Keep your eyes open to your mercies.

The man who forgets to be thankful

has fallen asleep in life.

-Robert Louis Stevenson

This morning my eyes blinked open and I found myself wishing for henrybella's. A homemade muffin and hot coffee sounded good. I rolled over and pulled the covers up and made a blanket tent over me.

I've been in such a funk lately. The dust has settled and I've realized: I've been angry. Angrier than angry. I miss waking up in Freeman House, letting Millie out to play, and walking to the bakery.

I miss opening the doors... putting the coffee on... heating the oven... writing the day's menu. (Gosh, a Downtown Turkey Sandwich and Butterscotch Brownie Fridae sounds good.)

Or whatever. It all sounds good.

I miss the people, too. Old friends and new popping in. Such a happy time. I imagine book shops and sweet shops must be among the happiest places to be. Mine was, I'll tell you that. Henrybella's was a great place. I miss it today.

But I also realize that if I'm not thankful - or worse, if I'm angry over loss - I'm shutting my eyes to mercies. I'm bedding down in a tent and falling asleep in life, a life that holds new mercies every morning.

Today I remember. Today I may cry. But today I will breathe a prayer of thanks that I had any of it at all. What mercies! What joys! And what could today possibly hold?

Maybe it will hold a muffin. And some hot coffee. That really does sound good.

Chicken Tikka Masala

The beginnings of Indian food. Heavy food for a heavy heart.

Hope your week is going well. -Brin

Love, Handed Down

Bright, cold morning. I'm warm underneath the quilt my great-grandmother made my mother. I'm sleeping under love, handed down.


My new job is going well; thanks to those who've asked. I'm a bundle of nerves as I stay preoccupied with expenses until my first paycheck arrives. (Who works five weeks before getting paid? Oil and gas folks, that's who.) A long commute - three hours driving each day - means I'm crashing on the floor with family until I can afford to make the drive from home. My car's broken down three times now and each day is an exercise in faith. I'm exhausted but hopeful. And so thankful. So, so thankful. A good job in this economy is a blessing only heaven hands out. You see this too, right? How God reached down and arranged dates and people and places so I'd be in just the right place at just the right time for this incredible provision?

He loves us. Oh how He loves us.

I'm living under love, handed down.

Oh....

...my desperation works to your advantage if you've been eyeing some of those handknitted HouseHelpers over in my shop. Rumor has it that a handful of sets (including new Christmas ones!) are less than $7. Whoa!

I'm a bundle of nerves lately and so have turned, with increasing desperation, to my knitting needles. It's therapy. Comforting, happy therapy. The result? Something new for my Etsy shop: a collection of handknit hats, each embellished with vintage ribbons and buttons. They're so perfect for upcoming blustery days. I love these. I just love these.

Would talk more, but feel one of those How in the world is this all going to work out without me dying first? headaches coming on. Better go find those knitting needles again. ...

Cemetery Visit

He will swallow up death forever.

The Sovereign Lord will wipe away

the tears from all faces....

-Isaiah 25:8

I made a recent visit to Law's Chapel, the cemetery where my family - for generations - has been buried. I had to check on my Grandfather's grave, jab my toe in the dirt, tell him how things are going.

Things are finally looking up, Grandad, I said. I got an oil and gas job last week. There's some travel involved. My life seems to be getting some of its old rhythm back. It's such a relief.

Around me, a chilly wind stirred up a tornado of leaves. I hunched my shoulders and shoved my hands in my pockets.

Quarterback Jack's grave isn't far from the ancient Magnolia tree, the one with dozens of Civil War -era graves beneath. Slaves and soldiers sleep alongside each other; markers tell their stories... or say nothing at all, which in itself tells their stories. What is it about old graveyards? Their mystery and romance are haunting.

Yep, cemeteries don't bother me the way they do some folks. Death isn't forever, it's been swallowed up. And tears, I'm learning, aren't forever either.

I tell my Grandfather this and feel, somehow, he understands. ...

Did Someone Say SALE?

A super sale this holiday week over at the happy little shop. Handmade aprons for $10.99? How fun is that? (wink) Hope to see you there! -Brin

Fall Dreams...

Today I shrugged on a coat and headed for my favorite place on earth, the woodsy place where mushrooms sprout...

...and moss spreads...

...and water pools like a mirror.

Fall made it to the State Park before I did, leaving its misty, hazy colors laying about. I walk and hear the dripdrip of rain dropping, the thudthud of acorns falling, the slapslap of branches blowing into one another. The leaves congregate above my head and scatter below my feet. My breath hangs as I walk. My feet are wet, cold.

I love it here.

If I had all the money in the world, I'd buy a stretch of the park. I'd build a small cottage and buy an old blue bicycle and would sell fried pies and brownies to the children. As dusk fell, when everyone went home, I'd take my kayak out onto the water mirror and float... float... float. I'd float past the lily pads, past the bend where the maple kisses the water and float until the moon came out and glistened on the mirror. Then I'd turn toward home.

One can dream. Especially in a place like this. One can dream.

Bittersweet October

Bittersweet October.
The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking,

perfect pause between the opposing miseries

of summer and winter.
~Carol Bishop Hipps

Autumn is here, even in Texas. It's a chilly, drizzly day that begs for a quilt, warm from the dryer, a good book and a pot of bubbling soup.

October tenth is the day that marks the two greatest heartbreaks of my life. Bittersweet October. I'm mellow today, though... unpacking, washing out newly discovered clothes and flipping through long packed-away books. Millie is sitting in a pool of lamp light, curled into a tight ball - no heat in the house yet - and looks ready for a nap. Maybe I'll make something warm to drink and join her.

But just another moment at the window. Beautiful, bittersweet October. What is it about autumn's decay that can prop the heart up and blow winds of hope straight through?

Offerings, New

New offerings over at Brin include some Cottage Aprons and harvest/Halloween Apron Toolbelts. Fun!

Hope you have a wonderful holiday weekend. -Brin

Postcard From My Heart, No. 3

The last letter this week. Thanks for sitting by as my heart sloshed onto paper and puddled into these lines. You've been so kind. -Brin


You saw me.
Before I was,
before I fell,
before I knew,
You were there.
And You loved me.
Oh, how You love me.

And how You've stayed.
Right here.
Closer than a prayer...
closer than the air
I breathe back to You
asking for grace,
seeking Your face,
needing to know
You'll come through.
Oh, how You come through.

How do I tell You?
How do I offer thanks
for the wonders You do,
The wonder You are?
How do I thank
the One who traded
His comfort for mine?
His life for mine?
How does one regard her Redeemer?
Because He saved.
Oh, how He saves.

I saw You.
After I was,
after I fell,
after I knew I needed You,
I drew near.
Found You still here.
Along with Your grace,
Your compassionate face
Seeing me
Seeing me through.
It's the marvel of You.
Oh, I marvel at You.

Postcard From My Heart, No. 2

Some situations and conversations this week leave me focusing on the overruling, faithful hand of a God who never forsakes, never fails and never stops loving. This, then, I suppose, is a week of postcards and letters from my heart to certain people who have shared and are sharing my life. I post them here in hopes that someone might recognize or relate to my struggles and take encouragement from the realization that we are never, ever alone and we are always, without fail, valued. -Brin



Dear Disappointed,

I heard you.
In the lines I read
between what you said
I found all your expectations:
high, specific... but yours.
Not mine.
Thank goodness I spotted them;
I think they were misplaced.

So I'm a "disappointment".
So there is
a mold I don't fit -
a pattern I didn't follow -
a road I'll never travel.
My mistake.
The rules weren't clear,
but I doubtlessly would have broken them anyway
in a rush to board my roller coaster.

Foolish me.
Careless, characterless, disappointment me.
I should be ashamed.
You need me to be ashamed.

Only... I'm not.
Only... I might not ever be.
For when I look in the mirror I see
a flawed person who was flawlessly made.
An imperfect child who is perfectly loved.
A ridiculous girl with a ridiculously forgiving God.
When I look in the mirror I glimpse the most
wondrous of things:
that He who began a good work in me
will carry it on until completion.

So I acknowledge the name tag you filled out
and want me to wear -
the one that reads:
HI. MY NAME IS DISAPPOINTMENT.
Forgive me if I peel it off my heart
and wear this one instead.
It's the one my heavenly Father wrote. It says:
HI. MY NAME IS DELIGHT.

For while I am different, I am loved.
While I am needy, I am accepted.
And while I am guilty - because of His sacrifice -
I am not condemned.

Oh.
Before I go, I thought I'd show
you the name tag I wrote for you.
Here. Let me put it over your heart. It says:
HI. MY NAME IS LOVED REGARDLESS.

I love you regardless of how you see me.

Your Disappointment,
Brin

Postcard From My Heart

We make our lives from what we have, not from what is missing.

Making a beautiful one today, but missing you all the same. -B

Remembering How to Be Content

Home from the market, so it's time to make a variation of Kevin's White Bean and Kale Soup with Sausage - I'm using Polish, as it was on sale - and settle in for the evening. I'm caught up in my new favorite book of all time, and contentedly choose a calm, warm evening at home over a chaotic, hustled evening out. Any day.

And let's not forget Millie. She's looking forward to a rousing game of fetch, followed by a girl-and-dog roll in the October leaves.

Hmm. Homemade soup, flickering candles, a good book and a sweet puppy. Adds up to contentedness, if you ask me.

Enjoy your weekend, too. -Brin

Perseverance

So here's the new room: a bed, a chair, a lamp and one lonely decoration. I'm almost through with unpacking; some of my things are still in a little storage building thirty minutes away.

I lost a lot when I said goodbye to Freeman House and the bakery. Things you can touch, like furniture, appliances, dishes. Things you can't, like dreams and hopes and pride. But it was a good thing. No, it really was. As my grief and bitterness have slowly bled out these past few months, I've realized: what's left of me is stronger because of this. I am more compassionate because of this. I can now relate to people who've lost a number of things: a marriage, a loved one, a house, a business and possessions they cherished. Because of this year - because of 2009 - I can look someone in the eye who's facing these things and say, quietly, firmly: I know. I know. But you're going to come through this. It IS going to be okay. And then I can hold them as they weep, remembering the puddles I left at Jesus' feet many, many times.

Romans 5 says it this way: But we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.

I can't tell you the hundreds of times I've repeated that to myself through tears or clenched teeth this summer... that hard times mean perseverance, perseverance means character, and character means hope.


I think I'm on perseverance. I won't claim character, at this point, and won't lie to you about any earthly hope. But perseverance? I can do that. It's just one day at a time, right?

For now I have a bed, a chair, a lamp, the blanket my Mom made me, and... perseverance. No refrigerator, stove, washer/dryer, or dishwasher, but I do have perseverance. Crockpot cooking, anyone? Washtub laundry? Just watch me make it through this, too, one day at a time.

Or we'll laugh as I try, I guess. Together we can laugh as I try.

Popping out from under the covers to invite you over to Brin for a little HouseHelper show. I just adore these. I'm looking forward to tucking a few of these in stockings and outstretched hands this holiday season, and am eager to share them with you as well.

Hope your day is happy. -Brin

Garlic and Giving Up

Time to plant garlic again. I saved a few heads from this year's bunch and am now eyeing this new backyard. Where's the best place to put a little garden here? I'm keeping an eye on the shadows, taking note of where the sun shines brightest... and longest. Tomorrow I may begin to dig. All depends on the forecast, you see.

I have already begun a new compost pile; couldn't go a week without one of those. This year's garlic waste becomes next year's compost, and the cycle continues. I take great comfort in these cycles... useless becoming useful, old becoming new. Strange, but I do.

I'm finding it an enormous challenge to settle into this little house. I just typed a long paragraph explaining why, but then realized it sounded whiny and hopeless and would give certain people a little too much satisfaction, so I deleted it. But... yes. This has been a difficult move and I'm fighting to keep some semblance of hope and happiness about the place. That alone is a full time job.

Would you be terribly disappointed in me if I pulled the covers over my head and gave up for a few days? -Brin

Sugar, Caffeine and Smiles

A little frivolity, made for a little celebration involving a favorite kid of mine. I can't help but grin when looking at these smiling cupcakes. Of course, I am running on sugar and caffeine these days. Seems as though everything makes me either smile or cry....

Be back as I'm able. Have a happy week. -Brin

First Box. First Night.

My first night in the little house. I just cleared enough sitting space on the couch, plugged in my laptop, and lit some candles and settled in. (This place smells musty, my Mom said as she walked through earlier.) Millie's asleep on the wood floor -at my feet, of course - after a long, nervous day. We're both exhausted.

You know, Martha Stewart says that whenever you move, you should have a first box. She doesn't actually call it a "first box"... that's my term... but that's what it is: the first box you unpack. Ideally, it should contain the first things you may need upon arriving at your new place. Um... things like light bulbs. Scissors. Soap and towel. Box cutter. Alarm clock. Clorox wipes. Whatever. I had my first box, of sorts, but it was all wrong. What I really needed was: (1) a dog net for the three pit bulls that dug under my backyard fence to get to an already apprehensive little Millie; (2) a t-shirt that says "I have a boyfriend and he can beat you up" to dissuade Leonard, the city's dog catcher, who came to help and didn't leave before giving me his cell phone number and inviting himself back later; (3) a sledge hammer - don't ask; (4) Liquid Drano, and (5) a wine bottle opener. That is what my first box needed. Martha, my box and Millie and I needed you today. Where were you?

So. I have so much to show and tell you about the little house. It's located in Wake Village, which I think is a lovely thing to call a place. The house has wooden floors and straightforward rooms and just needs someone to pull it all together and make it wonderful. (And paper the closets and pantry. Thanks for your suggestions on wallpaper, by the way. I'm going to try to get each of the three papers as finances allow. We'll see....)

Before we get to all that, some sleep is in order. That one-eye-open, what-was-that-sound?, I'm-nervous-in-a-new-place, I-hope-they-don't-call-this-Wake Village-for-a-reason kind of sleep.

Yikes.

Goodnight. I think. -Brin

By all these lovely tokens

September days are here,

With summer's best of weather

And autumn's best of cheer.

-Helen Hunt Jackson

Happy, happy, happy fall.

May it bring more warmth, comfort, and coziness

than you could ever dream. -Brin

Stumps, Puppy Foot Warmer and Paper the Color of Jam

Seen from the kitchen window at the new little house: a tree stump bearing blue blooms. I'd have a better shot but it was raining as I snapped this and, as seems to be the case this week, I was in a frantic hurry.

But I'm not so much now. Having worked my entire day off at the new house, I'm piled on the bed with tea and a chocolate lab foot warmer. And before my burning-tired eyes forcibly escort me to Neverland, I'm browsing the vintage wallpaper offerings on eBay. Don't you think it would be lovely if I papered all the closets in the little house? I do. I want them to be pretty and smell heavenly. Today I became obsessed with papering the insides of the closets with cabbages and roses... or tiny, buttered daisies... or a Victorian toile the color fig and plum jam. Here's to hoping I can find a steal....

..................

Okay. Half hour later and I'm too tired to sleep (although the foot warmer is snoring soundly down at the end of the bed, so at least one of us is resting). I just narrowed my options down to these three prints. Remember, they are for papering closet interiors... not spaces that will be lived in, if you know what I mean. I'm going for an Agatha Christie/rainy day/berry scones and cream/Saturday-with-a-novel kinda feel here. I think I've decided, but which would you get?

Quiet Blur

That's life this week, a quiet blur. Long work week (47 hours) and moving - box by box, load by load... quietly loading, driving, unloading. Some good, quiet music on the iPod, though:

Quiet, John Mayer
Quiet Place, Lanae Hale
Quiet Times, Dido
Quiet Nights, Diana Krall
One Quiet Night, Pat Metheny

Calm for my ears. It helps. It really does....

A Little Sale

There's a little sale going on over at Brin. I mean, aprons may just be slashed by several, several dollars each in an effort to make a little room for some fall, Thanksgiving and Christmas delights coming soon. (And also maybe to help with a few... um... unexpected expenses. We'll leave it at that until I cool down enough to tell the unbelievable story, mkay?)

Anyway, hope you find just the Pretty Prairie Apron or Toolbelt you've been wanting. And special thanks to Rebecca, Tara, Tine, Jemima, Jenn, Kristie, Elsa, Estrelete and Mary for their patronage and support of the new shop. You girls make all the difference in the world to me. Thank you.

New Plans...

I'm getting ready to plant fall lettuces. But... not where you'd suspect.

I've found a little house. I'm moving in next week.

After taking a long, realistic look at my budget... and after realizing that I still feel, well, like I'm getting about on paper wings, I decided to take the most drastic step I've ever taken: do the logical, safe thing. Two weeks ago, I sat down and thought: now Brin, if you were a normal girl and not a recklessly fearless, head-in-the-clouds one, what would your next move be? Of course! It would be to get a stable job in a nice-sized town, rent a little house with a fenced yard for Millie, and, I don't know, get out and meet people. So I am. The cottage will have to wait; I'm simply drained of finances, energy and unwearied hope for now. For now.

I found a small house in an old neighborhood in the city where I work. The old place has hardwoods and a strange layout and lots of quirks, but I know its owners very well and am quite assured this will be a happy arrangement. In the front yard is a weathered, mossed-over, gnarled root oak tree that I love. The backyard is fairly... blank. An empty canvas. The house is dated, severely dated, and requires a LOT of love, but that only means I'll be up to some of my old tricks again (paint, flooring, lighting, decorating, planting, planning....) So what do you say? Are you up for another house that needs us?

Pictures of the interior to come. You'll see what I mean. For now, I'm off to dream of lettuce seeds and kitchen tile. It's raining here, after all, and Millie's snoring softly at my feet and my eyelids aren't propping themselves open as they should. .... .... ....

Visions of Sugar Plums...

Abby just alerted us to a new Toast catalogue. Couple that with the September issue of Anthropologie's rag and I'm done for.

Dear Santa: we know it's a bit early, but we've been nice this year and it's been a sorta nasty one. Please, if you'll bring me these in a size 8 for Christmas... as well as a stocking full of beefy bones for the pup... we'll never ask for anything ever again. Finger-crossed promise.

Waste Not, Want Not: A Rug for Millie

Millie needed a soft, comfy place to lounge this fall and winter. She just did. So I found a beautiful rug in the new Pottery Barn catalogue and drooled over it for about half an hour. That's all I did, though. Tiramisu taste on a 'Nilla wafer budget, you understand.

So I did what any resourceful (read: desperate) country girl would do: I rounded up an armload of old t-shirts and, with gleaming scissors held high above my head, sounded the charge! In no time I was surrounded by a mountain of t-shirts hacked into strips and confetti. I swept the confetti pieces under the couch and rolled each strip into softball-sized balls and found the largest crochet hook I could find. Then I turned on the TV and got down to business.

Don't judge me. I can't crochet. I mean, I don't know what in the world I'm doing. When I was ten, the girl at the blueberry farm - the one my Mom wanted me to be friends with - tried to teach me how to crochet potholders. I guess some of it stuck; I can read knitting patterns... and music... and part of the New Testament in Spanish... but I still can't read anything having to do with crochet. I just play with balls of t-shirt strips and a hook until, after three straight hours of the History Channel, I can lean over the arm of the couch and yell, Look! A rug for Millie!

The rug so far gobbled up seven t-shirts and measures roughly three feet across. So either I need more shirts or Millie will have to shrink. Before someone asks, I started at the bottom of each shirt, on the right side, and cut a continuous two-inch stripe, horizontally, up the body of the shirt. Like peeling an apple. Then I did something (?) with loops and that crochet hook until it looked like this. I really don't know what I did, (UPDATE: crocheters say I single crocheted through the back loops. Eureka! Thanks, crafty ladies!) so please don't ask for a pattern. If you do, I'll have to come to your house and steal all your t-shirts, especially if you have any plum, cranberry or golden raisin-colored ones. I want those colors next. *grin*

(For another Waste Not, Want Not idea, check out my Thrifty Nifty Napkins, where I cut up more old clothes to make household things.)

Apron shop is stocked, although many new pretties are in the works and planned between now and the holidays. Many. I'm having such fun doing these... scouring bins and stores and sales and old trunks for fabrics, buttons and notions; sitting at the machine as twilight comes, sewing; crisply ironing a finished piece and wrapping it carefully in tissue.... Once I heard it said that when you buy something that someone makes, you're buying a piece of their life. You're buying moments out of their life that they devoted to making you something. I like that. As I sit and sew, that's how I feel. Instead of doing other things, I'm making something for you. I'm not selling aprons, I'm selling pieces of my life.

Today feels like the first day of fall to me. Later I'll have to tell you about it. It's magical. I adore autumn in a way I can't describe. Just knowing it's here revives me. Buying mums this morning and puttering around the old feed store leaves me happy in ways I can't express.

I'm off to enjoy the rest of the splendor of this day. Happy Labor Day wishes and prayers to you all.... -Brin

Downtown, Hometown

It's not necessary to go far and wide.

You can really find exciting and inspiring things

within your hometown.

-Daryl Hannah

Looks like something from a movie, doesn't it? But no. It's just the town where I grew up. I drove through downtown on my way to the post office last Saturday as the sun came up, feeling like the only one in town awake and about. It was strange to see it so empty. Seemed awkward yet intimate somehow, like peeking in your boss's medicine cabinet or glimpsing a clown putting on his makeup.

I swore I would never come back here. Swore, swore, swore. I left in 1996, kissing my junior high/high school sweetheart goodbye and never looking back. Already I'd seen what staying in a small town did to a girl: as the years went by, the staying silently, gradually, stole a life. Before the girl knew it, she was a grandmother who prattled on about all the places she'd never been and the things she'd never done. That wouldn't be me. No sir. No ma'am.

But here I am, thirteen years later, peering across the same street I marched down in the Christmas Parade when I was fifteen. I played Mary, since she always has brown hair, and tripped over that stupid pale blue robe a thousand times as my Keds stomped all over the hem. I remember how Baby Jesus had one of those blinky eyes that was stuck rolled back in his head. That really bothered me. If you're gonna make a doll be Baby Jesus, at least make sure it doesn't look like a girl and have freaky, broken eyes, I'd thought. How would you like to be God and have the "person" playing you in the Christmas parade be a retarted-looking plastic toy?

I think about these things now that I'm here again. Funny how the memories race across time and brick-paved streets to find me again... bring me things I haven't thought of for fifteen years. And now that I'm here, I wonder: am I meant to make grown memories here, or am I just stopping in long enough to remember and be on my way again?

Ah, downtown, hometown. We meet again.

Winner, Winner

So I guess we know which image from yesterday won, huh? Last time I looked, with almost 300 votes cast, the image of my sister walking through the grass in the Lost Cottage apron won. Thanks ever so much for your input! Posing the question to you felt like using the "ask the audience" lifeline on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. And you always go with the audience. The audience is always right. Thanks again.

My sister and I had such fun shooting apron pictures and running around the pasture yesterday. Too much fun, really. I'm thirteen years older than she, and we haven't had much bonding time. Until now. It's exciting getting to know her: what she likes (swimming), what she eats (chicken), what she does (Goodreads), who she likes (Zack). She also insisted on voting in yesterday's poll and picked, predictably, the top picture with the pink apron. She loves pink, I've learned. We both stay away from blue. Strange how sisters can be so alike and yet so different, isn't it?

I've had zillions of emails and Etsy convos asking when all the aprons will be listed. It's a good question. In short, Labor Day weekend will see me laboring over the posting of 7+ new aprons and toolbelts. So by Saturday at noon CST, we shall see the first round of the Fall 2009 Aprons in all their glory. After that, I'm going to work my hardest to keep the shop stocked for those waiting until payday, holiday shopping, etc. Oh the cute that is to come!

Can you believe tomorrow's Friday? Looking forward to that holiday weekend....

Pretty Prairie, An Apron Collection

Aprons! Today! Look for late summer and new Fall 2009 ones here at the shop around 4 PM CST. (Early birds may snag a few aprons that get posted early, so look sharp!) I really, really hope you enjoy them.

You know how magazines will sometimes publish an issue with two different covers? One for the South and one for the North, or whatever? Well, I'm trying the same thing here. Before I put the fall apron button on the blog, would you help me choose the image you prefer? Thank you!

See you around 4 o'clock at the shop!

(Big modeling props and special thanks to my sister, Mary. Sorry about the hay scratches. And Millie messing up half the shots.)

I've been quietly working - for weeks - on a new shop. It's finally here. It's called, simply, Brin. I hope you like it.

This time around, there will be familiar and new things. The shop is up but the cupboards are fairly bare until Wednesday, when I'll be introducing 15 - FIFTEEN! - new aprons. I've been a sewing/knitting/flower-making fiend every spare moment. I'm losing myself in work. That and prayer is saving me, I think.

So. Guess I'll see you soon over at the shop. (And for those who say they can't ever see my links, you can get there by wandering over to: brinwisdom.etsy.com. Yep. That's me. Hi. I'm Brin Wisdom. After four years, I guess it's time I formally introduce myself, huh?)

Slow Soup Sunday

A day of rest. I've needed one. After a dreadfully sad dream, I awoke to the decision to stay in my pajamas today, finish my scarflette, and make a big pot of slow soup. So I did. Fresh vegetables, browned-off ground turkey and handfuls of tarragon came together to make a bowl that has me - now more than ever - looking forward to a cozy fall.

Hope your weekend is slow and satisfying, wherever you are. -Brin

...You'll do best

by filling your minds and meditating

on things true, noble, reputable,

authentic, compelling, gracious—

-the best, not the worst;

the beautiful, not the ugly;

things to praise, not things to curse....

Do that, and God,

who makes everything work together,

will work you into his most excellent harmonies.

-Philippians 4:8, (The Message), Bible

The basil is fading. Each morning, before my 6:30 AM start to the deli, I ruthlessly pinch away the tips going to seed. Stay with me, stay with me, I plead with it. There are several more batches of pesto left in those stems, I just know it.

Philippians 4:8. I had to memorize that verse when I was in third grade. As a student at a private, Christian school, we were encouraged to stuff all the Bible verses we could into our brains, even though we had no idea what we were saying. I'm so thankful we did. These verses mean something to me now and come to me in snatches at the oddest of times, kind of like sudden sneezes or abruptly-remembered memories from a childhood holiday.

Think about the best, not the worst, I remind myself. The beautiful, not the ugly. Park your little mind in a space squeezed between wide loads of things to praise, not things to curse.

I found out today that my Grandmother - the one married to the Grandfather we lost last month - has cancer. Think about things to praise, not things to curse, I think to myself. God will make all this work together... He will work the high notes and these low notes into the most gorgeous of harmonies, and one day we will weep when the entire song of our lives is played.

I think that, and: Nevertheless...