Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…
I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…
I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…
Ditto for eating lunch alone.
Then I had kids, and “alone” went out the door with the first garbage bag of dirty diapers. I can hardly have a moment alone to go to the bathroom.
So after a particularly hectic week a few weeks ago, a friend suggested that I take some alone time — a sort of day off from motherhood — to regroup. Saturday was the perfect opportunity. My husband was away at a conference. My parents were available to keep the kids. And I’d done my homework. (Yes, I’m a nerd. I research my fun.)
First stop, Starbucks. Can you believe I’ve never been to Starbucks? I know it’s controversial and the coffee is expensive and maybe it’s not even that good, but I felt like it was a cultural experience I needed to have. I opted for a skinny caramel macchiato grande and a pumpkin scone. Truth be told, I was a little disappointed in the coffee. But the scone was de-lish. (Click here for my thoughts about my Starbucks experience.) I sat, I sipped, I nibbled and I read my Bible and journaled. Most days, that’s a regular part of my day but it’s often rushed. This day, I had the luxury of reading slowly and re-reading and pondering. It was divine.
Next on my agenda: a movie. I’m pretty sure I’ve never gone to a movie by myself before. I’ve watched movies by myself at home, but never in public. At least not that I can recall. I was always too socially awkward to attempt it, assuming that people would assume I was some sort of friendless loser who was so desperate for entertainment she had to take herself out to the movies. It turns out, no one much cares if you’re by yourself at the movie theater and the words “One for The Help” spilled confidently from my lips without hesitation, shame or stutter.
Digression: The Help is a fantastic movie. I liked it so much I bought the book at Target afterwards. 
I laughed; I cried; I cheered; I cringed; I recoiled. And while I generally like to discuss a movie with a companion afterwards, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I enjoyed my all-by-myself movie experience. I didn’t feel pathetic once.
I shopped, with some purpose, and ate lunch at Panera, outside under an umbrella while reading a book. (Incidentally, I bought two books while shopping, even though my list of books to read is currently somewhere in the neighborhood of 107. I have a serious book addiction.)
I recently rediscovered that in the past, when I have most felt God’s presence, I have been alone. Undistracted in a world of endless distractions. And some of my spiritual frustration of late has been an absence of aloneness. If my kids don’t need me at the moment, then my husband does. Or even if he doesn’t say he does, I feel obligated to spend time with him. I know I can’t get back the quality or quantity of alone time I had as a single, but I’m reminded of the need to incorporate some alone time into my family-filled life now.
Saturday was a start.
The beginning of a beautiful friendship. With myself.
Reading is a dangerous hobby for me. It always has been. I can lose myself between the front and back cover of a book in no time, oblivious to the real world around me.
It happened again today while reading Francine Rivers’ Her Daughter’s Dream. I’ve waited two months to read this second installment of the Marta’s Legacy series.
(Click here to read my review of the first half of the series, Her Mother’s Hope.)
And it was worth the wait.
The series spans four generations of women who’ve been hurt, and who hurt others. Who love deeply and passionately, but sometimes wrongly. Who aspire to great heights, and fall to great depths. Her Daughter’s Dream is a fitting conclusion to this saga, bringing me to tears at times. That’s one thing I love about Rivers’ writing. It is moving but not manipulative. I don’t feel like she’s setting me up for a good cry. She’s writing about real stuff that really hurts and whether I’ve experienced it or not myself, I weep. Rivers holds nothing back, and in her characters I see the potential to err in my own life, with my relationship with my daughter. I was most affected by the themes of unforgiveness, miscommunication and bitterness, all of which lead to broken relationships and stand in the way of healing and wholeness.
When I’m in the middle of a good read, I’m drawn to the book, no matter what else is going on. I read while the kids played in the wading pool and dumped rocks and sand into the sandbox. I read while they destroyed my parents’ house from top to bottom, littering it with toys and food. I think my son ate grass, chapstick and maybe even some dog-slobbered crackers while I was engrossed. Not my best parenting day by any standard, but nobody got hurt, everyone had fun and tomorrow is another day.
All that to say, if you’re like me and you can’t put a good book down once you’ve picked it up, you might want to save this one for a long car ride or a late night or a vacation. It’s compelling, distracting and engaging.
Faith-building, as well.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I haven’t read a Francine Rivers book yet that I haven’t enjoyed.
Take a look at the book trailer for Her Daughter’s Dream.
I’m almost sad to leave these characters behind. They were beginning to feel like family.
Her Daughter’s Dream is part of the Tyndale Summer Reading Program, which I wholeheartedly recommend for next summer. I’ve read some great books that I otherwise might have missed.
What have you been reading this summer?