In August, I will have known them sixteen years. There was Edie, the one who was summoned from the shower by a clueless RA to meet my entire family as she dripped in our freshman dorm room, Tara, the one in the blue dress whom I met while we toured the campus with the Honors nerds (that I somehow thought we were "other than." We were not.), and Amber, the one I interviewed in my first class on the first day about, among other things, having dressed up as the mascot of her high school back in Florida.

I didn’t know when I met them that I’d still know them now, nearly half my life later, having lived in three states since then and now married the better part of a decade to someone different than we’d originally thought. I didn’t know we would slog through marriage, careers, callings and motherhood together, didn’t know I’d still know them when three of us drove minivans and one drove a station wagon. I didn't know we would live scattered in four different states, but would meet up as often as possible, for birthdays and babies and weddings, in Baltimore, Charleston, Richmond, Savannah, Tallahassee, Annapolis and Bloomington. But I did know, after that first year, that those three felt like home. Even then I had a sense that’s grown ever since that this is the kind of thing that only comes around maybe once in a lifetime.  And, I know now, for many people, not at all.

We speculated about why our friendship has lasted when so many fade away. I’ve lost exponentially more friends than I’ve kept, usually to the slow fade, and often due in large part to my inability to keep in touch. To find friends who saw you then, and still see you now, despite the distractions, mistakes, distance and general busyness of life—I know now—is a gift few receive. To wander with these girls this weekend, reminiscing, of course, but also digging in about what life is now, and all the things it’s been in the last sixteen years, was a privilege. Knowing and loving these girls—and being known by them—has and continues to be an honor. What a rare and beautiful thing to continue to be loved by people who have stood with you through so many seasons, so many mistakes, and remain undeterred, unthreatened, and unsurprised as you sit on the cusp of what you were always meant to be.

“What if we take pictures of our homes, just as we find them when we get there?” Tara, nearly seven months pregnant with her third child, had suggested. On Sunday as I traveled home, back through three airports, the pictures and texts started coming in.  They featured clothing and toys strewn about, children sitting on kitchen counters and wandering into the frame; they were scenes captured unretouched. That’s what our friendship is—unretouched. Unedited, unfiltered, messy, raw and brilliant and real. 

Sometimes it feels far away, always there is too much time between visits, but I could not be more grateful for these women who have let me into the messiness of their lives and who don’t balk at mine. They have taught me more about God and grace and love than I could ever list or repay. 


"Bring me to your house, tell me, 'Sorry for the mess,' 
Hey, I don't mind. You're talking in your sleep, all the time.
Well, you still make sense to me, your mess is mine..."
--Vance Joy

Since this joyful little boy joined our family last year, I’ve been acutely aware of pockets. Those small periods in my day in which I can reasonably hope to get something done. When I first quit my day job to come home with my kids, almost three years ago, the days spread out before me.  They seemed vast. My girls were two and four, and we had moved just outside Nashville, where we knew no one. We had no commitments, nowhere to be, nothing to do, and Daniel was traveling most of the time. It was completely disorienting. Our neighborhood was younger than the GPS in our SUV, so oftentimes I could get help navigating to wherever I wanted to go, but it could never get me home. I found this utterly symbolic of our time there.

But by the time Deacon joined us here in Virginia and finally started sleeping, life had started to fill. We had a house that is a home, we met neighbors, established routines, school schedules, church, and other commitments. And, blessedly, Daniel is home exponentially more than he was. So these pockets—times in the day before everyone is up or after they go to bed at night, or when Deacon is napping and the girls are at school—are fairly predictable and usually rather short. It is in these times I can make progress on writing or housework or exercise or rest or really do anything that requires my full attention that wouldn’t be possible while I’m also ensuring my daredevil toddler isn’t defying death in the next room. 

Now that I’m working on my first book, I find those pockets are woefully small. Here’s what I’m trying to do about it.

Make Bigger Pockets - I’ve been patting myself on the back all year for waking up most days at 5:30 to write. Over the last couple weeks, it has become apparent to me that this is not nearly early enough. 5:30 was small potatoes. If I want to get this book written before its birthday, I’m going to need to work my way to the other side of 5:00. It would be impossible to express how much this pains me.

Be More Intentional - I’ve also learned, though, that I have more time than I think I do. I waste time sitting around, embarrassingly, often scrolling through stuff I don’t care about on my phone. I’m not demonizing the sitting around, or the phone. But trying to fit this much productivity in the same amount of time I’ve always had has driven me to be more intentional about the choices I make. So when I’m faced with a pocket now, I try to make a conscious decision, as opposed to vegging out and letting the time get away from me.  People are more important than things, even dreams, so sometimes pockets are spent having coffee with a friend while our kids play or acquiring things my family needs or helping someone out. When this happens, I remind myself that I am focusing on the most important thing at that time.

Make a Plan- I am able to predict the time I’ll have each day. Our life is fairly ordered most days. So there’s no reason I need to wait until the clock starts ticking to decide what I’m going to do with the time. I have always rejected the idea of “balance;” I’ve always been resentful that I grew up truly believing I could do it all. I never really had to choose. I feel like so many people my age—women in particular—are feeling the ill effects of that lie. Maybe it’s true that you can have it all, but you definitely can’t have it all at the same time. Opportunity cost is a real thing. So I choose how to spend my time, and I make peace with all the things I can’t be doing at the same time. Each day I make a rough plan for how I will spend the time I’ve got. I try to stick to it, but if I don’t, I give myself grace.

Create More Pockets- It’s becoming painfully obvious to me that, using only the time I already have each day, this book will probably take a decade to complete. I am working with Daniel to determine how I can steal away from the family to create more time. I don’t know what it’s going to look like yet, other than it’s probably going to require sacrifice, either financial or in terms of family time. It would not be worth it were it not my dream. But dreams don’t get themselves done any more than the laundry that is always on my couch can fold itself.

How do you work with the pockets of time you have? What does it look like for you to be intentional about the way you spend them?