{i n h a b i t} week three

Three times a day we’re passing food over these old planks. We brush knees beneath its sturdy frame. We fill time and tummies around its edges. And scarcely a meal is eaten without rich words for dessert. It’s how we weave books into the day’s rhythm. Seamlessly. We’re here. They’re here. A basket of bounty at arms reach. A feast tucked under our feet.

How are YOU…

capturing time,

filling your table,

making memories,

weaving rituals,

creating warmth,

encouraging deep roots,

nurturing creativity,

being fully present,

and learning to fully inhabit the space you call home?

There are several ways to participate.

(1) Comment and tell us what “inhabit” means to you this week.

(2) Leave a link to a relevant post on your blog. You may craft a special post or link to one in your archives. Kindly provide a link back here to make for an easy meandering through the posts.

(3) Link to a relevant Flickr image that shows what “inhabit” means to you.

I’ll leave the comments open until Monday morning. This post explains how it all began.

If you’d like a graphic for your {i n h a b i t} post, you’re welcome to use the one below but it is certainly not required. Enjoy your weekend, my friends . . .
S L O W L Y.

 

{ i n h a b i t } week two

My eyes naturally drift to this space again and again in the course of the day. And in this, the busiest of rooms, where stories and cereal spill, it serves as both beacon and anchor, gently steering my thoughts back into safe harbour and holding them steady when the rhythm of the day picks up an unexpected beat. Linked letters, scrawled in powdered white, hung high for all to see, reminding me just to BE.

How are YOU…

capturing time,

filling your table,

making memories,

weaving rituals,

creating warmth,

encouraging deep roots,

nurturing creativity,

being fully present,

and learning to fully inhabit the space you call home?

There are several ways to participate.

(1) Comment and tell us what “inhabit” means to you this week.

(2) Leave a link to a relevant post on your blog. You may craft a special post or link to one in your archives. Kindly provide a link back here to make for an easy meandering through the posts.

(3) Link to a relevant Flickr image that shows what “inhabit” means to you.

Since it’s a holiday weekend, I’ve decided to keep the comments on this post open until WEDNESDAY, so you may add your thoughts any time until then. If you need further clarification, this post explains a bit more.

If you’d like a graphic for your {i n h a b i t} post, you’re welcome to use the one below but it is certainly not required. Enjoy your weekend, my friends . . .
S L O W L Y.

UPDATE: COMMENTS TO THIS POST ARE NOW CLOSED. IF YOU MISSED THE OPPORTUNITY TO PLAY ALONG, NO WORRIES! WE’LL START AGAIN WITH A NEW POST THIS FRIDAY. HOPE TO SEE YOU THEN!

{i n h a b i t} a celebration home

We’re filling mouths with food and the space between us with words and I pause between bites and spill…a shy gush of pictures, dreams of a Christmas that is different – S L O W – and a tree, reborn, that tells the story. A purposeful pause to remember. And he listens and smiles that smile that tells me he knows me. With dinner done, we wrestle her into long pajamas, adventure through a book and whisper bedtime prayers. I tug the blanket to her chin – the one I dreamed beneath as a child – and step out of the darkness of her room into quiet. The clock announces the night is young. Where to begin? I mumble to him that I’m not entirely sure…but entirely determined. So the search begins and just as I’m losing steam, I find the sketches – a simple work in black and white. And my imagination flickers. These were meant for paper, but what if I…

{  sketches by Reformed Church Press }

The making is long and fragmented. A few stitches here and there scattered across the night hours in short snatches of time. It fills the in between space. I pick it up and put it down…pick it up and put it down…again and again, watching the clock and the calendar and willing my fingers to take flight. But mostly, I REMEMBER, which somehow surprises even me. I never expected to encounter Holiness in this hoop. Night after night, stitch by stitch, the sacred story comes alive in these tired, clumsy hands.

I work one stitch at a time, under a silver moon in the dim lamplight, the cadence of him reading by my side. The pause in his rhythm and the question – Which one tonight? – usually comes, and I offer up the soft stack, without words. None are needed. The story is his story too – our roots and our wings – where we came from and where we’re going. Redemption and promise in our hands, soon on our tree, and perhaps, eventually on these walls – a retelling of our story in color and cotton.

How are YOU…

capturing time

filling your table

making memories

weaving rituals

creating warmth

encouraging deep roots

nurturing creativity

being fully present

and learning to fully inhabit the space you call home?

There are several ways to participate.

(1) Comment and tell us what “inhabit” means to you this week.

(2) Leave a link to a relevant post on your blog. You may craft a special post or link to one in your archives. Kindly provide a link back here to make for an easy meandering through the posts.

(3) Link to a relevant Flickr image that shows what “inhabit” means to you.

If you need further clarification, this post explains a bit more.

If you’d like a graphic for your {i n h a b i t} post, you’re welcome to use the one below but it is certainly not required. Enjoy your weekend, my friends . . .
S L O W L Y.

 
 **POST UPDATE: Comments to this post are closed but we would love for you to add your comment / link when we gather again for {i n h a b i t} next Friday, November 26th.

{i n h a b i t} the beginning

 It’s been bumping around in this noggin of mine for awhile, but I’ve been back and forth a dozen times about the format. After a week of slowing down and preparing this nest of ours for the slower winter months, it all started coming together…in a single word:

{ i n h a b i t }

 
The word itself somehow slows me. It implies stillness, not frenzy. In the hustle and bustle of busy family life, I often find myself disconnected from the steady cadence that brings warmth and meaning to our days. And I’m relearning that habits make it easier to inhabit – to really dwell within these walls and engage these beautiful ones entrusted to my care. Fully dwelling here does not happen by chance. It is too easily trampled by the unending list of “to-do” that can weary, body and soul. Through the coming cold gray, I would like to make this space a bit warmer, and what better way than with kind friends and creative conversation. At each week’s close, we’ll gather round the kitchen table (you’ll be able to link to your own space). All are welcome. Bring your words and pictures along. You’ll be needing them. (You may tap out a post just for this purpose, or, if you prefer, link to a relevant post in your archives). We’ll be talking about comfort and cadence, traditions and time, hints and habits. Refreshment and ritual for turning our homes into places we truly inhabit. So bring your grandmother’s muffin recipe or that great idea you had for displaying your little Picasso’s paintings. Perhaps a new tradition is taking root around the family table, or you rearranged to make that nook under the staircase a bit more inviting. Let’s slow down. We’ll linger the whole weekend through. Why rush? I’ll look forward to seeing you on Friday for the first go-around, and if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll answer your questions in the comments.