In: Redding, CA. Little Tiny.

(Soundtrack this on Spotify while reading: Lord Huron "Lonesome Dreams" album)

To feel alive inside is always a gift. Recently, the alive I feel is a deep ache that seems to separate my bones from my skin. An ache that only burrows deeper with the kisses from Holy Spirit and my husband; kisses meant to say, "I am present and my love for you is steady and strong."

A beautiful morning in July marked the beginning of something wonderful & a beautiful morning in August marked the beginning of something awful. Joel was leaving that day in July for a remote island in Nicaragua and I had been abruptly awakened by Jesus. I ran to the bathroom and grabbed a test from the drawer. I had already taken three of the five in the past couple months and the results were always the same, steady digital image: "Not Pregnant."

Jumping back to the night before... We were making the tedious drive from Mexico to Redding, on the way home from leading a week long mission trip to Tijuana for Bethel. As I was sitting in the backseat, a rush of joy hit me and I uncontrollably laughed and celebrated. In that moment, I felt pregnant. I was rolling around in my own mind, making excuses for the negative thoughts that tried to convince me I was just stir-crazy from driving for 8 hours and drinking coffee on an empty stomach. Father God interrupted the nonsense and, grinning, said, "I just wanted to be the first one to tell you." I wept in the backseat as I felt the excitement of God himself, how he had wanted this for me before being a Mommy ever even occurred to me.

As I waited the eternal three minutes for my test result the next morning, I wondered why anxiety had replaced the joy from the night before. Months ago, Jesus told me that our baby was going to be born in March and would be the sweetest, happiest spirit; an "incredibly important person. "This is my month to be pregnant," I told myself firmly every day. Well, and it was. "Pregnant," announced the test. If an inanimate object could smile and wink, then I'm pretty sure that our ClearBlue digital would have been the first to do it that day. Due date: April 8.

I couldn't believe my eyes, as tears streamed down my face, and I ran to our room where my sleeping "beauty" was still dreaming. I jumped on the bed, crying and laughing at the same time. Joel, startled awake, hugged me and we rejoiced together as we allowed our hearts to instantly fall head-over-heels for our new numero uno: Little Tiny. Resembling a tadpole and the size of a poppyseed: who knew there was so much to love in someone so small!

We drove Joel to San Francisco that afternoon to send him to the island and a tender man kissed his newly pregnant wife and his unborn child, only hours earlier first realized. A week later and we would have him back, the tiniest of us having grown 10,000 times bigger in just that short time. What a dream we were living; one of the greatest I had lived in my entire life.

A week later, excited to see my Honey in two days, I went to the bathroom when I woke up. And my heart dropped: I was bleeding. "Nope. I'm not gonna do this. Nope." My heart was beating, what felt like a thousand times a minute. I ran to my room, grabbed my guitar immediately and began to worship. I didn't know what else to do: call the doctor, call friends, go back to sleep, cry? All I knew how to do was worship. I could feel the weight of what was threatening us. I knew many women experienced light spotting at this stage in pregnancy (5 weeks), but I could feel the air around me threatening to steal life. I knew this was bigger and I had to have a greater encounter with Love than I was having with fear in that moment. After playing for a half hour, I called my midwife. "Rest." That is all one can do this early on in a pregnancy, there is no way to stop anything if it starts this early on. I was in a light panic and didn't know what to do...so I ate a banana. I hate bananas. Gagging, I lay in bed, trying to stomach my potassium and hoping that it would cure my dizzy, nauseated body. Silently, I let tears escape down my feverish, banana-stuffed cheeks. I knew all the signs pointed to the most hellish experience a happily pregnant woman could experience: a lost pregnancy or the sound of the worst word imaginable to me in that moment: miscarriage. Miscarriage. No way. Not me, nope. I could only audibly say, "Nope," to whoever was listening. I had nothing else to say, so I scolded the fear and I scolded the air. "Uh-uh, nope, nope. I don't think so."

Bathroom trips were my worst. I knew I had to force myself to look in the toilet every time, looking intently for signs that my sweet baby was still safe and sound in my tiny womb. Any woman with a threatened miscarriage knows the tension of both wanting to look and never wanting to see anything remotely pointing to miscarrying. Blood: shed for me to restore my life, to give me everything good. Blood: shed right now that threatens to take the life of my second-favorite human on earth, my perfect Promise. Looking in the toilet, I wept as I faced that I was more than lightly spotting. Desperation barreled me, hit me like a wall. Kneeling on the bathroom floor, I wept into the toilet. I still cherish that moment, the worst one of the entire experience; the one that showed me how deeply and selflessly a mother can love. I plunged my hands into the bowl, searching for "tissue" that would tell me whether my baby was alive or not. Searching for my embryo, I was actually searching for HOPE. Could I still hold on to the promises for my Little Tiny?

I didn't find anything and relief washed over me like a salty ocean breeze. A new strength picked me up off the floor, washed my hands, and quietly stared into my sea-green eyes. "Laci Hill, you are going to hold on, you are going to fight." I lay in bed and prayed for my baby, for myself, for my husband I could not reach until tomorrow, and for people everywhere who are persecuted, hurt, dying, or experiencing a threatened loss like me. I hugged all of us in my heart and lifted us to our tender, attentive, generous Father. People, God is so good. He is steadily, faithfully, unwaveringly good. I am so grateful for the grace God gave me in my most unsteady moments that allowed me to still see him clearly: I never doubted his goodness or intent for my baby. He is eternally, outrageously, offensively good to us.

For two days, I told myself and I told my baby, "Hold on. We are holding on." I played music over my iPhone speakers pressed up against my belly, I laughed out loud on purpose to relieve my angst, and I drank more water than a yawning whale. I did everything right. My roommate brought me flowers, chips & salsa, progesterone cream, and lots of hugs. What a woman, let me tell you, Tiffany Ann Harris: she shared cuddles, tears, laughs, silence, Frasier, and hope with me. She was strength when I needed it most.

Joel was able to call me the day after I started to miscarry and he felt the same things as me: hold on. So we held on, we held onto hope, we held onto our Jesus. We were not going to give up. I would tell God, "I don't have faith, but you do. So I will bring my hope, you give me your faith and a miracle." The doctors tried to be hopeful with me, but you can always hear the truth in the tone of their voice: they knew the facts pointed to miscarriage. But I didn't care what the facts pointed towards because I was holding on. The fact that something feels impossible is proof that nothing is impossible; because miracles are possible. Literally nothing is impossible with Holy Spirit. So I scheduled a doctor's appointment for the next morning to have blood tests and a checkup. I was holding on past the "eleventh hour." People have asked me before, "When do you stop praying for someone to come back to life?" I always say, "I can't answer for you. But I personally stop praying/believing when God stops being able to raise them." I think that even if God told me to stop praying for someone I love to come back to life, I wouldn't. It is just the kind of person he made me to be (a fighter) and it sure as hell will pay off one day; that's not to say you have to be like me. In these moments, the mindless, droning voice of "theology" runs away; and the intimate "I feel you, I hear you, I smell you, I know you," rushes to you in a hugging, drowning, ocean of love and history with God. Your heart guides you through the impossible, not your mind. Your mind can't understand miracles, but your heart recognizes them: like when you catch a whiff of someone wearing the same perfume as your Mom. It's tender, it's familiar, and it leaves you with a sensation of something or someone. "A person with an argument is always one encounter away from changing their argument."

I lay in bed the night before my doctor's appointment, drifting in and out of discouragement: needing strength to hold on longer. I was still bleeding, still cramping, and I felt so alone in it all. I cried out to God, weeping, "I need you to encounter me! Not my "sanctified imagination" taking me somewhere with you. I mean, you in flesh and bone, come and grab me and take me with you. Anywhere. Take me with you." He spoke with kisses on my forehead, "It is still all about my presence." My heart swelled with love and I realized: more than I want my baby, more than I want this to turn out well for me, I want his presence. I want more of him. Not that I have to choose one or the other, but that I want him most and always will. I knew I was going to be ok, that my heart would stay open and vulnerable, and that I would constantly run into him and not away- regardless of the outcome of any situation. I went out to my living room where my roommates friends were worshipping and just soaked in the hunger for his presence. "There's nothing worth more, that could ever come close, nothing can compare: You're our living hope." Hope: this is who he is and this is what he does and he always keeps his promises. Not, "I sure hope you come through for me." It is, "I know you and I know what you say is truth." He is living hope.

I woke up the next morning, nerves running in circles inside of my weak and achy body. I felt beat up, like someone had punched me about twenty times in the stomach. I had zero feelings of "hope" for the first time in the past two days. I just wanted to get medical answers. At the health center, I had to pee in a cup. The first couple seconds, only blood was in the cup. My heart broke as the "facts" spoke louder than my own heart's desire to keep pressing in for a miracle. "Come on! Come on," I whispered to my baby and to my body and to my heart. "Don't give up, please hold on." I had my checkup while waiting for the results of the pee test. "Most women test positive for being pregnant even if they have miscarried already. Hormones take awhile to settle down," my doctor instructed me. She left the room so I could get dressed again, but through the door I heard the nurse say, "It's negative..." I rushed to get dressed as quickly as possible. I was not going to be naked and vulnerable when she told me the results. It's hard to maintain an open heart in these moments; feels like pulling back the skin and bones surrounding your heart and giving someone a free shot. I had everything to give and I gave it; nothing could be taken anymore so it was easy to leave myself vulnerable with Jesus. But vulnerable in the face of my enemies? There is a beautiful strength and power in the reality that Jesus allowed himself to be lead to the cross; he stayed humble, open, and full of the most vulnerable emotions, even in the face of the worst pain of his life and the rejoicing of his enemies. It's because he knew: "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. My cup overflows." If only Satan knew what killing the Son of God would accomplish: he would have tried to keep the cross from ever happening. Three days later, death could not keep Jesus in the grave. His table, a feast prepared for him in the presence of demons and devils, restoration, his glorified body, on earth as it is in Heaven. His cup overflowed.

I miscarried. And in the worst experience of my life, my cup overflowed. A table was set, a feast was prepared, in the presence of the death of my 5-week-old Little Tiny.

What do you do when, against everything you believe, you experience loss? What happens when someone is not healed and someone dies?

In moments like these, it is hard to admit that the devil is bad and God is good. Because it means there is no answer to "why?" sometimes. I have personally taken the stance that miscarriage is not from God because death is not from God: it is fruit of a curse that we have been delivered from. "On earth as it is in Heaven" Life is in Heaven, creativity and births are in heaven; miscarriage is not in Heaven. God heals, the devil wounds. But our Daddy will give and give and give good for evil done to us. And I let my heart ask him, "Why? Why didn't you usurp the situation and why didn't you just do it by yourself?" You have to ask those questions and you have to go to him. And I got my answers and they hurt deep and they hurt good and they taught me just how tender and good He is. Oh just kiss him right now!

Grieving feels like a moving, living, rhythmic beating of a heart. It pulls stuff in and pushes stuff out. It's messy, but is purposeful; it's bloody and violent, but life-giving and healing. Staining pillowcases, breaking social boundaries, puffing up eyes; its raw and real and aches deep like the separation of skin from bones.

Miscarriage. You don't know half the women who have had one unless you have had one yourself. It's personal, intimate, painful, and such a huge fear for so many women: both for those who had them and for those who have not. But I felt that I was supposed to raise a huge banner over you! And I am raising it in this post: God is so good! Not just "Yes, I know in my mind that God is good." Not like the mantra that we recite from our memorizing it: "All the time! and all the time...God is good!" But the "I have experienced the weight and glory and kisses of your goodness; it follows me, overtakes me, weeps for me when I lose faith, and comforts me when I choose a partnership with fear over partnership with love, and even doesn't ask permission sometimes when I need a miracle. It saved my life today without me even knowing it, it whispers lullabies over me while I sleep unaware, and encounters me in worship on Sunday morning even when I forget about it the rest of the week. It comes when I call and even when I don't." That goodness. The goodness that has filled my cup and sat me down to dine lavishly in the face of the greatest loss of my life.

I don't thank God for this miscarriage. I thank God for his presence and his goodness, but not for something that he never gave me. And there is a healing oil in that. Joel and I have a more intimate and deep love for each other than I have ever encountered in our 7.5 years of falling for him, but we didn't need a miscarriage to have that love. "God's natural response to our need is to leak provision, as a mother naturally lactates when her baby cries. He is El-Shaddai: the 'many-breasted One.'"

And so I hand you this banner. While at the same time, I hold it high over us. The same banner I held over my head as high as I could stretch my arms above me; as I stood on the shore of an angry ocean, violent wind and rain threatening the life inside of me. I still see myself as I did then: soaked through to my skin, hair plastered to my forehead, tears running down my face. But solid, planted, arms strong as they ever were and holding this banner facing the storm in your life: God is so good. He is so so good.

And you are never alone. Thank you for your hearts, for reading this.

"Sorry if you inherit some of my crazy and wild; or my toes. I am going to do my very best to get to know you at the center of your self. I want you to know that you are always allowed to be who you are and that there is no right answer. Just be. You are the most fabulous you that could ever have happened to the earth, so just relax and be free. Be my baby, be my lovely, be mine. Be your dad's, be your soulmate's, be your Jesus', be your own. Just be. Be wild, be untethered, be full of wonder, be full of heart. Be present always, be in your dreams. Be you at the center of your self and let me see you too. Help me make little messes and play in the mud with you. Help me draw on the walls and splash in the bath. Help me cross my eyes and stick out my tongue in pictures more. Help me to sleep less cause I think I sleep too much, and help me fill my time because I have way too much of it empty and free. Help me walk slow or run too fast. Help me ruin clothes. Help me skinny dip. Help me be impulsive, help me be considerate. Help me cuddle better and help me give attention to the things that are most important (hint hint "you"). Help me to break things so I always remember what (who) is most valuable. Help me be more like you cause you're so amazing; but help me be me with you cause I am too." (excerpt from a letter written to my baby months ago)

Big Love,
Laci

In: Redding, CA. Feelings.

Well, there isn't a cure quite like Bob Dylan for a tender heart. About every other moment of the day I feel like laying outside in the warm sun and letting his sound snuggle me. For some beautiful reason, ol' Robby's music is warmth to me.

Part of what has been hard for me in healing from letting Korbin go has been instantly losing my "mommyness." My arms feel empty, my house feels empty (even with all the people in it right now), and my everyday life feels empty. But, at the same time, I am full of so much love, life, and presence of Holy Spirit. I told him tonight how grateful I was to just have him tangibly pleased with me all the time. This would be a hell of a lot worse without his smiles.

I'm in a kind of cool place right now. I have no desire whatsoever to find another job to replace this last one, so I am completely comfortable in the dangling position of trust. I think I still see myself as being on the floor and I'm perfectly content to experience endless encounters with God while I'm down here. I smile a lot, laugh a lot, thank God for a lot, and I cry a little too. I try to remember that Korbin was never "mine" but that I was keeping him safe and launching him into his destiny as a radical revivalist and revolutionist- my little love-bomb baby. He was always God's and never mine. Just saying that is oddly comforting.

Thank you for all the love that has barreled us these past two weeks. Joel and I are doing so well and feeling a lot of pleasure surrounding us and our lives. Pray for us, that we would have wisdom and be given supernatural direction for our life together in the next couple of months. We feel like we are on the edge of a great adventure and we are ready to jump into whatever ocean is awaiting our plunge.

Tenderness and love can only bring positive change. So, I'm all in, no matter what.

Try to remember to thank God for what he has given you, even in the tears that flow from what has been taken away. God is good; and he gives more than could ever be comfortable for anyone to receive. Love sees no end to his kindness.

What a beautiful life.

In: Redding, CA. They didn't have you where I come from.

So, there was this one time not too long ago that I had a six-week-old baby boy in my arms.

This week has been a very bittersweet time for Joel and Laci. We are grateful for prayers and love that have been sent our way regarding our sweet Korbin. I know many people are wondering about the details of the week and why we are being such drama queens at #807. I can definitely indulge these questions.

Korbin introduced himself to me when he was six-weeks-old and 8lbs.

Korbin introduced himself to me when he was six-weeks-old and 8lbs, and we said bye at 4-months old and 17lbs (such a dense chunk of a baby). I didn't fall in love immediately- I have nannied for years and he was just another one of my kids that was never really mine to be obsessed with. But within a few weeks, it was over for me- I was all his. He was in his Grandma's custody and his mom wasn't really around until a month ago, so I knew from the beginning that I wanted to be that steady parental connection for him. Adopted people adopt people- its just in our nature. But you don't just ask people if you can have their kids (sorry, mom). So I was just happy having him in our house, having sleepovers, watching him grow into his personality and into his big, round head. I would hand him back every night and wish to have another hour; and by saturday night on my weekend, I was ready to pick him back up (oh, the many miserable sundays that followed as I impatiently waited to have him again monday morning). I learned him: he loves music, nature, and the orange lights above my sink. He is my heartthrob!

He loves music, nature, and the orange lights above my sink.

Well, his parents had moved up to Redding to push the restart button and try to get in good shape to be parents, but things fell through for them due to some incredibly awful choices- they were no longer in the mix. Friday night, 2 weeks ago, I suddenly felt the pull to write Korbin's family a letter to ask if Joel and I could adopt him. I didn't want to cross boundaries or sever a connection that wasn't supposed to be cut, but I couldn't explain the sudden urge to fight for him. I just sent a quick email with my hours to his Grandma and included at the end, "Joel and I would love to talk with you guys about how we could have more time with Korbin." It turns out that I emailed her five minutes before she received a call from a family member who had adopted Korbin's half-sister, offering to do the same for our baby. She emailed me Saturday night to tell me that there is a chance that they would be sending Korbin to Oklahoma to live with his sister and adoptive family, but that she would love to talk on Monday about mine and Joel's thoughts.

A blog post really does no justice to the amount of tears and prayers went into that 36-hour timeframe. I knew in my heart that we had to decide if we were "all in" or "not in". I was all in from months ago. But we just couldn't help the nagging feeling that we weren't the best choice in this time for Korbin (that is even hard to write, let alone believe. I still find myself fighting it, wondering if I made a good choice). In the end, after a constant striving to make it work, we decided that it was best for Korbin for us to be "not in"(wow, yeah, I hate that sentence). So come Monday, I told his grandma how much we love him and wish we could have him at every moment, but feel that we aren't the situation that favors the most stability and safety for him in this moment. We spent that monday together and then I had to leave Tuesday for a conference (until Sunday). When I dropped him off Monday night, they hadn't decided what to do yet. By Tuesday afternoon, they had decided to send him to Oklahoma on Friday before I came home. But things changed again and by Saturday I knew that I had one more day with him- and another sleepover!

So this past monday, Joel and I spent our last day with our little man. We took obscene amounts of pictures and videos. I held him up to the moment that he left to go to Oklahoma. It was wonderful.

I put away all of his clothes, but left his boots out. I still refuse to wash my blanket that he always slept on cause it smells like him. I probably cry every half hour when I listen to his lullaby song I would sing him. There were times when it was really hard- the vomit-over-your-shoulder kind of pain. But #807 is good- we know we made a selfless choice with his best interests in mind (even though it means never seeing him again). And Joel and I greatly anticipate the day that we get to never say goodbye forever to our babes.

So that's the story, Maury. And you know, Korbin will always be in our hearts.

"They didn't have you where I come from, Never knew the best was yet to come. Life began when I saw your face and I hear your laugh like a serenade. How long do you wanna be loved? Is forever enough cause I'm never, never giving you up."

(Have a listen to this lullaby- God gave Korbin this song and he would stop crying every time I sang it to him. : ) It will always be his)

IN: Redding, CA. Open to Openness.

I'm learning to be open. Completely open. I am learning to be willing to be wrong at any moment, to be excited to learn, to be thrilled to change my mind about any one thing or one person. I am excited to be open because it means that any views or opinions are based solely on trust that has been earned, faith that has been proven. I am excited to never blindly follow anymore, but to grow and discover, to ask questions, and to run after truth. I am excited to accept people no matter what. I am excited to be criticized for what I think because it means that I might discover something completely new to me. If I am not growing, I'm probably not still 5'4.

I've spent my whole life trying to fit a mold, but fighting the system. I've spent my whole life being contrary to anything to avoid being like everyone else, only to find out that everyone else was doing the same thing.

Who knew that the most open-minded thing you could do was love. Who knew that love is also completely closed to new ideas. It has one motive, one idea, one system of beliefs- and that is to believe in, pursue, and accept YOU.

No one is open-minded. No one can be. We are all just running roads that will end in a collision with love.

But a good place to start is to be open-minded.

In: Redding, CA. New life.

"Woah." That is what I have to say about my life lately; my heart lately. My crazy little life-giving organ has been SO FULL of SO MUCH. Sometimes I think I will explode; other times I have buried my head under my pillow, pretending to be submersed in some calm, warm body of water.

"Bwkljfduhssanfdjghuyfssf." That's another thing I say about it too.

"But if you find it and if you touch it, your world can change forever. If you touch its skin, you can feel your body changing- and your vision also!... And everything looks like a giant cupcake! And you keep laughing, and laughing, and laughing! Nothing is quite the same really. And after you finish laughing, its time to turn into a frog yourself... Do you wanna play with me?... We would be hundreds, thousands, millions. The biggest group of friends the world has ever seen. Jumping and laughing forever. It would be great, right?" 'Raconte-moi une Histoire' (m83)

(Listen to that whole song somewhere online while you read this post. Incredible.)

Words are cheap and empty without encounter. The bible isn't the truth without Jesus. That's how I know God values experiences, that's how I know he is always tangible. Thats how I know that arguments are futile and debates for the simple-minded. Without the presence of God, Heaven would just be another world. That is why I know that earth can be like Heaven now. Therefore, in light of all this, I want more. More of absolutely every encounter, experience, and supernatural thing that opens my heart to see, feel, and know God perfectly. I don't just want more, I guess; I want ALL. Why be in this crazy, eastern, mystical religion if you don't want that? I don't value blind following or choice-less devotion and neither does he.

When you stop culturing a religion, you can see it at its purest. Or, if you include every culture in a religion, you see it at its purest. But seeing a religion just through the lens of one culture will hold you back and keep you from ever having ALL of what you could have if you removed invisible boundaries. For instance, when you view Christianity as a Western, American religion, your experiences and encounters are filtered through that particular bend of thinking and experiential history. It may seem way out of the ordinary to you to meditate for hours and have wild visions of heavenly places, while someone in East Asia may find that very natural. In order to fully experience who God is, we have to remember that he is a melting pot of every culture- he has no boundaries. He is limitless. This doesn't work for every religion because christianity is the only religion with a limitless deity. All other religions have natural walls and boundaries, but we have none because God has none.

Since I have no boundaries and since there is no limit to how much I can have or how far I can go in God, my expectations have changed as well. I expect the mystical to be natural, meditation to be fruitful, the supernatural to be the new normal.

Exciting- getting to explore the depths of something infinitely good. I'm going to stop holding myself back now.

xo.
-L

IN: Redding, CA. All the very best of us.

(mood music for y'all.)

Dear ten readers, 
I suppose if I wrote on a regular basis I wouldn't sit staring at this screen wondering how to sum-up just the entirety of my heart & soul right now. Although, I'm fairly sure it was one of those specially designed hearts made for a constant overflow. Don't feel left out: all of them were made for that. 

Let's see. I don't have anything to tell you. My life is in a whirlwind of a new job, squatting in someone else's house for a week, taking a trip to Virginia- to sum that up would be pure magic.

I decided that I've been more-or-less discontent for the past 22 years -or from whatever age I realized that humans are allowed to complain instead of just being thankful for what they haven't had taken away yet. I'll just let you think about that.

Yes, being discontent was my own fault- or the fault of whoever forgot to teach me to just be grateful. Really, actually, it was my fault alone... But (sun rising, birds chirping!) I figured out how to be happy! I'm guessing you need me to tell you how, so I will. Just thank your Dad in the sky for every tiny ridiculous thing from the bottom of your heart- or just thank the air; cause if you don't believe in God, he'll still hear you. One of these days you will realize just how much you have (still have) and your heart will be full of all of it; at which point you will just be happy with what is still here. Imagine the joy when you are not only happy with what you have but also with the realization of what you are daily being given- the scandal! the audacity of such a person to give you so much!

Contentment isn't a choice; it's a state of mind, a state of being. That takes a load off, right there.

I'm learning this stuff. And I am patiently anticipating the day when I reach that state without sacrificing honesty or the true position of my heart. In the fullness of who I am, I will just BE happy. God; what a great thing.

Would I want to be surprised by God's gifts, but not by his goodness? Yes. Wouldn't you?

Just some thoughts.
-L
  

IN: Redding, CA. Home again, home again.

And here we are again: Redding; I've never been so happy to be home. And by "home," I mean "California." For the month of June, Joel and I are living in a two-bedroom townhouse with three other girls. The air conditioner is stressed out so it decided to take the week to rest up (I think last night it read eighty-six degrees in our house). And so the hunt for a quaint and quirky three-bedroom house began early yesterday morning. One thing I have learned in house hunting is to never get attached until you have the key in hand- yesterday I fell in love with a lavender house, only to find out it was officially rented out the night before. But my love of purple houses has lead me again into the arms of a home with dark wood floors and purple cabinets. I'm crossing my fingers.

Nesting has been funny since we have been home. I have had a serious craving to do something creative with our living space, but it's so sweltering that I can't bring myself to stay home all day and do it. I can't even bring myself to light a candle for fear of sending the temperature up another degree. This is a no-nesting zone, humans! Don't you even think about turning on those christmas lights for ambiance! Yesterday I went to our storage unit and filled our van with goodies- and outside it sits, filled with goodies. I still have an enormous sense of accomplishment, even though I really didn't do anything. Joel doesn't have even a smidge of the nesting urge and so we still don't have our bed in our room. Night number three of sleeping on the floor- check!

So I guess what I mean to tell you is that I have failed the Nester inside of me. And he is mad. But Nester is just going to have to wait for the air conditioner.

-L

OUT: Virginia Beach, VA. So Much Thrift.

(First off, let me apologize to those I have convinced that I am a faithful blogger. As you may have noticed, I have great intentions and poor follow-thru. Ahem...)

Obviously, an update is in order as you have no clue where I have been in the past two months. It would have made a damn good set of blogs if I had consistently written as we traveled. Well, after a month of traveling to Honduras, Nicaragua, Southern California, and across the United States, we are in Virginia. And we plan to be here until the end of May when we will fly back to hometown California. Crazy things have happened in our travels, as is the custom; and it would take forever to tell you all of the stories. So, hate me, but I'm just going to start from where I am at right now. (Pause. Begin...)

Its snore-thirty in the morning and I am still awake; not just awake but actually functioning at this evil hour. I have been staying up later since we have been on the East Coast and it has nothing to do with the time difference from California. When we first arrived in Virginia, I had a subtle revelation that I need more encounters with Holy Spirit. I remember because I was in the shower when I told him nonchalantly that I would like to have more encounters. And its been real; he has been rad in giving me exactly what I asked for. Anyway, what does this have to do with the fact that I am still up right now while everyone else is sleeping? I guess I just feel that the two are connected somehow.

On another note, I realize that my blog is supposed to be about how awesome I am at nesting while traveling. This trip, however, has been the least nesting-friendly of any that I have taken this past year. It may be the speed at which we jump from place to place- or maybe it is just the realization that we have no house and no idea when we will live by ourselves again. As much as I love living in community (and the roommates I have had in the past), your things are never as sacred to them as they are to you. So I tend not to fully invest my heart into creating something that could be totally ruined. This is one lame fact about myself that I would like to see changed- but I'm not desperate. Anyway, bunny trail to the real intention of this paragraph: I nested this week! I nested in the form of being in charge of the decorations for my best friend's bridal shower and I am feeling awfully crafty now! In fact, Pinterest is open in another tab on my browser as I type this, in case I find the urge to quickly browse garden ideas for my non-existent yard. So, for the rest of this post, enjoy my creations. (I am not opposed to being pinned...)

I hand-made basically everything for the decorations as my goal was to use things that Lydia could re-use for her wedding and for her new apartment. So obviously I was fairly detailed in my preparation. I am also pinching pennies and was in the white-knuckle/arthritis stage of pinching when I had to make the stuff for the party- so I did all of this unbelievably cheap! Thriftiness is sometimes a gift. We gave her herbs to start her own indoor/porch herb garden: I bought the little pots from thrift stores and Michael's for $0.45-0.99 per pot and spray painted them black($7); the herbs and soil were free donations. The sign was made out of cardboard and I spray-painted that black ($7) with semi-gloss paint and pasted some old buttons I found in my parents house to each letter; hung with twine that I already owned. The pictures were instagram photos printed for $4 at Walgreens and I sawed grooves in the top of logs (free from a friend's wedding last week) to hold pictures; others I fastened to the logs with twine (my own- so, free). Anyway, all this to say, it's easy to nest on a traveler's budget and have everything look wonderful- it just takes being intentional; which, in my opinion, is the only way to decorate as an expression of who you are (my favorite). Well, enjoy!

food table- flower pots w/ spoon label, logs with pictures & quotes,
buttons from my house, paper flower bouquet from my wedding shower
 almost 2 years ago, & lots of lace!

details, details, details. Three favorite things in this picture:
lone strawberry, spoon label my Honey drew, & picture
fastened with twine around a baby log.

the beloved sign reads: "lydia & tim sitting in a tree,
K I S S I N G." Words inspired by my housemate, Kate,
but designed by yours truly. (cute little button letters!)

hodge podge table: I'm still fully in love with the spoon
 labels for the herbs. "Come live in my heart and pay no rent."

I love your way.
-L

IN: Redding, CA. My hodge-podge.

I have a lot of thoughts right now. These past two weeks have been such a sweet journey into myself and into God. And I've learned that there isn't a way to separate the two- a journey into one brings you into the other. Well, anyway, this post has basically turned into a hodge-podge of my heart with no limitations.

(I strongly suggest watching- or rather, listening- to this video nonstop while you read the rest)

There came a point in my life when I realized just how much my parents had done for me, given up for me; and I remember having no actual great way to thank them, being totally at a loss for words. So, I just said,"thank you," the next time I spoke with them. But I can't recall feeling the same in my heart after that day. So this week I had the same day with God. And all I could say was, "thanks."But wouldn't you know, that was enough. And I still blush when I think about all he did; does.

"You said I am young, but I am yours, I am free but I am flawed. I am here in your heart. I was here from the start. Then, when the rain came and settled on your skin more like before, and you let it all in to your heart; its the only part, from the start, you'd set apart." (Benjamin Francis Leftwich, "Box of Stones")

Its been a few months now that I have craved to be open and honest about me, and everything pertaining to myself. I have such a personal need to creatively express everything inside of me; even if it is simply overflowing only in my personal areas (my bedroom, my blog, my clothes, etc). One of my recent expressive vibes has been to have photos taken of my husband-love and me. But not just the classic, cliche couple photos; I want just me and Joel. Just us being us; along the same lines as the photo above. I am also pretty sure that I will continue to feel this way about photography for the rest of my life. I want my life and the people who are important to me fully captured in their particular way so I can have a memento of our actual natures always with me. I want people to come into my house and feel like they know me because of how I express myself all over the place.

My favorite parts of my day are always laying in bed at night and in the morning with my man because you can never get those moments back throughout the day. It's the ease of not having to do anything and being tired enough to follow through with doing absolutely nothing but smiling, laughing, whispering, cuddling, and staring. 

So, these are the little bits inside of my heart. Love your way. 

-L

IN: Redding, CA. Baby Lovin'.

It is no secret to anyone that I have baby fever. I have had this fever for as long as I can remember; and then beyond that. I have video footage proving that I had the disease when I was in diapers, dragging my naked baby doll around the house by her leg and forcing a fake bottle into her mouth (whether she was hungry or not. "You're on my schedule now, fake baby!"). At any rate, it should come as no surprise to any of you that I have "The Plague" and to answer your insipid question: no, I am not pregnant, nor do I plan on getting in that kerfuffle anytime soon. Moving on now...

my fever in action with a real baby (my sister)

Apparently some doctor somewhere said you are supposed to "starve a fever," but he clearly hadn't taken into account my case. I prefer to excessively feed my fever until I get a "cold" from overexposure. I'm talking baby clothes coming out of my ears and offering to change diapers for free. Just call me Dr. Laci because my method works like a charm. There was a time when I offered to watch a baby for free- I met them in a grocery store. I wonder why no one took me up on it? Well, those days have passed and I am getting paid to soak up some lovin' from a 8-week-old little lady.

posers

With me and Joel getting ready to travel again for a couple months and still more epic trips on the horizon, we aren't in a place where we feel its smart to have our own little loves. So, I give my stored up affections to someone else's kid. And one day (whether sooner or later) we will have our own "mini me's" and I will unravel and be crazy about them. And as fond as I am of scheduling, I will try not to jam a bottle (or boob) in their faces.

sleeping beauty

I nurture by nature because God is a mother. One of the hebrew names of God is "El Shaddai." Shaddai is derived from another word that actually means "breast." I have heard it translated, "the many-breasted One." Rad thought: a lot of nursing mothers actually lactate when they hear a baby cry, even if it is not their own child. It is built into us to nurture because it is built into God to nurture. His natural response to our need is to leak provision (including our need for growth and development). Well, this concludes your boob talk for the day, everyone.

my little bear

Anyway, in this current (short) season in Redding, I allow myself to indulge in baby time. It is so necessary for me to nest wherever I am in the world and this is one of those investments to keep my heart open and full. Doing this job was never really about the money for me- it was always about being here, now. When you travel like I do, it is important to pursue things that keep you in the present at all times; no matter where you are- its called "putting down roots." I am not afraid to invest myself fully at all times- and so I live a full life. This is one of my very best secrets- shh!

-L