying feels like giving up. Even though staying is a good thing.

Because once upon a time, we dreamed of leading a church, and that dream could take us in one of many directions: Illinois, Ohio, or parts unknown in Pennsylvania. As long as we were still open to that dream, we could consider getting a call one day that could send us packing.

But the dream has changed. It’s changing still and we can’t really describe it or define it, which makes it difficult to explain. We know more what we don’t want than what we do, and so if we decide to stay here, does that mean we’ve given up on the old dream?

Maybe. But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

—

Shannon Richards | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Shannon Richards | Creative Commons | via unsplash

I’m having a hard time hearing from God these days, but that’s my fault, not His. My life is full of distractions and busy-ness and me trying to figure out how to fix everything in my own power and strength, which is almost non-existent.

I am fidgety and restless, desperate for a sign that it’s time to change or move on. I’d even take a clear sign that it’s okay to stay, but so far God doesn’t work like that. If He’s anything, He’s subtle, not because He doesn’t want us to find Him but because He wants us to trust Him. He’s like a guide who has been this way before but carries no map, only the memories of past travels. He is confident in His leading, but to trust Him is an act of faith and takes time.

The more I walk with Him the more I trust Him, but I still get distracted on the path. Worried about bears and snakes and all kinds of trials. Concerned about our provisions for the journey. And like a whining child I ask too often if we’re there yet, even though I have no idea where “there” is.

I imagine His smile as He turns His face toward the sun, basking in another day of life, His steps sure and certain though I see no visible path. When I doubt, He takes my hand and leads. He never gets too far ahead but sets the pace that is best.

—

Should we stay? Should we go?

I think I’m asking the wrong questions. Because, really, it’s not about the where or the when but the who.

Who will I trust? Who is in charge? Who is leading the way?

If it is Jesus, as I say I believe, then the rest of it doesn’t matter. (Remind me of that when I’m ready to take back control.)

He is the way.

He says, “Follow me.”

He has proven himself trustworthy.

It is time for me to trust Him again.

Summer Fun Week 1

We have officially survived our first week of summer. I say “survived” because it can be a rough transition having both kids home after one of them has been in school full time. I have a plan for summer that may or may not be working out so far, but it’s only been a week, so I’m giving myself grace.

Grace. Forgiveness. They are the prime themes of this week, mostly because I was tired and moody for much of the week and we had two 90-degree days. (We haven’t put our window air conditioners in yet because once we do, there’s no going back and it’s only the first week of June.)

And this is not a brag blog to make you feel bad that your summer is not perfect because ours certainly isn’t. Read between the lines of these pictures and highlights and you’ll find screaming and crying and exhaustion and moments when I’m not sure if I like my children. (I do. I do like them.)

But I feel like I might need some reminders of the fun we’re having this summer, even if it’s not perfect (and it won’t be).

wpid-20150606_112326.jpg We love our library programs. I think we’ve been to a branch of the library three times this week. Our daughter is reading books like a pro this summer, so she’s running through them quickly. And they’re both almost finished with the reading logs for the public library program. After that, we have a couple more options: one from a local bookstore and one from Barnes & Noble. We love reading!

We also love parks! I think we hit the park as many times as the library, except for the days it was super hot. Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself of how beautiful our area is, especially when I’m feeling ungrateful or discontented. This is one of my favorite views from our park visits.

wpid-20150610_142721.jpgAnd I’m learning to love meeting other moms at the park and arranging play dates even though it’s hard for me to make conversation and I’m not the kind of mom who immediately jumps in and plays with my kids no matter what they’re doing. I’m more of an observer than participant.wpid-20150609_100148.jpg

But I do enjoy taking pictures of my kids when they’re playing nicely together so I have proof that they can get along. Also, they’re occasionally hilarious.

In between outings, we, of course, had to start some cleaning projects. We weeded the garden and tended the porch plants. We did the ordinary stuff of life like groceries, laundry and dishes. We sprung for donuts one morning because we were out of milk (I know, that totally makes sense) and resurrected our special breakfast mornings. (Phil and I started that tradition on some Saturdays just after we were married. We have not held to any kind of schedule for this, but it’s always fun to do something out of the ordinary.)

wpid-20150611_132629.jpgwpid-20150611_1401430.jpgAnd we took advantage of one of our memberships to a local fun place. It was a good combination of inside-outside time.

Plus it’s so varied the kids are never bored. For more than two hours, they played and played and played. It’s the sort of day we could spend all day at, but a few hours is usually enough. Especially with a membership when we can come back anytime.  We’re so thankful for this gift that gives us options year-round for fun.wpid-20150611_153407.jpg

 

How’s your summer going so far?

 

Who's got you?

As a child of the ’80s, I have fond memories of Christopher Reeve as Superman. Though the first movie was released the year I was born, I can still remember the thrill of watching this dreamy superhero swoop in and save the day.

One of my favorite exchanges from that movie is when Lois Lane is falling out of a building, I think, and Superman flies up and catches her.

“Easy, miss,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

A panicked Lois looks down and asks, “You’ve got me? Who’s got you?”

Superman flashes her that swoony smile and a love story was born. (For Lois and women everywhere.)

I love that Lois was not exactly comforted by Superman’s statement. She’d probably never met someone with superpowers before and couldn’t understand how she was being carried through the air by another person who was not being carried by something–or someone–else.

It didn’t make sense, humanly speaking.

Of course, Superman wasn’t exactly human.

Which makes me wonder why I try to be superhuman sometimes.

Read the rest of this post over at Putting on the New, where I blog on the 12th of each month.

The one thing I can't do with a Jody Hedlund book: Review of Hearts Made Whole

If you pay attention to and read the book reviews on this blog, you already know about my deep affection for Jody Hedlund as a writer. Her books are some of the ones I turn to when I’m in need of a guaranteed good story. Like comfort food, they always offer satisfaction.

hearts made wholeShe has a new book out this month–Hearts Made Whole–and no matter when I start reading or what else is going on in my life, there is one thing I just can’t do with one of her books–stop reading! (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book in exchange for my review through Litfuse Publicity Group.)

I can’t do it! My house could be a mess, the kids in need of dinner, chaos reigning all around me and still my nose is stuck in a Jody Hedlund book as I turn page after page to see what will happen to my new friends, er, the characters in the book.

Though I have trouble picking a favorite book she’s written, Hearts Made Whole is in the running for that title because of Ryan Chambers, a broken Civil War veteran who comes to take the job of lightkeeper in Grosse Point, Michigan, and Caroline Taylor, the woman who has been running the light since the death of her father.

Ryan’s struggles with addiction to pain medication and alcohol to numb the pain of his war injury and the demons in his head about past mistakes are heartbreakingly real. And Caroline’s struggle to assert herself as competent in a man’s world is surprisingly modern for a story set just about the Civil War. His desire to change and make amends, her desire to use her gifts to care for her family–well, let’s just say that that theme hits a little close to home.

hearts made whole quote

Hedlund’s stories always teach me something about history, and if you’re a fan of lighthouses, Hearts Made Whole is the second in a series of books she’s writing about Michigan’s lighthouses. It took me a while to catch on that there is a connection from this book to the first in the series, Love Unexpected, and it made me look forward to book three and the tie-in I’m hoping will be there. If you have not read the first book, though, don’t let it stop you from reading this one. (You can also read the novella that precedes the series for free on Kindle.)

And now for some details about how the author is celebrating the release!

Don’t miss Jody Hedlund’s new book, Hearts Made Whole, a story of loss, forgiveness, hope, and true love set in 1865 Michigan. When Ryan’s failings endanger others, he and Caroline realize he’s in no shape to run the lighthouse, but he’s unwilling to let anyone close enough to help. Can Caroline forgive the hurting man who costs her the role she loves?

Celebrate the release of Hearts Made Whole by entering to win an Afternoon at the Beach prize pack and RSVPing to Jody’s June 23rd author chat party!

hearts made whole - 400

One grand prize winner will receive:

One second-place winner will receive:

One third-place winner will receive:

hearts made whole - prize colalge

Enter today by clicking the icon below. But hurry, the giveaway ends on June 23rd.Winner will be announced June 23rd at Jody’s Facebook party. RSVP here!

hearts made whole - enter banner

 

When reality is uncomfortable but it's still real #ERbloggers

Half the Sky has been on my reading list for a while, so after reading a few fiction books in a row, I decided I needed something that would challenge me a bit more.

half the skyIf you’re not familiar with it, Half the Sky is a journalistic account from a husband-and-wife team about the oppression of women worldwide. The early chapters focus on sex trafficking, and because the authors are telling the true stories of real-life women, it’s hard to read. After a few chapters in a row, I had to put it down because the stories are so heart-breaking.

It’s a familiar story by now. Young girls promised lucrative jobs in a far-off city or country. Desperate parents wishing for a better life for their girls. Broken promises. Debt. Bondage. Slavery.

From the comfort of our western, American world, it’s hard to imagine that such atrocities happen (and that they happen to children as young as 7 and 8).

But the stories are true. And just because they make me uncomfortable doesn’t make them less real. Real women and children are suffering somewhere in the world while I sit in comfort in my house. Real women and children are forced to do unspeakable things while I’m in a loving relationship that demands nothing of the kind. I don’t have to worry about my kids taking a job that could lead to their slavery. Even in our most desperate financial circumstances, we have options that don’t include giving up our children to potential traffickers.

I no longer allow myself to feel guilty about this. I had nothing to do with where I was born. I’m not sure whether I should call it a blessing or not because people born into different circumstances are no less favored by God than I am. Grace and mercy, they are offered to us all in equal measure, and I will not call myself blessed because my circumstances are different than those who live elsewhere.

Guilt–and the avoidance of the issue that often follows–isn’t the solution. Neither is pretending that I can save the world. There’s a better way.

Once a month, I choose to blog for The Exodus Road, an organization that works with local organizations in countries where trafficking is prevalent. ER-two heartbeatsOne of the things that impresses me about the organization is how it collaborates with so many people. They empower and train local investigators and supply state-of-the-art technology and equipment to assist in raids. It’s amazing how many people are involved at various levels.

Sometimes I think I can’t do any good in this arena. What can I do from here? I can’t rush off to Southeast Asia and assist in a rescue. At least not without training or money or a clear sense that it was what I was meant to do.

But I’m challenging myself to not focus on what I can’t do and instead focus on what I can do. So, what can I do?

I blog, obviously, not just to bother you with uncomfortable material once a month but to remind myself that I have a duty to speak for those who are overlooked. Once a month, I force myself to think about women and children whose lives are not what they hoped but who are not without hope. Rescue is coming. It’s one of my favorite phrases used concerning trafficking because it’s true and it offers hope where there shouldn’t be any.

I can blog and I can pray. The Exodus Road works with people of many different faith backgrounds, but I think we all can agree that rescue and redemption and transformation are ultimately out of our hands. Prayers for fervent hope, protection and justice are good things to pray for.

I can read the stories in books like Half the Sky and The Exodus Road and countless others and refuse to look away.

And I can give. The Exodus Road has numerous opportunities for financial support and other creative ways to support rescue.

How exactly does a rescue happen? If you’ve ever seen a news report about an arrest, raid or rescue, maybe you’ve wondered how that comes about. I have. Here’s a graphic provided by The Exodus Road that shows the process from start to finish.

ER-how a raid happens

 What is one thing you can do in support of those who work to end human trafficking?

One author I turn to when I need a guaranteed good read: Review of A Worthy Pursuit by Karen Witemeyer

A note about book reviews: Generally I post them on Wednesdays only, but I’m adding in a few extra ones here and there in June and July. Maybe you’ll find a fun summer read!

a worthy pursuitSome people have comfort food; I have comfort authors. (Okay, I have comfort food, too.) During a recent multi-day stretch of solo parenting while my husband was away, I read two books by two favorite authors because I needed the comfort of a well-written, entertaining, inspirational romance. One of the authors guaranteed to provide that for me is Karen Witemeyer and her new book A Worthy Pursuit is worth picking up. (Disclaimer: I received a free e-copy of the book from Bethany House Publishers in exchange for my review.)

Witemeyer creatively places her heroine and hero in situations that cause conflict and stand in the way of their feelings. In this one, Stone Hammond is a tracker sent to find the woman who kidnapped the granddaughter of his wealthy client. He’s the best in the business and the clues lead him to the Texas homestead of Charlotte Atherton, the girl’s former teacher. Charlotte claims she was acting as the girl’s legal guardian and produces paperwork to prove it, placing Stone in the position of wondering if he’s trusted the wrong person in this circumstance. When danger threatens Charlotte and her charges, Stone vows to protect them. Both of them have to decide if it’s worth the risk to trust.

Though it’s an inspirational romance set in the 1800s Texas frontier, Witemeyer rarely casts her heroines as damsels in distress. They are strong women capable of taking care of themselves and making decisions but who find themselves in situations where they need the help of a good man. Charlotte is fiesty and independent but scared to trust. Stone is as hard as his name sounds when he’s in pursuit of his prey but fiercely determined to protect the innocent and win the heart of this woman.

Danger and romance combine for a story I could hardly step away from. Another solid story from Witemeyer and just what I needed for the mood I was in.

For reviews on other Witemeyer books I’ve read, check out these:

An emotional journey: Review of The Art of Losing Yourself by Katie Ganshert

Two things I can count on when I read a novel by Katie Ganshert: deeply developed characters and gut-wrenching conflict. The Art of Losing Yourself has the former in half-sisters Carmen and Gracie, who are unexpectedly “reunited” when 17-year-old Gracie runs away from home to find refuge in the only place that brought her joy. And it’s full of the latter. (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book from the publisher through the Blogging for Books program.)losing yourself

One of Ganshert’s strengths in her books is addressing issues that are neither simple nor sweet. (Her previous books have contained themes of grief, widowhood, and brokenness.) In this book, Gracie has an alcoholic mother and has basically raised herself for a lot of years. She’s a troubled teen who doesn’t always make the best decisions. And Carmen, though her life looks outwardly perfect, has suffered infertility and her marriage is breaking because of it. There are deep emotions from both of these women, scenes where I could almost hear the shouting and ones that left me in tears because of the words that weren’t said.

Ganshert writes this book from the first-person point of view of both characters, which was a hard shift for my brain to make sometimes but I still enjoyed the perspective. I loved the dialogue between characters and the turns of phrase Ganshert uses to describe feelings and situations. Gracie’s POV was believable for a teenager, and Carmen’s was accurate for a woman whose outward appearance is a mask for her inward turmoil.

It’s the kind of complex story I’ve come to appreciate from Ganshert. Not a straight-up romance full of fluff but a book about all kinds of relationships: with God, others and self.

If you’ve known the devastation of infertility, you might be able to relate to Carmen’s character, but if the wounds are still fresh, maybe save this one for another time.

How this garden is growing me

On a hot and humid day, the sky took on a dark blue hue as clouds carried a storm our way. Thunder rumbled as I rushed the kids into the car from our quick errand. I’d hoped we could get home before the downpour started. A cool breeze escorted us home and we ran inside just before the drops started falling.

I’m not the kind of person who gets giddy about thunderstorms. Rain dampens my spirits in the same way it dampens the ground, and my senses go on high alert with thunder and lightning as I worry about tornadoes and storm damage.

But we’re experiencing a dry spell and our fledgling garden is in serious need of a soaking rain. So I welcomed the storm, praying that it would last long enough to revive our plants and save us a day of watering.

Five minutes later, the rain had passed, and my disappointment was palpable.

We haven’t had a garden for long, but this is one way I’m growing right along with it.

—

Since we moved into a house with overgrown and untended landscaping, my husband has been brushing up on his pruning skills. Every now and then, he’ll head outside to trim a limb here or there on the trees in the yard. Last year, he attempted to tame the rose bushes which have taken on an interesting shape from their neglect. He snipped and trimmed and I cringed at every cut. What if we ruin them?

The good news is: we didn’t ruin them.

wpid-20150526_120032.jpg

Last year, this yellow rose bush had two, maybe three, buds that bloomed. This year, we have a whopping seven on it!

Pruning, it seems, has a purpose and though the wait is long, the results are worth it.

I am one who does not embrace the pruning seasons of my life. The idea that I need to cut back or cut off anything is distasteful to me. I love and enjoy a lot of things and it’s hard to say “no” or “not now.” But when I try to do it all, I’m like the rose bush before it was pruned–so stretched out that I don’t have the energy to bloom. Cutting back allows me to focus my energy and produce more of the good and beautiful.

This, too, is how the garden is growing me.

—

These roses, they’re teaching me.

Like a cliche, I stop and smell them just because. The pink bush is more plentiful so I’ve been cutting off a few here and there and bringing them inside. The smell is almost intoxicating as it drifts through the house. I’ve never been a fan of the manufactured rose smell in perfumes, but there is nothing to compare to the scent of fresh roses throughout the house.

They are thorny and so must be handled with care, not unlike myself with my prickly edges and ability to wound. They are delicate. A strong breeze knocked all the petals off the half dozen or so we had in a vase on the dining room table and now the table and floor look like a flower girl has been through practicing for her big day. They don’t last as long once I bring them inside, preferring the wild outdoors to the confines of a vase. (I think I can relate to this.)

And they don’t all bloom at the same time.wpid-20150526_120056.jpg

These two in particular caught my eye the other day. I wondered if the one in the foreground was bothered by the one in the background that had already opened into fullness. I wanted to reassure it.

“It’s not your time yet, beautiful.”

Sometimes I need the same reminder.

When it looks like everyone around me is in full bloom and I’m still a closed bud, I need the assurance that it’s just not my time yet. Heck, four of these buds didn’t even exist last year.

Maybe that’s a better metaphor for me. Maybe I’m a not-yet-bud in need of more pruning.

—

Almost daily since we planted the garden, I walk out to the pot on the porch and pinch off a couple of leaves of basil or rosemary. I am somewhat addicted to the use of fresh herbs and the convenience of having them within walking distance.

wpid-20150511_164938.jpgMy recipe and Pinterest searches have revolved around these two ingredients, and I’ve tried numerous new recipes including fresh basil and fresh rosemary just because I can. I even created my own tuna salad recipe using the basil and I’ve eaten it more days in a row than I’d care to admit because it’s just that good.

I’ve long believed in theory that local, fresh ingredients were better and possible, but until we planted the garden, they seemed just a good idea and not practical. Now I’m wondering how much fresh and local stuff I can buy and use this summer, spending less money on substandard food at the grocery store and more money at local farm stands. (I’m still skeptical about whether our garden is actually going to produce, oh me of little faith.)

I’m even daring to try making a jam from the berries that grow on our dogwood tree in the front yard because why not? Living off the land is not in my DNA. Or maybe it is and I just have to nurture it.

—

I tell people all the time about my horrific gardening skills and they laugh, saying, surely it’s not that bad. But until this summer, the only thing I’ve kept alive multiple years (not including children) is a cactus. A freaking cactus that doesn’t really care if you forget to water it. Do you see what I’m working with here?

But I’m giving it a shot. We’re watering and paying attention. I’ve been on my hands and knees in the dirt planting flower seeds and teaching the kids about waiting. I’ve dug out a flower bed and now that we have a small plot that we’ve tended, I want to keep going. To keep pulling out the weeds and turning over the soil and planting beauty where only chaos has reigned.

I’m watching the skies, praying for rain, sticking my hands in the dirt (it’s there underneath my fingernails), watering plants and working up a sweat when I could be doing anything else. And where I’ve feared failure I’m learning to let go because the fate of these plants is not all up to me. I have a part to play, yes, but there is a bigger force at work in making them grow and thrive.

I could say the same thing about me, too.

We’re growing a garden, yes, but this garden is growing me. And if we never eat a single tomato or pepper or cucumber, we will have done well.

Stories of Friendship: The one who taught me to be an adult

On Fridays, I’m resurrecting my series from the fall, Stories of Friendship. You can read them under the “friendship” category on the righthand side. If you’ve got one to share, e-mail a short post and a picture to lmbartelt (at) gmail (dot) com.

I can’t believe I did a series on friendship and haven’t yet introduced you to my friend Amanda.

Here we are on college graduation day. Isn't she lovely?

Here we are on college graduation day. Isn’t she lovely?

Amanda is the friend who taught me, showed me really, what it meant to be a grown-up.

Our friendship began freshman year of college through a friend of a friend, I think. (Isn’t it funny how I can’t always remember how the best of friendships begin? Maybe that’s how it is.) Amanda was bold and outspoken, friendly and sure of herself. That’s how I saw her anyway. And even at 18, she’d been a grown-up a long time already, helping out in her single-parent household.

I could always count on Amanda to tell it like it was, even if the truth hurt. She was the first person to tell me something along the lines of “let go and let God” when life was overwhelming and I didn’t think I could handle it. She was and is full of wisdom. She is funny, sarcastic and I’m smiling just thinking about her smile because it is so contagious.

As seniors, we lived together in an apartment, one of the more interesting buildings on campus. It was old and brick and I think there were only two apartments, maybe three in our building. Our kitchen window looked across to the apartment in the building next door where some other friends lived and we often danced and made faces across the way through our windows.

It was in this apartment that I learned what it meant to be a grown-up. When you live in the dorms you don’t have to cook for yourself or wash dishes. You have to do laundry, but you don’t have to keep a lot of space clean. I have hated housework long before I knew what it was, and I was not always held accountable in my house for helping out with things like dishes or cleaning the bathroom. (I struggle with these chores to this day.) But Amanda was different in that she helped take care of her household.

I remember one time when we lived in the dorms and a student said something about “that lady who cleans the bathrooms,” referring to the dorm’s cleaning lady, and Amanda lit into her because at her house, she was the lady who cleaned the bathroom. She had taken the time to get the cleaning lady’s name and get to know her. To Amanda, the woman wasn’t just a servant to us spoiled college students. She saw her as a person and identified with her.

Similarly, she often had to have a chat with me about the dishes. She was more likely to do them than I was and that became a problem when she was the one always doing the dishes. I knew almost nothing about cooking and she taught me some things. I think she was the first person to teach me about no-bake cookies.

I have fond memories of our year of living together. Like many of my college friendships, over the years the bond has been stretched. Amanda is another person I haven’t seen since my wedding, I think. I didn’t make it to hers because I was grossly pregnant with our son and travel was not a good idea.

Earlier this year, I needed to call her for some advice on planning a catering-style menu, and the first words out of her mouth when she picked up the phone made me chuckle and assured me that my friend Amanda was just like I remember her. (Not to say that she hasn’t changed because I think everyone changes with time.) It was a business-like call but it was so good to talk to her and receive encouragement for a hard task, and it made me want to find a way to see her, too. She lives closer to my hometown now than she ever did when I lived there and I still haven’t made it to her area of the state to see her!

When I think of strong women, I think of Amanda. She is the kind of fun and sassy friend with a depth of wisdom that everyone needs in their life. It’s a rare combination but one I treasure.

And did I mention that she’s super creative and began exploring creative writing at the same time I did? She is high on my list of people who will be first readers of my novel because I trust her opinion and know she’ll give it to me straight.

I’m happy to say that being roommates didn’t ruin our friendship. I think it strengthened it.