Written a couple months ago when I went all the way to Canada to hit the “reset” button. This is what I’m striving for in 2020. Want to join me?

*S E L F C A R E*

It’s one of those blog topics that automatically makes me want to barf it’s so millennial. Then again, I love boots and Starbucks, and I upload pics of my dog to Instagram daily, so I might as well fully embrace the millennialism. I’m currently sitting in Ontario, Canada, with my phone off drinking a pumpkin spice latte (see previous millennial note). I drove here yesterday to try something for the first time ever: explore and relax somewhere random – alone.  

So far today, I baked myself a huge breakfast, sipped a mimosa by the lake, explored the southern tip of Canada at a national park, and ate an oven-fired maple bacon butternut squash pizza (say that five times fast).

Full disclosure: about two hours ago, 26 hours into this getaway of mine, I inhaled a deep breath of Canadian air, and cried a little. 

It wasn’t a long or dramatic cry – just a couple tears. But those tears held immeasurable meaning.

I finally threw in the towel on trying to sleep around 3 a.m. this morning. For some reason, it’s just one of those nights when it’s not going to happen. No-sleep nights don’t happen that often, but when they do, I really don’t mind it after I eventually give in and get out of bed. Actually, I find it rather peaceful to be awake when most of the world around me is asleep.

Then 4 a.m. hits and I get this automatic, tiny wave of excitement, followed quickly by another wave of sadness.

Lately, I’ve been longing to go back to place I haven’t been in a long time. I don’t remember the town, I don’t remember the name of the camp, and I don’t even really remember my age at the time. I was young – probably early high school, on some sort of church retreat. It was a weekend full of rest in the Lord and sitting face to face with His truth. I woke up early one morning, before the rest of the campers and I went and sat on a concrete stair outside of my cabin with my Bible. The sun was dawning, the grass was dewy, birds were chirping and the fog was settled around the camp.

And Jesus. Just Jesus. So clearly.

Jesus was there other days. But this morning was special. The position of my heart was ready to receive, and everything else was quiet – which made Him loud.

My dog, Izzy, sure is cute, but she isn’t the brightest pup in the land.

So when she saw a skunk at 11 p.m. last night, she decided it wanted to play.

Three peroxide, Dawn and baking soda bath’s later I’m pretty sure she regrets that decision.

Well, I’d like to think that, but let’s be honest- if given the chance, she’d probably go back for round two.

Want to know what is even better about my dog getting skunked? I didn’t realize she was sprayed until she had been in the house 10 minutes. When the putrid smell filled my nostrils after letting her in, I instead spent my time trying to figure out if the tenants upstairs were using Nair on their hairy man legs.

That gave Izzy plenty of time to lay on two couches, two rugs and the carpet in the guest room.

Thanks, Izzy.

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Sometimes the simplest things are the hardest things for us adults, aren’t they?

Trusting.

Forgiving.

Letting go.

Accepting.

Believing.

Relaxing.

I’ve found the older I get, the more complicated those things become. Shouldn’t it be opposite? Shouldn’t growing up and maturing mean getting better at this whole life thing?

But when I think about someone who is able to do all of those things well – trust, forgive, let go, accept, believe, relax…the first picture that comes to mind is that of a child.

A kid.

To be more specific, I think of the kid that was a part of the family next to me at the public pool last summer (side-note: the public pool is a miserable experience past the age of 13). This little boy, probably six, embodied many of these words within just a few minutes.

It all started when he and his little brother, maybe four years old, were taking turns jumping off the side of the pool into their dad’s arms. And by “taking turns” I mean the younger brother kept taking his turn and cutting off Johny (yes, I just named the older one Johny because, well, that’s just a classic kid name and it felt right).