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Thank God for bad dates.

Growing up, I had two very intense crushes that went on for years and also went nowhere. One was my best friend in the neighborhood, a sweet boy who grew comfortable enough with me to ask for advice about girls he liked (I know. I know. It is painful even now, twenty-four years later). We rode bikes together every day and then I’d lie in bed at night planning our wedding.

The other crush was the lifeguard at our pool. He was two years older and I was very shy, but that did not stop me from waiting on AOL Instant Messenger to see if he’d sign on. After a few years of silent stalking and smiling across the pool and daydreaming about faking a drowning episode, I turned sixteen; he was still working at the pool in the summer. We eventually exchanged contact info and months later, we started talking on AOL. Things are fuzzy, but I think he told me he had a crush on me. Hallelujah! He definitely invited me to a New Year’s Eve party. Absolutely! It was at a hotel just off of the interstate, in a suite he and some friends had rented. Why not?! Despite the questionable and dangerous setup, my parents lost their minds and said I could go as long as I brought a friend and left as soon as the Times Square ball dropped on TV.

What is better than a New Year’s Eve party with a boy you’ve liked for most of your life? Nothing! That’s what. The big day arrived, and my friend and I were off to the races. She also lived in the neighborhood and had been faithfully supporting my romantic quest for years. This was also an excellent opportunity for her to evaluate my crush’s friend selection, in case any suited her fancy. When we got to the party, I didn’t drink. I didn’t flirt. In fact, I can’t remember a single moment, other than I know I wasn’t alone with this guy all night long. I think I sat on the couch and watched TV? Every time I stole a glance at the boy, he was being loud and silly with his friends. Midnight came. The ball dropped, which was my cue to leave. I don’t think my crush even noticed my exit. After loading my friend into my car (who, by the way, had a FABULOUS time) and pulling my Ford Bronco out of the hotel parking lot, I called the boy. What courage?! Text messaging was not yet mainstream; my cell phone was for emergencies only and came with an antenna. The boy answered. I told him, with my actual voice, that I’d had a rotten evening. He told me to come back. I pulled a u-turn and whipped into the hotel parking lot, my drunk friend cackling in the passenger seat. The boy was waiting outside of the hotel. I rolled my window down a few inches. He lurched forward and planted a quick, awkward Grandma-style peck of a kiss on my face. I rolled up the window and drove away. My friend whooped and hollered. Victory.

A few long, excruciating days later, the boy called. He invited me to a movie. Yes! I couldn’t wait. We were finally going to get things rolling and be the dreamy couple I knew we could be. He picked me up on that historic winter night in his very tiny, very fast sports car. I knew it well, as I used to check on its status in the pool parking lot. He was quiet en route, although with his subwoofers and modified muffler I’m not sure I could have heard him speak anyway. As we walked up to the ticket counter, he mumbled something. I’m sorry, what? Please repeat? My ex-girlfriend, he says. She’ll be mad if she finds out I paid for your movie ticket tonight.

Fighting the urge to look around for his ex, possibly spying in the bushes, I fumbled in my purse to pay my own way. I felt desperate for the moment to pass. I felt certain the person at the ticket counter heard. I felt certain the people behind us heard. I felt certain everyone in the world just heard my dream date tell me he wasn’t actually my dream date. I rallied and walked inside, ready to sit in a dark theater next to this boy who smelled good and might redeem himself. The night was still young. Maybe he’d hold my hand, and his ex-girlfriend wouldn’t notice with her ex-girlfriend radar. I could only hope.

The movie theater was packed; the only available seats were at the very back, beneath the projector. We stepped over and around people, working our way down the row and settling in just in time for the previews. As I felt myself begin to relax and enjoy the evening, I heard a familiar voice. Rachael? Rachael Brown? I slowly turned to my left to find my dad’s best friend sitting right next to us. He hugged me, and then he leaned across me to shake my date’s hand. His wife leaned over and gave her greetings, and it was all over. I don’t remember the rest of the night, but I can look back and smile. A few short years later, I met a man who would never lose me at a party or ask me to pay for my own movie ticket again. Thank God for bad dates.

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life in alaska marriage

Happy sunset to you!

I had a slow, restful weekend. After experiencing a sudden onset of physical symptoms, I knew I needed covid testing in order to return to work safely. My hospital currently tests symptomatic employees twice, twenty-four hours apart. Between episodes of getting cotton swabs shoved gently-but-uncomfortably far into my nose, I spent most of my weekend curled up in the bed or curled up by the fire.*

Our monster of a wood stove feels like it could heat the whole neighborhood. We currently have one cord of wood stacked beneath our front porch, and another waiting to be stacked beneath our back porch. (What is a cord of wood, you ask? Great question! We just learned, too. A cord is a stack of firewood, approximately 4 feet high, 8 feet long, and 128 cubic feet in volume. Not sure if it’ll get us through the winter, but at least now we know how to order it and stack it!)

I’ve been prepping for Arctic weather since early summer; now that it’s chillier, I’m grateful for my borderline obsession. Fall is coming fast and hard, with winter close behind it. I was surprised to learn that here in Alaska, we actually get four full seasons. (Now, Alaska is a large, large, LARGE state. Click here to learn more. So when I say “here in Alaska,” I mean the southern peninsula. It’s also important to note that the marine climate in which I live is actually quite mild and temperate compared with the rest of the state and several Midwestern states.) I can’t speak to spring or winter, yet, but the summer was glorious. The sun set around midnight and rose hours before we awakened. The temperature hit seventy degrees on a regular basis. Our noses turned pink when we forgot to reapply sunscreen. We hiked on Wednesdays and Saturdays and Sundays and even broke a sweat a few times. There were boat rides and beach campfires. We observed the pace of the Alaskan during this season (play hard, fish enough for the entire year, play hard, tend to your garden and harvest enough for winter jars and cans, play hard some more). We crossed everything off of our summer bucket list. Thanks, God.

The transition to autumn in August feels appropriate, almost as if the weather follows the unspoken rules of books and movies and whimsy. Sweaters are necessary during the first week of school. The hot pink fireweed blooms begin to blow off, and its leaves slowly start to turn red. The fishermen and fisherwomen come home for the season. The restaurants and shops on the spit begin to close down. (What is the spit, you ask? Great question! The Homer Spit is a 4.5 mile finger-like projection of land that juts out into the Kachemak Bay. It holds our harbor, as well as picturesque beaches and a bustling boardwalk. Learn more here.)

I feel as ready as I can be for the dark days ahead. I bought the happy light. I take the Vitamin D. I’ve got an excellent counselor. I’m researching outdoor cold weather hobbies. I’m building a closet of gorgeous sweaters. I asked Instagram for cold weather advice, and Instagram delivered. I know that the lack of sunshine ahead is the price we pay for the continuous three months of sunshine we just enjoyed. I saw the moon this week, and I realized I couldn’t remember seeing it since the day we left South Carolina.

All in all, I await winter with anticipation. I’m ready for whatever autumn has to offer, with one exception. I do not appreciate the rapidly changing sunset times. On August 1, the sun went down at 10:32pm. Tonight, the last night of August, it will set at 9:09pm. I find this to be aggressive, pushy, and a bit rude. I’d rather be gently ushered into the next season. Fortunately, Chris came up with a fix for that.

Enter, home automation. I was slow to pick up on it, but my dear husband had his own way of coping with our move. While I spent many moments standing on our balcony, feeling the ocean breeze on my face and listening to the wind chimes Chris surprised me with when we arrived, he actually spent many moments ordering smart lights for every fixture he could outfit. This is an interesting distinction, as he typically connects more with nature and I love to shop online. Anyway, I looked up one day and realized I could tell the lights or the music to do whatever I wanted, in any room, and get a response. Chris uses an app to build “scenes,” where lights and music and sound effects work together in a theme.

We have a disco scene, which is particularly nice after dinner. As the kids clear the table, all of the main floor lights flash in different colors while Motown music plays. We also have a Star Wars scene, which is hilarious because we don’t have any good Star Wars costumes left in the house. By golly, the kids will make do with what they’ve got and stoically enter a room full of red light to the tune of The Imperial March. Chris has even set up scenes in the kids’ bedrooms, which helps with both bedtime routines and waking up for school.

What does a smart home have to do with aggressive sunsets? Chris made us a sunset scene. No matter what time the sun begins sink away, the house lights now turn pink, accompanied by a sweet chime sound. Chris and I make a point to stop what we’re doing and look at one another. Happy sunset to you. Bring it on, autumn.

*I feel much better today and both tests were negative!

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health & wellness household management marriage

To simplify the bedroom.

I’ve been back in school for three years now. Combine the workload with my day job as a nurse with a season of raising small children with the personality of an introvert, and it’s easy to see how my bedroom became a sanctuary. My husband painted it white for me as soon as we moved in. We went with simple bedding, minimal furniture, no pictures, no clutter. The kids know to always knock first if the door is closed. We don’t even have a lock on that thing. They don’t even touch the doorknob.

I spent hours reading my Bible there, typing out papers, and reading for pleasure before bed. But there were also naps and conference calls that weren’t necessary. There were also black holes of internet scrolling with the blankets pulled up to my chin in the middle of the afternoon.

For some folks, the bedroom might be an helpful spot for a home office or destination getaway. For me, over the last few years, my bedroom became home base. Remember playing tag as a child? If I could just get to home base, I’d be immune and safe. I could close the door and disconnect. It was easy to use my mom voice, “I need a minute – please leave me alone.” But that minute turned into an hour or more, valuable time that could be spent doing more to fill my soul and less to focus on myself and how hard this season is.

So in 2019, the bedroom changes. I still need a space to sneak away for a minute when needed, sure. But I don’t need a black hole in which to numb. My kids understand the complexity of our family’s schedules and respectfully give me time and space whenever I ask, but there’s no good or healthy reason for me to disappear for hours on end to my bed.

Practically speaking, here’s what it looks like for me…

A technology-free bedroom. My phone is out. I bought an alarm clock on Amazon and removed the phone charger from my side of the bed. Sometimes I take calls in there if I need quiet, but I try to park my phone on the hall table every time I walk into my room. It charges in the adjacent room at night, ringer on high for emergencies. Additionally, my computer is out. No more school work in bed. I sit in the dining room with the door closed if I need to concentrate, but I try to do most of my work in the kitchen where my kids can access me if needed.

A task-free bedroom. I no longer take whatever I’m working on into my bedroom. This could be eating, or meal-planning, or reading my Bible. I’m spending a lot more time in the den, even if nobody else is at home. I’m trying to build healthy habits and take up healthy space in my house.

To simplify the bedroom is to engage in spiritual warfare. For me, at least. I know what happens if I lie horizontal too long. I know what happens when all of my lines get blurred and routines run together. Life begins to feel foggy, and I lose sight of the God who called me to this life and sustains me to keep at it.

And so, I fight. I sit upright and read my Bible and find my Heavenly Father in its pages. I plant my rear end on a hard chair to type papers and count the days until graduation. I choose to only participate in sleep and sex (and an occasional argument or two) in my bed, to protect my space and my heart and my family. My bedroom is still a sanctuary, but now the whole house is too. Because my God is big and powerful like that.

health & wellness marriage the whole & simple gospel

Fighting. Sharing. In Jesus’ name.

It’s mental health awareness month and I already have the victory, so I am just going for it right here.

I tend to handle hard seasons like the nurse that I am – I triage, I treat, I tend to others. I am think critically, I react swiftly and efficiently, and I handle effectively. And then months later, I crash. I find myself flat on my back. Everything feels dark and stormy. It’s too hard to brush my teeth and read my Bible and stay close to my people.

I’ve been there for the last little bit. I saw the red flags here and there for the last few months, with the tiniest triggers and the smallest setbacks throwing me for a loop. It came to a head last week, thanks to friends and family pressing in. At one point, my husband physically pulled me out of bed and put my shoes on so I could get moving one morning. I spent several days lamenting and analyzing. What went wrong? I’ve been preparing my heart, disciplining my body, digging into Scripture and community, and running on mission both in my city and on the Internet. My marriage is great, my kids are awesome, and things feel pretty healthy overall. Why the sudden physical symptoms of depression? This felt like failure.

But the truth is it’s not failure. It’s just not. This is simply my life, in seasons. And it’s futile and foolish to think I’ll ever outgrow my need for the gospel, or even move on to a new problem instead of my usual struggle with pride and performance. I’m wired a certain way, I’m born into sin, and I’m made new only in Christ. And only on a daily, forever basis.

So the last few weeks were hard. But this week? This week, we fight. And this time? This time, I share as I go. Because His resurrection power is made positively perfect in my weakness. And I’m ready to boast in it.

This week: move body every day (gentle is okay), drink at least a liter of water each day, sex three times this week, be honest when people ask, no meeting with girls/women this week, memorize Isaiah 32:15-20, worship music or audio books only, and remember that this could end tomorrow and that there’s still joy in the midst.

household management marriage

this is how we do it: BUDGET

SPOILER ALERT: You will not find nitty gritty stuff in this post. You will find no discussion of numbers, income, or expenses. Below is simply a collection of thoughts that has brought my husband and I together on a hot topic issue. Carry on!

Chris and I put our money together right around the time we got engaged, I think. The details are fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure we decided it made sense to learn how to manage our money together from the get-go. He had a little debt from his divorce and was in the process of getting out from underneath his house before it foreclosed. I was in nursing school and nannying for cash on the side. Since there wasn’t a lot of money to go around anyway, we just threw it all into one bank account. We had no savings. We had no credit cards. I hadn’t yet learned how to go into debt, nor had I learned the secret of being content. We were just a little bit broke and a whole lot in love.

Over the next several years, I managed the finances. I did so very, very poorly. I am great with details and schedules, but I was neck-deep in fear and panic. Chris is a peace-keeper by nature, but he had a hard time saying no and he avoided conflict at the time. So we struggled along for years before things came to a head. I dropped the ball at least once a month, and he gave me far too much grace. During a particularly rough season, we agreed that Chris should take over the finances and also that he should keep things to himself for a few months while he found his footing. Three years later, we are in a much better place. While both of our names are on everything, he handles the day-to-day details as well as an overall vision for where we’re headed. We connect at least once a week and touch base about the future, both goals and anticipated needs.

As a married couple, we’ve gotten into and out of debt several times. We’ve always had a mortgage. We’ve opened credit cards and paid them off. We’ve switched banks. We built a house, bought another house, used the first house for rental income, and then eventually sold it. We bought land adjacent to our current house.

We’ve taken out small cash loans for old cars and paid them off as fast as we could. We’ve learned how to save. We’ve learned how to get out of and stay out of debt, though I’m not sure we’ll ever be completely free of it. We’ve never filed for bankruptcy. We’ve wept over medical bills. We’ve contributed the maximum allowed to retirement funds. We’ve given a lot of money away. We’ve been on food stamps and Medicaid. We’ve enjoyed family vacations.

I get asked about money more than any other question I receive on the internet, which is understandable but difficult since neither of us are experts. However, I want to honor the questions by giving y’all a little glimpse of how we handle money around here. The ground rules will be particularly helpful for you on this one! There’s no way we all have the same amounts of money and income, or the same type of bills and expenses, or even the same beliefs about how to handle it all. Okay? Okay! Let’s get started.

Because my husband manages our money, it only felt right to ask him to contribute to this post. So recently I asked him, “If you were going to tell someone three things you do with finances that make you feel both secure and freed up, what would they be?” He answered fairly quickly, which is actually quite unusual for him. This must mean these are important nuggets. So listen up, and grab ’em while they’re hot.

Thoughts from Christopher:

Balance your checkbook. “This relieves stress because it leaves me with no surprises.”

He keeps a Microsoft Excel spread sheet (color-coded, of course) with all of our income and bills and expenses, divided up into categories that work for us. There are sections for regular monthly bills, budgeted areas like food and automotive and self-care, money coming in, giving and saving, etc. He says this took him about six months to nail down, and he works on it every day for about five minutes. During the months where he lets a week or two go by, he says it takes him several hours to catch up. Every morning, he pulls up the spreadsheet and compares it against our bank account. Sometimes he texts me or yells down the hall to talk about it, but most of the time it’s just a quick check-in that he handles by himself.

Prepare ahead of time. “I try to make arrangements when I see something coming down the pipe.”

Now that we don’t live in fear about what’s coming next and whether or not we’ll have enough, we’re able to look at the future with clear eyes. Now that we’ve learned how to say no and how to save, we don’t stress about the random school fees and unexpected car repairs. At the same time, though, we’re able to tighten things up if we know we’re headed into an expensive season. For example, we won’t eat out for two weeks if we know we’re traveling at the end of the month.

Get on the same team. “My no doesn’t crush you because it’s our no.”

We used to try to talk about finances, but it felt too hard and awkward and overwhelming and embarrassing and so we’d avoid it for months. Once we forged ahead and got through the hardest conversations, we got on the same page. We committed to staying on the same team, and we unified our goals and our language. To jump start, we did a spending freeze for one month while Chris learned how to track everything and got a rough version of a budget set up. We agreed on what felt most important, and how we wanted to attack things together. Things have been smooth(ish) sailing ever since. This means I might not ever get a new kitchen, but it also means that someday we might have enough cash to pay for three new kitchens, and that is just as powerful.

Thoughts from Rach:

We loosely follow the Dave Ramsey program. We attended Financial Peace University several years ago and we used his cash flow budget sheet as a starting place for our budget. I agree with his wisdom and cheer on the folks I know who subscribe to it explicitly, but we’ve found a better fit in taking some parts and leaving others.

I use cash for “blow money” and it’s literally changed my life. Every Sunday night, I get cash back from the store when we pay for our groceries. It’s mine to use on food, coffee, skincare, whatever I want for the week. It makes me feel empowered and not policed, and it keeps the swipe count down on our bank account so Chris doesn’t have to muddle through it all each day. Outside of that cash, I check in with him before I swipe the check card for anything. It felt awkward at first, but now it just feels right and honoring and freeing.

We recently quit my employer-sponsored health insurance plan and picked up a policy with Medishare. It has been an adjustment, but so far so good! And we’re saving money in premium costs, so that’s helpful.

I contribute the maximum allowed toward my retirement fund.

As Jesus followers, we believe that it’s important to resist. We resist what culture tells us to care about in regards to money. We refuse to idolize the American Dream, but we take it a step further. We also refuse to idolize financial freedom. We believe our salvation is secure regardless, and we want to focus more on the Kingdom of God than on anything else. This means we practice financial responsibility, but we do not give into that late-night, sleep-deprived obsession and worry that pretends like there isn’t a God out there who cares about his kids.

We have life insurance.

We recently decided to spend a certain amount of money of groceries and household items (like soap and toilet paper) per week, which leaves enough room for us to eat out once per week. This means we have to choose – either a date night or a meal out as a family or a couple of quick takeout runs. This has been a particularly helpful and fun part of the process.

We tithe. No matter what. Every month. As of right now, we tithe to our church every time we get paid, and then we give a little extra to other various charities and ministries. We are currently supporting Preemptive Love and Shama Women with a monthly subscription. Sometimes Chris hands a server our check card and tells them to pay for another person’s meal, or we’ll write a check to a friend’s church plant. It’s been so cool to watch him lead us in radical generosity.

We do not have it figured out. Some of this information will be outdated by next week. We are not experts in anything other than being needy children of God, trying to learn stewardship as we grow old together. I hope it helps a little! Hit me up with any life-changing tips you’ve got regarding finances!

household management life lately marriage motherhood skincare

Ground Rules.

Before/during/after you read any of my “this is how we do it” posts, please review the following ground rules. Thank you!

  1. I’m a firm believer that while we can teach as we learn (in fact, it’s one of the best ways to learn), some parts of our journey are meant to be experienced in the quiet, diligent, sometimes difficult spaces. For that reason, I will only share about topics I’ve been tackling with some form of victory for at least one year or more.
  2. I have kept the comments section of my blog closed for several months, and I will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. While I’m open to feedback and conversation via email (contact form at the top), I simply do not have the margin to cultivate and maintain community on this space.
  3. I’m only going to say this once. Please do not insert yourself into my life. For my sake, for yours, for the sake of the One who made you uniquely and wonderfully. There is a very small chance that we are at the same stage of life with matching resources, dynamics, and personalities. Read my stuff, take away what you’d like, adjust some habits if it’s helpful, but stay perfectly you the entire time.
  4. There is not a single topic about which I share that could take place successfully without my husband. Christopher is my rock, my love song, and my constant reminder of Jesus’ love and sacrifice. So keep that in mind when you read about time management, or task-related things, or even self-care. And see #3.
  5. There is not a single topic about which I share that could take place at all without my Savior. I filter every rhythm, every idea, and every breath of my life through a Christian worldview. My personal experience with salvation has been tried and tested, and it’s the only way I know how to do life. So while it’s totally fine if you read my words through a different lens, I need you to know that you’re missing out if you don’t know Jesus.
  6. I might add more rules as I think of them. It’s my space, after all (who remembers MySpace?).

Grateful. Excited. Expectant. Let’s go.

community marriage motherhood

It was fresh, and it was loud.

Processed with VSCOcam with m2 preset

I got married ten days before Christmas. Everything was cold and warm, at the same time. It was as perfect as we’d pictured. Candles amongst flowers, holly berries tucked into corsages. That week felt like a dream. In the days following, we tried our best to figure out how to handle holiday traditions that we had brought into our marriage. Whose houses do we visit, and when? When do we open presents, and how many? It was a whirlwind few weeks, and we made it through, but it wasn’t easy. It was fresh, and it was loud.

I remember sitting in my in-laws’ living room on Christmas Day, watching twenty people open presents at the same time. There was screaming, laughing, paper flying. Nobody could see the floor. Nobody knew what anyone had received or given. Nobody stood a chance at being heard. I watched in horror, with a little fascination on the side. I’d grown up with a quiet and tidy, one-person-at-a-time-and-please-don’t-rip-the-paper tradition. I didn’t know how to wrap my brain parts around what I was experiencing.

As the years have passed, we’ve sort of hit our holiday stride. We’ve set up boundaries and torn down walls. I’d call it an awkward, bumpy rhythm, but it’s a rhythm nonetheless. And it’s ours. It beats to the song of the Kincaid Parade, and I’ve grown imperfectly comfortable with it.

I’ll be sharing more tomorrow night, and I’d love to have you.

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