Books have always been a huge part of my life: a place to learn, grow and sometimes just escape from reality. I could spend hours in a bookstore. I get excited when you first walk through the door; the smell of new books and fresh coffee never fails to uplift me, no matter my mood.

Babies, babies and more babies. For the past week and a half I have been doing nothing but eating, sleeping and dreaming babies. Kyle and I are foster parents for Stearns County and have taken in a number of children over the past four years. But we’ve only had one baby during all these years.

It’s Wednesday afternoon and I am hungry. The week prior I had read a book called, 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess by Jen Hatmaker that talked all about conserving, going without and giving away. Which sounded perfect on vacation, as I read on the beach, with the breeze softly coming off the lake and a full belly. But I’m no longer in utopia and my rashly made decision that my husband agreed to last week is sounding today more like a prison than paradise. The basic premise of our self induced fast is: pick seven impoverished countries, eat like the poor there for three days each, while learning about the people/country and praying for them. The fast thus lasts 21 days. I’m on day two, ready to quit. I can’t have caffeine since poor people in other countries hardly have clean water to drink, let alone coffee. So I’m at home today with a pounding headache and an empty belly. I call my husband to see how he’s doing.
To-do lists.  I love them.  Instead of doodling in meetings, I make lists.  I have lists tucked everywhere; they give me a sense of purpose to each day. Garden lists.  House lists.  Goal lists.  Like I said, I love lists!