A quiet and simple life must also have some challenges

It’s the end of another year and we’re all about to put our dreams and aspirations on some sort of scale, balancing what is reasonable against what we really want. Maybe you don’t make formal resolutions? Maybe you’ve outgrown the need to constantly improve. Good for you, really. I am not there yet, but I have grown more realistic about what I can and should strive for in an arbitrary portion of time, such as a calendar year.

In the last year I’ve made significant progress on some things that really matter to me, and I also have yet to finish a very small crochet project that was due with the birth of a grandchild in April¹. It will literally take me one hour to bring the project to completion, but I’ve grown used to it sitting in my basket in the living room, as part of the decor. I have great joy in starting things, but some kind of aversion to finishing².

Jesus talked about counting the cost of being His disciple, which is not a project with an ending, but He gave examples to show the importance of being able to see something through to the end. Discipuli means “student” in latin, and I like the idea that disciples are students who never graduate. I like the thought that, as a follower of Jesus, I am not working toward any deadline except the literal one.

But I still want to be better at finishing things.

What I really want is to lead a quiet life, slow and steady, faithful in the little things—at home, at the deli, in my family. If I make a home that is warm and comfortable, with simple food to share and a spare bed for company, that will bring me joy.

If I can learn to start fewer things, to stop looking out for the new and shiny, and funnel my attention instead toward the things that are naturally within my reach—my gifts and talents and capacities—I think I will finish the things that need finished, and continue in the long obedience of things that will endure.

And if I can be brave enough to stretch for one or two things that are beyond my natural reach, I will grow. Not finish, but grow.

Basically my biggest dreams and goals are the smallest, most quotidian things in life, with the exception of a consistent writing practice. But even that can be small, slow, and steady; sometimes within my natural reach; sometimes a bit beyond.

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This is us, blissfully unaware of what we’re getting ourselves into.

Sometimes you start a project and have no way to count the cost of it. There are just too many variables out of your control, and you can’t know before you jump in and start the work. That’s been our experience with the deli.

The deli employs 13 people who each care about their job and our community in a way that most employers only dream about, and it is run by true team effort—it takes a village to run a business. We have come so far from the where we started three years ago, Tim and I running ourselves ragged trying to get things off the ground. I am mostly behind the scenes now, and while it’s still daily work for me, it is nowhere near the work it once was. I am grateful for the village and the extraordinary people who are doing ordinary work there—making food, serving customers, sweeping floors, cleaning bathroom, stocking groceries. Quotidian work, the same everyday, but done with so much care and attention.

Managing a business will always be a bit beyond my natural ability but it has surely been a part of my discipleship.

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When our kids were early readers we focused on three different kinds of books for them: those deemed easy for them to read on their own; books right at their comfort level in terms of reading skill; and a read aloud or co-reading book that was too advanced for them to be expected to read all on their own. We tried to keep a balance of the three levels, to keep the motivated but not discouraged.

This seems like a perfect plan for life, rather than sticking with what is easy or piling on too many new skills at once.

The next year will be filled with some big changes that we have chosen for our family, along with plenty of unforeseen things we may not choose, but will face, nonetheless. We’re on the long road, going slow and steady, layering chosen and unchosen challenges with reprieves into the quiet and peaceable life we long for.

I’m not setting goals right now but I do love a good more/less list, and I’m already formulating those for the new year. I love lists of all kinds, and I’m going to be shamelessly embracing that. I’m also loving the idea of “funneling”, which is a word I’ve been using a lot lately in conversations with my husband. I suppose it’s the same idea as “simplifying”, but it is a more clear metaphor in my mind because we are purposing to distill things down into their most essential form, to concentrate our time and energy and resources into a few important things—some that are super easy and enjoyable; some normal, quotidian things to stay on top of; and at least a couple things that will make us cling to Jesus for help.

We are students who keep learning but never graduate.

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I hope you have a meaningful Christmas with your village, be it one or one hundred. If you have a beautiful plan for your new year I’d love to hear it—I’m all about gleaning/stealing ideas from wise folks.

Thanks for being a reader of MBTN this year. I do not take it lightly that you have chosen to spend some of your time here.

Peace, friends.

Sharing my favorite walk with Sam, our son’s dog

“The Lego Circle of Life”. After a few years of attic storage, the Legos have reappeared in our living room. Grandson #1 gathered all the wheels he could find.

1. I am still shocked to be a grandma. Seriously. How? This is one of those things I haven’t written much about, which means I haven’t processed it yet. But it’s the best of times, friends.

2. I say “some kind” of aversion but I know what it is: perfectionism.