You, me, and Leigh: What living with my single friend has taught me (and my family) about friendship and unexpected blessings.

leighandme

leighandme

This is my friend, Leigh. She's also my roommate. Today I have a new piece up at about what it's looked like and what I've learned by having a single friend live with me and my family for the past year.

Spoiler Alert: I think that when families and single people live together it's good for everybody.

Here's a little nugget of the article.

When Leigh—a friend from afar who had just moved to my city—first came to live with us, it was supposed to be for two months: one month of cat-sitting while we spent a lot of time visiting grandparents, and one month of temporary stay while she searched to secure her own place. Now, almost a year later, Ezra the cat, whom she started feeding out of obligation, splits his nights between her room and the room I share with my husband.

At first, this was an arrangement of necessity: the San Francisco housing market is ridiculous. It’s competitive and incredibly expensive. As we watched our friend Leigh search, we learned two undeniable truths: it’s hard for a 36-year-old single woman to a) Make enough to live on her own … even in a tiny one-room apartment, or b) commit to sharing a single bedroom with a random woman from Craigslist. When this became clear, my husband and I invited her to stay for the year.

There have been sacrifices, sure. My baby, Ace, has slept in my room much longer than I’d originally planned: he’s going on 13 months now. This wouldn’t have worked with his older brothers, who were much more intense even at that young age, but, luckily, Ace is laid back.

Keeping him in my room has forced me to adjust his baby accouterments and accessories, along with my expectations for what a baby needs. It turns out that a baby doesn’t really need a navy striped with matching elephant prints after all. He doesn’t need a Pottery Barn shelving unit either. A big wicker basket in the corner of the room works just fine. We’ve simplified and are focusing on the essentials. And simplicity is good for the soul.

Of course, it hasn’t been a walk in the park for Leigh, either. Not only does she share a bathroom with my two older boys (ages seven and five) who—let’s be honest—don’t always succeed at aiming for the toilet, she also shares a wall with them. When they’re up at 6:30 a.m., no matter whether it’s her day off or not—their little voices come right through the air vent, like a morning alarm she can’t hit snooze on.

During the day, Leigh doesn’t exactly have the life a single woman might otherwise, either. Most days, she can’t wake up and decide to whip up a fancy breakfast on a whim … because, though Leigh loves to cook, our kitchen is a madhouse. I’m always there, making a snack, making a meal, washing dishes. I imagine Leigh relishes the times when we’re out of the house so she can make something wonderfully adult and delicious without worrying about when one of us will charge into her space and start slicing an apple for a whining kid.

Yet, for all that, after a few months of cohabitation, we collectively decided to make our living situation permanent for a while. All of us—my husband and Leigh and I—shared the same reasoning: this experiment was good. In fact, we all agreed that it had genuinely surprised us all with its goodness. Its unexpected gifts were making all of our lives richer, and taught us a few valuable lessons.

Join me at For Her to read the rest! 

Why 'Receive' Should Have Been My Word in 2015

cultivate

cultivate

Cultivate was my word for 2015, a year that was probably the most challenging of my life. I didn’t write about that word, Cultivate, all that much. Not because I didn’t feel inspired by the power of its meaning, but because I didn’t really have the energy to think about what I was cultivating. In all honesty, last year was not about the bigger picture of bringing forth good things. It was a smaller season of life. It was a season of receiving. The good, quiet, painful work of receiving.

Last January, , I chose that word cultivate, thinking already of what I would do once I had worked through the news of my unborn child’s diagnosis. What would come from this? What would I make of this new thing?

I didn’t really make anything this past year. I simply did what I needed to do. I slowed down.

In the last eight weeks of my pregnancy, my amniotic fluid hovered around the danger zone, and week after week I drove myself across town to have my belly pressed and rubbed with instruments, all checking to make sure Ace was safe in there. My growing bump slowed its expansion. I worried what would be found when the tape measurer wrapped around my middle.

And over and over there was no big answer to those challenges. Drink water, they’d say. Rest.

I wore my eye of the tiger shirt on purpose in those last weeks of pregnancy

I wore my eye of the tiger shirt on purpose in those last weeks of pregnancy

Sometimes the work of cultivating gets halted into those first stages: The hard work you’re asked to do looks more like receiving: Put your feet up, mom of two wild boys. Ask your friends to watch them. Take naps. Stop writing so much. Let Florence bring you dinner, again. Receive, receive, receive.

Chris and I have been watching A&E’s six-part series , which follows seven young people with Down syndrome living in LA. It’s been a joy to watch their lives and personalities, to see their challenges and gifts. It’s a sweet, kind-hearted show. And it’s helping me make peace with who Ace may be as a young man. It’s helping me make space for that part of his story, when he isn’t a child, when he falls in love, or tries to find a job, or learns how to shop and cook for himself.

I keep remembering that receiving is a process. I need to continue, with each step of Ace’s development, to accept the parts of his story that I hadn’t planned for, and to celebrate the gift that he is. Sometimes that means watching these adults with Down syndrome learn to express their emotions or celebrate personal victories, and reminding myself that my boy will likely experience the world the way they do.

It’s receiving the challenges as they unfold. My little nugget of a baby needs to gain more weight. It’s learning how to feed him intentionally. It’s learning how to play with him in a way that both challenges him and blesses him. In short, it’s being a mom. But being one in which the microscope narrows in on every step along his development, the steps I didn’t even realize we were taking with my older typical boys.

2015 was a challenging year, not only because of Ace’s diagnosis, but because of changes within my church. Birth is painful and beautiful and my church birthed a new story, and I was a leader in the midst of it.  Receiving meant owning my decision as a leader. Receiving meant acknowledging the pain and the joy in front of me. Receiving meant believing in the power of Christ to lead us, even when it felt frightening, even when I failed to lead perfectly. Receiving meant pursuing reconciliation.

2015 closed with the loss of an important friend in my life. I’ll write more about Ali when I’m ready to. I’ll tell you this. I scratched my car on the flowering succulent bush in front of her house in November, a week before she passed away, the last time I saw her on this earth. Sometimes I run my hand across the scrape, while I’m calling my kids out of their seats and out onto sidewalks. It’s just a scrape on a car, I know. But it feels like some sort of ebenezer, a memorial of sorts, stones piled high in the place where God was.

We cannot love another person without being marked by them. Sometimes life is about receiving the marks, letting ourselves be hurt because loving people hurts sometimes.

beautiful-soil

beautiful-soil

On the other side of 2015, I’m beginning to understand this: And maybe I did. This past year was our fourth straight year of drought in California. Rainlessness and hard dry ground. The grass in our backyard dried up into stickers and yellow crackling, lifeless stuff.

The grass lies dormant underneath. At least that’s what the people at the garden store said when I came in to buy grass seed to sprinkle before the coming El Nino rains this month. No, they said. It’s not really dead. What you need is grass food. It’s all still there underneath. Just wait for it.

Before we can cultivate the dormant grass, we first learn to receive the rain. Receiving is making space for more.

All along there is something living underneath the death we see. It’s waiting for the specific rain that brings it forth into the world. What looks like dry ground. What looks used up and undone.

Cultivating starts small. First we receive.

And then God brings forth what God brings forth.