We are eleven days in, and so far, SO very good.  NO-TV November.  For the second year in a row I have committed to turning off the television for the whole month—with the exception of college football on Saturdays (because I made this whole thing up and that means I make the rules) and kids’ shows (because I’m very pregnant and not ashamed to admit I need a little help from Dora, Diego, and Daniel—you all know how I feel about that Tiger— #lovehim).  But outside of that, during afternoon naps, or post bedtime when my usual routine might include turning something on the screen that would give me permission to turn off my mind, I’m being more intentional about making space for silence—a discipline that is rather difficult for me and always has been.  One really only has to be my friend for five minutes to be keenly aware that I process, out loud, all the time.  And if no one is around to hear me, well I typically like at least a little “Chopped” on in the background.  But because the gift of alliteration that comes with NO-TV November is just too good for a writer to pass up, I’m enforcing it again.  And that quiet space being created? It really is amazing the good things are filling it up.

First, I’m in scripture more than ever.  Being a morning person works greatly to my advantage here, because I wake up craving, needing, excited for the peace of my time with Jesus in his word.  He is blessing me with a can’t get enough season.  And it has not always been this way.  For most of my life God’s word sat on my shelf and I pretended I knew what it said.  But I started paying attention to the people around me who always seemed so grounded, so humble, so wise in their speech, and without exception the difference was their love for and faith in scripture.  Just over a year ago I started praying for those things, and I’ve found that asking for a genuine love of God’s word is not a request He is likely to turn down.  Quite the opposite, really.  He gladly throws kindling on that fire.  Because we are a generation rich in resources to talk about God through books, blogs, sermons, study groups and the like, I think it is easy for us to believe we know God’s word when we may actually not.  But there is no one and no thing that can replace the beautiful intimacy of just you and just Jesus in scripture together. And I want to be so careful not to have a relationship with God through my favorite authors or pastors, as thankful for them as I am.  The divine interaction with that book sitting on my nightstand proves again and again to be my greatest hope in the world.

I’m also setting goals and making steps towards accomplishing them, a discipline that easily gets relegated to the “someday” category all too often.  On the first of the month I sat down and wrote out all the things I want to focus on in the next three months (because that’s how Lara Casey does it and I think she is so legit).  And, well... wow, the intentionality that follows in my actions when I stop and think about them!  This is the most common sense thing in the world: think about what you do before you do it.  But for long seasons at a time I just haven’t, and I end up stretched thin, tired, and giving too many things, or the wrong things altogether, too little of my effort.  I have eight things on my goal list.  Eight.  For the next few months if something is not falling in to one of those categories, it gets a “no for now” answer, not because I’m putting any amount of pride in being “right” about my prioritizing but because it has to be that way or I will not make it.  I want to be someone who gives all of herself to a few things, a depth over breadth approach—something I would not have said just a few years ago when my mindset was framed around getting everyone to like me (I’m still working on that).  Today, my mindset is more time on the things Jesus would like from me.  And the three items on the top of this list are my faith in God, my marriage, and my babies, which you all now have permission to keep me accountable on because I’m saying them publicly.  So please do.  I have a tendency to schedule coffee dates when I should be scheduling, you know, like real dates with the man who made me his bride.  He is really the best person I know. 

And I’m reading some pretty great books.  Y’all, if you want to read but don’t think you have time, I’m telling you, just turn the TV off.  Twenty-minutes here, another half an hour there, and you’ve got yourself so excited to turn the next page that pretty soon you are looking for time to read.  My favorites this Fall have been Just Mercy, Reclaiming Home (by my friend, Krista, who is the real deal), and When People Are Big and God is Small.  A full nightstand equals a full heart for this girl.  (Also, I’ve read/skimmed approximately 700 books on natural childbirth, because my heart says “Your body was made for this!” and my head says “Epidural and sprite on ice, girlfriend.” But let’s just talk about all that later). 

And finally, I’m listening.  Or, I should say I’m trying to.  The words of one of my old mentors hang over my mind here: “Only speak if you can improve the silence.”  And let’s be honest, silence is really a pretty great thing in this world, so it's no small task trying to improve it.  And that whole external processing thing, it does not go away overnight.  But I’ve been sensing that too often I speak when I should listen, to both God and others, and I really want to practice a much more thoughtful approach to those relationships.  Believe it or not, a silent home during the hours that I can swing it has been unbelievably helpful in that.   

Now, if I have presented a version of myself that includes any mental image of a clean home, meal plans, sorted laundry, or really any manner of a thoroughly put-together life at all, I must undo them here.  Y’all, I am hanging on by a thread in these last few days and weeks of pregnancy.  At my 36 week appointment last week I was already 2cm dilated and 50% effaced, and I feel like it.  Each day the contractions get a tiny bit more real, and this little limp-waddle-walk I’ve got going on is evidence to the world that three babies in three years has done a number on every one of my core muscles.  But because I can’t do much but wait through the physical pain of carrying my third sweet baby, my heart knows I have to find my rest somewhere.  It won’t come at night and it won’t come from the couch and it certainly won’t come from listening to all the noise (there is so much noise!) in the world.  The only place I have ever really been able to find rest is in Jesus.  Which should not surprise me, He basically told us that would be the case*.  But I am never short on awe when it really does come.  And friends, it does.

{And y’all, feel free to use that little NO- (you pick) November alliteration trick I mentioned above, because who says a little giving up of something is only for lent or the first of the month?  It’s for anytime your heart needs it, so I say go ahead and give yourself permission.} 

*Matthew 11:28

I used to underestimate the influence of space.  Homes were always, to me, merely practical places to eat, sleep, and store our belongings, not places to invest too much money in because we can't take any part of them with us to eternity.  And then the best thing possible happened: I started to recognize the feeling of hospitality in other people's homes.  I realized that when Amanda had the coffee warm and the big cups out on the counter she was saying, "grab a cup and make yourself at home."  I noticed that when Meghan took the kids toys out of their corner and spread them around the living room she was saying, "We have fun here, so stay a bit!"  And when Emily took out the fleece blankets and threw one in your direction, she was saying "Let's talk awhile, get comfortable."  Size, set-up, decoration, all of the vanity mattered little compared to the intention, and I saw in so many of my friends that they did one thing so well: they made space for us.       

We bought our first home two years ago, a light blue house on 9th Avenue that came with 700 square feet of half-finished basement.  For two years we have been saving and dreaming of the potential this space had: more bedrooms! big storage area! an entertainment room!  But as our babies grew, we knew that this space had one destiny: a play room.  And that it became: a big open space with lots of toys, a reading nook (!!!), and a little secret room that the kids and their friends can dream and pretend and laugh their little hearts out in.  We forfeited every extra bit of storage space we had in lieu of nooks and crannies that we can use- perhaps a decision I will regret at some point.  But every single day since this space was finished, we have been down there.  Harper runs from wall to wall with her arms straight behind her, glee coming out of her eyes and mouth and body.  Cannon crawls from corner to corner and finds every outlet in sight (baby-proofed, it's all good.)  We have picnics and races, we play dress-up and have doctor check-ups, and we are loud.  

I cannot help but look at the freshly painted grey walls and perfect bargain carpet and think yes, space does matter.  Not size.  Not embellishment.  Not how much it cost or didn't cost.  But intention, the way we use our space, it matters.  Because our homes aren't just spaces of practicality and storage, they are spaces of love and laughter and prayer.  They can be spaces that welcome, that feed bodies and souls, that encourage, that host kingdom minded talk and further the work God has given us to do.  

I don't know if we will stay in our house forever.  I don't know if we will ever be able to afford a bigger home, or if we might feel God asking us to consolidate and downsize.  I wrestle all the time with the tension of financial stewardship: do we build more or do we give our abundance away?  How big is big enough?  How much is too much?  If we have an extra bedroom does that mean God wants us to adopt?  Good questions, all of them.  Very different answers for each of us.  But what I think about space now is this: God asks us to be intentional with it- to steward it, pray over it, use it well.  To welcome others in to it, not because it is perfect, but because it is ours, and that alone makes it a practice in generous sharing.  

I hope our basement sees dozens and dozens of kids playing and laughing and growing up together.  I hope there are lots of "sorries" and life lessons in those walls.  I hope our friends feel welcome, stay late for movies, talk through hard questions, laugh, cry, and that we all know more about Jesus when we are done.  Beyond any practicality that our home offers us, I hope above all that it always makes space for others.