My Wild Church

My grandma always tells this story of the time I went out and picked strawberries. I brought them in, mud and all, washed them, removed stems, and put them in the fridge. All by myself. I was 6 years old. It is still my favorite fruit.

Dressed from head to toe for the wild blackberry patch, I will never forget holding my breath, on the edge of the field, as my grandma sprayed me down with bug repellent for the hunt. After a long cool shower with Dial soap, I would run up to my grandma's kitchen where she would have those berries all rinsed and ready to go swimming in a bowl of fresh whipping cream. It was magic.

My grandma taught me most of what I know about the land and it's ways.
I love to garden because of her.


I meet God in the garden; my wild church full of good fruit and a few unruly weeds - all jumping out of their pews, praise hands, guts and glory - alleluia.

Every day is Sunday here, and the congregation is full of all types; old, young, diseased, healthy, weak, strong, stubborn, lazy, and just ripe. All shapes and sizes fall in, represent. Tending, weeding, guiding, harvesting - a gentle communion - God coming to earth to do His work for us and in us.




I am drawn to the land. I think it's because it feels like He's been here, is still here; extending His hand to me and my family in the gift of fruit. Every visit a surprise. Color so alive you can taste it. I think it's because I feel close to grandma here; extending her motherly wisdom, taking care of me, so I can take care of my family.

We bought a home this spring with a yard big enough for a garden, but I chose to plant on my grandparents' land in the country instead. I didn't want to miss the chance for me, for my kids, to spend time with grandma and grandpa doing something so rich and life-giving. Tabby dog runs around the yard, happy to see us. Grandpa revs up a tractor or lawn mower to the delight of two little boys. Grandma drives around in her John Deere gator passing on her secrets, handing me a hoe, stopping to dig up some carrots for me or take baby Bella for a spin.



And I think it's important. I think it's vital that we step away from the rush of the American lifestyle and slow down, breathe a little, grow something outside of ourselves. I feel like I am suffocating sometimes as the to-do list creeps up to my neck. Someone always needs something, there is always something to be done. But in the garden we are on God's time, and I like that.

This year we are growing green beans, peas, brussels sprouts, broccoli, cabbage, kohlrabi, cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, carrots, sweet corn, zucchini, spaghetti squash, and lettuces! We've also been able to harvest apples, peaches, blueberries, black raspberries and strawberries! Thank you, Lord, for the land, for grandma and grandpa, for the life you've given to the generations that gather around the garden for communion with You. Amen.



For more #tlfgarden15 adventures -- catch us on INSTAGRAM!!!

Anti-Social: The Little Black Box

A couple weekends ago, we went on a mini (two kids and preggo, hello) tour of the McCormick
mansion. I thought the little, gold-plated ceiling theater in the basement was impressive until we
got to the "drawing" room. I was suddenly inspired to speak with a British accent, call my husband
Mr. Darcy, and ring for Carson the butler all at the same time.
Pour me a cup of this elegant simplicity, I'm moving in.

The guide asked the crowd if they noticed anything different about this 1930's drawing room compared
to our modern living spaces. You don't even have to be there to know that half the crowd was murmuring:

"There's no TV." *gasps* *shocked faces* How did they liiiiive?!

That's when we all reached into our pockets to make sure our smart phones hadn't disappeared into thin
air, taking the internet connection and all things 21st century with them! Phew, I've got 3 bars.

"The couches are placed in a circle," the guide went on. "People faced each other, engaged with
one another - not the television, not their iPhone, not their computer." They were living out the
original "face time". They spoke about the current news, affairs, business - what they had heard on the
street, from their neighbor, or the newspaper. It was the homiest "homepage" anyone ever saw.

If not for central air, I'd say I was born in the wrong century.

"The couches are placed in a circle."

I still can't get it out of my head. A circle to gather people in, to draw them into communion
with one another - to talk, to speak, to share, unfold, receive, delight...

And we trade it all in to face our television screen, to sit side-by-side with family, friends, complete
strangers and tune-in to the little, black box that keeps us all comfortable, entertained, but tragically
disconnected, drifting further and further away from the art of communion. The gift of communion.

Tragic.

I do believe there is a time and place for the television - even the one that sits in my own living room.
But I guard the "sacred space" in which it dwells with vicious vigilance. If I had more space, you
can bet my couches would be placed in a circle and I would force all my company to sit back, relax,
and sing kumbaya with me. Ok, maybe not sing, but you can call me Jane.

I don't want to be lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of commercials, flickering of channels.
I don't want someone else to think for me and give me ideas about what to believe.

I want my senses to crawl, my mind to race, ideas and passions to mingle. I want to know YOU.
I want to see your face, hear your stories, read your heart. Social. Communion...

the antithesis of that little black box and all it stands for.




"I fear the day that technology will surpass our human interaction.
The world will have a generation of idiots." - Albert Einstein

The Gift I Needed Most

I know it is so 2013 to talk about Christmas gifts right now, but I'm a rebel -
so I'm gonna do it. And you're going to like it! Yes, you are.

Christmas as an adult seems to be more predictable? The traditions, routines,
gift planning, feasting, etc. all have a familiar hum; it's natural, cozy, and warm.
Like that feeling you get when recalling fond childhood memories -
nostalgic butterflies in your heart! Blessed time of year.

I was given so many wonderful gifts this past Christmas,
but there was one gift that I did not expect or see coming.

My 19 year old brother - God bless him. The heart of a child.
So simple, so easily delighted - he has the best laugh. It's that deep-belly
cackling, can't catch your breath, "oh man", roll off your seat kind of laugh.
I love him a lot.

I unwrapped a box. A beautiful, decorative box. Filled with index cards.
Smiling, intrigued by the mystery - I looked to him with the question on my face,
"What... what is this, buddy?"

He proceeded to tell me that while at a retreat he heard someone share about a prayer box.
You write down the happy things, the heavy requests, the trying questions, the everyday blessings
on those index cards, place them in the box, and leave it for God to take care of.

Tears filled me eyes. I choked out a "thank you" - trying to tell him without
bursting into tears that THIS was the gift I needed most at this time in my life.

It's so easy to add up the needs, desires, requests, the petitions and burdens of ourselves
and others - and carry them around on our OWN HEARTS. So heavy - weighing down a torrential
downpour of anxiety, fear, and need to fix matters on our own.

Or maybe that's just me. I humbly confess - I try to be strong and play "God" all the time.
Which is ironic because one of my favorite things to say is, "Well, I'm not Jesus."

The box is slowly collecting the little things that I have the hardest time surrendering
to God. Seems silly, but it totally has an effect on me... writing, folding, opening the lid,
shutting the lid, walking away... it's done. God has it.

For What is Given

I shamelessly grasp for the next.
Rushing, rushing like wind over sand; moving fast enough to
make a difference, but not slow enough to remember or relish the change.
My name is Brittany, and I am the epitome of a bull in a china shop.



"Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me.
I cannot think of a single advantage I've ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken
and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing... Through all that haste
I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away." - G.K. Chesterton

Age has changed me.
With each collected decade, I find that time is not the enemy standing in the way,
but the promise of refuge in the beauty of the moment - begging me to just STAY.
I don't always ignore the invitation, as children have also changed me,
but I wish I accepted the invite "so very promptly" more often.





"Wherever you are, be all there." - Julian of Norwich

This Thanksgiving I am giving thanks for what I have, right now.

I am thanking God for the children He has given me, and surrendering my hope for more.
I am thanking God for my husband, my Psalm 37:4 and beyond.
I am thanking God for
new friends, and old alike
family always present, engaged
community of tender hearts
the pain of change that brings new, refreshed beauty
moments of trial that lead to deeper trust
God hidden, but mysteriously present in so many ways

I am thanking God for what He gives today, this very second, stopping to focus
on the gift that's been given and not future ones anticipated.

Today. We are only promised today. Don't miss it.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING
from our hearts to yours