We talked about putting a bench in the grassy area of our cul-de-sac for over a year. Last week, our neighbor finally bought one and another neighbor bought another one. Now, there are two benches facing each other in front of our houses, like our little community of seven homes finally has a living room.

As I was preparing dinner yesterday afternoon, I glanced out my kitchen window and saw three of our neighbors sitting on those benches, facing one another. I’ve seen them outside in the past, chatting over newly fetched mail or exchanging comments about the weather. But they never chatted long, as their aging bodies wouldn’t cooperate with the demands of standing for so long.

I went outside and entered into the conversation with them for a while. They spoke of children and grandchildren, aging siblings and friends, the weather. They enjoyed the breeze and waved at the occasional passing car. They lingered. I made my way back to the kitchen to finish up dinner but kept my eye on them. They stayed out for nearly an hour. I’ve not seen them do that before. It isn’t that they didn’t want to be together, but before it wasn’t so easy. Now, they had a bench to sit on. And the bench made all the difference.

People want to talk about things. They want to relate and live in community and converse and be together. Sometimes they just need a bench. They need a place to get the conversation started, a platform that allows them to linger and find one another. The small group I lead every Wednesday night is like a bench for freshman girls, a place for them to come and share their lives and hopefully, see glimpses of Jesus. Tuesdays Unwrapped is like a bench for writers who want to share their celebrations of the ordinary. The book I’m writing will be a bench for women who are weary of being pushed around by fear.

Every community needs a bench. What kind of bench do you need these days? Are you waiting for someone else to put it out there? Or are you building a bench yourself?

The women of our church have been at Myrtle Beach this weekend for the annual retreat. This year I decided to go and agreed to lead a small group. I knew that might be the only way to insure I didn’t skip small group time.

I’m so glad I went. I also got my own hotel room, which I don’t think I’ve ever done. I slept in the middle of the bed and ate peanut M&Ms way too late at night and watched (and loved) {500} Days of Summer while laughing out loud. It seems like whenever I get the opportunity to be a grownup I end up acting like a kid.

It was nice to get away. There is something kind of amazing about having a conversation without a single interruption, eating a meal without getting up from the table once and visiting the bathroom all by myself. More than that, though, there is such beauty in connecting with other women on a deep level, both those in my same stage of life as well as those who are walking behind and in front.

I’m not usually a huge fan of women’s retreats in general, as I have an aversion to ice breakers and I think I’m developing an emotional allergy to chit-chat. But this one was just right. What about you? Do you like retreats for women? What would your ideal women’s retreat look like?

If it were my country, my city, my home or my babies, it would seem as though all hope was lost. If it were me, I would see this whole thing so differently. The devastation in Haiti is unimaginable. When I close my eyes and wonder what they are all suffering through, I can’t even come close. Because it isn’t me.

And so we sit helpless, but not really. Because I have money. And I have knees to kneel on. And because Jenny started Hope For Haiti. And then my (in)courage friends joined her. And The Nester. And Amber. And so many other helpless ones who know The Helper.

My beautiful friend Cambre hosted a Christmas swap last night. Everyone brought either new or used decorations they no longer want or need as well as some things they got as gifts that would never work for anyone. Ever.

It looks as thought the “artist” got a little bit distracted while painting on the eyebrows. Of course, with my luck, this disturbed angel is a pricelessly priceless authentic piece of Christmas heirloomness. I still have her, just in case. She fell out of the box in my car before I went into the party. Lucky girl. Still, I took some other stuff I didn’t need and came home with a bag full of these non-freaky ornaments.

And all of this other lovely stuff.

What a fantastic way to get new Christmas stuff without spending a dime. Not to mention the hanging out with friends part. Or the getting rid of stuff you don’t want part. It was just the little inspiration I needed.

Elisabeth poses with her finds.

If you’re interested, my sister wrote a great post on how to host your own swap.

I met her at my sister’s wedding. I was the maid of honor and she was the guest book attendant. I was immediately drawn to her just as my sister said I would be. By nights end, we had agreed to be roommates at Columbia International University the following year. She was a year older than me so she already had a year of college behind her which somehow gave me confidence by association going into my freshman year.

She was fun and funny, playful and vivacious, blond and gorgeous. She was dramatic, jealous, passionate and, by the standards of our small Bible college in South Carolina, she could be downright scandalous.

It was little things that bonded us at first: we wore the same size shoes and could share clothes and both had an unnatural love for our favorite musicals. But we shared a lot more than just a room during those years in college. We shared dreams and drama, heartache and heartbreaks as well as a love for the Lord.

As the years have passed, we have graduated and grown up. I have watched as she remained fiercely loyal to those she loved, even the ones who weren’t so loyal in return. She has taught me to play more, laugh harder and not take myself so seriously. She is beautifully human.

These days we only get to see each other about once a year. Four years ago we went to New York and ate pizza in Brooklyn and saw Wicked on Broadway. The year after that, she came here for a weekend (with me and my 3 kids…not exactly a walk down 5th Avenue, but still). We keep in touch fairly regularly and always pick up where we left off no matter how long it’s been.

She is one of my favorite people and today, she is getting married. In normal life, she is on her end of the country and I am on mine. She has people there, I have people here, and our lives have continued seperately. But this weekend, I am meeting her people. I am meeting her man. And we will celebrate the fact that she has finally found her someone.