There are many reasons why I like Courtney Buxton’s blog. Top of the list, though, is the title: A Work in Progress. It’s humbling and comforting and compelling, all at once . . . such an homage to where we were, where we are and where (through God’s grace) we are going.

Courtney writes about prioritizing marriage and getting away as a couple, without kiddos in tow. Whether we do or don’t have children of our own, this is relevant: we all face distractions and we all struggle in the face of putting first things first. But it’s a struggle well worth the fight.

I started this post at six o’clock on a Sunday morning, while my husband and two boys were still sleeping. At 6:27, my six year old appeared and asked me to read Good Night, Good Night Construction Site. I obliged, and now I’m back to this post. In the day ahead, I anticipate family breakfast, church, a trip to the grocery store, lunch, a rainy afternoon spent inside with boys bouncing off the walls, dinner, bedtime and then, maybe, a few words with my husband.

I wouldn’t change or trade any of those things, not even the inexplicably early request for a story. They simply serve to demonstrate an important point: it is hard to find alone time or couple time in a household with children.

For years, I resisted the notion that couples “should” spend time away from their children. Busy work schedules and the need for a babysitter made even the occasional date night feel like a victory when our children were small. When the boys were babies or toddlers, I didn’t want to be away from them for more than a few hours. As they got older, however, I became comfortable with the idea of an adults-only getaway. Still, the logistics seemed insurmountable.

Then one day last year my best friend called to tell me that she was engaged (not a surprise), that she wanted me to be her matron of honor (a thrill, since she was my maid of honor), and that they would be getting married in four months in Pairs. No need for parenthesis, that was a shock! A big, beautiful, scrambling, happy, panicking shock. My husband and I were “forced” to make plans to go to Paris for five days, alone. No surprise, it was one of the best things we’ve ever done.

In case you are wondering (because I always wonder about the details), our boys were 3 and 5 at the time. It was the first time we’d been away from them for that long. We drove the boys to my parents’ house (5 hours away) and departed from there. We updated our wills, made sure everything important was in our safety deposit box, gave the neighbors keys, and temporarily changed our cell phone plans so that we could call or text home as much as we wanted. Everything was fine. The boys had a wonderful time with my parents, and we had a wonderful time in Paris.

This summer, my husband and I will celebrate 10 years of marriage. We will, once again, find a way to get away, just the two of us. It won’t be Paris, but it will build on what we learned in Paris: we like spending time together, we can talk about something other than work, home or parenthood, we remember how to have fun, and the children are fine. They really are fine. Also, we are fine. With practice, we can remember how to be together as people, talking, strolling, or exploring, and not just as parents co-managing busy boys. We won’t be able to get away every summer, but now I know that when we can, we should.

What do you think? Is it important to get away as a couple?

Courtney is a Bible believer, a used-to-be lawyer, a Lego sorter and a mini-van driver.  She blogs about it all at A Work in Progress.

Initially, the sign was intended to spur me on in work. President of the Perfectionism Club, here, officially calling the meeting to order. Starting comes naturally, but wrapping up and completing projects has always been a struggle.

I get so close. And I mean well when I say it can always be better, sure. Perfectionism digs in its stubborn heels. Just like that, things sit unfinished. Perfect became the enemy of good and done.

So it goes with faith. Friends, we do quite a bit of spiritual thumb-twiddling. . . .

I’m guest posting on the Overcome the Lie blog today! Being a part of the team behind this movement humbles me constantly.   Join me over at Overcome the Lie for more.

Eight months ago today, I drove quite the jam-packed car across the region. Mixed emotions, obviously: excitement, sadness, curiosity, anxiety, enthusiasm. New chapters tend to do that to you.

My business started as a little freelancing on the side, just some editing and reporting projects when they came my way. The business grew into a part-time pursuit. And when I rolled into Kansas City on September 14, 2013, I took Inspiration-Driven Communication full-time.

My sweet grandpa and I chatted about what I’ve been up to on the phone the other day. “So I guess it’s kind of like you have your own business,” he said.

Yep, Grandpa. Kinda like it.

Eight lessons I’ve learned in my first eight full-time months of entrepreneurship

1. Feeling over it, passion-less or totally underwhelmed does not mean you’re destined for failure. Every entrepreneur feels that way sometimes. It’s okay.

2. Business ownership is a steep, uphill battle. But those leg muscles are going to be worth worth worth it. It’s fierce in the best way, challenging in the best way.

3. New people and opportunities will knock on the door, but not as often as you will knock on theirs. So get good at being both a host or hostess-with-the-mostess and an equally good guest.

4. You will feel really stupid some days. Failure, mistakes and missteps are unavoidable. Just don’t call the whole thing off when they happen.

5. Good business relationships are good friendships. Credit to Mike, who taught me the value of the “beer test.” If you wouldn’t have fun grabbing a beer with them, they may not be the best fit for a long-haul business relationship. Sub in coffee, lunch, whatever; point is, it should feel more like a friendship than, say, getting your teeth cleaned.

6. Boundaries should be like a rubber band. Flexible and stretchy, yes . . . but only to a point, because otherwise things will snap.

7. Get your email under control and keep it under control. (Learning this one the hard way.)

8. Adapt, adapt, adapt. Sitting still and staying static won’t grow a business. 

–

Linking up over here & here & here today!

As I’ve been sorting, I’ve happened upon so many links I emailed to myself. And the subjects of these emails are all ambiguous. Like for future reference and good advice and to think about. Because that’s clearly an organized and sustainable way to keep your stuff, Sarah.

As I move forward on this Inbox Zero quest, I’m actually opening all these links and reading them through. Though I’m still not sure why I sent some, several are gems, gems far too worthwhile to keep to myself.

So here we go, friends. Inspiration-Driven Links, the Inbox Zero edition.

Earlier this year, Ann Voskamp wrote her 25-Point Manifesto for Sanity. (FYI, her blog plays music automatically, so adjust your volume.) Most practical: Stay in the pool, meaning don’t flit around and don’t get distracted. Most heart-changing: I am complete in Christ.

10 things you need to do if you were fired yesterday, by James Altucher, is good advice whether you’re in or out of a job. It’s good for anyone looking to reinvigorate or start fresh or just start a new week.

John Piper shares wisdom given by one of his favorite English Lit professors, Clyde Kilby, in 10 resolutions for mental health. Kilby wrote these in 1976 and each is more timeless than the next.

I knew Liz Lidgett in college. She was my Pi Chi (recruitment counselor for girls joining a sorority) and one of the first and finest examples I had of a woman who was a real leader at Mizzou. Liz, if you’re reading this, you’re a rockstar. Anyway, she wrote Art world has room for joy and laughter for the Des Moines Register about how art doesn’t have to be stuffy and serious all the time. At its core, art has the power to bring joy and just be crazy fun.

How to change your mind — not as in change what you think, but as in transforming our mind. Joe Carter suggests that we choose a book of the Bible, read it in its entirety 20 times and then do so for every book. Adding this one to the advice I should take file.

The beautiful reason God might not be talking to you, by Jon Acuff, reminds us of a facet in the story of the Prodigal Son that we often overlook.

The New York Times reported last year on how four women revived a down-and-out Mississippi town (They Made Main Street Their Own). What four women did to strengthen one town is so inspiring, and it points us toward what we all can do in our own communities, derelict or not. We can make such an impact, friends . . . such an impact.

Your turn. I’d love to hear the best things you’ve read — this week, or any week. And don’t be afraid to toot your own horn; if you’ve written something especially snazzy this week, I’d love to read it!

I forked over my boarding pass and got a bizarre look in exchange.

“That,” the gate agent said as he looked at my baggage, “needs to be checked.”

He lowered his gaze from my eyes to my suitcase, and then back up to me.

“Oh, it’s just a carryon,” I smiled. “It will fit.”

In my defense, it was technically a carryon. At least, that’s what the tag said when we bought it from Target a few years ago.

As I was packing the night before – and, let’s not kid ourselves, the morning of — I filled the luggage to the brim, then unzipped that handy little expanding panel and added a few more things. Still a carryon.

Space for tennis shoes? Barely. Space for client files? Not really, but I was sure going to make it work.

And then a journal, and a book and then another book and just one more skirt . . . but, still a carryon, I repeated in my head.

So back to my little encounter as I boarded.

“Not going to fit,” the gate agent repeated. He handed me one of those shame-on-you white tickets. Unmistakably all-caps CHECKED LUGGAGE.

Indignant, I wheeled the baggage down to the plane. I’m not a woman easily deterred. But nope, it probably wouldn’t fit. Maybe I was coming to terms with it. Oh well. Worth a try, I guess.

One final, last ditch effort: No space left in the overhead bins, is there? I asked the flight attendants. I was told I’d have to check this.

And there he was: my United Airlines knight in shining armor.

“There’s still plenty of space,” said my flight attendant knight in shining armor. “Give it a try.”

Only minutes later, I was in my seat with my luggage tucked away above me.

So it goes with marriage. Every one of us brings quite the overstuffed set of baggage with us.

In it we’ve packed . . .

. . our past mistakes, the times we’ve been hurt, the scars from being stabbed and stepped on.

. . our misconceptions, expectations, ideas, in tact and shattered.

. . memories of those we’ve loved before, if we have, and those we’ve known before, if we have.

. . our shields, our defenses, our walls of straw and wood and brick.

. . our vulnerabilities, our secrets, our fears, our shadows.

In marriage, no one has packed the perfect carryon. We all carry a little too much on. No matter your history, your background, your life before that relationship . . . we all have baggage.

In a strong marriage, each acknowledges the carryons. Each mourns the scars that made the baggage so full, but understands the role the scars plays in the present and the future.

Even the hardiest of people may never feel quite ready to deal with all that’s inside those carryons. Not every issue is going to get resolved before rings are traded or long, long after rings have been weathered and worn.

Marriage is seeing the carryon, smiling anyway, and saying yes.

Yes, there’s still plenty of space in the overhead bins. It’s love both in spite of and because of it all.

(Photo credit)

During one song, she found herself spun around and dipped backwards in one fell swoop, supported only by her dance partner’s hand on her neck. Balanced on just one hand . . . sudden, unexpected, startling and scary.

After the song, my friend said, she thanked her partner. She asked about that snazzy but completely disarming dance move.

“When you get into those kinds of situations,” he said, “don’t try to wriggle out. Wait.”

Without much reflection, it’s easy to see the greater metaphor.

We dance and dance and dance through our lives. Stepping on toes and forgetting the steps every once in awhile, sure, but we stick with the rhythm of things.

And then the unexpected happens. Suddenly and scary: things get flipped around and backward and we’re perilously held in midair, by just one hand.

In those moments, Christ has the same advice. Don’t be afraid. Wait on me. I will be with you.

–

Excited to be linking up with Just Write at Extraordinary Ordinary & with Titus 2 Tuesdays at Cornerstone Confessions today!

In the past few years, my heart has become heavy with the burden to serve and love people who grieve over lost expectations.

Grief when things don’t turn out like we think they will, like we hope they might. Grief over hopes unfulfilled, dreams unreached, status quo not met. Grief when things are messier than we thought, harder than we anticipated, just plain crappy.

. . . when the dream job ended

. . . when that friendship ended in turmoil

. . . when the relationship didn’t end happily ever after

. . . when the bank account moved from black to red

. . . when there’s no white picket fence in sight

. . . when no invitation arrived

. . . when the transcript looks dreary

. . . when the doctor gave the diagnosis

. . . when the baby never got to your arms

. . . when he got the promotion instead

That’s grief. Grieving over lost expectations is real. It’s raw. It’s painful.

Our world has a bad, bad habit of shaming us in the face of grief. The world tells us to get over it, get past it, deal with it, move forward, move on, get through it. Yeah, there is a time to make peace with grief. But when grief is a verb and we put I am in front of grieving . . . it’s active. And it calls for bravery.

To you, dear friends, who grieve over lost expectations alongside me, I say this: to grieve is to be brave. You have big, big, big hearts. And when your yearning to love or give or work or grow or thrive or see or live isn’t fulfilled . . . oh, loves, we walk that road with bravery.

Grieving with bravery means we look grief in the face. Grieving with bravery means crying, if we need to. Feeling our pain and not losing faith. Confiding in community, even when just speaking feels insurmountable. Being brave in grief is taking deep breath after deep breath after deep breath. Sometimes, grieving bravely just means putting one foot in front of the other.

Brave step by brave step.

(God is behind you all the way.)

–

Linking up today with Five Minute Friday. Today’s prompt was brave. 

Even though it was me writing to all 60+ pen pals, every letter was different. Why? The audience. Because no two recipients were the same, no two letters were either.

In the spirit of writing for our audience, May is “Reader’s Choice” month on Create.Compose.Communicate. Tomorrow’s newsletter will have the link to our survey, so we can learn about who you are and what you want to know.

Sign up for our free e-newsletter by visiting sarahkocischeilz.com — click on “More” on the menu to register.

I can’t remember how Amy Sullivan and I initially connected, but I’m so glad we did. Her heart is decidedly others-focused and her approach is bold, yet relevant.

Friends, a dinner date is a blast in my book. But many of us can agree that a little variety can do a lot of good. Take it away, Amy.

When Sarah asked me to participate in Wedded Wednesdays, I almost said no. Rarely do I talk about the husband on the ‘ol blawg. It’s not because he isn’t uber fantastic or uber hot.

See, I told you. This is him on an average Saturday waiting for a parade to start. Sure, sure. He’s giving me the “I’m so annoyed because you won’t stop taking pictures with the iPad and you’ve lost another camera of ours” face but you know, there’s no denying he’s a cutie.

Phew. Back to the point.

I usually don’t talk about the husband on the blog because I like to keep us, well, us.

But soon after Sarah asked me to write a post for her marriage series, a friend and I were talking about married life. My friend said she didn’t want to go out to dinner for the occasional Date Night. After all, where’s the fun in ordering another Chicken Ceasar Salad and going to the movies?

Yawn.

Down with boring salads and perfectly cooked steaks (well, maybe not the steaks).

My friend and I started talking about dates and how the best dates were dates in which you actually went and did something instead of quietly staring at a big screen for two hours.

Amen.

See, here’s something you may already know, guys would rather jam a fork in their eye than go out for coffee and talk. True statement.

Hence, the list. Here are seven fab ideas for your next date night.

Don’t Even Think About Taking Me Out to Dinner.

8 Ideas for a Rocking Date Night:

1. Do something new together. Do you know how-to rollerblade? Find someone, borrow skates, and get to it.

2. Hunt for live music and go listen to it. What? You’ve never even heard of that band with a weird name? Even better.

3. Find a cheap sporting event. This might be a good time to talk about me charging $350.00 Bulls tickets when my only income was $30.00 a week from the plasma bank, but then again, it may not be. Dave Ramsey would not be happy. But really, there are all kinds of sporting events to be had. Buy tickets in the nosebleed section and find someone to cheer on.

4. Go for a hike. Helllooo, walking in the woods? This is bound to be fun.

5. Learn to dance. Once we paid $10.00 each for my husband and I to attempt to learn swing dancing. We were so bad together, they split us up and gave us different partners. We still laugh about our mad skills.

6. Workout. Is there a sport you both like? For us, it’s tennis.

7. Be a tourist. When someone visits your town, what would they be interested in doing? Now you do it. Go take the tour or visit the landmark.

8. Drive. Go for a long drive. Check out new neighborhoods or find a secluded place to park. Yep, I said it. Go park.

Remember, activity equals fun. Now, go get active.

What about you? What’s your favorite date night activity?

About Amy Sullivan: Word lover. Book devourer. Music addict. Amy is a Northern girl who found herself living in the South. She drinks sweet tea, turns her nose up at okra, and attempts to tell her daughters “yella” isn’t a color.

Their enthusiasm about the whole being-in-publications thing never waned. My parents consistently encouraged me as a writer. They cheered me on with each writing endeavor, supported my creativity and stood behind my writer quirks.

Shouldn’t every kiddo get the same thumbs-up?

In the spirit of loving kiddos, I’m humbled to share about a new project my sweet friend Lacy is spearheading, celebrating parents and kiddos everywhere and aiding efforts to end maternal and infant mortality in Somaliland. I’m not a parent myself. But I am committed to loving the littles of tomorrow, no matter what.

First things first: God has called each of us to our own areas of influence. Friends, reach out in your homes, your neighborhoods. Reach out in your communities. Reach out in your cities, your states, your world . . . reach out where you are called.

If you feel called to be a cheerleader for littles and their parents, listen up.

The health of the people of Somaliland is among the worst in Africa, with one of the highest maternal and infant mortality rates in the world. Every year, one baby in eight dies in infancy, while nearly 4,000 Somali women die in childbirth.

Somaliland, in Africa

This tragedy can be attributed in large part to the long civil war, which brought about the death or departure of nearly all of the country’s trained health care professionals. But we can take heart in this: a hospital is working to change these statistics and improve maternal health. From educating midwives and fighting female genital mutilation, the Edna Adan University Hospital is making big changes for the people of Somaliland.

Read more about it here: http://www.ednahospital.org/

So back to Lacy. She and the also delightful Jennifer have created a beautiful print, with proceeds benefiting the Edna Adan University Hospital in Somaliland.

Lacy says:

One of my favorite quotes from Julia Childs’ memoir is something her chef said to her. “You never forget a beautiful thing that you have made.” While Bugnard was talking about food, I can’t help but think of motherhood. I’ve had this quote in my mind for nearly a year, and always thought it would make a neat art print to put up in my home to serve as a reminder of my role as a mother.