Life on the Wild Side

The Great Townhouse Project of 2013 - Week 4

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 03:13:00 +0000

My sister texted me this morning and said, "Your fans want an update on the townhouse." After I picked myself up from the floor laughing, I thought I probably should update, well, her anyway.

Jenn, this is for you!

*****

After ending Week 3 so discouraged, I decided that Week 4 needed to be productive.

Really productive.

I still had bathrooms that needed to be painted, so I took a deep breath and headed in. I wasn't entirely sure I would survive those bathrooms, but, good news!, I did.

I started out on Monday with the primer. I have discovered that primer gives me a wicked headache, especially in small, enclosed spaces, like bathrooms, but the job needed to be done. There was no way I was going to be able to cover the pukey brown color with a sweet shade of light gray without primer.

So Monday was priming day.

Tuesday was painting day.

And, lo and behold, I got one of the upstairs bathrooms painted.

Here are the before and after photos of the "master" bathroom.

I also painted the other upstairs bathroom, but didn't think you needed to see a picture of another bathroom painted the exact same color. Needless to say, things are definitely freshened up in the bathroom areas.

My helper came, too, last week, and worked on doors and trim. Julia is becoming a pro painter!

I also worked on the hallway--priming (why, oh why, did I decide to cover all darker colors with lighter ones?), painting, and trim.

Because I'm terrified of ladders and had no way to reach the highest parts of the staircase, I let my friend, Ken, who's been helping me with some repairs, take care of that.

These pictures show just the beginning stages--it's all done now--but you get the idea.

Week 4 ended completely differently from Week 3. I was so discouraged the week before, but at the end of Week 4, look who showed up again!

Dear Glenda. Bless her.

Really, bless her. She is amazing.

This week she told me she'd help me tackle the kitchen, so, after traveling about an hour and a half on the El and the Metra, she grabbed a bucket and got to work.

Have I mentioned how much I love her?

Speaking of love, I think I'm developing a crush on this product.

My sister introduced me to Simple Green when she was here, and I'm pretty sure it has changed my life forever. Just look what it did to these nasty cabinets!

Glenda was impressed, too. She's pretty much a pro-cleaner and she said it was great stuff. Somehow I believe her.

While Glenda was working on the cabinets, I tackled the half bath on the first floor. Seriously, this bathroom is probably 3' x 3' but still it took me an hour and a half to clean it.

I'm shuddering just thinking about it. (And wondering for the millionth time how--oh, how?--did those tenants live there like that?)

I feel like such a grownup because I am now the proud owner of a grout brush. This little tool only cost me a buck and it is totally worth every one of those 100 pennies.

Just look at this picture (turn away if you want--it's gross). The grout at the bottom of the photo hadn't been cleaned yet, but the grout at the top had been cleaned with the brush. What an amazing difference!

(Seriously, how did they deal with the filth?)

Even after a full day of scrubbing, Glenda had a little bit of goodness left in her. Since she still had some time before she had to catch her train, she decided to tackle the stove. Honestly, I don't think the thing had been cleaned, like, ever.

Now, if you're not feeling great, you really might want to turn away because what I'm about to show you will truly make you sick.

You know how you can lift the top of the stove to clean underneath the burners? Yeah, well, you can. (Apparently our previous tenants didn't know that either.) When we lifted the top of the stove we found about a quarter of an inch of grease, along with lots of popcorn kernels, M&Ms, pasta, and crumbs of various sizes.

The good news is that, as you can see from the picture on the right, we were able to clean out all of the crud. It's a miracle that the place didn't burn down, don't you think?

All-in-all I'd say that Week 4 was a very good week. I still have a ton of painting to do, but I'll get there. I'm starting to see a tiny pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.

So tell me, what have YOU been up to?? I miss you all.

The Great Townhouse Project of 2013 - Week 3

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 12:56:00 +0000

Thanks for hanging in here with me as I process this townhouse renovation. I promise I'll write about other stuff this summer, but for now, I want to record my progress. This seems as good a place as any to do that.

*****

Remember how I said the garage at the townhouse was full of miscellaneous "stuff"? And when I say "full" I mean stuffed, crammed, packed. I'd like to call the "stuff" something else because it truly was a bunch of trash, but since I'm a lady I'll keep those words to myself.

Let's just say I wasn't reeeaaal happy with the previous renters who left that little "problem" to me. Oh, they tried. They called the Salvation Army who came one day and took five straight-backed chairs exactly.

Didn't even make a dent.

It made me want to cry.

So, when Jenn was here, she encouraged me to call 1-800-GotJunk to come take the "stuff" away. Those dear boys showed up early Monday morning and left me with this.

Isn't it beautiful?

Week 3 was off to a good start.

After my heroes left I got going on the second bedroom, which was painted a kind of brownish-tan color. Ugh. Even the ceiling was that color--particularly bad because it took two coats to cover the ceiling.

Knowing how difficult it was going to be to cover that brown color, I decided to prime the walls. Good move. The priming wasn't that hard (although it did leave me with a nasty headache), and the paint covered just fine in one coat.

So here's what happened in Week 3.

"Master" bedroom got primed and painted, including the trim.

And the closet.

And this sweetie showed up one day.

Do you know Glenda? Do you read Glenda's blog?

You should, on both counts. This dear friend is so amazing and sweet and full of energy and laughter and I just love her.

She called one day to ask if I needed help--um, yeah!--and, since her husband was coming to town for a meeting one day last week, she tagged along.

Glenda told me that she's not a great painter, but she really likes to clean. Was there something she could clean in the house? Again, yeah.

Who does that? Who volunteers to clean the filthiest piece of college housing on the planet?

Glenda does. And, boy, does she do great work. She went to town on one of the bathrooms that, frankly, I was kind of scared to even go into. And by the end of the afternoon, the place wasn't quite so scary.

I truly think there are not enough jewels to put in that woman's crown for what she did for me.

And the encouragement she brought at just the right time was incredible since I wasn't quite sure how I was going to work on the black abyss that was that bathroom.

*shudder*

The next day I got out the primer again and started to take care of that scary bathroom. (Here's a picture of the brownish color that covered not only the walls--oh no!--but also the ceiling.)

Oh, and B replaced a lightbulb in the overhead fan. You'd be amazed at what a huge difference a little light makes. That bathroom is really coming along now--my goal is to finish painting it this week.

The week seemed to be moving along pretty well, and I was feeling kinda sassy about the progress I was making, until I walked in on Friday morning and found this.

Our friend and handyman, Ken, had been repairing some drywall and ceilings and had come over to do the sanding. When I walked in and found a thick coating of dust all over everything, I just about had a breakdown.

But I took a deep breath (not too deep), grabbed a broom, and started sweeping. I probably should have worn a mask, and if I have lung problems ten years from now you'll know why. The dust! Oh my goodness. The dust.

I knew it would be bad--I had lived through remodeling before--but I just wasn't prepared for how discouraged it would make me. I mean, I thought we were making progress, but this seemed to be a huge setback.

(Don't you love the beautiful '80s chandelier? It's going. One of these days.)

(And notice all the spackle marks on the wall behind the lamp. The living room is a disaster.)

The worst part is that Ken isn't even finished with the sanding he has to do! In the end I decided to just sweep the floor and wait until Ken was finished before I actually wipe down the walls and everything else. (Crossing my fingers that he will finish sanding today.)

I felt like the dust was a small setback, but I couldn't let it get me down for long--there was just too much to do. So on Saturday I grabbed a paint roller again and kept moving.

Kate came over to help me with the ceiling on the "master" bathroom while I primed the hallway and staircase. (Another potential setback--I can't reach the highest point of the staircase because I don't have a scaffold and I'm terrified of ladders, but Ken says he can help me with that. I'm choosing not to focus on the setbacks right now.)

So on Saturday I was back to feeling good about things. Obviously, it's a roller coaster, this project. One day I'm feeling good, the next I walk in and find dust everywhere. But what I know is that I can't quit. Girls are coming to live there in August, and I need it to be ready for them.

Not just ready, but beautiful.

So let's recap everything that happened during Week 3:

- Garage emptied (woo hoo!).

- Master bedroom primed.

- Master bedroom painted, including the trim.

- Master bathroom cleaned (by the darling Glenda).

- Master bathroom primed and ceiling painted (by my dear Kate).

- Living room ceiling sanded.

- Upstairs hallway primed.

What I haven't even mentioned yet is all the work that B and the girls have done in the basement. Since I'm mainly working upstairs, I haven't really been down in the basement that much, but let's just say his work has involved mouse poop, dryer lint, and stray thongs.

Yes, you read that right.

It's funny, when I list it all out like that I can see that progress is really happening. Real progress. It might not be as quick as I'd like it to be, but as long as I keep working and don't let the setbacks get to me, things will move along.

And I can't discount the help I'm getting from others, which is so critical because I could not do this on my own.

Hmmmm. I think there might be a pretty big spiritual lesson in there somewhere.

Mulling it all over today.

While I paint.

The Great Townhouse Project of 2013 - Week 2

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 02:35:00 +0000

God bless my sisters.

One had a really cute baby whom I've gotten to squeeze twice since April.

And my other sister actually drove home with us on Memorial Day in order to spend the week with me. Silly girl actually offered to help with The Great Townhouse Project of 2013.

She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

So Week 2 was spent with my sister, Jenn, of whom, I regret very deeply, I did not get a single picture. She was an such a trooper and an incredible encouragement to me.

See, I know what I like when it comes to decorating, but, as a Words of Affirmation girl, I need someone to just say, "Yes! That's it! You're on the right track." And that's just what my sister provided.

She liked the paint colors I had chosen. She helped me pick one more important color that I couldn't figure out. She did some particularly nasty cleaning (one cupboard actually made her gag!). She dug in and painted like a pro.

But most importantly she kept telling me, "It's not so bad."

Week 2 was a week in which I really needed to hear, "It's not so bad," because during Week 1 I was having some serious stomach issues, and those of you who know me well know that stomach issues are NOT what I need. Ever. Again.

So having Jenn here was a blessing I needed in more ways than one. She made me feel good about my selections, but she also made me feel good about The Great Townhouse Project of 2013.

Here's just a bit of what we accomplished during Week 2.

We painted a bedroom!

I painted the ceilings of both bedrooms while Jenn did something else (I can't even remember now what that was--I have tunnel vision, remember?).

Then we painted the walls and the trim. By the time she left on Saturday we pretty much had one bedroom completely finished.

It felt SO GOOD!

(By the way, the room started out yellow. I have nothing against the color yellow--yellow is sunny and nice--but it's just not that "in" right now. I'm updating the bedrooms with a lovely shade of gray. It's an Ace paint called "Chelsea by the Sea" and I love it.)

And here's the best part . . .

Remember those totally nasty ceiling fans? The ones I was ready to take down and throw away on the very first day?

Look at what my sister did!

She went to town with the Simple Green (oh my heavens, that stuff is AMAZING!) and cleaned those suckers until they shined. She even took off the old glass lampshades so I can replace them with some updated ones. Obviously we have a couple of things to take care of, but the point is, the ceiling fans are CLEAN!

Glory halleluja!

One other thing we did when Jenn was at my house was hit a couple of garage sales. (Yes, not only am I painting and updating the place, I'm also furnishing it.) One day I got a beautiful, solid oak table with six chairs for $200--score! And the next day we went to an estate sale and picked up a box full of kitchen stuff, a desk, and a dresser WITH a mirror for $150.

Jenn helped me load up the car, then unload it into my own garage at home, which has become a storage locker because the garage at the townhouse was full--FULL, I tell you--of miscellaneous furniture and other whatnot.

(And that's a story for Week 3.)

Anyway, the garage/estate sales made me very happy. Who doesn't love getting a good deal?

Having my sister here made me even happier.

Thanks, Jenn!

The Great Townhouse Project of 2013 - Week 1

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 01:39:00 +0000

So on Monday I introduced you all to pretty much the entire content of my brain right now: The Great Townhouse Project of 2013. It has consumed me. Sadly, it's the last thing I think about when I close my eyes at night and the first thing that's on my mind when I wake up in the morning.

I'm obsessed.

But with reason: I'm on a timeline. This thing HAS to be done by July 18 when I fly out of the country for two weeks.

Or maybe by August 12 when our first renter arrives.

Whatever.

What I mean is that my thoughts have been completely consumed by this project. As I've said here before, I'm not a great multitasker. When I'm teaching, that's pretty much all I can concentrate on. When I'm writing, that's all I can do (much to the dismay of my family who likes to eat). When I'm renovating a townhouse, it's all I can think about.

Sad, I know.

(When I shared this revelation with B this morning, bless his heart, he turned it into a Good Thing by telling me that by being focused it ensures that the job will get finished. Isn't he sweet?)

(Or deluded?)

Anyway, in order to make myself feel better about what feels like a seriously huge mistake right now, I thought I'd track my progress here. Hope you don't mind.

The thing is, I just finished week 3, but rather than making this into a really long post, I think I'll just go ahead and write three separate posts, one for each week.

So, let's travel back in time, shall we? To mid-May when the keys to the townhouse were actually handed to me. And I cried huge, bitter, very-afraid-of-what-I've-gotten-myself-into tears.

Remember this?

Well, Week 1 mainly involved getting that ugly (and, may I add, greasy) shelf off the wall. Surprisingly (or not), it didn't take much to get it down.

The wallpaper, however, was another story. I think they must have used cement to stick those stupid apples up there!

Let's just say it took a while.

Week 1 mainly involved my getting my bearings, trying not to gag, and, of course, scraping wallpaper.

Oh, and being afraid. Very afraid.

We also removed every nail and screw from the walls. We filled holes. We sanded.

We took down the most beat-up blinds I've ever seen.

And removed every switchplate from every electrical outlet in the house.

Our thought is that the simple change of fresh, white switchplates will make everything seem new.

One can only hope.

I only had a couple of days to work during Week 1 because of our little 1,800 mile jaunt to Dallas for Memorial Day weekend.

Up next . . . Week 2.

Catching Up and Introducing The Great Townhouse Project of 2013

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Mon, 03 Jun 2013 13:11:00 +0000

Yep. Uh huh. Well over a week.

As you can probably tell, real life has taken its toll on me lately. Thought it might be a good idea to simply summarize my life of the past month. No deep thoughts here, really. Just a good old fashioned catch-up post.

So, since school ended for me in early May, here are a few things I have done:

1. Loaded up my car a few thousand times. Bringing girls home from college, even if it is only a few blocks, is exhausting. Plus, purchasing furniture for our newest "project" means loading up my van a LOT (see explanation below).

2. Had visitors three of the past four weekends.

3. On that one weekend, drove 1,800 miles to squeeze this cutie pie and to introduce my girls to their new cousin.

Side note: Also, over the weekend, got to visit the new George Bush Presidential Library. Oh my! The section about 9/11 is incredibly moving.

A couple of pieces of the original Twin Towers.

And the name of every person who was killed that day are listed on the wall.

Amazing.

Moving on . . .

4. Had a fantastic visit from my sister, Jenn, last week. Woot! (She really doesn't get up here enough.)

(And I can't believe I didn't get a single picture of her!)

5. Took possession of our latest "project."

6. Cried over said project.

7. Felt sick about said project.

8. Dug in and started to work on said project.

9. Started feeling a wee bit better about said project.

10. Celebrated 28 years of marriage.

What I have not done much of over the past month:

1. Cooking.

2. Cleaning.

3. Resting.

4. Exercising.

*****

Now, about that "project." Oh my. Where to begin?

Last November, B and I purchased a townhouse which is really close to campus and will be used to house college students. Specifically, OUR college students, among others.

When we bought it, we knew it needed some cosmetic repairs, but not until our current tenants moved out two weeks ago and we actually took possession of the property did we actually see the extent of work that needs to be done.

Everything was covered with about a quarter inch of filth. And I do mean everything. (You might want to look away if you're squeemish.)

The day I got the keys, Julia and I walked around the place for a little bit, and then I went home and had a mini-breakdown. Or a big breakdown.

I cried.

Friends, we have an Extreme Makeover situation on our hands.

Every square inch of this place needs cleaning or repair or . . . something. It's horrendous. I wouldn't let my girls live there right now, so my task this summer is to bring this place up to Wildman standards.

So here's the deal. I'm going to be over there most of the summer. I'll be painting the place from top to bottom (I'm on a very limited budget, so I'll be doing most of the work myself). I'll be scouting estate sales for furniture (we're going to furnish the place). I'll be schlepping supplies and furniture and paint back and forth all summer.

My van will be getting a workout, even if I'm not.

What I think I might do is post pictures once a week with the progress we've made. Are you interested? At all?

What else might you want to know about cleaning up and restoring a rental property? I'm probably needing the answers to those questions myself, so feel free to ask.

So here we go: The Great Townhouse Project of 2013. Grab a paintbrush and come on over!

Good Reads

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Sat, 25 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

I'm away this weekend, enjoying my newest niece with our family, but thought I'd leave you some good reads for the long weekend.

When You Sort of Feel Like You're Drowning :: Ann Voskamp. Yeah, I can relate.

A Helpful Guide to Becoming Unbusy :: becoming minimalist

The Single Defining Characteristic of a Manipulator :: Storyline Blog (Donald Miller)

Suburbia Needs Jesus Too :: Her.meneutics

Distracted Parenting :: Clover Lane

Have a great weekend! Leave me a comment letting me know what you're up to this weekend--I'd love to know!

Letters to My Daughters: Choose Joy (Part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Thu, 23 May 2013 18:40:00 +0000

Dear Daughters,

Last time I wrote this: A deep, abiding joy will serve you well in life—I encourage you to find it.

Still here.

Still encouraging.

Find joy.

Joy is a people-magnet. Joy is a relationship-builder. Joy is a life-giver.

Find it.

So you’re probably wondering how. How do I find joy when I am feeling so out-of-it at school? How do I find joy when I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my life? How do I find joy when I feel like there’s a limited supply and everyone around me has my share of it?

Some days I feel like I’m not the best person to answer these questions—I’ve asked them all myself. Some days I feel the least equipped to talk about finding joy because I let all of those Cs take over and my soul is sapped.

And on those days, I run, RUN, to my Bible.

Recently I flipped to the concordance in the back of my Bible and looked under the word “joy.” What I found astonished me, I’m ashamed to admit. I should have known.

Nearly every reference to joy in my Bible concordance was tied to God or Jesus Christ or the Holy Spirit. Yes, there’s the famous verse in which Paul encourages the Philippians to “make my joy complete by being of like-minded,” but mostly that has to do with their dedication to Christ, their unity in Him.

Do you see where I’m going with this? Joy is tied up with our relationship to God. He is the source of true joy.

I’ve told you this often, but I think it bears repeating here: the only life worth living is one totally dedicated to Christ because only in Him will you find true fulfillment.

Or true joy.

Just check your concordance.

So if God is our source of true joy, lasting joy, real joy, let me be very obvious here and talk about what will not bring you joy.

Money.

Houses.

Cars.

People.

Stuff.

More stuff.

You get where I’m going. Every day you probably see people trying their best to find true joy by pursuing things, but I’m telling you it’s fruitless. The celebrities you see on T.V. can’t find it. People who look to bigger houses or flashier vacations can’t find it. Even we ourselves can’t find it apart from Christ.

Think about the travels we’ve taken as a family. Some of the most joyful people we’ve met have been people who have barely anything that this world would consider significant or important. But they have Jesus, and that makes their lives rich.

Remember Iris in Brazil? This single mom had one son of her own and was hoping to adopt two Brazilian children so that they wouldn’t have to live on the streets. She didn’t have much, but she had a roof over her head that she longed to share with others.

Iris was also a fantastic baker, and she shared her skill with us when she baked Kate’s birthday cake that year. I still remember the smile on her face when she brought the cake over to help celebrate her birthday. Even though Iris had very little in the way of earthly possessions, that woman knew real joy.

You know this lesson in your heads—we’ve preached it to you your entire lives—but take it into your hearts and know this for certain: true joy can only be found in one place.

Seek it. Pursue it. Find it.

Choose it.

I love you,

Mom

Letters to My Daughters: Choose Joy (Part 1)

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Mon, 20 May 2013 16:55:00 +0000

Dear Daughters,

Remember this? “Make a good choice, my friend!”

It rings in our ears, makes us smile, and sometimes even makes us roll our eyes. This phrase became a joke in our family, even though it was no joke to the teacher who repeated this phrase over and over again in elementary school.

But, you know, she was right.

The choices you make today will affect how well you live later on.

Today I want to talk to you about a choice you can make right now that will affect your relationships both today and in the future. This choice will help guide the way you live both now and tomorrow and it will affect every relationship you have.

Choose joy.

Yes, this might sound like a cliché, but I tell you as one who did not make this choice for many years: choosing joy brings life to you and to those around you. A deep, abiding joy will serve you well in life—I encourage you to find it.

First, though, I want to warn you about three joy-suckers that will kill your soul. Watch out for them. Flee any temptation to give in to them. Your life will not be rich and full if you allow these joy-suckers into it.

What are they? Comparison. Criticism. Contempt.

Comparison. This one sucks the joy out of you because it makes you feel less-than. When we look around at what others have or what others have achieved, thinking that we should have the same or better, we assume God has slighted us, dealt us a bad hand.

This is a lie because the Bible tells us that we are His beloved and that He watches over our coming and our going. God also asks us to trust Him to lead us. Why should we want what others have when God has our own best interest at heart?

Criticism. This one sucks the joy out of those around us, hurting our own hearts in the process. It’s a subtle form of comparison that, rather than making us feel less-than, makes us feel superior to others.

This is a lie, too, because the Bible says that no one is perfect, that all have sinned. When we criticize, we act as judge—a job we have not been given.

Contempt. Contempt can be a two-pronged problem because we can view either ourselves or others in this way. Contempt says that God made a mistake when He made us or those around us.

What a lie! God says that His creation was “good” and that His people are His delight.

So how do we find joy?

Joy comes, I think, when, rather than compare ourselves to others, we join with others, seeing the good in them, seeing potential for a bigger life and a greater adventure.

Joy comes when, instead of criticizing, we choose to build someone up in love.

Joy comes when, instead of treating someone with contempt, we choose to treat them with kindness and that kindness is returned.

Joy comes when, rather than sneering with contempt at what God has made, we choose to rejoice in His blessings. Even something as simple as the weather (which I do tend to complain about sometimes) can be a good indication of where we are with God. Are we saying, “This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it”? Or are we grumbling and complaining, when all that really does is tell God that we think he could do better?

My dear girls, today I encourage you to choose the path of joy because this is a path that leads to contentment and peace. Trust me, your life will be richer and the lives of those around you will be blessed if you choose joy over comparison, criticism, or contempt.

I love you,

Mom

P.S. I have more to say about joy, but I’ll share it later this week.

Photo credit

Grace at 2:15

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Fri, 17 May 2013 02:26:00 +0000

She steps toward the car and reaches for the door, sunlight splashing over her shoulders and across her wavy brown hair. I look, smile, then look again.

She’s changed.

School’s almost over for this one, and I see, in that brief moment, a full year’s growth.

Her face, more mature (goodbye, babyface!).

Her legs, definitely longer.

Her hair, styled rather than simply cut.

Her clothes, carefully selected, reflecting her sense of herself.

Her gait, assured.

All of this just in a quick glimpse as she ducks her head into the car.

She smiles from outside the window--a slight upturn of her lips, that quick connection that says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

(O.K., if I’m really honest, she was glad I was there to drive her home so she didn’t have to walk. But still, she seemed glad to see me.)

It was a smile that said, “I’m good.”

I noticed today that my baby girl is growing up. Oh, sure, I notice it most days, especially as she very nearly reaches my height, but today it took me by surprise.

The end of the school year makes you take note of the changes, doesn’t it? With all three back under my roof for the summer, I’ve been thinking a lot about the past year and how it has changed them. Changed us.

It’s been a good year. Not without its challenges, this year, but good, overall.

And while the physical changes aren’t as pronounced in my girls anymore (I still remember the years of amazing stringbean growth, the too-short pants), the character changes are still coming, probably faster than ever before. Lifetime prayers for my girls are being answered.

And I like what I see.

I see confidence.

I see intelligence.

I see curiosity.

I see humor.

I see wisdom.

I see discernment.

I see girls who are ready to follow wherever He leads and to lead wherever He wants.

I see young women who are growing, changing, accepting, even though it’s painful at times.

I look, I see, and I wonder, How did we get here?

Only grace.

Good Reads

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Sun, 12 May 2013 19:07:00 +0000

In honor of Mother's Day today, I've collected a few of my favorite parenting posts as of late. Enjoy!

Parenting is Kingdom Work || (in)Courage. Such a good reminder!

Intention in the Morning || Clover Lane. Get your head ready for the game. Every day.

Weary of Sin || The Good Enough Mom. I could so relate to what my friend, Nancy, wrote here.

The Gift of a Long Life || A Deeper Story. This really spoke to me, and it might speak to you if you're (ahem) older.

It Matters Whom You Marry || The Christian Pundit. And if you're younger, or if you haven't yet married, this is absolutely wonderful. To the young women I know: read this.

20 Things Every Parent Should Hear || Five Kids is a Lot of Kids. Funny, wise, and true. One of those posts I wish I had written.

Parents: A Word About Instagram || Life as of Late. Someone posted this on Facebook, and it was so good I thought I should share.

OK, this last one isn't about parenting, but since today is graduation at the place where I teach, I thought I would also post this one for the grads. Some great advice here, even if you've already graduated.

12 Things to Do After Graduating || The Gospel Coalition blog.

Happy reading!!

Just a Day

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Thu, 09 May 2013 02:48:00 +0000

Today was, well, just a day.

I walked with a friend for an hour this morning. (Therapy, first thing.)

I did too many loads of laundry to count.

I cleaned my oven. (You know you want my life.)

I baked cookies for Teacher Appreciation Day tomorrow.

I ran Julia all over Kingdom Come.

I loaned my van to a college student friend so he could move some furniture.

And I sat glued to the T.V. for the Benghazi hearings. (C-SPAN3 = Channel 105.)

It was just an ordinary day. Only it wasn’t so ordinary because it was MY day. A day I kind of liked. A day that made me happy and brought me joy (quite possibly a direct result of knowing we would be eating leftover hot dogs for dinner).

Yesterday Julia got into the car after school and, after I asked how her day was (this was at 4:20 in the afternoon, after a full day of school and play practice, while on her way to driver's ed--the poor girl hadn't been home since 7:00 a.m.!), replied, “Great! I had a great day.”

So I followed up: “What made it a great day?”

And she said (this is the part I love), “I don’t know. It was just a day, but I’m happy.”

Just a day, but I’m happy.

What if we took all the average, ordinary, cleaning-my-oven kind of days and turned them great only by changing our outlook?

What would happen then?

Monday Musings

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Mon, 06 May 2013 20:08:00 +0000

Borrowing the format from my friend, Lisa, because I like it so much. Thanks, Lisa!

***

Sitting . . . in my comfy writing chair.

Drinking . . . water, in hopes that it might kick the dull ache in my head off to the curb.

Feeling . . . physically tired from a busy weekend, but excited to be finished with classes and officially on summer break!

Cooking . . . salads and burgers and dessert for a group of Kate's friends who are coming over tonight. One last bash before they leave for the summer (although some are sticking around this year). I really love these kids and will be really sad next year when it's time for them to graduate.

Reflecting . . . on the past semester. Things I could have done differently, some things I could have done better, and some I'm glad I did the way I did. Teaching, I have found, is a constant evaluation of myself and my students.

Looking ahead . . . to summer. Oh boy, is it going to be a busy one! All three of my girls will be home for most of the summer, which is awesome to me because it very well could be the last time all five of us live under the same roof. Not going to cry about that . . . yet.

Devising . . . a scheme to fix up the town home that B and I bought this year as a rental for college students. My summer involves painting, fixing up, decorating (on a very limited budget!), and furnishing (again, the budget) that place. If you need to get ahold of me this summer, chances are very good I'll be over there.

Enjoying . . . warmer temperatures. Finally!

Getting excited about . . . a trip I'm taking with my mom and sisters this summer. More on that later. (Just to keep you in suspense.)

Thanking God . . . for the way He has grown and changed all of us this year. The school year was not without its challenges for each one of us, but God has been so faithful to use each experience as a way to draw us to Him. It really is a wonder that He loves us so much.

Musing . . . about the blog . . . again. Some changes are coming that I'm really excited about! Hoping that will motivate me to keep going. More on that soon.

So tell me, what's on YOUR mind?

Paying Attention

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Thu, 02 May 2013 21:10:00 +0000

A friend shared the most wonderful quote from Anne Lamott the other day. Anne said,

"That's all you have to do today: Pay attention--being a writer is about paying attention."

So, in honor of Anne, here’s what I noticed today.

This morning I had a doctor’s appointment, and as I sat in the waiting room—just for a minute, it didn’t take long—I reached for my phone in the pocket of my bag. It wasn’t there. I knew exactly where it was--beside my bed where I left it this morning.

I surprised myself by noticing even the slightest feeling of anxiety that I had forgotten my phone. As if I had become one of “those people” who cannot be without their phone even for a few hours.

I thought about going home to get my phone immediately after my appointment, even though I had planned to run a few errands after the doctor and my house was completely on the other side of town, which would mean that I would probably waste a good 30 minutes in a fairly busy day.

My slight anxiety rose as I wondered if I had any emails. I wondered if my girls would need to get ahold of me. I wondered if B would need me. I wondered what I would do while I waited for the doctor, a certainty, if I didn’t have my phone with me.

And then, just as quickly, I sat back and chastised myself. Good grief! I couldn’t make it even a couple of hours without communication? That’s ridiculous. What happened just a few years ago, before the iPhone, when we didn’t have constant access to the internet, and we went to the doctor and read magazines for an hour?

What happened when my girls were little and I left them with a babysitter for a few hours while I happily trotted out the door with NO PHONE AT ALL? Back then, I just had to trust (!) that they would be fine.

And they were.

So here’s what I noticed today. I’m tethered. And I don’t like what that has done to me. Not that having a phone has made me a bad person, but inwardly, I wonder what it has done.

It has made me more available. All the time. Do I want that?

It has caused me to be less “in the moment.” My thoughts turn from what I'm doing presently, concretely, to what I might need to do virtually. I hate that.

It has made me just a little less trusting that God would take care of things. Like I said, there was a day when I just had to "trust" that all would be well when I walked out the door. That my children could cope without me for a while. They did.

And it has made me restless, bored without something to look at all the time. This almost bothers me the most. Why am I anxious without something to DO? What ever happened to down time?

You know what turned out great, though? After my exam, the doctor left for a bit, but needed to come back to talk to me about a few things. While I sat in the room waiting, that’s all I did.

I just sat there.

There were no magazines available--only children’s books (another interesting thing I noticed!)--so without my phone I just sat.

I leaned my head back against the wall, and I thought about things. I let my mind wander, and my thoughts took me to my husband and my kids. I took a quiet minute to pray for them. I thought about my parents. I thought about the fact that tomorrow is the last day of class.

I just thought. In the peace and quiet of the doctor’s office.

Without my phone.

So tell me, how do you feel when you forget your phone? Untethered? Or free?

Staying Put

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 13:02:00 +0000

I read a post this week by Sarah Bessey titled, "The Place that Shapes Me," that prompted this post from me. Sarah wonders if there is something to be said for staying put. I agree.

***

I only slept in two different rooms of the same house before I went to college.

I grew up with grandparents a half mile from me, in the house my great-grandparents lived in when my dad was a boy.

There was a secret road—we called it “the field road”—that ran between my house and my cousins’ house that only our two families used.

The road I grew up on still holds memories of the bike riding, tennis playing, and summertime wanderings of my childhood.

When I left that place, I didn’t look back.

I didn’t appreciate. I didn’t savor. I simply headed for the big city, much like George Bailey, shaking the dust of that crummy little town. . . .

***

What I didn’t realize until many years later—too many years—was that that town, that road, that house, held not just my memories, but a part of me. My roots were there, deep.

What I didn’t know was that I couldn’t escape the memories, mostly happy, some sad, nor did I need to.

What I didn’t understand was just how much that place, that one single place, had shaped me.

My dad was a farmer, tied to the land that his grandfather had farmed, maybe even his grandfather before that, and because of that, I was tied too. What I didn’t know was the blessing of being tied to a place.

I grew up restless, as if my home and my town and my life there couldn’t contain me. I wanted out, and I ran as fast as I could as soon as I was able.

I didn’t go far. I didn’t even leave the state. Still haven’t.

The girl who wanted to shake the dust from one place still hasn’t been able to shake it from another.

Years ago my husband and I decided that we would stay put, intentionally. That we would raise our daughters in the same town, the same schools, the same church, the same community so that they, too, would know the blessing of staying put, of laying down roots.

Today, our girls are on the precipice, just spreading those wings for takeoff. The purpose of putting down roots wasn’t to keep them here, but to give them the freedom to fly.

Putting down roots in order to fly . . . an oxymoron if I ever heard one, and yet, there it is. Truth.

Kind of like losing your life so you can gain it.

Truth.

***

So tell me . . . have you put down roots for your kids? Or are you the restless adventurer? Or are you both, like me? What do you think about staying put?

The Last Birthday Post--I Promise!

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 01:36:00 +0000

I've been trying to write about my birthday all week, but every time I try to form feeling into words, they all seem so utterly inadequate.

For all those weeks when my husband asked, "What do you want to do for your birthday?" and all the times I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Ignore it,"which was really what I wanted to do, and for all the hours I spent truly agonizing over turning 50, I have been duly humbled.

Frankly, I'm ashamed.

When it finally dawned on me that what I wanted most was to spend the weekend in my favorite place with my favorite people, I could never have imagined how RIGHT that decision would turn out to be. For once, putting my foot down (about the party) actually paid off.

My people were all I needed.

They spoiled me, folks. Truly spoiled me.

Here, take a look.

From the swankity-swank of the hotel . . .

to the walks along the beach . . .

to a night at the theater . . .

to the amazing food we encountered all weekend . . .

. . . every minute was perfect.

Our three beauties joined us for dinner on Saturday night.

Wait. Did I say beauties? "Goofballs" is more like it.

Even the restaurant made me feel special!

By the time B and I packed up to go home on Sunday, I told him that I felt like I had been gone for a week, so relaxing was our time in the city.

The definition of spoiled? Me.

Definitely me.

When I got home this week, I got this wonderful note from a dear friend, and it boosted my spirits even more:

"Well . . . was turning 50 as horrific as you thought? As I approach the next decade marker, I realize that the 50s have been a particularly sweet time of life--marriages of children, grandchildren's arrivals, time to give to others, richness in marriage. All in all, I would say the 50s rock."

See? Spoiled! To have friends like that who take the time to encourage me in that way makes me feel so blessed.

I think she's right, and I'm ready to experience this sweet time of life, thanks to the love of so many friends and family. You have all cheered me to this milestone, and for that I am so grateful.

May I spend the next 50 years cheering you on as you have cheered me.

Let the Year of Jubilee begin!

P.S. Lest you think I'm crazy to even think I'd be able to spend the next 50 years cheering on my friends, let me remind you that my grandma almost made it to 100 (she was just three months shy). I realized this week that I'm only halfway there--something more to celebrate!

Some Favorite Quotes About Aging

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 16:02:00 +0000

It's Not Really a Birthday Until Someone Starts to Cry

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 17:47:00 +0000

They say to pay attention to what makes you cry. Because what makes you cry is probably something you’re most passionate about.

Well.

I’ve got to tell you something embarrassing.

I almost cried in front of my class yesterday.

And it surprised the heck out of me. Seriously.

Most mornings (not every day, because I’m not super-consistent about anything in my life, but most) I start class with a short devotional thought. Sometimes I’ll read a psalm or some Frederick Buechner, but toward the end of the semester, when we've gotten to know each other better, I like to read portions of a little book by Anna Quindlen called “A Short Guide to a Happy Life.” In the book, Quindlen encourages her readers to look around at the gift that life really is, and that's what I want my students to remember when they leave my classroom. I read a small section of the book and follow it up with some Scripture that seems to correspond to what she’s saying.

I like it. It works for me. (Hopefully it works for my students.)

Anyway, yesterday I was reading a section and totally had to stop for a second to let my throat catch up with my brain. It could be that I hadn’t slept the night before (I woke up at 3:30, my brain on fire) or it could be that I’m turning 50 this week. I don’t know. I was feeling a little emotional going into class in the first place, but then when I read this, I almost lost it.

In front of 18 college students.

What a dork.

Anyway, here’s what Anna Quindlen said in the portion of her little book that I read yesterday:

“I learned to live many years ago. Something really bad happened to me, something that changed my life in ways that, if I had had a choice, it would never have been changed at all. And what I learned from it is what, today, sometimes seems to be the hardest lesson of all.
I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that this is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get.”

I had to stop reading for a minute as my throat started to close. Yes, I could relate to having something really bad happen to me. The lessons I’ve learned from that are too many to count.

But it was “this is not a dress rehearsal, and . . . today is the only guarantee you get” that really got to me.

Pay attention to what makes you cry.

Why would this truth, on this day, make me choke up?

I think it's because I’ve spent too many days rehearsing for this big birthday, playing it over and over in my mind, griping and complaining about getting older, when what I should have been doing is celebrating the fact that I’m here, I’m healthy, I’m whole.

I’m here. I’m healthy. I’m whole.

God is good.

Most mornings when my alarm goes off, I stumble across the room toward the shower. This morning, however, I woke up a couple of minutes before my alarm with a song ringing in my head. It’s not even a song I’ve ever paid much attention to, but there it was.

“I want to live

like there’s no tomorrow.

Love like I’m on borrowed time.

It’s good to be alive.”

Coincidence? Probably not.

Just God’s way of showing me that He’s here and that He knows what this week, this searching, this celebrating, means to me.

Oh, yes, God is good.

***

If you want to hear the whole song (the video is kinda goofy, but the song is good), click here.

Now tell me, what makes you choke up?

No Two Ways Around It--I'm Turning 50 This Week

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 19:48:00 +0000

I brushed my hair from my face this morning, tucking it behind my ear, and noticed the silver at my temples. Rather than thinking the usual “time to get my hair colored,” I took a good, long look and smiled.

And I turned slightly to see the gray reflected from a different angle.

A wonder, aging.

Something I’ve given a lot of thought in recent weeks.

I’m aging. A birthday is coming. One I cannot hold back, even though I would certainly like to. One I have tried to ignore, but one that is knocking, knocking, knocking.

Last week, during lunch with a student, I confessed that my birthday was coming and that, despite all my protestations, it was coming fast. She just laughed and told me that her aunt always said that getting older is sure better than the alternative.

She’s a wise one, that student.

***

My husband has been asking me for weeks what I’d like to do to celebrate. Since I haven’t considered this much of an event to be celebrated, I just replied, “Ignore it.”

It’s the closest thing to how I feel.

And yet, I can’t. Ignore it.

It’s coming whether I like it or not.

In fact, it’s here.

On Saturday, I will be 50.

***

I remember turning 20—so much fun, a lifetime of surprises ahead of me.

And at 30, standing in front of the mirror, one child on my hip. Wondering how I had gotten there, and observing how much I had changed in a decade.

I barely remember 40. Three kids by then. Crazy life. Reflecting on the chaos of my 30s and thinking that the 40s had to be better.

They were.

***

And now, 50. I’ve been standing in front of the mirror for weeks now, amazed at how my life has changed.

Feeling so. incredibly. grateful.

And when I look at it that way, with a heart filled with gratitude, I have to think that the 50s will hold good, good things.

***

For months I’ve been dreading my birthday, but if I’m really honest, that’s just vanity talking. It’s been me focusing on graying hair, flabby arms, extra weight.

My friend, Robin, turned 50 a couple of weeks ago (lots and lots of friends will turn 50 this year!), and she did something I have not been able to do: she embraced it. She celebrated. She dressed up and danced and found the grace to face a new decade and say, “Bring it.”

And she encouraged me with these words from Scripture:

“This fiftieth year is sacred—it is a time of freedom and celebration . . .” (Leviticus 25:10 CEV)

Isn’t that awesome?!

Sacred. Freedom. Celebration.

This week I’m going to reflect. I’m going to write. I’m going to try to reconcile myself to the fact that I’m 50 and to try to figure out what that means for me.

And at the end of the week, we'll celebrate.

Will you join me? If you’re already 50, will you tell me it’s not so bad? If you’re turning 50 soon, will you tell me how you’re handling it? If you’re not even close, go put on your skinny jeans and dance in the rain.

What I've Learned from Student Evaluations

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 20:19:00 +0000

Students ask the darndest questions sometimes. Like the sophomore guy—a guy!—who asked me last week how old I was when I got married and how long my husband and I waited to have kids. Hilarious.

(I answered him, by the way. No need to keep my students in the dark about my personal life.)

Another student, also a guy but not in my class, asked me recently about how I felt about student evaluations. Did I even read them? Did I learn anything from them?

I had to hesitate before I answered because I have some serious past baggage with student evaluations.

***

After taking a five-year hiatus from teaching, I returned to the classroom in August of 2011. I’ll admit, I was nervous. Throughout the entire semester I wondered what my students thought of me.

O.K., I obsessed.

I was well aware that I was five years older than the last time I had taught. Would they just see me as a mother figure? Would they think I was dumb? Out of touch? Not on top of my teaching game?

Heck, I wondered the same things about myself.

I had a whole lot of doubts that followed me around like a lost puppy that first semester.

So when evaluations came back to me after the semester had ended, I was devastated to read that a couple of students really hated me. Devastated.

O.K., I cried.

I just stared at the comments, wondering if I would ever be able to put myself in front of a group of overly-critical, picky, self-absorbed, entitled students again. If my office had a window in it, I probably would have climbed out of it and fled, never to return.

I called my husband and said, “I should never have come back.”

He very wisely asked, “Shelly, did you get any good evaluations?”

“Well, yes.”

“What did those say?” he asked.

I don’t really remember much about those evaluations any more, but I do remember one thing: my students, pretty much across the board, felt like I cared about them as individuals and that I wanted to see them succeed.

What more could I ask for?

Apparently, a lot more.

Because the next semester, I couldn’t even look at my evaluations. They came to me in an email, and I deleted it before even looking at them.

What can I say? I’m weak.

And prideful.

And seriously uninformed.

Last fall, I decided to take a new approach to student evaluations. After giving myself a mental pep talk and a virtual kick in the pants, I decided that 1) I needed to grow up, 2) that I would read the evaluations but that 3) I wouldn’t take them too seriously.

I knew by then which students loved me and would give me a glowing evaluation no matter what. And as much as I’d love to stay in Neverland and read only those remarks about me, I knew they weren’t that helpful.

I also knew which students pretty much hated me. These were the students who didn’t work hard enough to get the grade they felt they deserved (remember the entitled ones?) or who felt it really wasn’t that rude to consider class time their personal nap time or (my personal favorite) to knit while I was talking. (Oh yes she did!) I knew what would be coming from those students, and I braced myself.

That semester I read every evaluation, every comment, no matter how much they skewered my pride, and did this: I threw out the really glowing reports at the top of the scale along with the really nasty reports at the bottom. I focused on the evaluations that fell somewhere in the middle—those that had some good things to say along with some constructive criticisms.

And that’s where I really started to learn what worked and what didn’t in my class. I’ve made changes based on the evaluations that landed somewhere in the middle.

Honestly? I wish my students didn’t have to evaluate me every semester. Because I pretty much know what’s coming. I know that some days I drone on and on like Charlie Brown’s teacher and that on some days my classes seem like a never-ending glut of boring, regurgitated information. (I’m working on that.) I know I don’t always start every class with an inspiring word from the Lord (I teach at a Christian college), but I’ve come to grips with that too.

Hey, you can’t always be inspiring at 8:00 in the morning.

And I know that I’m not the best professor they’ve ever had. A lot of factors come into play here, not the least of these is the subject matter. (Who knew that some kids just don’t like writing?!) But I’m O.K. with that. I work very hard to present the information to my students in the best way I can, and I feel good about the work I do.

What I also know is that I am a teacher who cares very much about her students and who wants to see them succeed, and my evaluations consistently bear that out. If a student doesn’t ever get the importance of the Oxford comma but knows that I cared enough to meet with her outside of the classroom for thirty minutes each week, I’m good with that.

***

So my response to the student who asked me how I felt about evaluations? I told him I’ve learned that some people will love you and some people will hate you. It’s important to not waste energy obsessing over it.

I’ve learned, instead, to look at how the people in the middle evaluate me—the people who take the time to see me for who I am, to listen to what I'm really saying, to care enough to respond with thoughtful comments—those are the ones that really matter.

Good advice for life? I think so.

Book Review: Bread and Wine AND Fabulous Friday Food: Cassoulet

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 11:00:00 +0000

You guys know I love food, right?

And you know I love to travel, right?

Find me a book that combines a love for both, and you’ve got me at hello.

Hello, Shauna Niequist!

Shauna has just this week released her third book, Bread and Wine, and I was lucky enough to receive an advance copy to review. Let me tell you, I devoured this book. As in, I was so hungry to read it and to keep reading it that I had a hard time putting it down.

This is a memoir, as are all of Shauna’s books. (Her others, which I have also read, are Cold Tangerines and Bittersweet—both very good.) But this one’s a memoir that involves food and cooking and a little bit of travel.

Right up my alley.

Here’s one of my favorite passages from the book. It’s a little long, so hold on for a minute:

“I hold all these places and flavors with me, like a fistful of shiny coins, like a charm bracelet. I want to be everywhere at once. I want a full English breakfast at a pub in London, and hot buttery naan in New Delhi for lunch. I want conch fritters at a beach bar in the Bahamas, and an ice-cold Fanta overlooking Lake Victoria. I want Cowgirl Creamery’s Triple Crème Brie at the Ferry Market in San Francisco, and the gingerbread pancakes from Magnolia Café in Austin. I want it all—all the tastes, all the smells, all the stories and memories and traditions, all the textures and flavors and experiences, all running down my chin, all over my fingers.

Sometimes people ask me why I travel so much, and specifically why we travel with Henry so often. I think they think it’s easier to keep the kids at home, in their routines, surrounded by their stuff. It is. But we travel because it’s there. . . . We travel because I want my kids to learn, as I learned, that there are a million ways to live, a million ways to eat, a million ways to dress and speak and view the world. . . .

I want my kids to learn firsthand and up close that different isn’t bad, but instead that different is exciting and wonderful and worth taking the time to understand.” (page 87)

There. She has fully articulated one of the wonders of travel with kids. I love that!

Besides interesting, thought-provoking stories about her life and faith, Shauna fills her book with amazing recipes. I can’t wait to try her recipe for Sweet Potato Fries with Sriracha Dipping Sauce or Esquites/Mexican Grilled Corn which is taken from one of my absolutely, positively, MOST FAVORITE Mexican restaurant: Bien Trucha in Geneva, IL. (I was pretty excited when she mentioned that one.)

And if all that hasn’t convinced you to get the book and read it, I’ve got a bonus for you: a Fabulous Friday Food post featuring one of Shauna’s recipes.

Today we’re making Real Simple Cassoulet from Bread and Wine.

I’ve wanted to try making cassoulet since my husband had it at his very special birthday dinner back in January. He raved about this simple, classic French dish made with meat and beans. Wouldn’t you know, just a couple of weeks after that dinner, I’d be reading Shauna’s book. And wouldn’t you know that she would actually give me a recipe for cassoulet that didn’t seem too intimidating or difficult.

In fact, it was EASY! Not only that, it was delicious. My husband absolutely loved it and commented on it for a long time after that meal. In fact, I think he put it in his top-five-of-all-time favorite recipes. That’s how much he liked it.

After dinner he said, “That one’s a keeper.”

So here we go, making a “keeper.” Hopefully you’ll try this one and put it in your top five list too.

First, assemble your ingredients. You'll need olive oil, Italian sausage (here's where I deviated just a little from Shauna's original recipe--she used turkey sausage, but I used the real thing), chicken broth, onion, carrots, parsnips, tomato, cannellini beans, thyme, garlic, bread crumbs, parsley, and butter. It seems like a lot of ingredients, and it is, but if you do all of your chopping ahead of time, this baby will come together really quickly.

Side note: I had never cooked with parsnips before. Never even bought one. But, I've gotta say, I will definitely be using them in the future. They are kind of sweet, very interesting, and yummy.

Brown the sausage in the olive oil in a large Dutch oven until it's almost crispy on the outside. You need some of the brown drippings in the bottom of the pan to give the cassoulet its rich flavor.

Remove the sausage from the pan and add the onion, carrots, and parsnips. Brown these for a few minutes to soften the vegetables and add flavor. (Oh, O.K., I deviated from her recipe here too. Shauna said to add the chicken stock here, but I sauteed the vegetables first. Sorry!)

Now go ahead and add the stock, tomato, beans, garlic, thyme, and the sausage. Salt and pepper too.

Bring all of this to a boil, then reduce the heat, cover the pot, and allow to simmer for about one hour. Your cassoulet should be thickened and the vegetables nice and tender.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. In a small bowl, combine bread crumbs, parsley, and butter and sprinkle over the cassoulet. Bake, uncovered, until the crust is golden brown, about 10-15 minutes.

And voila! You have a delicious, comforting dish to warm the hearts of your friends and family.

I served this with a green salad and some French bread. Yum! And now I want more.

I hope you'll try this one. It was so delicious. And, as my husband says, it's a keeper.

Thanks, Shauna!

Now tell me, have you read Shauna Niequist's book yet? Do you think you'll try to make cassoulet? What are you cooking this weekend?

***

For a printable version of this recipe, click here.

To purchase Shauna's book on Amazon, click here.

To subscribe to my blog (oh, how I wish you would!), sign up over there ------>

***

Disclaimer: I received a copy of Bread and Wine in exchange for this blog post. All the views expressed here are entirely my own.

On My Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 01:34:00 +0000

Thinking all day about starting a blog post, but there are so many things swimming around in my head that I just need to blurt out the mess to make room for the rest.

Today will not be one of those deep-post days.

Today will be more like a here-sit-down-and-have-a-cup-of-coffee day. It's just one of those days that I need to get my thoughts out so I can move on and write other stuff.

I've realized that I don't let you in too much. As in, into my life. And I don't like that. I really want you to know me and to know what's going on in my life. I flatter myself to think that maybe you read here because you're interested. I don't know.

Or maybe you just like my recipes--who knows?

Anyway, maybe this post is a way of letting you know some things about me. It's not like my life is some huge secret or anything. There are, however, people in my life who would prefer that I keep some things to myself. I get that. And I try to.

Sometimes.

So here we go. Some things that I want you to know about me.

** You know I teach, right? Thinking about teaching and actually going into work three days a week are probably what consume most of my thoughts these days. It shouldn't feel as busy as it does, and that frustrates me sometimes. Here's what my Monday/Wednesday/Fridays look like:

5:30 a.m. - wake up, stumble to the shower, get ready for my day

7:00 a.m. - take Julia to school, then head into my office

9:15 a.m. - teach my class

10:30-? - read, grade papers, prep for next class

I usually try to finish up around 12:30 when I either head home or meet my friends for lunch (a regular Wednesday thing). Afternoons are my time to run errands, walk the dog, write (oh, the ongoing angst about THAT), make dinner.

Right now I only teach one class, but in the fall I'll have two. Which will make my thoughts even more swirly and discombobulated.

But it's all good because I love my job and get to teach the most amazing group of college students ever. I'm confident that God has called me to it for now, and that makes it all worthwhile.

** One bummer about my job is that my spring break doesn't line up with Julia's, so every year we have to figure out what to do about that. This year we decided to pull her out of school for three days and high tail it out of here. (She's still making up the work she missed!)

But it was so great to be in the Florida sunshine, even for a short while.

Here's my honey and me. Twenty-eight years--totally worth it.

** In other thought-consuming news, B and I purchased a rental home near the college this year. We haven't done much with it yet since we still have renters, but the townhome is in need of, shall we say, a leeettle bit of work. This summer my job will be to completely restore that house, including replacing all of the flooring on the first floor (don't worry, it's not that big) and painting the entire place. And, yes, I plan to do much of the work myself in order to save money.

Call me crazy.

Just do. Because I think I am.

And I'm spending way too many hours thinking about paint colors.

** My sister had a baby! Amazing and delicious all rolled into one. And so sublime because we haven't had a new baby on my side of the family in, oh, 15 years. It's all very exciting.

I'm especially excited because this weekend I'm flying to Dallas to meet my newest niece, Gracie (do you not just LOVE that name?!). I'm not sure you'll be able to pry her out of my arms for the 48 hours I'll be there.

** I spend a lot of time thinking about and praying for my kids. Both of my college girls came home for Easter weekend and we all had a great time together. It gave me a glimpse into what our summer will be like since, for the first time in about four years, everyone will be home. Just a hunch, but it's going to be loud, boisterous, talkative, and full of laughter.

Here's our little Easter brunch right before church.

Easter was a little different for us this year because it was also Kate's 21st birthday.

Happy birthday, lovie!

So we said we'd celebrate Easter in the morning and that after noon it would be all about Kate's birthday. It worked for us.

** Speaking of birthdays, I have the next birthday in our family which is something that consumes way too much of my thought life. I don't have time to write about right now--this birthday is going to take a post of its own because it's a big one and I have thoughts.

** As I write I'm listening to Julia practice piano. Difficult strains of an unfamiliar Debussy piece are floating through our house. She's struggled with one line for weeks now, and last night, after her piano lesson, she cried out in frustration that she didn't think she would EVER get it right. I told her to hang in there, to not give up, and that one day it would just click and she'd get it.

Just now, over the music she shouted, "That's it!"

These are the moments I love being a parent the most.

**Last thing: be sure to come back on Friday because if you're one of those don't-care-about-your-life-but-you-give-me-good-recipes people you are really going to be happy. AND it involves a book review. Bonus!

There. Brain dump is completed. Maybe now I can move on and actually write something.

That's what's on my mind, what's on YOURS?

Good Friday {reprise}

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 00:58:00 +0000

Earlier today, as I was perusing posts from last year, I came across this post from Good Friday 2012. I had forgotten about that post, but as I read it through, I decided (for myself) that this is one of my best posts. Maybe you can relate to how I felt that day.

*****

We had had a bad week.

Well, I can’t speak for him, but I had had a bad week, and it culminated, as it usually does, in us taking it all out on each other.

The busyness. The frustrations. The obstacles. The fears.

They all came crashing to a head, and I broke under the weight of it.

I’m not pleased nor proud that this is my pattern, but it is. The pattern of the everyday. The pattern of the worn out, the weary. The pattern of the sinner.

I stumbled, feeling every frayed edge of the day, into the Good Friday service, not feeling it, not wanting it, and not expecting it. It was supposed to be a time of reflection.

Oh, I had reflected alright. Reflected on hurt. Reflected on anger. Reflected on injustice.

Reflected on me rather than Him.

So I stumbled from the car—did that door close a little too hard?—and up the stairs—Why, hello! How was your day?—and straight into Him.

Only He was wearing a dress. And had thinning hair. And was sitting in a wheelchair. And was reaching out to me with a shaking hand, eyes locked on mine.

He mumbled something I couldn’t understand, and His husband was standing behind the chair, eyes pleading too, begging.

I grabbed His hand, trying to be kind.

“Will you help us, please?” His husband asked, gently. “My wife really needs to use the bathroom.”

The worn and weary became fear and I-can’t-do-this-but-what-choice-do-I-have?

Let me tell you something about me. When I sin, I sin big; you just can’t see it. Oh, it’s there, festering, stumbling, growing underneath a smile and a hug and a kindness that seems real.

And so I did what any person would do in a church. I said, “Sure. I’ll help you. Just tell me what to do.” But inside I was praying, “Why me?!”

This is a fear, a huge fear of mine: Sick people. Weak people. People who need other people. And Jesus, seeing my weakened, sinful state, after a week of outright ugly, knew this.

Still, He asked. Of course, He asked.

“And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’” Matthew 25:40

Help Me? When it’s convenient.

Serve Me? When I have time.

Die for Me? Wait, You’re supposed to do that.

When I joined my family in the darkened church, unready to worship, I was wrecked.

The huge, wooden cross, draped in black, crown of thorns perched on top, mocked me from the front. The words to every song humiliated me.

He was not the One needing my help--I was the one needing His. His help, His service, His death. In my selfish state, I could not see Him until He asked me to do the one thing I did not think I could do.

Sick, weak, needy. That is the state of my heart every moment of every day. I should be in a hospital, I need healing so badly.

Yet in His merciful, graceful, lovingkindness He showed me that even at my worst—my sickened, weakened, needy state—He could still use me, helpless. In fact, only in that state can He truly use me.

“But God showed His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8

Upside down grace, that’s what He showed me last Friday.

Good Friday.

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 13:27:00 +0000

Look up . . .

. . . and see.

"When the Roman officer who stood facing him saw how he had died, he exclaimed, 'This man truly was the Son of God!'" Mark 15:39

Five Minute Friday: Remember

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 17:27:00 +0000

Hello there! It has been ages since I took part in Lisa-Jo's "Five Minute Friday" party, but that's about all the time I had today. Five minutes. Besides, I've been wanting to play along again--for some reason I think some of my bests posts are written in five minutes.

Is that so wrong?

Anyway, thanks, Lisa-Jo, for hosting this fun party every week. And thanks for the prompt. It was fun!

Remember.

How could I forget? The first time I laid eyes on you, your age mystified me. As I traversed your fields, alleyways, byways, I had a sense of being there before. Of belonging. Of home.

And I wondered if you had remembered. Had you remembered the reason you were still standing? Had you remembered the ancient wars? Had you remembered the vision and the dedication of your great poets?

Did you remember?

It was He who gave you the land of my heart. He who clothed you with greens and purples and blues. He who ran His finger over your hills and called them good. He who blessed you with rain and wind and clouds so that beauty would be your name.

Remember the days of sunshine and warmth. Remember the carefree hours of new friendships and old words. Remember the blessing of love’s first blush, red and fragrant.

Remember the old and the new.

Look up. And remember.

***

Linking up with Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama today.

The Conversation I Never Thought I’d Have with my Kids

noreply@blogger.com (Shelly W.) — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 20:53:00 +0000

In about 45 minutes I need to pick up my daughter from school, and I will need to have a conversation that I never, ever dreamed I would have to have with her.

Because today, a beloved teacher from her school was arrested for having sex with one of his students. I won’t go into the scant details I’ve heard so far, just suffice it to say it’s horrific.

And especially horrific because both of my older girls had this teacher, loved him, and my youngest was hoping to have him next year.

It hits home.

What I want to know, what I have been praying to God this afternoon, is how on earth do I talk to them about this? Because, for the life of me, I don’t know.

Ironically, I’ve been thinking all day about a blog post I read and responded to yesterday. My friend, Jo-Lynne, has been struggling with how to protect her children, especially her 13-year-old son, in this crazy world we live in.

I get that. I understand that struggle.

What really hit me as I read her post and some of the comments from people who said that they have intentionally placed their children in a “bubble,” is that no matter how hard we try, we do NOT live in a bubble. We live in a very broken, very fallen world.

That sure became evident to our community today.

It’s interesting to me that I have truly been chewing on this for the past 24 hours, because much of what I wrote in Jo-Lynne’s comments is what I need to remind myself of here, now that I’m in this situation of having to have the ugly talk with my kids.

First, I need to remember that our world is very fallen indeed. Anybody watching “The Bible” on The History Channel can see that parents have been worried about protecting their children from outside influences for centuries. It's nothing new. But it’s also an unfortunate reality that the world we live in is trying its very best to corrupt, not only our children, but US.

And sometimes we fall prey.

Second, I need to remember who I am. I need to remember that I am fallen, too, just like this world, just like that teacher, just like, well, me. I am fallen. I am sinful. I am not above reproach.

The phrase, “there but by the grace of God go I” rings very clearly today. The fact is, I could be that teacher. I AM that teacher, because when God sees my sin, it makes him just as disgusted as that teacher’s actions are to me.

Sin is sin, and mine is no “better” than anyone else’s. If I think otherwise, I am only fooling myself and setting myself up to be a hypocrite.

Third, I need to remember who God is. He’s God, and that’s enough. He has loved me enough to provide a way of salvation, and in return, he wants me to stop living like the rest of the world and be holy.

But here’s the thing: I’m not holy. No matter how hard I try, I won’t ever meet the standard that God has set for me. In His eyes I’m just as bad as that teacher.

But Jesus.

Thanks be to God that because I have Jesus, God no longer sees my sin. He sees me as holy. It really is an amazing thing to think about.

So how does this help me talk to my kids about that teacher?

1. It reminds all of us that we are people who have received grace—totally, completely unmerited grace. And because of that we should not speak ill, we should not gossip, we should not judge what we do not know.

2. It makes me want to cling tighter to the God who sees all, who knows all, and who forgives all and to encourage my girls to do the same.

3. It causes me to pray for this whole messy situation, for the gross, fallen world we live in, and for the tender hearts of my children who are affected by this as well.

4. And, sadly, this situation forces me to talk to them about being careful about who they are around and who they trust. To be honest, that was not on my list of things to do today.

This is a desperately sad situation for everyone involved, including my very own children. As I said, this hits home. I’m angry about it all--the effects are so far-reaching--and yet, I’m so sad for our community, for the victim, for the teacher's wife and family, and even for him.

It’s an ugly, messy world we live in, and all kinds of bad stuff happens in it. Stuff I would rather not have to think about or talk to my kids about. But the fact remains that this world, without Jesus, is desperately needy. There is no disguising the fact, no sheltering my kids from it, no bubble big enough to hide away in.

All I can do is praise God that He sent His Son to redeem it. As Easter approaches, this seems especially important.

And that’s a conversation I want to have with my kids.