Category: counter-cultural

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No More Strangers {guest post}

By Jessica Udall | Website: www.lovingthestrangerblog.com

It’s a cloudless, cool morning in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Strapping my nine-month-old on my back in the style of Ethiopian mothers, I leave our fifth floor apartment and descend down into the hustle and bustle of pedestrian traffic: shawled women carrying heavy loads of groceries, groups of uniformed school kids on their way to class, traveling salesmen hawking their brooms, mops, and other wares, and blue and white taxis weaving and blasting syncopated rhythms. I attempt nonchalance as I pass shade-standing onlookers who call out “Ferenj (foreigner), Hello!” and then elbow their friends and chuckle at my accented Amharic greeting.

There is no way to be cool, to fit in. I feel the eyes staring.

I am a stranger.

I duck into a shadowy shop selling aromatic produce along with all manner of convenience items. This shop will become a near-daily stop for my back-riding baby and me— for phone cards, for toilet paper, for powdered milk—but I do not know this yet.

At this point, I have only been in the country for a few weeks, and this is my first solo shopping trip. Such a simple task, yet I am nearly paralyzed with fear.

“Can I help you?” asks a teenage clerk.

He is trying to be professional but looks puzzled that a foreigner has entered his shop. I look at him, Amharic words bobbing in a sea of adrenaline, just out of reach. I take a deep breath. I blink. And finally, a single word comes out as a squeaky plea: an English word that (mercifully) is the same in Ethiopian Amharic.

“Mango?”

Relieved that I am finally speaking, the clerk smiles and starts throwing softball-sized, multicolored fruits into a hanging scale, gesturing towards the numbers and raising his eyebrows in question. I hold up my hand, “Enough.”

A second Amharic word! And he understood! The joy of communication thrills me, and I wipe the anxious sweat from my palms before reaching into my purse for Ethiopian birr.

He says a number as he ties the heavy plastic bag. But what number? I can’t remember. I ask him to repeat, looking at the available birr in my hand like it is an indecipherable puzzle. I feel stupid.

He grabs a notepad and writes the number: 27. Saved! I gasp for air, heart pounding, as I try to remember which color is for which denomination: red for ten, blue for five, white for one. After much too long deliberating, I give him exact change, say thank you, and hurry out of the store, my cheeks burning with humiliation.

I used to be good at this … this living of daily life, I think, wistfully. I wasn’t always this incompetent. But what used to work in my home country won’t work here, and I must start over. From zero. From scratch.

Things looked up from there. From the beginning, I (an awkwardly bumbling cultural baby) was warmly welcomed into Ethiopian society and helped along my way by friends and strangers alike. Even the chuckling, staring onlookers would often step in to give directions or fend off a persistent heckler when I really needed it.

Ethiopian culture as a whole is exquisitely hospitable, and I was the beneficiary of that beautiful openness. I was welcomed to that fruit shop dozens and dozens of times, to all the shops around it, and to homes and churches, weddings and funerals. I was shown love to the point that at least in my neighborhood, I was no longer a stranger, but a known friend.

After years in Ethiopia, my family returned to the United States for a season, and my eye is now magnetically drawn toward confused, newly arrived immigrants. I sense their fear and shame and frustration on a visceral level, since my own memories of those feelings are indelibly imprinted on my memory. The feeling of being a stranger is hard to forget.

But I fear for what immigrants will find when they settle in the US, or other Western countries. Will they ever lose their designation as “stranger”? Will they ever be known as “friend”? Americans are—to put it delicately —not really known for our hospitality. Our focus on minding our own business and taking care of our own can come across as cold indifference. But how can we do otherwise when individualism is the very air we breathe?

Most of what I now know about hospitality has been learned through first unlearning presuppositions that predispose me to “every man is an island” isolation. In its place, I’m following a different path, inspired by the lives of non-Westerners who have welcomed me so graciously, who have shown me that getting to know others and being known by them is one of life’s greatest gifts. I’m learning to swallow the excuses about being “too busy” to unwrap it. How can a person be too busy for loving connection?

Ethiopians welcomed me when I was a newly-arrived in Ethiopia, as I said, but I’ve also been amazed by how immigrants to the US have graciously welcomed me (a local) into their lives. Those who ought to be honored as guests are eager to become hosts—inviting me into their apartments, their circles, their confidence. Their bent towards hospitality is infectious, life-giving and paradigm-shifting for me. I shudder to think that I could have missed this: the quiet metamorphosis from stranger into beloved, more beautiful than the journey of the most brilliant butterfly.

“I was a stranger, and you did not welcome me,” says Jesus in Matthew 25. What a tragically missed opportunity. Our God is one who hides behind things that are scary, calling to us: “Come closer. Draw near to what you fear. I’m on the other side!”

In a world plagued by “stranger danger,” Jesus is dancing to a different beat. When I’m dancing in sync with him, I realize I’ve never met a stranger, even if they are from a distant place I’ve never visited.

As I meet immigrants for the first time—whether they’re overwhelmed and swimming in adrenaline like I was on that first solo shopping trip in Addis Ababa, or exhausted by year after year of cultural stress—I see Jesus standing beyond the awkwardness of new beginnings, ready to welcome us into the beauty of knowing and being known.

About Jessica:

Jessica Udall writes on crossing cultures and following Jesus beyond polarized rhetoric and into street-level everyday love for those who are different. She is married to a wonderful Ethiopian man and has two children. Her favorites include having conversations with interesting people and drinking strong Ethiopian coffee, preferably at the same time. You can visit her at her blog, www.lovingthestrangerblog.com.

Photo by HOTCHICKSING on Unsplash

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Last Place in the Human Race {guest post}

By Nichole Woo | Website: www.walkthenarrows.com

I’m too slow for my life.

I reached this epiphany recently at stoplight, as I rolled my toothpaste-blue minivan up next to a red-hot Ferrari. It was a contrast too comical to ignore. So, I rolled down the window:

“Wanna race?” I teased, from my towering, sixteen-cup holder perch. The driver smirked and revved his engine. He left me in the dust, but not without a new metaphor to ponder.

Like it or not, we’re all part of this human race.

Within moments of a “positive” on a home pregnancy test (provided aim is good), we’re involuntarily and irrevocably nudged off the starting blocks. A barrage of benchmarks accost our lives in utero: Movements are measured, heartbeats counted, and that’s all before labor (which is often too early or late).

We welcome our beloveds with a kiss and an Apgar score, with many metrics to follow. Blink and these scores evolve into ABC competency, “unofficial” Pre-K soccer goals (that are counted anyways), ACT/SAT results, college acceptance letters, suitable relationships and bank accounts balances.

For better or worse these metrics are constant companions, pushing us through life at breakneck speeds. We pity those who straggle behind, but press on towards an ever-allusive finish line so we can win . . . we’re not sure exactly what. We fear that if we slow down, we’ll surely be lapped by something or someone; which means, we all just keep going in circles.

Years of pounding this course have frayed the fabric of my soul. I’m always winded and perpetually losing pace. It’s no wonder:

I’m the minivan, not the Ferrari.

Why am I pushing so hard to check the next box, when it’s always followed by another? Are these metrics, escorting every lap of life, a proper plum line? I must finish the race; but who says I should break the tape at world record pace?

Perhaps there is time to roll down the window, and just pause.

When I pause, I see things both heart-breaking and beautiful. I see glimpses of humanity as the dust clears: Some sprint by while others limp; a few can only crawl. There are others slowing too – Samaritans quietly crossing over to help some who stumble, and others stranded on the ground. They’ve tossed conventional measuring sticks, falling behind to usher others ahead.

I see a father put down his phone, to look up at his child. I hear the single mom’s “yes” to the caseworker asking her to welcome a second child. I glimpse the teacher, lingering long enough after the bell to gift his struggling student with a kind word. I catch the customer, pausing just long enough to meet the cashier’s eyes and smile.
They pause, as He did from the beginning:

When He saw what He made was good, and again to seek the pair who ushered in its corruption. He perceived Sarah’s pain, Hagar’s rejection, and David’s unborn frame. Then with human eyes He paused, and peered beyond earthly flesh: In the crooked tax collector, the unclean cloak-toucher, and the wayward woman at the well. He paused for imperfect humanity, again and again, to usher in divine glory.

This is the paradoxical beauty of falling behind.

To decelerate in this life seems like sacrilege. Surely, we’ll be lapped – passed up, passed by, or passed over. But to pause is to shadow the God who sees * the souls around Him and declares, “the last will be first, and first will be last.” **

I’m too slow for my life. Now, I’m thinking about driving even slower. Because whenever I wait for the dust to clear, I see that “human” matters infinitely more than “race.” In the pauses I remember: It’s not about when I finish, but who finishes with me.

*Genesis 16:13 (NIV)
**Matthew 20:16 (NIV)

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Despite a deep desire to belong, Nichole Woo often finds life nudging her to the margins. She’s been the only girl on the team, the only public speaking teacher afraid of public speaking, the only Caucasian in the extended family photo, and the only mom who lets her kids drink Fanta. She calls the Rockies home, often pretending to be a Colorado native in spite of her flatland origins. Visit her blog at www.walkthenarrows.com.

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My new book Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness is now available for pre-order! You can read about the book as well as some of the advance praise for the book by visiting this page. Sign up for my newletter above to keep up-to-date on pre-order bonuses, launch team, book recommendations, and more!

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Infertility, Envy, & an Unexpected Ending {guest post}

By Suzanna Price | Instagram: @suzanna.price

I dreamed of having a family ever since I was a little girl, playing with Cabbage patch kids and running through the schoolyard with my sister. And I always assumed I’d have no trouble starting a family.

I married at age 23, bursting with newlywed joy over the man I’d met on a blind date. Over the next nine years, I watched my friends have babies, went to baby showers out of obligation, and finally was able to name the uneasy envy I was feeling. Wayne and I were trying to get pregnant too, with no success.

We hated hearing about anyone’s pregnancy announcement. I began to feel bitter and I hated that too. I’d been battling epilepsy since the year we were married, and I felt like the infertility was salt in a wound. Why me? Why one more burden? Why so easy for all my friends and seemingly impossible for us? My spirit was unsettled; I prayed in anger and hope at the same time.

As in so many areas of life, the Lord was calling me to step up, out of my comfort zone. There’s always adoption. But I rejected that thought; that’s something other people do; I was surely not cut out for that.

But reality was setting in: the fertility treatment wasn’t working, and the burning desire for a baby wouldn’t subside. The idea I’d been trying to squash kept popping up: What would it look like to adopt? Over many tears and gentle urging from Wayne, I finally said yes.

With the help of a Christian adoption agency, we learned the legal process and worked our way through each overwhelming step. We created a book about ourselves, an open door for a birth mom to choose us. It felt odd, like advertising ourselves. We were told it would be a two year process, an unappealing thought when we were so ready now! So we were thrilled to be chosen within two months, and it seemed like a great match.

The birth mom knew she was having a girl, so we prepared the baby’s room and were flooded with gifts and baby décor from eager friends.

I was swelling with anticipation, an excitement I hadn’t felt in years. Then two weeks before the due date, my bubble was burst.  Our adoption agent called to tell me the birth mom had changed her mind. I felt it physically first, as the wind was knocked out of me and I sank to my knees. I gasped for air and cried so hard I couldn’t speak. Those tears would go on for days.

We knew adoption came with this risk. Even after you take the baby home, there’s a window of time where the birth mom can reverse her decision. But nothing can prepare you for that.

Now I was swelling with anger, not happiness. My spirit was crushed thinking about going back to square one. We closed the door of the baby room and took a weekend in the Colorado mountains to regroup. Day after day, I cried to God and prayed for the right birth mom; I absolutely couldn’t deal with another one who changed her mind. The thought made my stomach churn. The Lord was nudging me gently and I knew He wanted me to forgive. It was the most un-natural desire at that time, so I kept praying through it.

And the roller coaster continued. About a month later, we got a call. A birth mom was in the hospital with her newborn, in crisis, realizing she had no realistic way to support her baby. She’d thought about it off and on throughout her pregnancy, we later learned, and now we were the chosen parents.

We scrambled together what we needed to take home our baby girl, 48 hours old. We didn’t even have a car seat, so we borrowed one. I opened the door of the nursery, trembling with the fear of another rejection.

Not this time, though. The birth mom signed papers to expedite the legal process. That little girl was ours and my joy was overflowing. It was another incredible mixture of emotions, and extremely humbling to think about the tough choice that young woman made.

My daughter Rachel is 7 now. There is no way to describe the joy she has brought us. I cannot fathom any other child being ours. People tell me she looks like me, and I just smile and think, the Lord had this covered. We do stay in touch with her birth mom and visit sporadically. We explained to Rachel very early that she was adopted, that her birth mom wanted the best life possible for her. That satisfies her curiosity now, and as she matures we’ll keep talking through it.

I have seen much evidence of the Lord’s “beauty from ashes” promise over the years, but perhaps none as powerful as our adoption experience. I would go through it all again for the joy of finally becoming a mom.

About Suzanna:

Suzanna Price is a Colorado mom who loves Jesus and anything outdoors. She has a wonderful husband she met on a blind date, and they have walked together through many ups and downs including her battling years of seizures and the brain surgery that cured them. They have a seven-year-old daughter who loves reading, playing outside and camping. Follow Suzanna at her blog, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

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How to Simplify Christmas Shopping

For a person like myself who basically despises spending money or buying excess stuff, Christmas is a struggle. My favorite Christmases to date are still the ones I spent with very little in a tiny cinderblock apartment in China.

Last year I published an ethical gift list and thought nothing of it, but this year, I have some questions:

What is the definition of “ethical” when it comes to ethical shopping and gifts? (Does giving 1% of your profit to an anti-sex trafficking organization qualify you for this label?)

Does overspending because it provides jobs for farmers in Uganda qualify as “doing good”?

Do some “ethical” companies manipulate our desire to feel good about ourselves, perpetuate the White Savior Complex, and lead to excessive spending?

For example, here are some of the slogans I’ve run across in my research:

“shop with meaning”

“shop to end poverty”

“shop with intention and share in the joy”

“The jewelry she makes changes the world. What can your jewelry do?”

“Look good, feel good, do good, be good, give good, get good.”

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice style to make a difference.”

Pictures of white women kissing “native” women …

But here’s my conclusion in spite of still having questions: unless I want to announce that I’m no longer giving gifts to friends and family, I will be spending my money somewhere this season. Because of that, I prefer my money go to companies that will aid in improving the livelihood of someone else.

With this in mind, these are five ways I plan to simplify Christmas this year:

1. I’m only buying from ethical or green companies unless there’s absolutely no other way.

2. We’re setting a low number of gifts for each of our family (our kids know this … we don’t do birthday gifts from friends at parties, either).

3. I’m directing grandparents and family members to mostly write checks rather than send stuff for the kids (that way we can buy museum memberships that will last an entire year).

4. I’m buying all my gifts before Thanksgiving. (Ha! I figure it will put the pressure on if I announce that online …) This will reduce stress (in theory) and prevent me from making impulse buys at the last minute.

5. I’m buying everything online.

On Wednesday, I’m publishing my ethical gift list for this year. This time around, I will be sharing some companies that aren’t usually in the spotlight. I wanted to focus on companies that work directly with one or a few different countries instead of contracting with hundreds of artisans around the world. Think of them as the underdogs or “mom and pop” ethical companies doing good, but quieter, work around the globe. A few of them have offered discount codes for Scraping Raisins readers, so be sure and take a look!

What are some ways you simplify the consumerism aspect of Christmas?

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Serve Small {guest post}

By Sarah Rennicke | Twitter: @SRennAwake

It starts with a smile.

To look someone straight in the eyes, see into their life, and welcome them to yours.

It’s a simple hello and follows with an honest ask: “How are you?” Then, taking the time to look and see as they tell you. You remember what they said, follow up with another question, ask them again about it next time you two run into each other.

Something so small, which may at first be perceived as insignificant, quite possibly makes all the difference in the world.

Hospitality reaches beyond our homes—it’s bred in the tiny details of the day. Opening doors, sharing a smile, complimenting a jacket or eye color. It’s spreading wide our hearts to all those we rub shoulders with throughout the day. It is seeing someone—really seeing—with a deep soul-eyed stare. Noticing the person—not the problem, not the situation—but deciding to invest care into the stranger, approach them as someone created in God’s image and sharing in their value.

Listening instead of lecturing.

It’s the little things that make a person feel seen, set apart, welcomed and connected, embraced right where they are, as they are, in that moment.

It’s the little things that make a person feel seen, set apart, welcomed and connected, embraced right where they are, as they are, in that moment. @SRennAwake

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I am a director of a nonprofit youth café. I determine what we do and how we do it. I set the tone, create the intentional culture. And everything that we hope to develop in deep relationship starts with a smile and salutation. Every person who walks through the door is greeted this way. When they come to the counter to order coffee, we ask how their day is going. We really ask and respond according to hearing their response.

“How was your day?”

“What made it tiring?”

“How are you holding up with the long hours and crazy class load?”

We pay attention, and sympathize, offer them a listening ear and tell them we’re glad they’re here.

We want to create a space where teens feel seen and welcomed as soon as they cross the threshold, somewhere they can be fully themselves and breathe from the crazy world around them. Give them a piece of peace, if only for thirty minutes or however brief their stay.

Every time, make their day a little better. Touches of grace sprinkled in simple conversations, a gateway into talk that’s real, building blocks for true and genuine relationship.

Sometimes hospitality means shrinking down into the smallness of details, into the little things of life that often get passed over, forgotten. To step in where others feel they are too busy to dig into the trivial, the minute moments where another human being is SEEN as who they are—a brother, a sister, stitched of the same skin.

Could it be small things that show we’re approachable, that draw the onlooker closer to the light of our fire? Such impractical hospitality can turn the axis of affirmation upside down, make a world of a difference to one who is looking for something different in this world.

How we respond within seconds of an introduction makes an impression that will last for a good long while. Let us seek to serve small, and love with openness every day so the world can’t help but be drawn to the divine.

About Sarah:

Sarah loves words. She also loves people. And she loves weaving them together in honest and vulnerable ways that cut underneath the surface and break open the longings of the heart. She is a writer whose words breathe vulnerability and hope into longing souls. Sarah is a director for a nonprofit student center, writes for numerous international ministries, is a member of Redbud Writers Guild, and invites readers to sit with her awhile at www.sarahrennicke.com and connect with her on Twitter and Instagram at @srennawake.

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This month on Scraping Raisins we’re talking about practical and impractical hospitality. Be sure to follow along on my social media channels (buttons on top right of website) and subscribe to my newsletter to be updated on all the posts, plus links to thought-provoking articles from the web and a few books and podcasts.

I still have a few spots open this month, so email me at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com if you’re interested in guest posting! You can find writing guidelines here. I would need your submission by October 15th;-)

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By Most Country’s Standards, I’m a Terrible Host

I always forget the coats. Growing up in Florida, we left on our flip flops, threw our bags on the hallway floor, and made a B-line for the cooler full of ice-cold soda. I haven’t lived in the south for 20 years, but I still forget to take people’s winter coats at the door. They stand there with them awkwardly draped over their arm, or else pile them in a heap on the living room floor.

I’m a better summer host. That way I can lock the doors and usher guests directly to the backyard through the side gate, then pray no one has to use the bathroom. Yards are forgiving of drips and spills and don’t require hours of cleaning before the guests arrive.

But what I’m learning (and what I’m writing a book about) is about how really, no one cares how good of a host you are at all. Mostly, they care to be invited. People want to be seen, heard, and included. They just want to be asked.

We recently had an Indian family live with us for a month. The parents of our grad student renter, they had never been on an airplane or left India before. We were gone for two weeks, but while we were home, I constantly felt like a failure as a host. We slept and ate at different times; they tinkered around in the kitchen as we brushed our teeth to go to bed. I worried about my raucous children being too loud, and they worried they were in my way in the kitchen.

After they had been with us for about a week, I decided to ask them along on one of our outings. “I’m taking the kids to a nature area to go on a walk–do you want to come along?”

And the next day, “We’re heading downtown so the kids can play in the fountain–do you want to join us?”

They said yes.

As a survival-mode mom with three kids at home, age five and under, I couldn’t make them the elaborate meals I knew they would be making for me were I a visitor in their home, but I could do one thing: I could invite them along in what we were already doing.

I once read a book called Family on Mission. The gist was that we do not need to have a million separate ministries or service projects to live out our calling to love God and love our neighbor in the world. Instead of burning ourselves out, we are better off inviting people along on the adventures we are already having, asking them to join us in our right-now lives instead of waiting until we have a surplus of time.

Instead of feeling like we need to divide ourselves to hand a fragment to every person we know, we do our thing, and invite others along for the ride.

This applies so well to hospitality. People are not waiting for us to get our act together and wow them with our kitchen wizardry. Instead, they just want to be asked.

People want to be invited.

Do you cook dinner? Why not invite a neighbor to join you? Are you going to the park? Ask another family to come along. Do you enjoy playing board games? Find another family that likes them, too.

I’m certainly not an expert, but I am learning the art of simple hospitality. What matters most is not the stuff, the plans or even the food, what matters is the people.

What matters most is not the stuff, the plans or even the food, what matters is the people.

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Our next theme this month is “Hospitality Around the World.” Follow along on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest blog post or sign up for my newsletter below for links to thought-provoking articles, a digest of blog posts, and a few things I’m into these days! Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. Guest posts should be between 500 and 900 words. Be sure to include a headshot and bio. Personal stories work best!

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By Most Country’s Standards, I’m a Terrible Host

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A Review of Mystics & Misfits by Christiana Peterson (+a giveaway of the book!)

Growing up on the fundamentalist-side of evangelicalism, my covert love of the mystics like Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross felt scandalous. My adult spiritual life opens into a much larger pasture to graze on spiritual writings, so I’ll be candid about my love for this new book, Mystics and Misfits, by a new friend, Christiana Peterson.

I wasn’t sure what to expect–expository writings on the mystics of old? A memoir of her experience spending eight years in an intentional community in the Midwest?

With gorgeous writing and in-depth research, Christiana achieves the magic of inviting the reader into the lives of the mystics and into her family’s story.

Mystics and Misfits is divided into five parts–simplicity, hospitality, contemplation, church and death. Within these sections, Christiana shares personal letters to Saints Francis, Margery Kempe, Clare of Assisi, Simone Weil, and even Dorothy Day, asking questions and weaving her narrative with theirs.

She also chronicles her famiiy’s experience joining together to manage berry fields, raise chickens, can food, welcome strangers and worship in community with the other families living at Plow Creek Farm. Death, mistakes, missteps and doubts are handled without excessive idealism or burdensome negativity. Christiania relates both the beauty and the challenges of living in intentional community and the ways her study of the saints impacted her ordinary life.

In Mystics and Misfits, Christiana digs deep within herself to draw gems to the surface for the reader to appreciate. She offers her authentic self and successfully welcomes us to join her as fellow pilgrims in the journey towards experiencing authentic community and pursuing a rich inner life with God.

I had the unique opportunity to meet Christiana at the Festival of Faith and Writing the day after I read Mystics and Misfits and had the odd feeling of knowing someone before I had actually met them. I feel like this is the best kind of memoir.

If you are curious about the mystics, about what life at a commune is like, or just enjoy losing yourself in a well-written story, then you should read Mystics and Misfits.

If you want to win a copy of Mystics and Misfits, sign up for my newsletter by Monday, August 30th at midnight (MT)! Already a subscriber? Tag up to four friends on my Instagram post about this book and I’ll enter you once per time!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

Sorry, no bots and only U.S. residents (so sad, I know). But you can buy a copy here for just $15.00;-)

Have you read the book? What did you think?

I got to meet the author!

 

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Our theme for April is “Books and Writing,” and I hope to share my favorite books, podcasts and resources for new writers.  Click here if you’re new to the series and want to catch up on old posts. Be sure to follow me on social media and sign up for my newsletter below so you can be alerted of new posts. Please get in touch at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting on this topic!

**This post includes Amazon affiliate links

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10 Social Experiments to Slow Down, Save Money & Live Simply

Everything around the college campus got a bit wonky when the sociology classes would do their social experiments on the rest of us. One girl started randomly holding hands with her guy friends. Another guy sat down with total strangers in the cafeteria during each meal. And another boy barked at people as he walked behind them on the way to class.

I’m not asking you to do any of those things. Most of the experiments I have in mind can be quietly conducted with little evidence at all that you are attempting to buck social norms. But they will require you to step out of what might be most comfortable for you.

Are you ready to be weird with me?

I’ve tried out most of the ideas in this list, but a few are new goals for a new year. Each of these ideas will help you to slow down, save money or live more simply. As you read, consider joining me in a few of these experiments this year. Here we go.

1. Stop buying cheap/new clothes

Kick off this social experiment by watching the documentary The True Cost on Netflix. Or read this book about fast fashion for an overview of how the clothing industry of cheap, disposable clothing (like Forever 21) not only exploits cheap labor in other countries, but fills our landfills.

Many larger cities have Once Upon a Child for good, quality used children’s clothing, 29 states have the adult version of this, called Clothes Mentor. I’ve had a lot of luck at our local thrift stores, though you can’t necessarily go with a single item in mind.

I’ve been doing this for nearly two years and have managed to buy all used clothing for myself and my family apart from shoes, underwear, socks and boy’s 4T and 5T pants (they wear out too quickly!) When we haven’t gotten used, we’ve tried to at least buy American-made, though that can get pricey.

If you’re like me and don’t want to schlep a bunch of kids with you to a thrift store, then there are a ton of online options for you. One is called ThredUp and has a great referral program where you get $10 to spend and the person you refer gets $10 to shop after they place their first order (this link includes my referral code–no extra cost to you!).

Later this month, I’ll be publishing a long list of places to buy used clothing, so stay tuned.

2. Don’t throw food away–ever

As much as 40% of our food goes uneaten in the United States, according to a Harvard study. Another article from USA Today says, “if we were able to recover all of our wasted food, we could provide a 2,000-calorie diet to 84% of the population, said Dr. Roni Neff, a Johns Hopkins University researcher who led a first-ever study examining the nutrients we’re tossing in the trash.”

I think it comes from my years living in China on a missionary’s salary, but I live like someone who went through the Great Depression. Throwing food away is a mortal sin in our household.

Most expiration dates have several days or even weeks of leeway added in, so stretch your food a little farther. Another way to waste less is to meal plan. When each vegetable in your fridge is bought for a purpose, you are less likely to throw wilted, unused veggies away at the end of the week.

Now that I live in Colorado, it’s time to join the masses here who compost. I haven’t purchased one yet, but I’m considering buying either this small composter you keep in your kitchen, or a larger one that goes right in your backyard. Both have really good reviews on Amazon. Have you composted? I’d love to hear some tips!

3. Do a phone detox

I’ve only done this once, for a week, but it was magical. I heard birds, I saw butterflies and I talked to old ladies on benches. But I haven’t done it again. So by writing this, I’m building in a bit of accountability for myself. I plan to stay off my phone during my Sabbath times (see #8) and take a more extended break from my phone one or two weeks during the year. I also plan to remove all social media and email apps from my phone except Instagram (I just can’t). The book Glow Kids has some terrifying data about how screens are affecting us and our children if you need some convincing that this might be a good idea.

In 2017, a bunch of high schoolers in Colorado pledged to stay off social media during the month of October, which sounds like something I might like to try. Otherwise, I’m thinking Lent would be a good time to go off my phone or at least off some or all social media (can you tell this is a problem for me?)

What about you? What kind of phone detox would work for you this year?

4. Invite a non-family member to your home every week

With an introverted husband, once a week may be a bit much, but since plans often get cancelled, we are shooting to invite someone over to our home for a meal or to play games at least once a week. Whatever we do often enough becomes habit, so we want to make this a priority this year. I’ve found that asking is the hardest part, but after that, I rarely regret having people into my home. Many of us attend churches and small groups, so it is easy to get caught in the Christian bubble. But who did Jesus eat with? We want to share our table with people who are like us, but also those who are very different from us this year. The books The Art of Neighboring and Making Room have revolutionized the way I now practice hospitality. If you’re interested in learning more about hospitality, check out the Facebook group called “Sorta Hospitable” that I started in December.

5. Make awkward small talk

I’ve written a bit about this, but I’m trying to be intentional about noticing the people around me. By attempting to talk to the grocery cashier, server at the restaurant or neighbor walking his dog, I can learn to appreciate people made in the image of God. Even though I’m an extrovert, I would rather have a one-on-one heart-to-heart any day than try and shoot the breeze with someone. But sometimes awkward small talk is the gateway to relationship. I met one of my best friends from the last two years at the park, so I know it’s possible.

6. Own less toys

The book Simplicity Parenting influenced many of my opinions on the stuff our kids have. Kim John Payne writes: “Nothing in the middle of a heap can be truly valued. The attention that a child could and would devote to a toy is shortened, and eclipsed by having too many…Ironically, this glut of goods may deprive a child of a genuine creativity builder: the gift of their own boredom.”

Simply put, “As you decrease the quantity of your child’s toys and clutter, you increase their attention and their capacity for deep play.” (p. 62)

My friends and family have given me a hard time about this, but we have a “no gift” rule for birthday parties. Fortunately, my oldest is still pretty young (5), so he hasn’t been to a ton of birthday parties, but I’m usually able to convince him that gifts from his parents and grandparents are sufficient. We also tell him that the party itself and all his friends being there are his gift (which he believes for now).

And while we do purchase some new toys for our kids (these have been a HUGE HIT), we encourage the grandparents to contribute money to pay for experiences like museum passes or gymnastics lessons instead of buying them new toys. The toys we do have, we keep in the garage and switch out when the ones inside aren’t being played with as often.

7. Have someone live with you

Have you ever thought of having someone live with you? We unexpectedly had a Saudi Arabian girl live with us from 2012 to 2013 and it was such a positive experience that we bought our new house with that in mind. Several of my friends have had exchange students live with them or housed an international student like we did. Yes, it’s challenging to have someone in your space, but the deep relationships, cultural learning, and authentic living that come out of it is so worth it. We just found out we’ll be having a girl from India live with us until May, so we are excited and nervous about sharing our space again.

8. Observe the Sabbath

Out of all of these, this is the hardest for me. My main problem is that so many of the activities I enjoy doing–writing, running, and spending time with people, which some might consider Sabbath activities, often just serve to make me busy. My husband and I are also puzzled about observing the Sabbath when we have three children, age five and under. I need to revisit some of the posts I wrote for Seven Days of Soul Rest back in December of 2015… It may finally be time to read the book Rhythms of Rest. For my personality type (ENTJ), I know I need structure of some kind, but I also kind of hate rigid rules. Help.

9. Have your kids share a room

I plan on smooshing our kids together until my daughter is grossed out by her older brother. I’m guessing I have another three years … Right now, she is equal to the task. I want to do this is so we can have a guest room available for people who need a place to crash. St. John Chrsystom called this the “Christ room,” referring to the passage in Matthew 25 where Jesus said, “I was a stranger and you took me in.” Because we still have little kids in our home, I don’t think we’ll be hosting homeless or those coming straight out of prison (though I’m conflicted about that, honestly), but we are open to hosting strangers and have already had some opportunities to use our home in that way.

10. Read a book every month that takes you out of your comfort zone

Personally, along with reading more fiction and poetry (I’m a non-fiction girl), I’m aiming to read at least six books written by people of color this year. I only average about two books per month, so that’s a book every other month by a person of color. I have several books that will stretch you on this and this list. I’ve found that book clubs are a great place to challenge yourself as a reader and read books you wouldn’t choose otherwise.

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So that’s it! Not too weird, really, and maybe you already do many of these things. What are some of your goals for 2018 that will help you to slow down, save money and live simply in the new year? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this list or on your own plans!

Here are the books mentioned in this post:

Simplicity Parenting

Glow Kids

Rhythms of Rest

The Art of Neighboring

Making Room 

Overdressed

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10 Social Experiments to Slow Down, Save Money & Live Simply in 2018

 

 

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