Thirty minutes of fishing a day.

A successful businessman on vacation was at the pier of a small coastal village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The businessman complimented the fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The fisherman proudly replied, “Every morning, I go out in my boat for 30 minutes to fish. I’m the best fisherman in the village”.

The businessman, perplexed, then asks the fisherman, “If you’re the best, why don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish? What do you do the rest of the day?”

The fisherman replied, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, spend quality time with my wife, and every evening we stroll into the village to drink wine and play guitar with our friends. I have a full and happy life.”

The businessman scoffed, “I am successful CEO and have a talent for spotting business opportunities. I can help you be more successful. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats with many fishermen. Instead of selling your catch to just your friends, you can scale to sell fish to thousands. You could leave this small coastal fishing village and move to the big city, where you can oversee your growing empire.”

The fisherman asked, “But, how long will this all take?”

To which the businessman replied, “15–20 years.”

“But what then?” Asked the fisherman.

The businessman laughed and said, “That’s the best part.  When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions!”

“Millions—then what?”

The businessman said, “Then you would retire.  Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, spend time with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your friends.”

I’m sitting in our RV, at a campground surrounded by the high desert beauty of California, the sounds of our kids playing “Red Light, Green Light” outside, sipping a cup of Sleepy Monk coffee from the French press, and this parable keeps coming to mind.

Too many people we know spend their whole lives dedicated to their work, building up their retirement funds, so that one day, they will be able to live the life they dream of…tragically only to arrive at their retirement years in poor health and with estranged relationships because they neglected to take care of their bodies and nurture their relationships for years.

One dear friend that we knew worked tirelessly for decades in the same job, his workaholism glorified by those who knew him as a badge of honor that hung like a millstone around his neck. He developed cancer and passed away the year before his retirement.

Another man we know dedicated his best years to his work at the expense of his relationship with his children. He is now retirement-age and has no relationship with one of his adult children.

The richest man in the world has a child who doesn’t want anything to do with the man, to the point that they changed their last name to erase the association to him.

I’m not saying it isn’t wisdom to save for the future, but for Kelley and me, what is the point if we neglect our most important investment—people, specifically our children—in the process? And what good is it to make travel plans for retirement if chronic illness keeps us engaged in doctor’s appointments and paying medical bills by the time we actually get to have our late-life break? (If we even make it that far at all.)

In the book of Ecclesiastes, King Solomon, who was easily the wisest and richest man to ever live, discusses how meaningless it is to spend his whole life toiling and striving, to gain wealth that will be given to and enjoyed by someone else when he dies. And he doesn’t even know when that day will come—if he will even be able to enjoy the fruits of his labor, or if tomorrow, his very breath would be taken from him. At the end of the book, he concludes that the best strategy of life is to serve God and to work, yes, but to also enjoy the pleasures life has to offer along the way so that your work doesn’t become miserable. He cautions not to get caught up in the meaningless striving for more so that we waste our youth, our best years, on the things that are here today and gone tomorrow.

What good is it to gain the whole world if we forfeit our souls, our relationships, and our mental, emotional, and physical health along the way?

We decided we want to instead give our children our best years. We want to make memories together while we have them under our roof (be it stationary or mobile) and create bonds with one another that will carry our children well into their adult years while we have the strength and energy to. We want to invest first in those relationships, and in our marriage, so that one day, when we are far along in life, we still enjoy each other’s company and haven’t grown into strangers. We want to move and challenge our bodies, focusing on strength and longevity, and then rest when it’s necessary, so that we can finish our race well, rather than having to bow out early.

This is our why.

It’s why we are taking a break. This is largely why Kelley resigned from his job that was deteriorating his physical and mental health and took a sabbatical. This is why I decided to focus my energy and time on educating and training my children to be wise, positive contributors to society, instead of jumping into another full-time job. There are always ways to make more money, but I want to spend every second I can with them while they are in my care, so that we have a solid foundation for our adult-adult relationships later on. And when I’m gone, the deposits I’ve made in shaping their character will hopefully continue to reap a harvest as valuable assets in their lives.

Retirement is a good investment, but for us, it isn’t the only, or even most important one, that we have been entrusted with. I’d rather the magnitude of bonding I have with my family be substantially more than the size of my 401K.

And for us personally, our ambitions aren’t to amass wealth and status, anyway. We don’t need or long for much. We aim to live a quiet life, having what we need but also being able to enjoy the journey along the way. We want to have plenty of sunshine, fresh air, and nature to surround us and the health to enjoy it. We want our physical bodies to be strong for the task at hand. And we are committed to keeping margin so that we have the time and mental and emotional space for the people in our lives.

We want to major in the majors and minor in the minors.

This is our why.

Strangers in this land.

We had hoped to hit the road at the start of this month, but our RV is still in the shop. All is well; my eyes can be a bit too big for my stomach when it comes to my appetite for adventure and travel, and the universe in all its wisdom has held me by the shoulders, forcing me to slow it down a bit. So we are squeezing every drop of enjoyment from these last days in our stationary home, soaking up the sun at the pool, sweating away stress in the gym, serving up all the food that’s left in our freezer and pantry, selling off our possessions to the highest bidder, spinning loads of laundry while the machines sit in our bathroom instead of a quarter-mile across a campground.

I have enough self-awareness to know that it probably seems like we’ve completely lost it. Last year, in a climate where everyone was playing the real estate market, we sold our home and our only source of equity, paid off debt, and moved into a temporary apartment. In the shadow of a recession, we walked away from our only source of income with no other job lined up and bought an RV. While inflation hangs in the air like a curse word, we’ve sold most of our possessions. In a world that’s getting lonelier by the minute, we left our church community clinging to our hope of finding something that looks a little more like the Gospel, pure and simple..

But then again, following God’s lead can look pretty foolish at times.

We’ve had a lot of people ask us where we’re heading, and honestly, I have absolutely no clue. We’ve changed our plans so many times I’ve lost count. We’ve interviewed for jobs in Oregon, Washington, Alaska, and Pennsylvania. Our current plan is to hang out somewhere in California while we wait on word from a job opportunity for Kelley in west Portland, but that plan keeps shifting with the wildfire map.

Never have I ever felt more like an alien on this planet than I do now. Today’s world is almost completely unrecognizable to me. When I look around at all of the things shouting out for our time, our attention, our affection—cryptocurrency, custom Nikes, Teslas, the latest tech, political parties, even influence and followings—it all seems so foreign to me now. While I once would have aspired to attain a beautiful house and beautiful things to fill it with, while I once would have associated success with more and not less—that just isn’t feeling quite right these days.

The more I read about the life of Jesus, the more I discover how transient his lifestyle here on Earth was. The more I realize just how much he encouraged people to lighten their loads rather than gather up more, to get their eyes off possessions and status and influence and onto the things of Heaven, and to walk through this life with a healthy dose of detachment to the temporal. He knew that most often, worldly possessions and success only served as a distraction to keep us majoring on the minors and focused on self. He had nothing of this world to distract him from the people He was called to reach for the life beyond this one. People are eternal; everything else is just made of sand.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:19-20

As I dismantle this life we built in Portland and sell it off piece by piece, strangely it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Over the past several years, I’ve been learning the difficult discipline of holding the things of this world with an open hand. It’s a lesson that’s painful in the prying, cramping from fingers wrapped tightly around the things the world tells me are most important. The letting go isn’t comfortable, but then, magnificent, eternal things rarely come to the doorstep of our comfort zone. No, we must step out for them, even if we can’t see what we’re stepping out onto. We can’t see where our footing will come from, but we trust it will come nonetheless, and if it doesn’t…well, we know we just can’t stay on this ledge forever, tucked away in our comforts, wrapped warmly in our status.

“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” C.S. Lewis

This world is not our home, which may explain why nowhere feels like home to me at the moment. When we moved to Portland, it was because the Lord laid this land on our hearts after a period of feeling like we were wanderers in the wilderness, so maybe a new land is just over the horizon. Or maybe, what He wants from me now is to find my home in Him, right where it was created to be. Maybe I will continue to feel like the wandering alien until He returns to take me to my eternal home.

So I’m here, open hands and light burden. Resolving to plant my feet firmly in His Word instead of my circumstances, embracing discomfort for the sake of something even better, something more sanctifying, something that’s eternal.

I spent too much time today

on things that don't mean much

The world around me groans under its tyranny of touch

Every wasted thought

and every battle left unfought

All are testimony to my need of you

I'm a stranger in this land

Won't you take me by the hand

I can hear that distant band

But I'm still a stranger in this land

Some days at the strangest times

I feel a sense of loss

A bite or two of stolen fruit

and we all suffer from the cost

But every longing for my home

Even when I'm not alone

Stands as testimony of the coming day

All I've got to do

is to believe on You

Then every struggle seems worthwhile

I can see the promise of Your smile

Stranger in this Land, Waterdeep

The timelessness of cast iron and linen.

Cast iron, linen, and baked bread. These are a few of my favorite things.

Our family has been under the weather this week, passing around flu symptoms like Baptists pass the offering plate. (No, it’s not COVID, thankfully.) I refuse to believe our sickness has anything to do with our sweaty romp in the snow last weekend. (Don’t even think of proving me wrong.) But it has everything to do with bare-bones lesson plans, the persistence of pajamas and movies, and the comfort of piping hot homemade chicken and rice soup with a side of fresh-out-of-the-oven bread.

My thoughts in quiet moments this week have wandered heavenward, where one day every tear will be wiped away, the old made new, every pain soothed, and we’ll finally see Jesus, the One our souls were created for. Clinging to the hope of Heaven does not make the pain of Earth any less jarring, less wearisome, less real. It only makes it more temporary.

Clinging to the hope of Heaven today.

Embracing less to experience more.

We don’t always make life changes, but when we do, it’s “go big or go home.”

Which is exactly what we did. In July, we moved from our already cozy 1,000-square-foot ranch home with the big fenced backyard to a 972-square-foot apartment flat with a balcony. We’ve had some interesting reactions to this, so I thought I’d take a moment to explain our decision.

I started feeling the urge to get our home ready to sell when COVID-19 sent everyone into quarantine. We were some of the newer employees at our organization, so I wanted to be prepared in the event we were laid off and needed to sell our home. But the more we worked on our home, I kept having the thought, Well, what if we sold our home anyway?

The market was the best it had been or probably would be, so we felt confident we would receive the most for our home that we’d probably be able to get without putting a lot of serious work into it. Built in 1960, our home had some major impending repairs, if we stayed for much longer: the electrical, plumbing, original hardwood floors, and roof would all need replacing, and we didn’t have, nor would we want to spend, that kind of money on this particular house. Financially, it was a smart decision to sell, and with that sell, we were able to pay off credit card debt, auto loans, my student loan and medical bills, and create a generous emergency fund. The breathing room and peace of mind this has given us is simply priceless.

I also learned during quarantine that we lived two doors down from a drug house. During the day, we had a steady stream of “customers” parking stolen cars in front of our home and walking down to that house, and it was unsettling being home by myself with three kids. While we lived in a generally safe and quiet neighborhood, it really only takes one bad apple to spoil the bunch. We were constantly on high alert, and the residents of that home were becoming increasingly volatile. So we felt it was time to move on.

One of our family values is spending time adventuring together, but we spent so much of our time and money maintaining a home that it cut into our quality time as a family. Days off were filled with yard work and chores. Extra money that could be saved for travel was often spent on repairs or upgrades to the house. Downsizing to an apartment has afforded us the extra budget and time for the things we really enjoy. Evenings and weekends can be spent outdoors or exploring our beautiful state rather than on home maintenance.

For years, the house was the goal, as it is for many Americans. We’ve always heard that renting is just throwing away money, and that we should invest in real estate at the first opportunity. But renting offers a chance to invest in a life based on our values—debt-free, family-focused, people-serving, adventure-seeking—that owning a home just couldn’t offer (at least not with home prices in Portland). Besides, there’s a pool here.

The day we moved into our new space, I watched our daughter pirouette across the empty living room floor of our home as we said goodbye, and I thought about how much I would miss the house. The midcentury modern ranch layout with craftsman touches sprinkled in. Sitting under the twinkle lights on the back porch with my handsome man and a glass of wine after putting the kids to bed. Laying on a blanket in the backyard with my girl watching the planes fly overhead (oh yeah, we lived in a flight path). Fire pits with s’mores and backyard campouts. Sitting outside after schoolwork was over, racing to finish our popsicles before they dripped down our palms. Observing the baby bunny that lived under our shed lose its downy fluff and grow into its long legs through spring and summer. Playing volleyball and running through the sprinkler and chatting over the fence with our elderly neighbor—the one with the green thumb and the 8-foot corn stalks in his backyard. Processing deep theological truths over coffee in the living room with ladies in my small groups.

It was a place of refuge for our family over the past two years, and we made it our own. It was a place of exponential personal growth for each of us. But even with the emotions that inevitably bubble up after moving on, there is peace in taking a huge step to live more simply and attain financial freedom.

It’s odd that, now that we’ve been in the apartment for a month, we don’t really even think about our old house. Even without our big backyard, extra fridge in the garage, and home gym, we are enjoying our new space. Even with one less bedroom, we gained one more bathroom, some great amenities, and no maintenance. (Did I mention the pool?)

Less yard work, more weekend adventures. Less stuff, more creativity. Less chores, more hikes. Less repairs, more long-term savings. Less space, more togetherness.

Always and forever embracing less in order to experience so much more.

Master your mornings.

Three babies (four pregnancies) in four years had me savoring my post-kids’-bedtime time with Netflix and chill and then rolling out of bed when the kids woke me up bright and early the next morning. That was my morning routine for the first five years of motherhood. Until I got a little fed up with running on empty all the time—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

So when my youngest began sleeping through the night, I forced myself to start getting up early to have a prayer time and morning workout before the kids woke up. This was both the hardest and most rewarding habit I could have developed for myself.

It’s changed over the years since, but I’ve learned the all-too-important lesson that if you want to have a good day, it starts by mastering your mornings. Starting the day in a way that fills me up not only improves my mood for the rest of the day, but it also leads to other good decisions and makes me more effective overall.

This isn’t a one-size-fits-all habit, but I thought I would share what my mornings look like in this current season to help get the ideas flowing of what might work for you if you’re looking to be more intentional with your mornings. I work from home and homeschool our three children, so although we don’t have to be out the door at any specific time, I still wake up between 4 and 5 a.m. to have plenty of time to myself before the kids wake up around 7:30. It’s been such a special time of day for me that I aim to do it every morning; however, I may sleep in every now and then, especially if I didn’t sleep well the night before (sleep is hard sometimes). I can tell my day feels different if I miss my morning routine, so it’s become a priority for me to “get my head on straight” every morning. Here’s how I do it:

1. Wake up around 4 a.m.

2. Drink full bottle of water.

3. Make a French press of coffee to share with the Mr.

4. Spend time in worship, prayer, and Scripture reading—honestly, the bulk of my time is spent here. I often light a candle, sing, pray, spend time in silence, and slow-read my Bible.

5. Write morning pages—this is a mashup of journaling, stream of consciousness, and creative writing prompts; basically, I get whatever is swirling around in my head out on paper so I can be more focused and clear-minded throughout the day.

6. Go for a neighborhood run/walk and/or lift weights indoors; sometimes I do yoga instead.

7. Often I’ll spend a few minutes completing a Spanish lesson.

8. Get dressed and make up bed.

By the time my kids are awake, I feel refreshed, focused, and clear-headed, and it’s such a gift to start the day off in peace.

If you’d like to start a more productive morning routine but aren’t sure how, may I suggest setting the alarm for 30 minutes earlier than usual and start the day off with a big glass of water and some stretching? That is what I come back to, if ever I get off track. After that becomes a habit, try waking up an additional 15 minutes earlier and adding in something else. You don’t have to do a complete overhaul all at once, but even taking one positive step toward mastering your morning and starting the day off in the right frame of mind will go a long way toward improving your mental, physical, and emotional (and spiritual) health!

The importance of white space.

When I was working as an art director for an advertising agency, we talked a lot about white space (or negative space, as some refer to it). So much so that the copywriters used to make fun of us because of how obsessed we all were with protecting our white space; often times we’d ask them to cut down the copy so that the ads didn’t feel crammed and there was plenty of space for the ad to breathe. Oftentimes, the simpler ads, the ones with less “stuff” in them, were the most eye-catching and effective.

It’s normal for an amateur designer to want to fill up an ad with lots of design elements as a way to prove how creative they can be. Photo collages, or worse—a photo ghosted into the background—drop shadows, flourishes in the corners…One graphic designer that I supervised always wanted to add ALL the Photoshop features: feathered photos, multi-colored gradients, multiple graphics. His ads looked like an acid trip on paper. I’d spend a lot of time crossing out all the extra elements to be eliminated so the most important ones could “be the hero,” as the head of our department would say. The most important info got surrounded by white space so it would stand out. All the extras were just a distraction from the point of the ad, and they had to go.

It took me years to understand that this lesson was applicable in life as well. We innocently (and ignorantly) assume that the more we have—the more we fill our schedules, our fridges, our closets, our garages with—the more successful and put together we seem.

We cram our schedules with more things than could possibly get done because saying, “I’m just sooo busy,” makes us sound important.

We collect clothing items and accessories to crowd our closets because we feel that more is more—more options, sleeker designs, designer labels will…well, I'm not sure what.

We don’t want our homes to feel empty, so we add photos and art to every piece of real estate on our walls, fill up blank spots with side tables and shelves that need to be “styled,” requiring more things to create more vignettes. And all these things will somehow communicate that we have impeccable style. We say that adding layers adds interest. (Because what, we aren’t interesting enough??)

And so we find that we have no white space. There’s no more room. Our lives can’t breathe. And we may feel like we can’t, either.

Negative space is as important in life as it is in design, because it equals more margin, more breathing room. Negative space lends time to rest, time to think and process all the emotions and thoughts that get stuffed down further into our psyche, with to-dos and get-togethers heaped on top.

There’s a reason God commands that we take a Sabbath, one day out of our week to do nothing, a day filled with negative space. Why? Because that blank slate is restorative. It returns breath to our lungs and humanity to our existence. Negative space is anything but negative.

Each of us has more white space than we think. Every time we swerve into the faster lane of traffic or check our phone at the red light or answer emails in the waiting room or Netflix and chill before bed, we’re snuffing out negative space, that precious time to just be. And with every moment that gets filled with distraction, the things that are most important lose their elbow room. We fill up on chips and leave no room for the filet.

I’ve heard so many people say that COVID gave them the time to pause and re-evaluate their lives. A lot of people realized some things they needed to leave in 2020; others started new careers or traded large homes for more family time in smaller ones. Still other families made changes to live more simply, exchanging endless activities for more down time together.

What would it feel like, the next time you have an hour of free time, if you just savored it rather than giving it away to the next demand waiting in line? Look around and take in your surroundings slowly, or take some time to ponder three things you’re thankful for in that moment? What if, instead of saying yes to another activity your child asks you to sign them up for, if you opted for slow family dinners a couple of nights a week instead? What if you embraced an extra hour of sleep instead of another episode of Downton Abbey with a side of Talenti?

Oftentimes, we can become so busy that we lose sight of our values. Maintaining some margin allows us to name what’s most important to us in life. The reality is, if everything is important, then nothing is important. If everything is precious, then by default, nothing is precious. That which is sacred to us should be set apart, bordered by white space.

One thing that has helped me is to keep an actual, physical planner with me. (Kudos to you who can plan effectively with your digital iCals; those make my head spin!) And I schedule out my day in order of priority: first, prayer time and self-care (I have to put on my oxygen mask before I can save others); then, family time; then work tasks, meal planning, chores, etc. I make sure that I have plenty of transition time in between so I’m not rushing from one meeting to the next meal prep. I schedule in margin as another item on my to-do list, so that it doesn’t get crowded out. Sometimes I plan ahead what I will do in my free time so that I choose something restorative, but other times I just let those times unfold naturally.

The concept of white space creates more breathing room in our lives and forces us to name what is most important and let that be the hero. Everything else must take a supporting role or get cut from the script altogether.

What about you? How about keeping a minutes log of your week to track where your time goes. Then, assess and decide one small change you could make right away. Maybe you track your phone usage and find you spend 6+ hours a day with screen time. That’s 42 hours a week! Was that time restorative or wasteful? What could you choose to do instead?

What is the hero of your life? Take a few minutes to sit with that question as a writing prompt. Jot down three things that bring you the most joy and fulfillment. If money were no object, how would you spend your time? Who are the people in your life that build you up? What activity restores your soul? Use the answers to those questions as a jumping off point to decide what other things could be eliminated to create some more white space around what’s most important.

Cheers!

Court