spoken in the shop, vol. 7.

On loving the earth

"Eco People? Blech!"
(accompanied by vomiting noise)

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On pregnancy hormones
"So how many people cry in your children's book section? Some of those books will rip your heart out!"

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On picking favorites
Girl 1: "Oh, this used to be my favorite book!"

Girl 2: "I wish I had a favorite book."

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On temptation
"I just can't come here. This place is my heaven."

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On suspense
Storyteller: "What did the pig say? Can anybody guess? What do you think happens next?"

Long pause.

5-year-old boy: "Just turn the page already!"

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On story time
"I want cupcakes and a story and to make something!"

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On closing up shop
"I'm just going to miss you."

i suppose it's the brave thing to do.

"People are always telling you that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all . . . has happened."

- You've Got Mail

My store is closing. 

My store is closing, and in two weeks, I'll pack up boxes of books and product, and I'll make the 45-minute trek up the road to Thomasville, Georgia, where I'll be working -- and who knows, maybe living -- for the next season of this life. 

Eight months ago, when Jordan and I first discussed the possibility of quitting my corporate job and managing this tiny store in midtown, we left no stone unturned. It's our nature, I think, to over analyze, to pro-con the mess out of things. So we discussed, at length, what we would do if the store didn't last. 

We discussed, and we decided: We wanted to do it anyway. We were willing to take the risk in order to see if this dream that had been percolating in my mind for so long might have the gumption to survive. 

It turns out, by the way, that I love this job. It is hard, hard work, and some days, it can be just as mundane as a desk job. But there are these moments that make up for it all, moments when a kid reads a book in a corner, or I connect with a customer about a book club selection. Through the hard and easy days, it has been such a relief to know that a dream can come true, a relief to know: I can do this. I am doing this.

The store isn't closing because it is failing. Jordan and I didn't count on that back when we were counting the cost of things. We didn't discuss what we'd do if the business thrived, but the owner wanted to pull back resources and focus on one location. 

News of the store's closing, then, came as a shock. When something is financially succeeding, when a small business is embraced by the community, you just kind of assume it will all keep going, as-is, unchanged. Because why change what's working?

But as with corporate business, small businesses must go where the money is. And the store's owner -- who I have a lovely relationship with -- is changing directions. She's growing her family, and she's choosing to turn all of her finances and attention to her larger store. And because of some new directions in her life, she has graciously offered me the chance to join her in Thomasville as owner of The Bookshelf.

It is a huge opportunity, and lots of friends and family have offered me their congratulations on this next step.

The thing is, though, it hurts. All of it. This little Tallahassee store? It has become mine. The customers, the books, the displays? I've cultivated and curated those things. And it's simply not in my nature to say goodbye easily.

I don't want to tell loyal customers and friends we're closing. I don't want to shut down story time. I don't want to explain the ins and outs. I'm simply not ready to mourn this chapter yet.

So the congratulations feel premature.

And the excitement comes and goes in waves.

Because this would mean big change -- big risk -- for us. Financially. Geographically.

Owner, I'm sure you understand, is quite different from manager. And Thomasville is different from Tallahassee.

For the next two months, then, I'll be working in Thomasville, commuting to that flagship store every day to get the hang of things. To meet new faces, to grasp new tasks, to see if we all mesh together as easily as I hope.

Come August, Jordan and I will be more equipped to make a final decision. Though of course, things are obviously leaning a certain way. I wouldn't be sharing this if we weren't ready to make some type of announcement. Come August, we'll sign papers, maybe even buy a home.

There's a lot still up in the air, but I'm tired of bearing the burden alone. (I don't know what I'd have done these past few months without Jordan, my family, and, if I'm being honest, Netflix.) I finally needed to write it all out, to clear my head, to explain why I've been silent, absent, and a little confused.

A lot is going on in my corner of the world, and much of it is outside my control.

Today, then, I'm choosing to focus on saying goodbye, on mourning this very short chapter of what continues to be an adventurous, lovely life. It has been absolutely wonderful, a learning experience I wouldn't trade for all the money in the world.

And even though it hurts, I am choosing to believe my dear friend Kathleen Kelly.

Closing the store -- saying goodbye -- is the brave thing to do. 

on change and the written word. (a giveaway, of sorts.)

For six months before graduating from college, I lived in Birmingham, Alabama, in the basement of Jordan's parents' house. I was an intern at Coastal Living magazine, and I was torn between loving my job and wondering if it was all a journalism degree added up to. Some days I felt like I was living the dream, and other days felt closer to a nightmare. (I remember one hellish day in particular in which I received a horrid haircut and subsequently backed my car into a pole at the mall. Good times.)

In six months, though, Birmingham became a sort-of home, and I'm a little baffled when I look back now and realize how quickly I adjusted to change, how quickly I met and made friends and formed a new life.

We're made to be resilient, I guess, and I just must forget, because every time change comes, I fight it with everything in my being and power, failing to remember how I've been brought through times of change and challenges before, and it's always made me better. 

This job -- my dream job -- has been a lot like that, and while I can't go into details just yet, changes are on the horizon, and they're big, and scary, and those six months in Birmingham seem so very far away. I can't believe 21-year-old me was so incredibly brave. Soon, 27-year-old me will have to step up and do the same. 

One of the blessings that came out of those brief months on my life's calendar was my friendship with Cory. We met as interns at Southern Progress, and I'm reminded, yet again, of how God provided friends for me right when I needed them. We weathered through the typical storms of our young-20s, and now, I imagine, Cory and I are wading through the similar storms of our late-20s. We've both invested serious time and energy and money into our dreams, and those dreams, I think, may look different from what we expected when we were 21. 

That's okay. Fabulous, even. 

Because while I keep watch over a tiny bookstore in midtown Tallahassee, Florida, Cory is sweating over a printing press in Birmingham. And I think it's funny that years after our first meeting, we're each doing our best to keep the written word alive in a world that maybe forgets just how important it is. Cory is doing her part to make beautiful things, and in turn, as cheesy as it sounds, God is making beautiful things out of her. 

I say all that to introduce you to Cory and her business, Four Hats Press. In her studio, she now works with polymer, wood, and lead type to create hand-lettered custom business cards and invitations, posters, prints, and greeting cards. I'm proud to say some of her work is hanging happily in my home (and this beauty is on my wishlist, a perfect reminder for the hardships I'm currently enduring).

Now, to celebrate the growth of her business and the power of the written word, Cory is hosting a giveaway (a really good one, in my opinion). Click on over to enter. There are letterpress notecards at stake!

spoken in the shop, vol. 6.

On hands-on learning

"You know, you really should have some of these toys out so kids can play with them."
(spoken while aforementioned children literally bounced balls off the store ceiling)

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On waiting
"I promise we'll buy these books when we're done. For now, they're keeping the kids preoccupied."

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On the lost art of the picture book
"Wait. Why doesn't this book have words?"

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On technology
"I just like to touch a book, you know?"

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On age appropriate learning
"Do you guys have any anatomy puzzles? We're talking about digestion right now."
(spoken by a mother while gesturing to her 6-month old baby, who I assume is advanced)

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On taking things to the next level
"What can you tell me about the brontosaurus?"
(5-year-old after our Tea Rex story time)

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On breaking and buying
"I guess I'll need to buy a few more cupcakes to make up for this."
(spoken by a dad after his children broke a vase. sweet, but... buy a book! for crying out loud!)

in which i distract myself with (what else?) a party.

We're saying goodbye to some of our best friends this season, so it only seemed appropriate to send them off in style (while we sob behind their backs). I really love throwing parties for people -- I think it's one of my love languages -- and I figured Cinco de Mayo was as good a theme as any. Mexican food is delicious and inexpensive, and I've been wanting a reason to celebrate out on our patio. 

Of course, Sunday morning broke bright and beautiful before heavy clouds settled in around 3:00. Jordan and I kept decorating, railing at the sky every now and then when rain began to threaten. At several points in the afternoon, I thought we'd have to turn indoors, but the sun won out, and our party was perfect. 

Truly, we had a lovely time. This is the first party I've been brave enough to cook all the food myself, so I consider this a huge adult accomplishment. The decorations (my favorite part) were lovely and cheap thanks to Target's ever-amazing dollar bin, and I have a new-found love affair with paper chains. (Also? Mason jars with balloon-dipped bottoms.)

We had fun, but it's all rather bittersweet. We took silly pictures, but we're also beginning the very long goodbye process to some of the people we love the most. We're not really sure how we're going to fill the void. Add to this the fact that we may be embarking on some life changes of our very own this summer, now without the support present and in-town friendships bring.

I have said it before, but I think it bears repeating: This is a difficult season for us. And I know, not so many moons down the road, this will all be such a blip on the maps of our lives, but now? Now it all feels very big. Intimidating. Scary. And I keep repeating so many different Bible verses in my head. Verses about how what was meant for evil, God will turn to good. Verses about perseverance being part of the growing up process. Verses reminding me that this too shall pass, that God will clear the pathways and make them straight. 

To be honest, the verses don't always help. (It depends on my mood.) But celebration, choosing to stop and do something when all I really feel like doing is pulling the covers over my head?

It turns out, that helped.

on choosing, five months in.

{Banner by Jimmy Marble}

A couple of weeks ago, my dad told me I probably need to be a little more careful when selecting a word for the year. His suggestions for 2014? Peace or quiet or calm.

Because it turns out that when you deem choose your word for the year, you immediately become bombarded with all kinds of choices, both major and minor, life-changing and mundane, all of which require decision and action, sometimes before the day is over. 

2013 has not been the year I expected. That's not to say it has been unenjoyable or unpleasant or cruel. It simply means it is not possibly what I could have anticipated for me or for my family back when January first began. I expect a lot out of my new years, always knowing full well the end result will not ever look like the original plan. It's a habit now, so I am fairly accustomed to a change in the overall look of things. This year, though, I just simply could not have predicted this much change, this much movement, this much influx. 

Friends began making plans to move. Church hurts resurfaced and stayed there. Job plans have become murky and uncertain. A potential and literal move for our little family may be on the horizon, in more ways than one. (And no, dear readers, we are not pregnant. At this moment, the thought alone sends me over the edge.) 

All of these changes -- which, in and of themselves, would be challenging and big enough -- have together resulted in lots of decision-making, much of which has been painful and burdensome and tiring.

I am trying to choose things like patience and grace and forgiveness, things like health and yoga and good books. I am trying to choose deep breaths and journaled thoughts and spoken-aloud prayers.

The truth is, though, there have been more than a few meltdowns. I have burst into tears and cursed at falling curtain rods and wondered what on earth was happening to my lovely, much-loved life. 

My word for the year currently looks a lot like overwhelmed. 

I didn't think when I announced choose as my 2013 word, I'd be forced to choose new decisions for our family in almost every aspect of our lives. For a girl who doesn't handle change well, it's been a rough couple of months, a true test of my maturity and my patience and my strength. 

"You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely," writes Eugene Patterson in The Message (James 1). "Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. 

"If you don't know what you're doing, pray to the Father." 

Maybe it's oversimplified advice, but these days, I'm taking it. As much as I tend to rely on pro-con lists and common sense, I realize the best decisions of my life have come when I took leaps of faith after speaking big prayers. Jordan and I agree that when you pray, you better be ready to move (literally, sure, but metaphorically, definitely). We've prayed for doors to open, and now they are. They're not the doors we could have anticipated -- nor are they the ones I believe we would have chosen -- but they are there, and they are open, waiting for us to decide: in or out? 

Of course, it's not a black and white decision. None of the choices we're making are. And so, it's painful, and I'm counting the days until I can get to the water with my family, until I can read and pray and come to terms with 2013 as it is, not as it was planned to be. 

So, there it is. The truth about what happens when you pick words for the year, and they maybe slap you in the face a little bit. I'd love to know how 2013 is treating you. Maybe someone, somewhere, is experiencing the same things? Do share. That's what the internet's for, isn't it?