Mary Graham

Trusty Chucks Blog

God thinks about you.

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God thinks about you, Ellie said as we hiked through the woods.

She was talking to her dad; I was up ahead with Harper and one of our dogs.

God thinks about you so you’re important so the end, she said with the confidence and finality of a ten year old.

I turned back to look at Chris. Who is this child, my face said. How did she get to be ours?

Her words echoed in my mind all weekend and have come back in whispered reminders almost every day since.

God thinks about you.

I don’t know if I just needed the reminder or the words lined up just the right way, but “God thinks about you” has changed my posture.

Tonight I’m going to a showing for a friend. A friend who died too soon, who left her kids too soon, who fought really hard the past fifteen years to survive things too hard for her young body.

God thinks about you.
God thinks about you as you mourn and grieve and ask why.

June and July were hard on Chris and I. I don’t know where to start or how to begin a decades-long story about how growing up in a house full of secrets and shame changes every single fiber of your being. I don’t know what stories are ready for public consumption and which ones aren’t. But we struggled through this summer, more and more old wounds coming up and demanding attention.

The truth is the longer Chris is clear-headed, the more broken parts are exposed. The more he views his childhood through the lens of his own children’s experiences, the harder and more painful it becomes. You know the saying, “You don’t know what you don’t know”? Seeing what a safe, healthy childhood looks like shines a light on all the things he didn’t get from his parents. The more he tries to heal, the harder it is to stomach what he and his siblings were made to endure.

I keep thinking it will get easier soon.
I’m not sure when that will be.
God thinks about you.

I’ve sat with friends recently who’ve shared hard realities and struggles about children and spouses. About sin that keeps hunting down new victims and families so trapped by addiction it would break your heart to hear.

God thinks about you.
When nothing makes sense and you cannot see a way out of the pain or hurt or mess, God thinks about you.

I don’t know if that brings you comfort like it does me, but I hope it does.

On Wednesday our small group sat around our family room bellies full of chocolate zucchini bread and fresh salsa from the garden. We talked about kids in cages and unwanted babies and what the Bible says about the way we treat people. We wrestled with our witness and our memories, the way we have been and the way we’re trying to be now.

God thinks about you.
When the news overwhelms and everything seems so dark, He thinks about you.

I don’t know if Ellie picked up this truth at Sunday school or church camp or in a book she read. I don’t know if she heard it in a song or in a devotion.

I take no credit for her wisdom, because a lot of the time, she teaches me as opposed to the other way around.

God thinks about you.
God thinks about you.

As you walk into the meeting you are dreading; as you make the move into the new city or house. God thinks about you as you laugh and dance, ask for help and hurt. God thinks about you when things don’t go as planned and things go better than planned.

God thinks about you.

Remembering that truth changes my attitude, my spirit, my goals. It alters where I go and how I behave, when I speak up and when I am quiet.

“God thinks about you” warms my belly, makes my feet feel solid beneath me, and keeps my shoulders light.

Not because everything becomes easy and carefree, but because I am not alone, I am remembered, I am cared for.

God thinks about you.

I don’t know if that sentence shifts something in your soul the way it does mine. Maybe you already knew. Maybe you remember that every day already. Somehow I missed it. Somehow I forgot that God is with me. How did I lose focus of this part?

God thinks about you.
Right now, last night, tomorrow.
God thinks about you.

O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in–behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake, I am still with you.
-Psalm 139: 1-18, NIV version

I don’t know what you’re dealing with right now; what you’re walking into today or what you’ll have to survive this weekend. It might be hard or wonderful, destructive or joyful, but remember always: God thinks about you.

The only zucchini bread recipe you’ll ever need.

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Heaven is a freezer full of zucchini bread.

It’s in the Bible, somewhere in Song of Solomon, I think. A freezer full of zucchini bread with a good helping of banana bread too.

I make banana bread year round. I live in Indiana where we can’t grow bananas so there’s not really a season to banana bread. But zucchinis? We can do those. We can grow them. We can grow them by the bucket full.

Zucchini challenge accepted.

Yesterday I shared some of the ways I’m using zucchini (and other stuff I’m growing in my garden this summer). But this zucchini bread recipe deserves its own post.

It’s really good.
It needs your full attention.
Let us begin.

Zucchini Bread
-Ingredients:
cinnamon
sugar
salt
flour
soda
baking powder
eggs
vegetable oil
2-3 zucchinis, depending on size
vanilla

-Combine dry ingredients in a bowl:
3 tsp. cinnamon
2 cups sugar
1 tsp. salt
3 cups flour
1 tsp. soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder

-In a separate bowl, combine wet ingredients:
3 eggs
1 cup vegetable oil

-Add wet ingredients to dry ingredients

-Then add:
3 cups zucchini (thinly shredded or use a food processor to finely chop; I don’t want to see or taste chunks of zucchini.)
1 tsp. vanilla

-Split into 2 loaf pans

-Bake @ 350 for 1 hour (check to make sure the middle is done with a toothpick before removing; this is a dense bread and takes a while to bake)

Eat this warm out of the oven slathered in butter and slide the other loaf in the freeze for winter. You’ll be so thankful you did.

I’m pretty loyal to the above recipe, *but* if I make any other bread with my precious zucchinis, it is chocolate zucchini bread.

I know. Chocolate makes everything better.

I’ve got some freshly-picked zukes on my counter right now, and I’m going to make this bread for the weekend: double chocolate zucchini bread.

DOUBLE CHOCOLATE.

Bonus bread: Like I said, I make banana bread all the time, but shockingly, I don’t really eat it. It’s not that I dislike it (it’s really good! *pats self of back*), it’s just not what I would pick to eat if I wanted bread or sugar. I’ve made this chocolate swirl banana bread a few times from Skinnytaste and really like it. I don’t make it in the slow cooker–just follow the oven instructions. I’m way more likely to eat banana bread when it has chocolate in it.

Overflowing gardens

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I’m feeding my family from the ground this summer.

Sure, it might be saving me some money on my grocery bill each week, but more importantly, it’s feeding my soul.

Jenny Uglow says, “We might think we are nurturing our garden, but of course, it’s our garden that is nurturing us.”

And I am here to say amen.

Mornings spent pulling weeds and plucking ripe cherry tomatoes off the vine. Evenings spent watering my beds as I processing my day and my heart.

Yesterday I spent over an hour in the noon heat pulling out dead vines and trimming dying leaves. It was good, dirty work, and I could not think of anywhere else I wanted to be.

Last year was my first year gardening with two garden boxes from the rental house we were renovating. Once the season was over, Chris built me two more boxes, bigger than the first two.

In May, I planted zucchinis, cucumbers, yellow squash, green peppers, beefsteak tomatoes, cherry and grape tomatoes, jalapenos, basil, Italian parsley, icebox watermelons, and pumpkins.

When we returned from our 4th of July trip, the garden was ready for its first harvest. I’ve been filling bowls and buckets of produce every few days since then. Sometimes as I’m gathering my veggies, I imagine the Israelite’s wonder at first setting sights on the land of milk and honey, and I wonder if I’m getting a small glimpse of it.

I am overflowing with food.

We are eating as much as we can; I freeze or preserve what we can’t. And even then, I go to every friend’s house, Bible studies, or family gathering with armfuls of veggies to share.

If you’ve seen me this summer, I’ve tried to give you cherry tomatoes and yellow squash. This winter, we’ll eat pesto chicken and chips and salsa once a week.

Where our property line ends, rows of corn begin. By the end of July, we are cocooned in our backyard, surrounded by green trees and tall stalks. Our backyard feels like its own world, safe and still. I say thank you out loud at least once a day for this house, this land, this legacy.

This post is self-serving, to be honest. When my garden beds overflow, I forget all the things I planned to make in the spring. Why did I think I needed so many green pepper plants? What do you do with yellow squash? Do I even like tomatoes?

But then I get to work, refusing to let a single slice of zucchini or jalapeno go to waste. Here’s what I’m doing with my garden hauls this year:

-For dinner, I’ll halve small tomatoes, coat them in olive oil, salt, and garlic powder, then roast for 20-25 at 425 degrees. We’ll eat them straight off the pan before they’re cool, but you can also top any meat you’re serving, put them on homemade pizza, or toss them with some pasta. (I could eat these roasted tomatoes, Parmesan cheese, and some warm pasta for dinner every single night.)

-I’ve also been dehydrating cherry and grape tomatoes in the oven. Store them in the fridge in a jar with olive oil and garlic cloves then eat with pasta, bread, crackers, or a fork right out of the jar. They’d be good (and pretty) added to a charcuterie board too. (Side note: for breakfast this morning, I had buttered toast topped with a fried egg and these sun-dried tomatoes. I stopped at two slices of this delicious toast, but it was a huge exercise in self-control.)

-An Instagram follower shared a tomato confit recipe with me; this is not the recipe I used, but it’s identical except I didn’t use rosemary. I’m storing these in the fridge in a giant Bell jar and using it all the time. This link has a whole list of ways to use the confit. (Also, saying words like “confit” makes me feel professional and adult-ish. It will probably make you feel the same way. Try it.)

–Southern squash casserole with yellow squash. Listen, I have a husband who does not like casseroles. He has a lot of childhood trauma, some serious and some not-very-serious. This casserole issue falls on the serious side. But if you have yellow squash, make this recipe please. I’d describe it as really similar to a cheesy potato casserole. It’s decadent and delicious. I love it. The first time I made it, I planned it to be the main dish in a weekday dinner. That was a mistake; it’s a good side, not a main course. It would be a good substitute for a starchy side or with bacon and eggs in the morning. Plus, you get to crumble saltine crackers on top of it just like your grandma used to do to everything so you just KNOW this is gonna be good.

–Pickled jalapenos! I was drowning in jalapenos last summer and made these as a last-ditch effort to not throw them away. But then we ate them and realized we had not been living our best lives with the store-bought jalapenos. Make these to top hot dogs, tacos, hamburgers, nachos, whatever your heart desires, but you’ll never go back to the rubbery jarred jalapenos from the grocery store.

-Fresh vegetables with ranch dip. Is this common sense? Probably, but I need to give you a tip that will change your life. First of all, do not come at my garden bounty with your bottled ranch dressing. That is insulting. You can make your own buttermilk ranch if you have the time and patience, but I do not. I buy a container of sour cream and TWO packages of Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix. Don’t do just one, that’s the downfall of most ranch dips–not enough seasoning. Double up, don’t ask questions, just do it. Double the ranch season packet to one container of sour cream. If you don’t think ranch dip can change your life, we could never be friends in real life. (Confession: my husband doesn’t like ranch dip or dressing. It is only through the grace of God we’ve held on this long.)

-I’ve never grown onions before. I don’t know if you can in Indiana, but I think the effort does not equal the output so I buy them from the store. But I do grow almost everything else I need for salsa: green peppers, tomatoes, jalapenos, and cilantro. Just chop it all up and dump it in there. There’s really no wrong way to do it. If you have a lime, squeeze it in too. Add a lot more salt than you think you need. Add garlic and then eat it. I’ve been freezing salsa to eat once the garden is done; throw the salsa in the Crockpot with some chicken, pour some in your fall chili. There’s no wrong way, really.

-Loads of zucchini become: bread! using the recipe I’ll share tomorrow. (I just tried to type it out here, and it was a disaster so I need to make the recipe its own post.) Cake! I was at a cookout on Sunday where someone made chocolate cake using zucchini bread. I was cautious about eating it because when I’m eating cake, I don’t want it to be ruined with something healthy, but it was actually really good. So now I’m on board with zucchini chocolate cake and going to try this recipe soon. (Don’t click on that link if you’re craving sugar. The pictures of the cake might actually kill you.) A side dish! I love chopping up zucchini, onions, and yellow squash and grilling it or sauteing it. It’s the perfect summer side for any meal.

-I planted three basil plants this spring in preparation for loads of pesto-making. I follow this recipe loosely, but don’t use nuts. I really just like the basil, garlic, Parmesan cheese, and olive oil, but you can do whatever you want. I make a huge batch of it, put it in ice cube trays, freeze it, then pop the frozen cubes into a large ziplock baggies. All winter I’ll throw a couple cubes in recipes or thaw for a dipping sauce whenever I need it. (I grew an obnoxious amount of Italian parsley this summer and you can also make pesto with parsley. Sometimes I do half basil, half parsley to use upwhat I have.)

-I’m also blanching lots of green peppers and jalapenos. I’ve made jalapeno poppers for a few meals, but I want to save some for football season so I’ve cored and sliced them, given them a quick cook in boiling water, then popped them in the freeze so I can fill them with meat and cheese on a Sunday afternoon in the winter.

-Chili bags: I’m sure there’s a better name for that, but I’m too lazy to think much about it. I filled quart freezer bags with diced tomatoes (cherry or grape), green peppers, and a few jalapenos then put them in the freezer so I can pull out a bag, dump it in a pot for chili or any other soup I’m making. Freezing the veggies without blanching tends to make them a little mushy when they’re thawed, but for chili or soup, I’m not too concerned about it. (These bags would also work for taco meat or Crockpot chicken.)

-My girls will eat a whole fresh cucumber at dinner, so I don’t really need to do anything else with them, but my aunt shared her Thai cucumber salad recipe with me last summer, and I love making/eating it. [In a bowl, combine: 1/3 cup rice vinegar, 2 Tbsp. sugar, 1/2 tsp. toasted sesame oil, 1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes, and 1/2 tsp. salt. Mix and set it aside. Then chop 2 large cucumbers, 3 green onions, and 1/4 cup peanuts and combine to the dressing mixture. Coat and let it sit for about an hour so everything melds together.] I love that salad as a side or on top of pork. It might even be delicious on a hamburger.

-I’m waiting on a bunch of almost-ripe beefsteak tomatoes to make a huge batch of pizza sauce and freeze. That will be my biggest undertaking to date; 20 pounds of tomatoes and lots of simmering. Prayers are appreciated.

-In the fall, my aunt’s garden next door will be wild with delicata squash. I could eat a whole pan of it roasted with sesame oil and a little salt. But I also made this delicata squash and sausage gratin last year, and it was delicious. I’m already dreaming of a cool October evening with the windows open and this in the oven.

I think my first harvest of icebox watermelons will be ready next week, and my pumpkins are starting to grow. I can’t wait to see what they look like in October.

Gardening has been such a pleasant, enjoyable surprise for me. Never in a million years did I think this is something I would do or love. But now, if we happen to cross paths during the warm months, I’m going to update you on my garden growth and dirt moisture levels. Perhaps we will discuss bugs and how much sun we had yesterday.

It’s who I am now.

“I grow plants for many reasons: to please my soul, to challenge the elements or to challenge my patience, for novelty, or for nostalgia, but mostly for the joy in seeing them grow.” -David Hobson

There are no heroes here.

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We pulled up to the accident as 911 was being called, as people were stepping out of cars.

I could see two teenagers near the ditch and my brother-in-law’s parents next to their wrecked truck. I parked in the grass and rushed over.

Are you okay? Is everyone okay?

Fine. Everyone was fine.

She tried to get on the exit ramp, they said. We were just sitting here and there was nothing we could do but let her hit us.

The two teenagers, a boy and a girl, were pacing the gravel edge of the ramp as cars tried to maneuver around the accident. The girl was yelling things back at the car, at the woman she had been riding with.

Can you handle them? Pam asked. You’re a teacher, can you make her calm down?

It looked like the girl was throwing a fit. I really didn’t want to get involved in that part; I had just stopped to make sure they were okay, to see if they needed a ride to the birthday party we were both on our way to.

I took a deep breath and walked over.

Hey guys, you want to come and stand out of the way of cars with me? I know you’re upset, but let’s not get near the traffic. You can sit in my air-conditioned car if you want.

We crossed the ramp together, and I opened the trunk of my SUV for shade and a place to sit. They were too upset to stop moving, to stop calling parents and siblings for rides.

It seemed to be taking the police forever to arrive.Maybe you could call too, Pam said.

I called 911, giving them directions and answering questions.
Is it on the county road or the exit ramp?
Can you see the mile marker?
Is anyone hurt?

As I spoke to the operator, the driver of the other car–the one that had held the teenagers–climbed back in her car, buckled her seat belt, and put the car in gear.

She was leaving the scene, and she was leaving the kids.

I think she’s drunk, I whispered into the phone. She’s trying to leave.

Another passerby had stopped as I was on the phone, a retired sheriff. He had unintentionally blocked her car when he pulled up, but she didn’t seem concerned about what was in her way. She was going to leave. He reached into her car, threw it in park, and ripped the keys out of the ignition.

What I did is illegal, I can’t take her keys, but I did it anyway, he told us as we stood there shocked and reframing the story we just got pulled into.

I went back over to the kids; my girls were hanging out the backseat, bored and only mildly interested in the drama unfolding. Chris sat slumped in the front seat, never turning around, never moving to get out or join the conversation.

Is she drunk, I asked the kids.

Yes, they said. She was drinking before we got in the car.

Then the girl started crying.

It’s okay, I said.
You’re safe now.
We won’t leave until someone is here for you.
We’ll stay.
You’re okay.
You’re okay.
You’re okay.

It all just became too heavy, too real, too close.

Neither car had much damage. The lady wasn’t going fast as she tried to get on the exit ramp during rush hour on a Friday afternoon. But she would have gained speed. She would have gone faster as she traveled up the exit ramp to face 70 mile-an-hour traffic head on. Semis and work trucks, minivans and buses.

What at first felt like a silly fender bender became more serious when we realized what could have happened.

You’re okay.
You’re okay.
You were stopped at just the right time.

The police showed up. The passerby handed off the keys and drove away. Reports were started. Kids were assured none of this was their fault. An open container was found in her car, and she was read her rights.

I prayed the kids’ parents would arrive before they cuffed her, but it happened too fast and they got to witness their great aunt be led to a police cruiser. She could barely walk.

Hey, I said, as the drama started to wind down. I know you don’t know me and you’ll probably roll your eyes, but I have to say this: you don’t ever have to get in the car with an adult you think has been drinking. You get to say no. You call someone–I’ll give you my number and you can call me–but you don’t ever get in the car with someone who’s been drinking, okay?

The girl nodded through tears.
The boy listened as he looked at the ground.
My kids peeked over the backseat of the car and observed.
My husband sat in the front seat and stared out the window.

There was a time I would have felt smug and satisfied by this ending. Drinking and driving is a dumb, selfish choice and you get what you deserve when you decide to do it.

But that was my surface level view. That was my safe, tidy, that-doesn’t-happen-here mentality. I still know drinking and driving is dumb and selfish; I still think consequences are warranted. But there is no smugness or satisfaction anymore.

Mostly, there’s just heartache.

She was going to jail and would probably be there for a while. This wasn’t her first time. This wasn’t her first bad choice.

Addiction is a horrible disease.

It made an aunt try to drive two kids onto the interstate heading the wrong way. It broke my marriage and my heart and my family, affects we’re still feeling and dealing with years later. It’s taken away kids I went to high school with and innocent drivers heading home from work.

It is never just the drinking though. It is what’s under the drinking: the wounds and trauma, the abuse and fear, the mental health issues and the broken people who bring more broken people into the world without trying to heal themselves first. It’s about family legacy and generational sin; it’s about co-dependency and enabling, hiding and checking out.

It’s about a million other things rooted in sin and the fall and the devil too.

The kids’ parents arrived. There was sobbing and death-grip hugs that required eyes to be diverted. Their mom hugged me, hiccuped into my arm as I reassured her they are okay, they are okay, they are okay.

It could have been worse, she said. And I could feel the shame and guilt and fear wrapped up in the implication.

I knew she was asking why she let this happen, why she didn’t think about it, what could she have stopped, why she didn’t see it.

Because those were my questions, things still rolling around in my head and, when I think too much about it, rolling around in my belly and my bones and my speech too. I wanted to tell her we are not in control of other people’s choices and trusting people isn’t wrong. But she learned and I learned and we do things differently now.

The cars were driveable.

My brother-in-law’s parents arrived at the party an hour late, with a busted headlight and crunched bumper. The other family refused to drive the lady’s car home, letting it be towed and handled later. I felt a glimmer of hope that getting the full weight of her consequences would push her to seek the help she needs when she gets out of jail. The boy let me know her mom would handle all of this, telling me in his own words she was enabling the aunt to survive in this living death.

We all have our own demons; sometimes they lead to addiction and sometimes they lead us to help others become addicted.

I prayed detox in jail went okay. For addicts, going cold turkey could be enough to send you to the hospital. I prayed anyone giving her the space and excuse and allowance to continue to live like this would stop. I prayed that when she came home, she woke up.

When I turned the car off in my sister’s driveway, the girls ran inside to change into bathing suits. There was a sprinkler and trampoline calling their names and their cousins were waiting for them.

Are you okay, I asked as we sat in the car, listening to the pop and hiss of the cooling engine.

I’m just sad, Chris said. It’s just sad.

We didn’t say what it meant for him or me. We didn’t say what could have happened if she had not been stopped at the entrance to the ramp. We didn’t say what timing and a perfectly-placed truck meant for the kids in that car or the ones in ours. How there was a chance we would have met her on the interstate that afternoon.

We didn’t say much. We just sat in the heaviness, the what ifs, the grace and favor we were covered in yet again for reasons I don’t understand and we don’t deserve.

I’m just sad, Chris said. It’s just sad.

I hope you’re not reading this story and looking for a hero. There is no hero here. No one to save the day or make the right call or keep everybody safe. And if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I would have stopped if I had known what I was walking into. So don’t find any noble action in any part of this retelling.

Addiction doesn’t allow much room for heroes; it makes sure to bruise, scar, or destroy every single thing it comes in contact with.

All we can do is what Chris Graham did as we exited the car and walked into the birthday party that night: be honest about the hurt, acknowledge there is a better way, and ask for help.

Be honest about the hurt.
Acknowledge there is a better way.
Ask for help.

We do it for ourselves, for the bystanders in our lives, and for the people we will meet on the road ahead.

Michigan in the summer

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I don’t know what heaven will be like, but I imagine it will be close to what Michigan in the summer feels like.

In our fifty states quest, it would seem counter-productive to go to Michigan every summer. But after our first summer visit to the Mitten State, we knew it would become an annual destination.

Michigan in the summer is magical.

I wish I had the right words to transport you there with a few adjectives and verbs, but it’s not possible. Even Tim Allen and his Pure Michigan campaign fall short.

Michigan in the summer is magical.

It’s not a secret we love to stay at KOA Kampgrounds. They’re not usually the most inexpensive place to camp, but their amenities, clean restrooms, and atmosphere make it worth the extra money.

This trip we stayed at the Allendale/West Grand Rapids KOA. It’s a Holiday KOA which means it’s set up more like a resort than just a campground. I don’t want everyone to know how amazing this place is because it’s where we’ll stay when we go back, but we could have stayed at the campground the whole trip without leaving and not been bored. Swimming pool, splash pad, blueberry fields for picking, hiking/bike trail, jump pad, tons of kids activities, nightly movies on the lawn. I don’t want to just list everything they have because, obviously, you can read their website, but it was one of the best KOAs we’ve stayed at (and we’ve stayed at a lot of KOAs). They have a kitchen in their clubhouse where you can grab warm donuts in the morning or have pizza and ice cream for dinner after a day at the beach. Saturday morning the girls tie-dyed shirts and on the 4th of July, they decorated themselves and their bikes and participated in a parade around the campground led by the local fire department with sirens blazing.

Michigan in July is the perfect time to pick blueberries and cherries too; we learned that by accident a few years ago and if you don’t come home with pounds of fresh-picked blueberries, you’re doing your vacation wrong.

We were near state parks and beaches so a quick trip in the car meant in about ten minutes, we were riding our bikes through the streets of South Haven heading to a local diner for lunch or leaving them at a tree trunk as we ran down the stairs to the shore.

We spent hot days on the beach playing in the cool waters of Lake Michigan and evenings walking to candy stores and souvenir shops. After our bellies were full, we’d stumble back to the car in time to see the sun set over Lake Michigan.

Michigan in the summer is magical.

I don’t write about every place we travel anymore; sometimes because it’s just a weekend at a state park and there’s really no story to share. Other times, it’s because I lose track of time and never get it done. But I need you to know about this campground, this place, this area.

If you don’t have a travel trailer or you have absolutely no desire to ever sleep in one, you can still stay at this KOA. They have cabins, some more rustic than others, and tent camping. There were tons of families tent camping while we were there. Also, if you haven’t gathered a bunch of friends and spent a weekend camping before, please add it to the bucket list.

You still have time to head to Michigan before the less desirable weather sets in. I spoke with a local resident while we were there, and when I said, “I can’t believe you get to live here! It’s unreal.” She responded that they pay for the beauty January through March. So it’s a trade-off, I guess.

Or just cheat like we do and get there during the summer months.

Michigan in the summer is magical.

hummingbirds and heavy loads

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The hummingbirds show up in the morning. They fight and dive at each other, suspicious and nervous. They gather around my kitchen window, coming in for a quick sugary drink then darting away before you’re done blinking.

They come because of my grandma.

For years, she had a bright red feeder outside her kitchen window, the one by the island where we piled the appetizers for holiday dinners and where the teenagers sat when they became too cool for the kid table but didn’t have room at the adult one yet.

Hummingbirds remember.They remember where food was last year, and they come back. Their kids come back, their kid’s kids come. I don’t know the innate workings of how they show up every summer, but it’s what happens.

We love watching the hummingbirds. They eat a similar schedule to humans, showing up three times a day for a meal, which means when we’re in the kitchen getting ready for the day or gathering around the counters to chop and mix and wash for dinner, they are there too.

It takes a while to train the hummingbirds to come back every year. You have to be patient, keep putting out food even when you haven’t seen them in days, and trust that your hard, consistent work will eventually bring them around.

I imagine you also have to stand inside your house and sing “my sugar water brings all the birds to the yard,” but science is still studying that.

My grandma did all the work attracting the hummingbirds to her yard, and now years later, her granddaughter and great-grandkids are reaping the benefits. We get to enjoy the tiny little rockets who show up outside our window at almost every meal.

I think often about my grandma’s work and how it’s still impacting our lives. I think about it as I chop fresh tomatoes from the garden to make salsa; I think about it as I microwave my lunch in the middle of a work day; I think about it in the evening as I fill the coffeemaker for the next morning.

She had no idea we’d live here one day.
She didn’t plan to live anywhere else ever, but old age and failing bodies changed that.

She unintentionally left us a beautiful gift.

Our families leave us unintentional gifts all the time, but some are not as enjoyable as hummingbirds at our windows. Some of them are painful and heavy and devastating.

Parenting is hard, one of the hardest things to do. We have to teach kindness and toilet flushing, sharing and chewing with your mouth closed. We have to help you learn to read and tie your shoes, show compassion and not bite anyone. Parents are in charge of sending humans out into the world to make it a better place and, hopefully, not a worse one.

But we also send our kids off with gifts we’ve been ignoring, gifts we should have handled instead of passing on. Gifts like untreated depression and out-of-control anxiety, sexual brokenness, and addiction. We work really hard to pretend these things don’t matter to us, they don’t really affect us, and so we shove them off to our kids and ask them to carry them for us. The problem is our loads don’t get lighter, we don’t rest easier when we hand them to the next generation. They just weigh down more people, it doubles the burden, finding new people to suffocate, destroy, and drown.

We are all giving gifts to our kids.

Gifts that will change their friendships, marriages, careers, families, and kids. Gifts that will help determine how they spend their time, their energy, their money, their life.

I ask myself often what I’m giving my kids that day. What am I giving them that they’ll carry into adulthood? What they’ll wound others with, what they’ll love others with?

And if I don’t like the answer, I begin my work.

Right now, my work looks like modeling healthy boundaries and friendships, what we should allow in relationship with others and what we should not. My work is taking a breath before I speak, not responding to hurt by hurting someone else, and making sure I look people in the eyes to tell them I love them. My work right now is being patient when I really want to move this show along and going to counseling to heal wounds I don’t want to saddle my daughters with.

My work in this season is honesty because it always leads to healing, guarding my time because those girls aren’t little anymore, and making sure guilt and shame are not parenting tactics I fall back on when I’m being lazy.

My work looks like making sure my daughters ground their identity in who God says they are instead of the world and not rushing them to grow up faster than is necessary.

Work in my marriage looks like strong boundaries, clear eyes on what enabling looks like, and a refusal to settle for less than I deserve.

My grandma spent years consistently putting out food for hummingbirds whether she saw them every day or not. Her work and dedication to making those tiny birds appear in her kitchen window have brought joy and entertainment to our daily lives.

It’s the same with us; the things we give our attention to–good or bad–are what will be floating around our lives, our families, our relationships years from now. When we gather in the kitchen for a late breakfast on a slow weekend morning, we’re surrounded by hummingbirds, the choices our parents made, and the scars of things they didn’t address when we were younger.

But with consistency, hard work, and faithfulness even when the job seems fruitless, we can allow our futures, our children, our next decade or two to be lighter, more peaceful, and healthier. If we want less chains, less burden, less chaos and heartbreak for our children, their families, and their futures, we do the tedious, complicated work now so later there will be hummingbirds, freedom, and joy.

9 books you should read right now

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I wanted to start this post by telling you how summer is the perfect time for reading: lazy days by the pool, weekend road trips, cool nights on the patio.

But then I realized I’d say the same thing about winter reading: free afternoons wrapped in blankets on the couch, evenings by the fire, early to bed because it’s so dark out there isn’t really anything else to do.

There’s really not a bad season to consume books is what I’m saying. Maybe just different books for different seasons? I could argue for and against that.

Just read books.
Bottom line: just read books.

Here are books I’ve read recently that moved me, kept me up all night, or still haunt me even after I’ve returned it to the library:

(Edit note: I’m having some technical issues with my site right now. If you can’t see a review or the text seems off, it’s being worked on and should be back to normal soon. Hopefully.)

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman
Oh, Eleanor. You’ve probably read this one already or at least heard of it. It’s a bestseller and Reese Witherspoon picked it for her book club. But when too many people rave about something, I’m suspicious and avoid it. Don’t ask why, I just do. But now I’m here to tell you to read this beautiful book as soon as you can. Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine is wonderful and funny, sad and shocking. There were times I didn’t like her (she’s so rude!), but as the story progresses, we get glimpses of the broken pieces and by the end, you cannot help but love her. And the ending! the twist! Gah, read this right now please and thank you

Educated by Tara Westover
We read Educated for book club in late winter. This memoir is about Westover’s unconventional childhood growing up in the Idaho mountains with a mentally ill father and family. The Westovers are anti-government, live off the grid Mormons who do not school their children. Her childhood is violent, abusive, and hard. These stories will feel unbelievable at times; Westover’s resilence is encouraging and hopeful. After our book club talk, we all spent time stalking the family online. I hope this isn’t the last we hear from Tara Westover. She is still young and has a lot of healing to do, and I’m hopeful she can reconcile her past with her present in a way that doesn’t feel so damaged.

My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite
Dorothy showed up to book club, handed me this book, and said she thought I’d like it. She was right. My Sister, the Serial Killer is a short, dark read about Korede and her beautiful younger sister who keeps killing her boyfriends. Korede is smart and plain and often overlooked, and when her sister starts stabbing her boyfriends in “self-defense,” Korede helps her clean up. But the bodies are starting to pile up and Korede can’t keep this up, especially as her sister sets her sights on a kind, gorgeous doctor Korede works with. This is a quick read, but creepy and good too

Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane
This books haunts me. The story starts out with two rookie cops who quickly become intertwined through proximity, family, violence, and trauma. The cops’ children, Pete and Kate, are the main characters and the book follows them from the beginning of their parents’ relationships to their eventual marriage and their own family. In between is heartache, addiction, bad choices, and childhood wounds. I’ll be honest and say I didn’t know what I was picking up when I grabbed Ask Again, Yes off the shelf at the library; it looked interesting, and it was on the display case. I’m a sucker for display case books. About halfway through, I realized the parallels to real life for me were, at times, too much. I have never read a book and felt moved to contact the author, but the way Keane writes about childhood trauma, a mentally ill mother, a father who abandons his family, a son who keeps it together until one day he can’t, and alcoholism was too real to be made up. I just want to ask her how she knows, how she knows what it all feels like. How does she know what you think when it all happens and how, how did she know? This is fiction that feels like real life; fiction that has to be written from experience. I sobbed through some chapter. This hurt to read, but it was good and beautiful too. I would never have the words to write what she did so well, and I’m glad this exists in the world.

Rayne & Delilah’s Midnite Matinee by Jeff Zentner
Since I left the classroom, I’ve been skipping young adult novels, but for this I am asking for forgiveness. Thankfully, a friend got me a subscription to a monthly YA book club and they’ve been showing up on my doorstep this year forcing me to read them again. Rayne & Delilah’s Midnite Matinee is a fun book about high school best friends as they try to balance senior year, new relationships, and expectations. I was a little hesitant to read a book about female friendship from a male, but Zentner did a good job of writing smart girls who don’t just have sleepovers, pillow fights, and obsess over boys. This is a book that reminds me how good YA lit can be and you don’t have to be a teenager to enjoy it.

Born a Crime by Trevor Noah
Born a Crime is a moving account of Noah’s childhood growing up in apartheid in South Africa, hidden because his mother was black and his father was white. He was not literally not supposed to exist. When he’s still a boy, apartheid ends and his world changes forever. I loved Noah’s stories, a mix of history, commentary, humor, and lessons, his writing style and his intelligence make hard topics accessible and relevant. A few people told me to listen to the audio book for this one because Noah reads it, but the waitlist was too long at the library. I read the book, but if you have the ability to listen, I bet it would be even more wonderful than the already-wonderful book…if that’s possible

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
Look, I know I’m late to this party. Whatever. If you haven’t read The Glass Castle, please read it. It’s along the same memoir genre as Educated, but a different family, a different mental illness, and a different outcome. I’m drawn to memoir because I write a lot of it, but even if that’s not your thing, this book about a family growing up in extreme poverty and constant transiency is engaging and interesting. (Also, there’s a movie, but I haven’t seen it. I’m normally against books made into movies, but if it shows up on Netflix, I might watch it.)

Call It What You Want by Brigid Kemmerer
This isn’t a life-changing YA book, but it was fun to read and I consumed it in one weekend. It’s the common plot of a dorky girl and a bad boy falling in love. Nothing surprising, but why I loved Call It What You Want so much is because of the topics and minor characters. Things this book addresses that would be good for kids to read: the main character is in a platonic friendship with a gay character and it’s not made weird; there is a lot of discussion between characters about privilege and money and the haves and have nots; and there is a crime in town that wrecks a lot of lives and forgiveness is a huge component of this story. The story might be a little basic, but the details aren’t and this would be a great book for high school kids to read and discuss. There are a few make-out scenes, but nothing too risky or inappropriate.

Love Walked In by Marisa De Los Santos
Marisa De Los Santos writes good summer reading. I wouldn’t call it chick lit because the term holds so many negative connotations, but if chick lit were not looked down on , this would be a good example of why it’s wonderful and you should be reading chick lit. Adult love and relationships and heartache and family, a vacation read that could also just keep you up late on a school night. I accidentally picked up the sequel to Love Walked In years ago and read it before I realized it was not a stand-alone book. When I started this one, it sorta annoyed me because there is a lot of internal dialogue from the main character and I felt it was unnecessary, but once I fell into the rhymth of the characters and De Los Santos’ writing style, I really enjoyed this book. Just fun fiction that makes you sad when it’s over.

Have you read anything amazing lately? Tell me about it!

(Also, if books are your thing, I send out a monthly book email to subscribers telling you what you should and shouldn’t be reading. I read a lot and I love talking about it! You can sign up here to receive the book email.)

DISCLOSURE: AFFILIATE LINKS USED.

I am here for backpacks, and you should be too.

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I am here for backpacks.

Not emotionally, like they need a shoulder to cry on (please acknowledge that creative turn of word RIGHT NOW), but for buying them and wearing them and admiring them and advocating for them.

So maybe I am here for them emotionally. Let me think about that some more.

I’ve been anti-backpack since I left college. I’m not a kid anymore, I will use a sophisticated shoulder bag like a real adult, I thought as I amassed a large collection of mom bags and teacher bags and after-work gym bags.

But now I’m older, my back hurts more, and WHY IS THIS PURSE ALWAYS SO HEAVY?

Enter: the backpack.

We’ve been using them for hiking and camping for years, but they were left in the camper, never making their way back into the house for everyday use. Until recently.

((photo by Huff Photography))

Now I carry a backpack when I go to the office or to a coffee shop to work. I carry one to friends’ houses, to the grocery store, to the library.

Why was I allowing one tired shoulder to do all the work when my full, strong back was available?

No one knows.

According to the market- research firm NPD, sales of women’s backpacks are up by 28 percent in the past year, even though men’s backpacks are down. Women’s handbags, too, have suffered a drop over the past few years, says Beth Goldstein, NPD’s accessories analyst. (source)

If marketing companies are noticing the rise in backpacks, you know it’s official. But even if it weren’t, I’m here to tell you about the glory of a backpack and the ease it brings.

Need some guidance jumping into the world of backpacks? Lemme help.

Land Diaper Bag Backpack
WAIT. Come back. I don’t care if you don’t have babies. Neither do I! I use the Land Diaper Bag Backpack for a laptop and work backpack. The pockets are great for charger cords and water bottles and pens. It’s sturdy and simple, plus it’s not expensive. I have the navy one, but I also really like the gray. Ignore the bad reviews, I’ve had mine for over a year with no complaints. (If you do happen to have babies, ditch the over-the-shoulder diaper bag for this. No regrets.)

(Are you impressed with the size of those backpack pictures? Me too. I’m getting ready to leave on vacation and I can’t get them to size right so here we are with giant pictures you don’t need contacts or glasses to see. It’s a public service, honestly.)

Jansport Classic Backpack
You probably had a Jansport backpack at one point. Please go get it out of the closet and give it new life with no shame. This is what we use for day hiking when we camp. Obviously, not a great bag for long hikes, but if you just need a few water bottles, some snacks, and a first aid kit, this is your backpack. Ours is light pink and looks great on all of us, Chris Graham included.

Classic brown leather backpack
My friend has a backpack like this, and I covet it. There’s nothing better than a classic brown leather backpack. This one has the best reviews, and I’ve ordered it to replace my purse this summer. I’ll let you know how it goes once it’s broken in a little more, but I already love shopping or being out hands-free. I don’t think I’ll go back anytime soon.

Pottery Barn Harry Potter Backpack
Ellie will tell you no Potterhead is legit until you own a Pottery Barn Harry Potter backpack with your name embroidered on it. Because she has so many people who love her (and are really good at giving gifts), she has two of them: one for school and one for travel, sleepover, and camping. They’re a little pricey, but Pottery Barn runs good sales so you shouldn’t ever have to pay full price for it. These backpacks are really well made too. After Ellie went through two cheap backpacks one school year, I decided spending the extra money to buy a nice one that would last for years was a better deal in the long run.

Burton Kilo 2.0 Backpack
This one is for guys (or anyone, really), but it’s similar to the well-loved backpack my brother carries to work (his is no longer available. *moment of silence*). He’s on team backpack like me (is it genetic?), and this one works well for the office or a weekend hike. He has a blue one, I really like the gray (again…), and if you want to be a little more fancy, get the black with white squares. There’s a color or pattern for everyone.

What about you, are you wearing a backpack yet? Do you sing the Dora the Explorer song in your head when you put it on like I do? Do you need to join the dark side with a snazzy new backpack? Hard hitting questions for your Friday.

Always in my mind

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Keep Ithaca always in your mind, wrote C.P. Cavafy in his epic poem about Odysseus’ journey. He wasn’t talking about Ithaca, New York, but he was talking about adventure and wandering and that, my friends, fits here.

In June, we packed up the camper and headed east. This wasn’t the first time we made our way to Ithaca; we spent a chilly fall break in 2012 tent camping there and have been dreaming about going back ever since.

If you’ve ever heard me explain why I deserved a camper after years of tent camping, I’m sure our first Ithaca trip has come up. New York in the fall is amazing. I don’t care what part you go visit–NYC or outside the city–it’s going to be amazing. But it can get chilly or, if you will, cold.

(Need a camper too? Check out these RV types to see what would fit best for your family.)

Our fall break trip in 2012 involved below-freezing temperatures with a one year old and a three year old in a tent with only a few blankets. I had, at the last minute, packed the space heater I used to use in my classroom, so we were able to point the small heater at the girls as they slept.

It wasn’t big enough to heat the whole tent or anyone not directly in front of it. I don’t want to be a martyr here, but I really took one for the team with that move. My kids slept peacefully, warm and snug in their little sleeping bags while I was too cold to move.

I plan on telling this story to them every single time they’re mean to me for the rest of their lives.

Even with the freezing temperatures, we were longing to go back. Above our bed is a picture of the girls holding hands in front of a huge waterfall as orange and yellow trees begin their descent into winter nakedness.

So we met Chris’ brother, his wife, and their daughter Savannah for a long weekend in Ithaca. This is our second annual summer camp out; they live in Maryland so we meet somewhere middle-ish for a visit. Last year it was West Virginia, this year it was New York.

We spent Father’s Day weekend grilling out, hiding from the rain, hiking, roasting marshmallows, exploring state parks, laughing, riding bikes, and telling stories.

The Graham boys carry a heavy legacy, one with a lot of pain and mess. They have parents who often made choices that were not in their best interest, were not with their safety or health in mind. Raising their own children reminds them of what they lost and how it should have been.

They could get stuck in the memories, but they don’t. It’s part coping mechanism, part survival tactic. They acknowledge how things weren’t what they would have picked and now they’re picking better for their daughters.

Father’s Day is bittersweet for kids whose fathers were not much to celebrate, not much to look up to.

Author Sammy Rhodes writes, Addicts aren’t gone, but they’re missing. Their addiction has banished them to wander as a ghost who haunts the land of the living with the presence of their absence…The wound of fatherlessness isn’t lightly healed. Time certainly is no help. If anything it reveals just how big the wound really is, just how much damage the foundation has actually suffered.

Chris and Mike’s father is not missing. He is not dead. But he is gone. Gone to Florida where it is easier to hide. Gone to drinking where things don’t feel so painful. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Like Ithaca, there is a part of Chris’ father that is always in his mind.

When Chris stopped drinking, everything he was running from caught up with him, his father’s legacy included. Picking through what he left and how it’s still being carried is laborious.

This summer has us revisiting places we’ve been before: Clifty Falls State Park, New York, Michigan. It would seem counter-intuitive in our quest to visit all fifty states to go back to some when there is still so much to do.

But before we go forward, we have to go back.

Before we start again, we have to see where we’ve been and what we still drag with us.

Before we get to healthy, we have to go through healing, and it is often facing the direction behind us.

DISCLOSURE: This is a sponsored post.

What we’re taking with us.

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It went away the same way it came: with our families and our cars and our sweat.

Yesterday marked the end of our current Front Room Studio location. We signed a lease and were handed the keys a little over one year ago. We had big plans for creativity, learning, growing, and gathering.

We did almost everything we envisioned, except for the part where we stayed longer than a year. We didn’t see that coming last year. We didn’t see it coming in January.

But here we are.

I don’t want to spend my time writing out a list of the reasons it was time to go, but a pretty disappointing landlord and obedience would top the list.

In March, Jessi and I were both gone from the office for a few weeks because of spring break. She was in Florida, and I was at home trying to manage the kids and finish a kitchen remodel. I took the two week we were away from the office to pray. I needed to know how to keep the office open, generate the revenue we needed to, and find the space to do it all.

I needed ideas, inspiration, and answers.

What I got instead was a pretty clear response that it was time to go.

But I can make this work, God. I know how to hustle. I have ideas. I have people and workshops and meetings lined up and connections.

I can make this sustainable.

And in a million little ways, He told me no.
No more.
Stop.
You’re good at making things work, but this isn’t what I’m calling you to do right now.

I didn’t accept this for a while. I had lunch with trusted friends, talked to my mom, prayed more.

Everything in my nature wants to rebel from what I’m told to do. I did it when I was a toddler, I do it now. Everyone *knows* what they should do, maturity is actually doing it.

For me, I’ll do it, but I want to do it my own way.

This has, on many, many occasions, backfired on me. But I have yet to learn.

For months, Jessi and I had been going back and forth about what to do when the lease came up for renewal. We both wanted the same things, but were also concerned about the same issues.

Basically, we had made no decision.

So in April from the top of the St. Louis Arch, I texted Jessi I thought we should talk about leaving the space. Texting from 630 feet up in the air felt like bad timing, but some other things were happening too, and it couldn’t wait.

I’m on board, and it’s for the best, Jessi replied. But it’s bittersweet.

Yes, that. One word for the road: bittersweet.

So we spent the last few months doing all the things we had dreamed about but hadn’t done yet. More workshops and gatherings. Doing a live show for the podcast, holding meetings with creatives and dreamers. Suddenly with a deadline, things became clearer.

As Chris climbed the ladder and took down lights yesterday, I stood in the empty space and said thank you. The walls at 33 E. Main Street held lots of emotions for us. They held tears, laughter, pain, forgiveness, excitement, friendship, hard conversations, growth, and death.

Jessi and I are not the same people we were when we walked into this space last June, full of dreams and design ideas. We lost some things here. We gained a lot more.

I didn’t expect the best thing to come from our office to be the conversations we had there. Who knew what Jessi and I really needed was a safe place to land when home and families and friends felt too shaky.

For me, the last part of letting our studio go was pride. Pride that I did something that felt incomplete. My therapist would say this is my perfectionism peeking through. I would say it’s just that we could have made it work. We could have kept going. We could have stayed.

But it would have, probably, ended badly. Ended messy. Ended with emotions other than bittersweet smiles and tears.

And so we left with fondness and hopefulness and obedience and our friendship.

The Front Room Studio lives on. It lives on in the place we’ll continue to record The Not Terrible Podcast wherever that is. The Front Room Studio lives on in the book club that’s moving to the local library, the Bible study moving to a nearby coffee shop, and the workshops we’ll still put on, just in other locations

We had to leave the space, but we’re not leaving all the things it gave us, which if I’m being really honest, is each other.


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