Thank you for continuing to be here even as I am working out what in the wide world this space will look like.

So. How’s about a bit of here and there on the state of life right now in my four walls?

The Valentine’s garland is still up. I have never decorated for Valentine’s so I don’t have one clue about when I’ve crossed the decorations up too long sad line. I didn’t really choose a word for this year but it appears that love is going to be a theme for me. I’m finding that I want to know more and more about what a costly love looks like and how it acts. I know where it begins-God’s love for me so rich and deep-and that is where I’m staid right now. But really the garland is still up because I keep forgetting to take it down.

On Wednesday night Tom and I went on a little date. And when he walked in with basketball tickets? I won’t try to pretty myself up here. I was like, whaaaat? But he L.O.V.E.S sports and he loves our school and so I said ok. We ate dinner at a dive, where I got a pimento burger and he got an $8 steak which was apparently very tasty and famous. And then we proceeded to have the most fun at the game. Simple is almost always best, I think.

Also. I got an iphone on Friday. I feel silly writing about it. But Tom and I have been talking about this for two years. And my phone was beginning to do very unfriendly things. I’m not sure how to paint a picture of my face when he casually told me it was time to get one.

In a fit of naivety I signed up for the The Biggest Loser at Tom’s work. Oats and sweet potatoes and brown rice are my constant companions. Except for when I have to substitute a healthy oil and then I’m just mad.

This scrappy little beauty is making a home in our backyard and I’m so glad.

On Saturday we picked flowers.

And last night we worked on valentines well into dinner time.

I’m trying to be more enthusiastic about the day, having been a sort of Scrooge about the whole day for many years. We have garlands. And special snacks.

And so I committed to helping with those little notes until they were done even though I knew I had Bible study and I didn’t have my memory work done. But I kind of knew that my girls would be forgiving because my face bore the splotchy details of a good afternoon cry.

And that is where I am right now. I’m in that place where I’m standing in the corner of my kitchen at 4:30 in the afternoon while words and tears spill too fast for my husband to catch them.

I’m struggling with my voice in this space. If this little corner is going to be a place of honesty and encouragement then I need to tell you that I am in the middle of the kind of transformation that takes a good bit of tearing down before the building up can happen.

There isn’t enough I can do to stave off the undoing. And I’m just barely seeing that it’s not by accident. That way down deep in the foundation of my being is crooked stone and all the things I’ve built on it must come down so that every part of my being can rest upon the Corner stone. On Christ Himself. But, first? I’ve got to come up short over and over again until I see that I cannot good deed my way through this life.

This feels dark for Valentine’s Day. Except it’s not. Because I have hope laid up for me. It’s all stored up-boiled down and packed in-and it’s telling me that when all the tearing down is done and the new is being built up I will be stronger. And I will be freer. Free from the emptiness of doing, doing, doing. Free from perfection chasing.

Plus! There is Valentine’s garland.

In January I ran a half-marathon. I’m sorry I was away from this space then. But. I took each of you with me.

It’s a Saturday morning and I’ve just run 11 miles.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I say. Standing in our bathroom. My body in rebellion. Hot tears burning rivers down my face.

“But you’ve done it.” He shuffles past me. It’s my last long training run.

And two weeks later I’m standing between centuries old buildings at the start of a half marathon.

He’s just squeezed my hand and made his way back to the car. Meet me at mile nine.

I won’t see you for nine miles, I think. Today that seems impossible. Even though I’ve already done it. It seems too far.

Before I know it, I’ve paced it four miles. Four miles through an old port city that’s peppered my summers since before I can remember.

Five miles until I see you.

And now it’s just railroad tracks, open spaces and put your head down. Dig in.

Three miles until I see you.

One foot. Two foot. Music filling my ears and an ice cold wind battering my body.

And I see him.

“I’m struggling,” I say.

He says words but it’s nothing compared to the moment I first saw him standing on a forgotten corner with broken beer bottles and empty train tracks. Looking for me. Doubt is weighing. But he promised to be there and there he is.

And now it’s the hardest.

Four miles until I see you again.

Four miles of every step is hard. Four miles of I can’t do this anymore. Four miles of muscle ache. Four miles of just trying to control my body.

I start to count songs. 20 songs until I’m there.

10 songs until I see you.

Just put one foot first. Then the next.

I round the last corner. I know I’m almost there. He’s made his way.

“You’re almost there. Just around this building.”

“Everything hurts.”

“I know.” He smiles. Claps. Walks behind me.

They call my name but I can’t even hear it.

He meets me across the finish line.

I don’t even care about the medal or the music or the party. I just want to be with him in the quiet of the car. My introvert is showing.

It’s, too, that I’ve come to the end of myself in the most physical of ways. I’ve been Sustained like never before. Every step a prayer answered. I don’t even have words for this part yet. Except that I want to be back in this. Not the pain. But the believing and the depending.

And there is something about uncertainty and pain. The sweetness of not knowing how we’ll do it. Or even what to say. That can bind two people together in the strongest way.

We are tethered in tandem.

I think we might need to have a small yogurt intervention. The flavored stuff is for my boys. They L.O.V.E. yogurt. The unflavored, protein-filled, i’ll-eat-it-if-i-have-to greek yogurt is for me.

Somehow we made it all the way to first grade for the second child without having to construct a diorama. It’s a very different experience working on a loose creative project with my crafty girl. She has verrrry strong opinions about every tiny detail and generally has a bigger vision than the project will allow. Also. She calls it a diOOOHHHHHraAAHHma.

I have a confession. Homework time is not my favorite time of day. My energy is low and my children are just done sitting still. But. Because we have chosen school school it’s really the first fruits of our day together. We are working on redeeming homework time. This was one uncharacteristically cold afternoon. My gidget girl sipped on hot chocolate and I had a homemade mocha.

Now. I would like for you to use your best imagineering skills to picture the look on my husband’s face when I pointed to that blue framed senorita and said that it was the only thing in the world I wanted for Christmas. Then imagine the internal “Wait? Is this tacky? Or is it quirky?” dialogue that I had with myself for at least thirty minutes. I’m still not sure but all sales are final so there she is up on our wall. I made a very bold and declarative statement this year that I want to start collecting real art-type things. Also! The beautiful scripture print is this one from Naptime Diaries’ shop.

This little person right here went and turned four while I was on my small hiatus. It simultaneously rips my heart seams and overwhelms me with joy.

If you think for a minute that that face-right up there?-is not true to his forever energy and ham-ishness then I would love to have you over around, say, 2 pm. Just this morning he tired of helping me clean the bedrooms and I consented to let him rustle up his own fun in the backyard. I couldn’t exactly keep my eyes on him from the upstairs windows so I snuck down just to make sure he wasn’t running wild and free on the street. I found he had set up a bucket for a tee and a frisbee for home plate. He had assumed batting stance and was lightly tapping the bat on his frisbee slash home plate. Never you mind that this particular bat is his sister’s and pink as the day is long. Pink will not stop him. He MUST! play the baseball.

I’m terribly sentimental about everything he does, trying to stuff every tiny bit of what’s left of his young childhood into the pockets of my mind. It’s just that this birthday feels sort of milestone-ish since he is the youngest and here I go transitioning out of babies and toddlers and soon preschoolers.

It’s already strange enough to have a nine and six year old walking around in my life, promising to be taller than me. What to do when the baby fat and tiny fingers and still toteables are gone? I suppose we’ll make our way in tiny steps. It just feels awful big when you’re standing at the edge of it. Big but joy-bringing, too.

I started 2011 with the gusto to take more risks. Grow my business. See just how much energy I could eek out of my life and into my little plant of a thing.

Here’s what I’ve learned: I am an artist. Not a businessperson.

Sometimes you have to be both. But sometimes you don’t.

Beautiful things have grown in me as I stretched to the far end of my boundary lines. I wouldn’t trade the things that have been added.

But a calling came stronger than the stretching.

Do you know what love is?

Love is releasing a perfectly good thing because it isn’t the best thing.

handmade recess (the shop, the shows) is a perfectly good thing. I am good at it, thankful for where it has gone this year.

But it is not the best thing.

Right now the best thing for me is to serve my family in love.

Right now the best thing for me is to turn in to the beautiful gift of my marriage. Please do not worry. We are better than ever. I just won’t take it for granted.

Right now the best thing for me is to lay a groundwork of grace and love in my children’s hearts so that they will never-not ever-doubt that they are loved and Loved.

Truth? It’s easier for me to focus on my gifts used in my business. Those made things? They do what I want them to. I feel more capable with them.

I don’t feel at all equipped for this season our family is in. We’ve entered the heart boundaries part of parenting and even though I’m not always physically worn out, my heart is heavy, heavy, heavy with these choices. It’s going to take all of my energy, this transforming. I don’t carry all the weight. I AM does. But, still, I must keep my focus.

There is laughter running through my mind right now as I imagine my husband reading this post. I’ve used 342 words to say this:

I am almost completely giving up handmade recess.

You can find my products at this amazing store in Atlanta, Georgia. And. I might have a little holiday shop if I feel like there is room come Christmas. I’ll still be pursuing my artistry. I’m just letting go of the burden of the business stuff. It was stealing too much of my heart.

This space? Will go on. It’s one of my favorite things that handmade recess has given me. Pursuing writing years after I studied it, packed it away, has brought me so much joy.

I’m not sure what to expect in this space, except that I l will live my life and then I will write and then I will post it here. Not the other way around. I said it last week: it’s my heart that this be a place where your failure-feeling is checked, where you find a kindred spirit, where you feel encouraged to always choose what is best no matter how afraid you are. And. Where you glory in the fact that you are clay.

And? Just one caveat: please know that this is my choice. It may not be yours. If you work out of the home (I still do…just differently), if you work away from home, if you stay at home, if you stand on your head 15 times a day? I think you are awesome. Ok?

Thank you, thank you, thank you. A hundred times thank you for the grace of your comments and emails and tweets (even!).

If you don’t know what it is like to step out of the blurred lights of life moving fast and boil it all down to what is essential to you then I pray that you will soon.

I’ve pursued quiet. I’ve cleaned and organized only to end up right smack dab in the same old chaos.

I’ve prayed about this space and the work of my hands.

And I have some answers.

But, mostly? I have been trying to scoop up my moments.

I could pour it all out here in one long, winding post. But, instead. I think I will share the whys and wherefores slowly.

Because I’m learning that my heart is just that. To share my Redeeming with you in the hope that you will be softer with yourself, that you will be more pliable in His hands and that you will be brave.

Friends? I am going to take a few weeks off from blogging.

The thing is that the last three months, excepting the beauty of Christmas and being with family, have been overly full. I feel overwhelmed. And a bit disappointed and disappointing.

My life is a tiny bit singed from a constant rhythm of putting out fires.

When the scale’s balance tips, you do what you have to do to survive.

But. I want to do more than just get by.

I need to take some time to get back to what is life giving and hope inspiring and anchor holding.

We’re told not to let small things become big things. But. The way to do that? Is to be faithful in the small things.

And I’ve got to find my way back to that for my family.

My husband and I had been dating for three months when my Daddy rolled into town in our family’s first edition Dodge Caravan. Backseat removed.

We loaded up all of my worldly possessions and I pointed my van in the direction of Roanoke, Virginia.

A freshly degreed teacher, I had followed my heart to urban ministry instead of to the classroom. For a romantic like me, it was the greatest movie ending to my young adulthood.

And on that early summer night? Months before? When the air was not quite solid yet and I looked across the front seat of my car at the boy I had not liked and then tolerated and then counted as a dear friend? When I looked across that car and I saw it in his eyes? That he was choosing me?

I knew. I knew I’d be leaving soon. I knew I’d be caught up in something bigger than myself. I knew that God was going to rip my heart apart and I might not have much to give to him. But I said yes anyway.

I didn’t know if we could make it. But I’d waited 22 years to have a boy choose me.

“I love you,” he said as he pushed flowers at me, me loading all of my life into the back of the van my parents bought when I was in 8th grade. I said yes.

Whatever this means. Yes.

We didn’t make it.

By November we were coasting on the fumes of our summer love. Phone calls relegated to Sunday nights by fledgling youth ministries and down and dirty loving you right where you are ministry. Me, trying to be present right where I was. Loving the parts of the city that I’d been taught to avoid. Him, staffing an inner city golf ministry (you read that right) and winning hearts and pointing Up.

We couldn’t make it. And so we let our fingertip hold loosen.

And I cried for him every day after.

Months later, I found my way to the classroom and home and he was here.

It didn’t happen right away.

Half a year had passed and we were awkward around each other. Shaky. Nervous. Unsure.

We avoided. We took turns sharing friends.

And then on a hot July night, he chose me all over again.

We were married on December 30, 2000. Eleven years ago today.

There are things that are meant to be kept close. I’ll always keep them there.

But know this. It has been my privilege to know this man and be called his wife.

He has a way about him. And it’s a secret only for me: a bulldozer of emotions and questions. He’s taught me what it means to let who you are unfold in the most surprising way. He’s shown me that no one will ever see his heart the way I have. It’s a secret only for me.

Are you the type who hangs every bit of her hat on performance? I’m convinced that God lovingly allowed in me the propensity to say every wrong thing at the wrongest time. To be clumsy. To be awkward. I win at that; you can be sure.

But all these wonky heart shapes and uneven lines? They are on purpose. Because I’m sure He knew that I would try to make my value equal to my performance. And so I am learning to stop and thank Him. I mean really stop. And really say my thanks to Him that I am not perfect. And that other people see that from time to time. So that I won’t get caught up in wondering why, why, why do I have to be so messy? In front of others?

So I stop asking why. I start thanking Him. Thanking Him for that very time when I said everything so wrong or so silly or so not funny or so not encouraging. For that time when I missed giving grace or shoring up or just plain showing up.

Because it’s in the wonky shapes and uneven lines and my mess showing that I am reminded that I never could perform my way to Him. I never could. Not to His love for me. Not to His life for me. Not to His gift for me.

So. This is Christmas. On His fresh born, God in full, Man in full, Savior completely birthday, I will thank Christ. Thank Him that I never could perform my way to Him. Never could song and dance my way to value. Thank Him that He covered that distance for me.

Merry Christmas, friends. I’ll be turning in for a bit. I’m so thankful for you. Smiley face. See you in the new year.