Of late, I've found myself feeling discouraged in the face of assignments that I never complete, class readings that I never do, essays that I want to write but never begin. I've wondered what I am doing instead with my time. I had begun to think that I must be wasting hours of my life away doing nothing.

Yet, in the last week or so, I've realized that if I am, in fact, wasting time, then it's wasted time that matters. I want to waste my time talking with the loves of my life-- a husband, sisters, nieces & nephews, brothers, friends. I want to waste time dicing butternut squash. I want to waste time cuddling in a movie, painting a wall, walking instead of driving. I want to waste time writing unimportant emails and pinning a darling skirt to Pinterest. And perhaps, if I have leftover hours after wasting my time, I'll do a bit of homework, but only as it fits into my larger goals of learning to write and teach well.

I've realized that I want to foster a certain level of un-busy-ness that leaves me free to set aside rigidity and schedule and assignments for lingering, for soup, for gratitude, for a rich life, for the chance to list my blessings and realize, suddenly, that my life is full of the things that I want it to be full of-- family, food, reading, a bit of writing, a whole lot of loving, and a relationship with God that is all-too-often derailed by tired eyes.

I'm grateful for my life that is filled, overflowing, abundant, rich. For the countertop in my kitchen that is stacked with apples, onions, half a cookie, and a quarter of apple pie. For my email inbox brimming with good people, recipes, writing opportunities, and a bit of homework. For a hybrid sketchbook/calendar that is dotted not with sketches, but with lists that I am always reordering as I navigate days. For people who packed into our kitchen on Sunday night for pie and a game of Ticket to Ride; I wish they'd lingered longer. I always do.