Posts from the ‘The Art of Living’ Category
Sep
30
This essay is part of a series. Read the previous installments here.
E.E Cummings wrote, “I’m living so far beyond my income that we may almost be said to be living apart.” (ref)
Cummings offers me some relief that we are in good company on this Adventure. Recent sabbatical from paid employment aside, I’ve never had a real comfortable relationship with my finances. It’s emotionally laden and I frequently avoid looking it in the eyes.
Primarily, I feel guilt. Guilt that I’m not saving more. That I’m not maintaining my stuff better, That I can’t keep a budget. That I buy more with my gut than my head. It’s not a terribly rational way to feel towards spending money especially since, in my case, it produces the opposite of results. My guilt cycle looks a little like this:
First I hide from it (I pretend that money does grow on trees and buy more fair trade chocolate or magazine subscriptions or thrift store treasures).
Then I face it (I count up the monthly expenses and ask, “That cost me what? Do I think there’s a money tree in the back?”).
Then I want to deal with (I make up a budget).
Then I try to deal with it (I try the budget).
Then I fail (I spend more than my budget).
Then I hide (Back to the chocolate and I’ll throw some summer sales in the basket as well)…
I’ve got a big gap in how I spend money and how I THINK I should spend money. Desperately, moralistically, I coach myself in what I should do. Then I don’t.
I’ve tried many control techniques. I’ve tried a cash-only system. I’ve tried a debit card-only system. I’ve not bought clothes for a year. I’ve had self-imposed exiles from thrift stores, book stores, malls, and farmer’s markets.
Like a parent trying to get her 29-year old son to move out, I’ve chastised, cajoled, threatened, bribed and batted at my spending habits to bring them in line with my values of simplicity and sustainability. You can imagine how effectively this barrage has worked. About as effectively as the parent trying to push her adult kid out of the nest: the 29-year old son has now turned 35 and his on and off again girlfriend is moving in so she can quit at the call centre and play Guitar Hero too. Nothing really works until the son realizes what he wants to do instead.
You think, “This is a terrible way to enter a sabbatical with no planned income.” In my defense, I work best under pressure. I also found some salvation in the form of a book picked at random from the library shelves. The Smart Cookies Guide to Making More Dough and Getting out of Debt (by Andrea Baxter, Angela Self, Katie Dunsworth, Robyn Gunn and Sandra Hanna) looked kitschy but I was desperate.
No one was more surprised than I that it tossed me a lifeline.
It’s First Insight: the act of spending money is NOT inherently evil (now there’s a long session with a therapist when I can afford it!). Money is neutral and spending money is about surviving. It’s also about thriving.
This brings me to Insight Number Two: what would ‘thriving’ look like in our lives? As we imagined, it looked like us both working part-time from home while pursuing our creative side. And so we started planning for this adventure.
And Insight Number Three: it got me talking to friends about spending and I was amazed. It didn’t matter if they were frugal or spendthrift, generous or tight fisted, conscientious or unaware about their finances- everyone seemed to approach their finances in a defensive position.
My freedom to jump into this adventure, however, came mostly from Insight Number Four: there are six kinds of spenders out there (and everyone fits one of them- unless you live in the bush and trade deer meat for your staples). “Hi, my name is Carissa and I’m an Impulse Spender… I am also a Sale Spender.”
(You can try the What Kind of Spender Are You Survey on smartcookies.com here).
Mat’s profiles of Slacker and Zombie Spender made me laugh out loud in a “Now I get it!” way.
While perhaps this seems basic, for me it was profound. Suddenly I could name the reasons I overspend, and from here it was easy to think of strategies for combat.
One of my management strategies focused on the Internet. Hand in hand with my Visa, it’s an easy place for someone like me to impulse buy. Talk about a mouse in a lab cage, banging on the “return” key only to be rewarded with food. I’ve bought a flugelhorn, cast iron pot, books, children’s toys, gardening equipment and electronics online. I buy movies, music, magazines and tools that conveniently arrive at my door without any cash ever being exchanged.
If I’m to control the Impulse Spender in me, I must stop heading to the Internet shop. My new rule:
Any Interweb spending henceforth, shall bear the seal of approval by Lord Mat.
To control my sale spender tendencies, I now go to the store with a list. If it’s on the list, I buy it. If not, I ask: “Do I need it? Where will I put it? How soon will it go to the thrift shop?” Eighty-nine percent of the time, I put the pink velour slippers or silicone candy mold down and walk resolutely away. Instead of disappointed, man do I feel proud. I may even call Mat and tell him what I just walked away from and how some other sucker will have to figure out what to do with it three months down the road.
In Mat’s case, Zombie spending tendencies have long been mocked but gone unnamed. Zombie spenders don’t have a clue what they just spent money on. They get home and often find things in their bags they don’t remember picking up. In fact they usually can’t tell you how much they spent.
“How much did that cost, honey?” I ask on his return from a run to Shopper’s.
“Err, there was a 4 in it,” he’ll say.
The price for said product could be $4. Or $40. Or $14. No one but the receipt knows! To combat this, he’s started bringing home receipts that we can review later.
His other alter ego spending buddy, Mr. Slacker Spender, spends with ‘easy’ as the priority. In Mat’s case, his objective when shopping is to leave as soon as possible. He will find the items on his list, however, he does not price check, he does not compare. He buys what he recognizes regardless of cost. To combat Mr. Slacker, he’s forced himself to consider Kijiji or free cycle before heading out to buy something new (those few days wait before he can bring the guitar pedal home is torture)… And I usually do the grocery shopping, but only with a list, of course!
All this is critical because for every dollar we don’t spend, we extend our adventure by seconds, minutes, days, months!
Insight Number Five is the Rather Factor and has helped us prioritize spending. “What would I rather do with this money?” It’s a brilliant spending control tool because it affirms, “I can do ANYTHING with this money I’m about to hand over for this artisan woven table cloth, do I really want to put it here?” If the answer is yes, then I buy it. If no, then I just bought myself another half day working from home.
Before starting our adventure, we asked some hard questions based on this principle like: “What can be ‘cashed in’, if necessary?” and “What can we do without?”
Then we made a list of assets, cash investments and cost cutting options, and ordered them from least to most important to our quality of life. Selling our RRSPs and car are at the top of the list. Cutting out meat in our diet is in the middle, and selling our house is at the very end.
Now, every week or two, we review the list and ask questions like: “Do we want our car more than we want five months of living without income?” “Is the hot tub worth the benefits?” etc. Miraculously, some weeks we haven’t had to ask these questions because odd bits of income come in- a day’s work here, a contract there; honorariums and gifts make us very thankful for miracles.
Strange that these days, without any financial certainty, we are more confident about managing our money than any other time in our married life. The last three months have forced us to think differently (offensively!) about spending and it’s meant we’ve felt more thankful than wanting (don’t get me wrong, we still want a lot!).
At the end of this sabbatical from income, I hope I don’t forget the liberation of this time: we don’t spend carefully because we should do it. We do it because we want to. And that makes all the difference.
e. e. cummings. (n.d.). BrainyQuote.com. Retrieved September 30, 2010, from BrainyQuote.com Web site: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/e/e_e_cummings.html
Carissa moved to Edmonton from her hometown in the Rockies to attend Mount Carmel Bible College, then U of A. A wife of one and mother of two, she lives in Alberta Avenue where she tends roses, hosts parties, cooks from More-with-Less, writes short stories, and waters her children. She hopes that at the end of her life, she’ll tweak a quote from the good Book, “ahh, it was good.” If that’s to happen, it’ll be only thanks to family, friends, work and embraced moments of mystery.
Carissa currently blogs as An Avenue Homesteader at http://avenuehomesteader.blogspot.com/.
Tags: adventures in risk and reward, carissa halton, finances, money, stewardship
Posted in Adventures in Risk and Reward, The Art of Living | 1 Comment »
Sep
30
The following is a poem that I wrote while on a 2 day trip to Calgary with my wife, to accompany a photo taken for The Art of Waiting project. Reading it again in hindsight, it is a hopeful expression of thankfulness. As I get ready to travel again with my wife, I’m preparing for more moments of majesty and thanksgiving. I’m thankful today for the many journeys we’ve already taken together, and the many we have still to take, both literal and otherwise.
Morning majesty
I wait at the window
our hotel room perched 11 stories high
spying on streets alive with morning
a bright girl grabs my glance
she is maybe 5 and running on the rooftop
dressed in yellow, traversing the tarmac like morning sunrise
she is joy and discovery and release
the promise of the morning for a new and good day
around her gather more children
having discovered some secret playground
some place they should not be permitted to play
but are
they spill across its canvas
splattering corporate Calgary in
abstract expressionism
mess
joy
I wait at the window for my wife
readying herself
making herself even more beautiful
if that could be
and there is praise playing
through the iPod alarm clock
heralding a moment
making it even more beautiful
if that could be
Morning majesty
I wait at the window
ready when you are
So, this majestic Thursday morning bathed in September sunshine, what are you thankful for?
Tags: Hope, morning, optimism, poem, Thank You Thursday, thankfulness, the art of waiting
Posted in Poetry, Thank You Thursday, The Art of Living | Comments Off
Sep
7
While my expectations for our first month off work were high, my expectations for our camping holiday were low. Very low.
In fact, the ten-day trip to a family reunion and wedding that included 26 hours inside the car with an 18-month and three year old, offered us a real* holiday.
One warm Sunday in the Okanagan I escaped the bustle of people that weddings never fail to conjure, and found myself sitting on a grape covered patio at a local organic café. Simpler Living, Compassionate Life in one hand, my budget breaking latte in the other, I settled in to read Richard Foster’s essay, ‘The Discipline of Simplicity’.
“Freedom from anxiety is characterized by three inner attitudes,” he writes:
- To receive what we have as a gift from God.
- To know that it is God’s business, and not ours, to care for what we have.
- To have our goods available to others.
These three inward realities of simplicity captured my imagination for the duration of our trip. While Foster discusses these attitudes in relation to material possessions, I considered them in relation to critical areas in my life and I developed a kind of personal liturgy. As I recited these truths, a palatable calm replaced the anxieties that had formed around these things (for a short time!)
My kids are a gift from God and he will give me the energy and love to care for them, so that they may offer blessing to the world.
My relationships are a gift from God and he will guide me in understanding how to nurture and protect them. These relationships will not be exclusive but welcoming to all those around us.
My strengths and skills are a gift from God, and He will nurture and use them so they will be a blessing to others.
My creativity is a gift from God, and he will bring forward the opportunities to enhance this in order to enhance the lives of my neighbour.
Foster’s points have the potential to transform my actions and reactions and emotional responses to scenarios. For instance, when I think of the heap of rejection letters and no replies from editors, point 2 makes me feel a little more secure. When we open up our mailbox to find two $100 bills, I think about point 3 and wonder with whom we might also share this money. And, when my three year old pulls me out of a precious writing reverie, I consider point 1 and feel less reproachful and more invitational.
No doubt this is all simpler said than done, but mind over matter isn’t a bad way to embrace the world or shape our action within it. In fact, the apostle Paul affirmed this in his letter to the Roman church,
“Be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is- his good, pleasing and perfect will.” (Romans 12:2 NIV)
I like this psychological approach to life, where every day is a treasure hunt;
Looking for gifts.
Looking for God.
Looking for opportunities to give.
As we entered the house after our ten-day sojourn, I was overwhelmed with the gift of our home. The familiar smell of cedar decking, the comfortable sagging couch springs, the relaxed creak of the porch swing.
While we were away, the house had offered its sanctuary to a cousin preparing for her wedding and she had left small gifts in return: a cigar, homemade jam, a 6 pack of Guinness, extra virgin olive oil, a potter-made lemon juicer, a card. Looking at the pile of treats left me with a feeling of great wealth.
That evening was pure contentment. The girls slept and we sipped our beer and ate garden cucumbers with olives in companionable silence.
* A holiday’s “realness” can be assessed by the feeling you have on returning home. If you feel like you need another holiday to recover, then the first was a misnomer.
Carissa moved to Edmonton from her hometown in the Rockies to attend Mount Carmel Bible College, then U of A. A wife of one and mother of two, she lives in Alberta Avenue where she tends roses, hosts parties, cooks from More-with-Less, writes short stories, and waters her children. She hopes that at the end of her life, she’ll tweak a quote from the good Book, “ahh, it was good.” If that’s to happen, it’ll be only thanks to family, friends, work and embraced moments of mystery.
Carissa currently blogs as An Avenue Homesteader at http://avenuehomesteader.blogspot.com/.
Tags: adventures in risk and reward, artists, carissa halton, simplicity
Posted in Adventures in Risk and Reward, Creativity & Inspiration, Essays and Reflections, The Art of Living | 8 Comments »
Apr
9
It turns out my best waiting is done on foot. I get antsy sitting in one spot for too long, and prefer to get up, peek, poke and prod my surroundings. So, not surprisingly, this is the second month where my waiting involves walking.
I am of course referring to that intentional waiting I have committed to at least once a month over 2010. That intentional waiting, and watching, with my Yellow Peace plastic camera at the ready. Ready to snap just the right image for The Art of Waiting project. I have yet to be disappointed.
It is a Thursday morning and I am to host a group at The Carrot Community Arts Coffeehouse. The raucous hour of 9 AM has been chosen, by others, and so I know I cannot afford to schedule my time in the usual way, showing up at 9:10 after sweating out good intentions to be there 15 minutes early. The speedy car, that temptress who offers me the illusion of “5 minutes more”, has other errands. I am on foot, so I decide to head out even earlier than need be, and when I arrive, to do some serious waiting.
The waiting is serious because it’s brisk on this Thursday morning. The spring sunshine has yet to penetrate the cloud dome, and I need to walk with my hood up to ward off cold-air earaches. The waiting is serious because the coffee shop doesn’t open until 9 AM, and I may arrive a whole half hour early, locked out in the cold with no way to weasel out of my waiting plans. This built in accountability proves unnecessary, because I don’t make it to the coffee shop before my image grabs me in its talons.
I’ve walked to The Carrot Community Arts Coffeehouse countless times, and I could swear I’ve taken this exact route. Regardless, this cold march morning must have me jolted into a heightened state or alert because, just blocks from my destination, I stumble upon a large house absolutely covered in birds.
It’s not quite like that final, terrifying still scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds, where every surface has become a standing, staring bird. It’s not like that, but only because these birds aren’t alive. They are tin and plastic and who knows what else. And they are everywhere. And they are mostly roosters. And for that reason, every neighbor can thank God that they are not alive. Mornings would be hell next to Rooster Manor.
I survey the entire yard and see more and more birds. I could sit and stare for an hour with birds still left to find. Caught inside a giant “seek and find” picture book, I discover birds peeking out from second story windows. The covered porch houses several birds within. Two tin roosters press up to the window panes and I wonder, if I were to open the door, if I’d be engulfed in a deluge of faux poultry.
It’s at this moment that I think again of myself, there in the wee hours of morning decked out in a dark hoodie, alone. I realize how creepy I must look, stopping and staring, mouth and eyes agape. But surely they are used to this? I take my picture, angling to squeeze as many birds into the frame as possible with a radiant red cardinal in the foreground, right of center. I have what I came for. A gift from the bird house. A reward for my waiting and walking.
I continue on towards coffee and conversation, mulling in my mind the metaphor in my rear view mirror. Anything strange as a house overflowing with birds must, after all, be a metaphor. Birds are often omens or portents or heralds. And spring is in the air.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
- Emily Dickenson, from “Hope Is the Thing with Feathers”
I have told you everything that happened after I left the house on this Thursday morning, but nothing before. I’m in the habit of waking early to write and on this Thursday, I write a short piece on hope, and how it is a theme that has swallowed me whole this year (a theme that waiting has played a part in). My piece, written for iloveartists.ca, declares this “the year of Hope”, in fact. An audacious claim indeed, needing some sort of validation.
And then I see the birds.
And then I remember the Dickenson poem.
And then I offer a prayer of thanks.
It is long past sunrise yet these roosters, without a sound, have awakened me. I wonder to myself what purpose forged Rooster Manor. Did its owners set out to have the most artificial birds of any yard in this city (and do they)? Or, more likely, did they begin placing birds in the yard, one bird by one, as they caught their eye on vacations and at gift stores and bursting from within wrapped packages from friends who’d caught on to a trend? Was this planned, or did the birds slowly take over? Did they choose this yard to roost? Is this a monument for the owners, for the birds themselves, or, perhaps, for the neighborhood? For passers-by like myself? Do they know something that few seem to understand; that the appearance of silliness often hides great wisdom? That the foolish joy of this yard is what this rough and tumble, all-too-serious inner-city street may need the most. To laugh.
“Hope is the thing with feathers”.
The roosters wait perched within my film.
Hope is waiting in the wings.
Tags: Alberta Avenue, birds, decorating, Hope, kitsch
Posted in Friday Feature, Hope, The Art of Living | Comments Off
Feb
12
My first submission for The Art of Waiting project was completed on the last possible day, January 31. Perhaps the delay is fitting. As a little reminder, this is the project where I am to photograph, on film, at least one image a month about waiting and not develop any until 2011. I am also to contribute a piece to theartofwaiting.com each month tied to my adventures. Here is the first.
January’s image is all about growing up and growing old. It is iconic to me. It represents so much of what I thought I may never become, and now, somehow, am becoming. The image itself is simple. If it turns out the 4×6 print will reveal, from across the street and behind our car, my wife and two children emerging from our house into brisk morning air. So why is that image is so important to me, and what does it have to do with waiting?
my car waits for me in winter, from from my first toy camera test roll
The shot (not the one pictured here) is taken from behind our car because I’d been starting it and sweeping the snow from the windows. I’d been outside for a good five or ten minutes, working while waiting, preparing the chariot for my family’s weekly journey to church. In frozen Edmonton winters our cars need a little time to warm up to the idea of subzero temperatures, and layers of frost need to be scraped off with all the elbow grease we can muster. Some mornings a mere credit card will offer enough edge to do the trick. Other mornings it’s the big stick with the tapered tail-fin on one end and the brush on the other. This was a tail-fin morning.
As I walked outside to perform this ritual, it became a rite of passage. I became, in that moment, somehow more of a man and less of a boy.
I remember watching my dad, and my wife’s dad, and countless other dads performing this service for those they love. It always seemed so noble, as did starting the car in a cold parking lot and driving it up to the door to receive the waiting into warmth. Yet, for all of it’s glory and glamour, I never wanted to be that guy. I wanted to be the one waiting inside. My own discomfort selfishly held me back from giving, rather than receiving, this service. I admired these men. But I was not one of them. And I never thought I would be.
And then it happened. It just happened. Somehow, over the past year in the shuffle of everything in my family’s life, amid our great role reversal here on the homefront, a switch has flipped. I suppose the actual moment of progress is often imperceptible as this. I suppose we strive and strive and try and try and wait and wait for it, until one moment we simple find the will to do the thing. The switch has flipped, and we have matured. At least, that’s how it is for me. Perhaps these are gifts of grace given every few miles to keep me running.
I’m getting older in other ways, too. This summer I’ll be 30. For many, that still seems so young, and I know in reality it is. I have so many years ahead. But for me, it’s a milestone. I’ll start checking new boxes on surveys and become, undeniably now, an adult. And it’s showing on the outside, too. This past year I bought a nose hair trimmer. And I need it. Just last week I plucked AWOL hairs from my wiry wild old-man eyebrows at the faithful prompting of my wife. Downing coffee in a café sends me to the bathroom more than once an hour. I find puns increasingly funny. “You’re hungry? I thought your name was Jack”. I feel less confident behind the wheel of a car in the big city. I’ve started a nice collection of regrets. I wear a winter hat all the time these days. My wife had to ask me why I still had my hat on the other day, when it was so hot inside the car. I had no retort. I wear a big winter coat and big winter boots and I pick up dog poop in a bag and I just don’t care. I care less and less what others think of me. I think less and less of today’s youth. And their music. I can’t abide rap. There was a day where I worshiped Kris Kross and wore my pants backwards to school, for crying out loud. Now I listen to talk radio, folk and poets thinly disguised as singer-songwriters. I do have reserve some good old fashioned rock and roll and a couple of hip hop tunes, just to remind me that 30 is not so old after all.
Of course I know that I have plenty of aging, and plenty of maturing, ahead of me. But it’s nice to know that ultimately I am moving forward.
It is nice to know that along this journey, images will continue forming before my eyes, just as my family emerged on January 31, waiting for the warm vehicle I’d prepared for them. And as I stop and view these images I will realize I’ve taken one more step.
One switch flipped to mature.
Tags: growing up, humor, maturity, the art of waiting, waiting
Posted in Photography, The Art of Living | Comments Off
Jan
21
Thus continues the art-life project of thankfulness. I believe thanksgiving builds on hope and hope, for me, expands creative horizons.
Today I am thankful for grace.
I know it’s a vague term and a huge concept as well, but I feel it acutely localized today. I screw up sometimes. I say things I should not have said. I do things I should not have done. Sometimes, in fact, I can be a total idiot.
Certainly, on the whole, I’m not what you’d call the spitting image of Christ.
In John, Jesus prays these words to God, about His followers; “my life is on display in them” (The Message).
Really?
He can look at someone who blows it on a regular basis and still say that His life is on display? In me? He can look to me and call me not a servant, but a friend?
I needed grace this morning and I awoke to it. I needed to get up and look forward, not keep rubbernecking at past mistakes. And I am indeed looking forward. Letting go. Moving on. In grace. It’s more of a miracle than I’ll ever appreciate, I think. But I am thankful.
So, what are you thankful for this Thursday?
Tags: art of living, grace, thankfulness
Posted in Thank You Thursday, The Art of Living | 2 Comments »
Dec
24
2009 has been a whirlwind year for my family and I. A new career for my wife. A major transition for me, plunging headlong into the role of “manMom”. I’ve learned a lot about living, and this year will surely shape the course of all the rest.
As it comes to a close, I’m taking a short break from this site to focus on those things that matter most to me. Over the next few days I want to bask in the “Life-Light” Who is Christ the Lord, and to share in His Joy with my family and my friends. For some reason, that light is shining brighter for me this Christmas season, and I pray it is for you as well.
These next couple of weeks, I’m going to unplug. I’m going to breath. I am going to simply be … among my family and my friends and my self and my God. And in that simple “being”, be restored.
And be lit.
There will be no new content here until January 4th, at which time an extra large Media Monday will post, including all those things that would have made it in this week and next, had I not taken this break.
We’ll see you January 4th. Enjoy your holidays as I’ll enjoy mine, and thanks for taking this journey of art, faith, hope and love with me. You who converse with me here have become my friends and neighbours, too, and so I wish you all a very merry Christmas.
I’ll leave you with the lyrics to the chorus of a song I wrote last Christmas. It’s my hope even moreso this time around.
So come on, come on,
jingle those bells
A song’s in the air and it’s starting to swell
2000 years old, there’s still story to tell
So come on, come on,
jingle those bells
Tags: Christmas, family, priorities, rest, sabbath, values
Posted in The Art of Living | Comments Off
Dec
3
Today, I am thankful for my neighborhood.
I am thankful that today, a meeting is being held that will help determine the future of the Cromdale Hotel on Alberta Avenue. The Hotel has been vacant for years, and takes up a huge amount of space in my neighborhood. Vacant, dirty, dilapidated space. I pray for flowers to bloom on that space, figuratively or literally. I pray for change. People are appealing to the city to have the building torn down. I think it is time. The Cromdale is a seething metaphor for a shady skin our street is shedding. I am thankful for CRUD and all the people and organizations working so hard to change this one corner and thus change a city. I pray that love wins this morning.
I am thankful that I can choose to walk to the grocery store and find cheap, quality veggies and deli. For mandarin oranges and smoked Gouda. I am thankful that I can choose to walk my kids to and from school. I can choose to walk and get one of the worlds’ greatest hot dogs at The Dawg Father on Alberta Avenue. I can choose to walk to festivals and live music. I can choose to walk towards a fresh sandwich and donut at The Popular Bakery. I can choose to walk to buy guitar and banjo paraphernalia at Myers’ Music. I can choose to walk my new dog around the block on a wide, clean city trail. I can choose to board the LRT for adventure. I can choose to walk to the river valley and then walk some more, nestled in nature’s beauty mere moments from city hustle. I can choose to walk to my local library, or the Big One downtown. I can choose to walk for coffee to neighborhood havens like Mandolin Books and The Carrot, and find therein a wealth of beautiful people and art to know. I can choose to take time knowing. To take time. And to know. I can choose these things because nearly five years ago, this neighborhood chose my family and I.
I am thankful that somehow I’ve stumbled into this thing called New Urbanism (see below). I’m thankful that such utopian ideals still excite me. And for well built running strollers. And big (but hopefully not too big), real dogs with love to give. And a family choosing more and more every day to embrace the life that has chosen them. I’m thankful that Christ was here long before we arrived.
Somehow. By grace. And I am thankful.
Tags: Alberta Avenue, new urbanism, thanksgiving
Posted in Essays and Reflections, Thank You Thursday, The Art of Living | Comments Off
