52 Projects: Project 34

Project 34

Photograph your bookshelves. Then, make a list of every book that’s on the shelves, putting a check mark next to the books that you’ve actually read. Next, make a list of all the books that aren’t on the shelves that you’ve read over the years. Some you’ll have no problem remembering, others you won’t be able to recall. And then make still another list, this one noting all the books you want to read but haven’t — yet. Update frequently, and keep the lists and photographs tucked away in your favorite book.

I love my bookshelves, so much so that a place doesn't quite feel like home without them or the books that fill them. The funny thing is that I haven't read the majority of the books that take up residence here; I've known that for a long time and it hasn't really bothered me until recently. I love reading. Always have. But I also love books for their beauty. (Am I crazy that I think books are beautiful?) As such, I have many books that I love simply for the  aesthetic value they add to my living room; I'm sure the contents are incredible as well (most are classics, you know), but I wouldn't be the one to tell you that for sure.

But, last December, finding my appetite for reading was suddenly voracious, I determined that now was as good a time as any to start reading these books. As many as I could, as quickly as I could. (In other words, I resolved to start one and finish it without letting weeks slip by without picking it up.) And, as I began, I realized I had several books that I just didn't care about. I had picked them up once upon a time because I had wanted to read them, but as the years passed, I lost interest and forgot about them. With space at a premium in our apartment, I started sorting through the books and making piles of those that I was willing to let go of. I did this before I realized that one of the 52 Projects dealt with books on one's bookshelf. Nice timing, eh?

Here is one of my bookshelves; this is in the living room. There's one more shelf that's not pictured here; it's covered up by storage boxes behind our couch, and the camera couldn't catch it. (Told you space was at a premium - who wants storage boxes in their living room?) Anyway, we keep classics, books on faith and spirituality, and fiction on this shelf. 

This is the other shelf in the living room; it houses classics, literary anthologies, and art and history books. Oh, and Addie's books and toys are on the bottom two shelves. Didn't catch that in this picture, but I promise you I've read all the books on her shelf. Many times.

And here is the much more functional bookshelf in my bedroom. The books on this shelf are the spillover from when I cleared out two shelves on the living room shelves for Addie's stuff. And yet, somehow, adding books to my bedroom made it finally feel like my own room.

And this is the final bookshelf to show. This is in Addie's room; she has another one with strictly her books, but I included this one because the majority of books on it are actually mine. Books from childhood, high school, college. Books I held on to because they seemed to special to get rid of (my mom's Nancy Drew book from when she was a young girl); books I held on to because I thought perhaps one day my own daughter might love them (Anne of Green Gables); books I held on to because I still read them over and over again (Harry Potter).

So. The point of all this was to write a list of the books on these shelves, right? Well, I wish I could tell you that I had my list complete. I don't. I've had a clingy, moody toddler on my hands this week who has made it fairly impossible to do much else during her waking hours than read books with her, play hide and go seek with her Little People, or watch Sesame Street for the 47th time in a row. But I can tell you that the list is started, at least. I'll add pictures here when I get it finished. Promise.


What books do you love? Why do you hold on to the books you do? How do you decide what stays and what goes?

What I Do and What I Don't Do

Last week I was thinking a lot about dreams, goals, and ways to pursue them without losing my mind. Have you ever been in a place where you feel distracted by the things you think you ought to do, sacrificing getting something you want to do? (And I'm not talking about paying bills vs. blowing your paycheck at the mall ... )

Someone taught me a very valuable lesson last January, and here I am a whole year later and haven't done anything about it. I've remembered it, though, and every time I find myself caught between the ought to and the want to, I think about the lesson and wonder if it could help sort things out for me.

It's simple: make a list of things you do and things you don't do.

Shauna Niequist, she's a genius. I'm telling you. (She is hands-down one of my absolute favorite authors. She tells the truth, beautifully, honestly. And I never get through the first chapter of either of her books without crying. You can check out her blog here.)

In her book Bittersweet, there's a chapter called "Things I Don't Do," and I've been thinking about the truths in that chapter for the past several days. In it, she tells the story of how she came to write a list of things she doesn't do. She tells the story of how she came to hear (and believe, and put into practice) this invaluable piece of advice: "It's not hard to decide what you want your life to be about. What's hard [...] is figuring out what you're willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about."

So today, after re-reading the chapter for at least the hundredth time, I'm thinking about what I really care about. I'm asking myself questions like, What are the things in my life that are central to the life I want to lead? Am I leading the life I want to lead? And if not, what are the things I care about that I'm not making room for? What are the things in my life that I don't really care about, that are distracting me from investing in the things I do care about?

It's a two-part exercise. The first step is to decide what is most important to me - the things I do. The second step is to make a list of things that I don't really care all that much about - the things I don't do. I think by writing it out, it's like giving yourself permission to say no to the things you don't really care about, but more than that, it's permission to say yes to the things you actually care about, the things you always say you would spend your life doing if only you had the time.

When I sat down to make the list, I realized that it's much more difficult than it sounds. It may not look that way when you read my lists, but give it a try and you'll find out just how truthful I'm being. And by the way, if you don't feel like reading this list, I don't blame you. It turned out to be quite long. And believe it or not, I could probably make it longer. But maybe it will make you think differently about what you do and what you don't do - and just maybe, if you're like me, it will end up helping you feel really good about who you are and what you do (and what you don't do), and help you to take a step toward focusing your time and mental energy on pursuing the goals that line up with what's actually important to you.


Things I Do
I love Jesus. I do my best to live my life as He has asked me to, which includes serving others and being involved with fellow believers on a weekly basis.

I try hard to make sure the people I love know they are important to me. Sometimes this means watching something obscure on Netflix that clearly is nostalgic to my husband (but quite silly to me); sometimes this means inviting friends over to our place for an impromptu dinner;  and sometimes this means driving a bit to spend time with people I haven't seen in too long. Doing what I can when I can to spend time with people who make me think, make me laugh, and challenge me to be a better person is never time wasted.


I work at home. I have a more-than-full-time job taking care of my growing family. I try hard to keep things clean and running smoothly around here, and I take in freelance work when it pops up.

I spend a lot of time in the kitchen. Cooking and cleaning, yes, but studying and experimenting and creating. Cooking is a creative outlet for me, a beautiful way to experience all the colors and textures and flavors this world has to offer. I do my best to cook in a healthy, mindful way, but I never sacrifice flavor. Ever.

Which leads me to my next point. I believe in putting my money where my mouth is (perhaps literally and figuratively?) by buying organic milk, eggs, produce, and meat. I support local farms and I belong to a CSA. What this means in a practical sense is that I pay an awful lot for organic milk, I don't buy tomatoes out of season, and I made Addie's baby food from scratch (which actually is not nearly as hard as it might seem). Food is important, where it comes from is important, how we come to purchase it is important, and how we think about it is important - for the environment, for our health, and for our taste buds. Seriously - the real stuff tastes better. I promise.


I spend a lot of time with the written word by reading and writing. I read all sorts of books and blogs, especially ones that make me see the world a bit differently, or teach me something valuable, or give me sheer pleasure as I turn the page. When I read inspiring writers, I find that I am a better writer myself, and since writing is important to me, reading is essential.
 
Things I Don't Do
I don't have a outside job outside my home in the traditional 9-5 workday sense. I quit that over six months ago to stay home with my then infant daughter. When I was working, I felt lots of pressure to stay home. And now that I'm home, I feel lots of pressure to be a working mom. The thing is, I can't have it both ways, not really. But I can still do what I love here, in my home, while raising my daughter. 

I'm not much of a crafter. I could be, and I enjoy it (usually), but let's be honest here: I don't make my own jewelry or greeting cards or pillow cases or tutus for little girls. And I don't scrapbook. (Believe it or not, this has been a point of guilt for me. Not creating something fancy and pretty that documents my marriage and my growing child has made me feel like I don't care about them enough. But the truth is, I'm actually really terrible at documenting much of anything in any organized manner.) 

I don't stress over having a perfectly clean house. I do my best to keep things tidy (and actually, I really really hate going to bed with a messy kitchen), but overall, I'm not one of those women whose kitchen floor you could eat off of. Heck, I don't even scrub my shower. (But I can happily say that Joey does do that.)

I don't perform, and actually, it took a long time for me not to feel bad about that simply because I grew up among performers. Artists. Talented folks who enjoy sharing their gift in front of an audience. Plus, I married a man whose dating history primarily involves seriously talented musicians. Me? I'm not one of those. I don't sing or play an instrument, I don't act, and I certainly don't dance. And while I do want to learn to play the piano again (I quit when I was in 6th grade), I want to do that for me. I don't want to learn it with pressure to play for anyone other than myself unless I want to.

I don't do much with social networking. I don't Twitter, and I rarely Facebook. I like being connected with my friends, but I do my best to stay in touch with them by actually talking to them, visiting them, writing emails or letters to them. I admit that Facebook is an easy, fast way to shoot them a quick "I'm thinking about you" message, but I feel like it's pretty impersonal, and to be honest, I don't want the whole world privy to what I have to say to them.

I don't live outside my means. This means that I don't go shopping very often (unless you count shopping for milk and bananas every week), and I don't use money budgeted for something else or a credit card to get the things I really want. I either save for it, or wait for extra money to come in, or ask for it for my birthday or Christmas. It's tough - there are times when I feel deprived when I can't go out and buy a new purse or get a pedicure, or (even worse) sip a fancy cup of coffee as I roam around a bookstore, picking out a pile of new books to bring home with me. But I do feel good about making huge strides toward being debt-free, and believe it or not, life does go on if I keep on using my worn out purse.

I don't run marathons. I don't ski. I don't hike. I don't sail. I don't ride horses. In short - I'm not outdoorsy. I like to be active and healthy, but I don't spend my free time doing the things I listed. Perhaps I will someday, but for right now, I don't. And that's ok.

I don't keep up with the media. I don't have cable. I hardly ever know what new movie is out. I couldn't tell you who the latest pop star is. I enjoy movies and clever TV shows, but I don't keep up with the latest celebrity gossip.

Come to Me

When you know you're supposed to be reflecting on the past and anticipating the future, when you know you're supposed to be setting new goals and starting to walk in new ways to get those goals accomplished, sometimes it feels too hard to actually start. 

In the days leading up to the first moments of 2012, the idealist in me was full of good ideas -- no, great ideas -- for how I was going to do things differently this year, how I would make real changes that would matter, that would change my life both inside and out. But I never actually got around to writing them down or defining them any further than simply making a mental note of what I hoped to accomplish this year. I dragged my feet when it came to that; it was as if I was rebelling against new years' resolutions or goal-setting with an attitude that seems to think it doesn't really matter anyway. I'm fine the way I am, aren't I? Do I really have to make changes? And if I do, who says New Year's Day is the "right" or "best" time to start? And yet, here I am, three days into the new year, finally forcing myself to sit down and define my dreams for this year.

Defining dreams is pretty important, I think. Writing them down, giving the unspoken desires deep within your heart words that take up space outside of yourself, that gives the dream a bit of substance, doesn't it? It makes it seem as though perhaps you might actually see that dream come true. It motivates to action. It gives direction to decisions.

This year, I waver between feeling as though my dreams are far too lofty to be attainable and feeling as though my dreams aren't nearly big or important enough. The more I thought about the disparity between these two thoughts, the more I realized it is caused by a cocktail of desire & destiny and self-doubt & faithlessness.

As I was putting Adeline down for her morning nap today, I pondered this as I rocked her back and forth. It was not lost on me that I do that rocking motion in my thought life every day, sometimes without even realizing it. Back and forth I go, moving between belief that the Lord has planted desires in my heart whose buds are beginning to peek their little necks out from beneath the soil, and the flawed thinking that the bud has died, and that no amounts of water or sunlight will revive it. The pull between what I dream of doing, what it seems like I "should" be doing, and what I actually feel like doing on a daily basis leaves me burdened and burnt out. And so I do nothing (thus the reason I haven't written anything here in nearly two weeks).

As I continued to rock back and forth, I breathed a small prayer asking, "What do I do with this?" Being in that in between place is uncomfortable and paralyzing. I felt a faint whisper in my ear say, "Come to me," an echo of what Jesus said in Matthew 11:30: 

 Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? 

Come to me. 

Get away with me and you'll recover your life. 

I'll show you how to take a real rest. 

Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. 

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. 

I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. 

Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.

(The Message)

And so, I didn't waste time. I went to him immediately. I flipped through my journal, a bit embarrassed by how long it's been since I'd written in it, looking for a shred of evidence that He'd met with me before in hopes of bolstering my faith that He'd do it again. Without looking very far, I found this letter. It is a letter written last April at our annual Women's Conference; our speaker, Susie Larson, gave us an opportunity to sit in the presence of the Lord and write a letter with words the Lord would speak to us right then. "Don't think about it, just write," she urged. Here's what mine said:

My precious child, 

I want you to know that I love you. More than anything else, I want you to know that I love you. Deep. Deep. Deep. Love you. And I have your back. You don't have to worry. You don't have to be afraid. I'll take care of you. I know you, your heart, how your mind has kept you captive from the things I desire for you. They're for me - so take heart, love. Take my heart and let it become yours. I'll not leave you. Never. I can't. I won't. Don't even try pushing me away because you'll lose. I win. I always win. With me, you are safe. I've got your back. I see you. I know you. I'll help you. I mean what I say. Maybe others don't. Haven't. But I do. I will. Trust me. Trust ME. I am good. I am true. I am real, more real than anything else, for without me, there is nothing. Apart from me, there is nothing. With me, there is fullness of joy. With me there is clarity, not confusion. With me there is light at the end of the tunnel. I am that light. Keep walking. Keep moving. Keep seeking. Keep trying. Don't fear failure. Don't fear falling. I am. I promise. Believe the promise. Step into the promise. Embody the promise. Don't forget. Remember. Remember me. Remember me? I am the one who brought you here to this sweet place. I will continue. My word is true. My word is sure. My word will not fail. Honor me. Honor me with everything you are and I will honor you. Do not forget. And I will not forget.

Perhaps today the Lord was trying to tell me something even more specific than the message of this letter. As I was looking through the pictures I took to share with you, my eyes landed on this:

They're for me. My dreams, that is. They are not my own; they are mine to bring glory to the Lord. However big or small those dreams are, however dramatic or seemingly mundane, all of them are for His glory alone.

Take my heart. Instead of "taking heart" on my own and operating from my own strength, take His heart and operate in His strength. Make what He cares about what I care about. What hurts His heart, let it hurt mine, too.  Let the things that move him, move me. Love like he loves.

I'll not leave. I'm not alone, nor will I ever be. I am not facing this alone, and I never will. We're in this together.

I don't know where you are in processing and pursuing your dreams. Perhaps you're like me and have been feeling like the desires set deep in your heart are more of a liability than they are liberty these days. Maybe you've lost sight of your dream completely, or maybe you've walked through this place before but have come out the other end. Either way (or any number of other ways this might find you today), I will leave you with this:

Your dreams? They're for Him.

Take heart. His heart.

You're in this together.