Between 11 and 11:50 (or so) we’ll be hanging out while we wait for the Allume tickets to go on sale. We thought it would be fun to have some prizes this year for all of you who push back sleep in order to snag a ticket. We just love you and think you are some serious awesome. Here is what is up for grabs tonight for all you late night troopers:

A Desperate and Everyday Joy Mug Gift Set

A One Thousand Gifts Book Set (includes book, gift book, and calendar)

Winner’s choice Canvas

Winner’s choice from Urban Soul

All the above gifts are donated by DaySpring – give them some love! @DaySpring

We also have…

Two sets (3 in a set) of bangles donated by FreeSet   @freesetUSA (give them some love!)

An OCC travel mug donated by Operation Christmas Child  @OCC_shoeboxes (love to them too!)

A sweatshirt and pottery mug donated by Food for the Hungry  @food4thehungry (and of course, more love!)

Two 2012 audio speaker bundles

Books!

Sparkly Green Earrings by @bigmama

You’re Made for a God-Sized Dream by @holleygerth

100 Pound Loser by @jessicaheights

Hope for the Weary Mom (Kindle edition) plus a $10 Starbucks gift card by @brookewrites and @stacey29lincoln

And finally…

A ticket to Allume! HOLLA!

So come out and join us tonight at 11pm EST! It’s not formal, we’re just hanging out and eating cake, but Sarah Mae and Jessica will be there to answer any questions you might have.

Tweet you tonight!

#Allume

@sarahmae

@jessicaheights

@allume

@loganwolfram (who may or may not be around this evening – you can read a little bit about what’s going with her here. Pray for our sweet Logan and all that’s going on. Thank you, sisters!)

Okay, technically they go on sale Friday at midnight, EST, but every year people get confused and ask me, “Friday at midnight, or Thursday night?” It all feels confusing, I know, so have your fingers ready to pounce at 11:59pm Thursday night, because there are only 50 early bird tickets and those babies go FAST. Like, gone in 2 seconds fast. At least that’s what’s happened the last three years.

So

Drink your coffee, have your crab dip or chocolate cake ready, and have some fun on Twitter with us allume gals as we hangout and have some fun during the ticket launch. There may even be prizes. 😉

See you there! #allume

SM

BUY ALLUME TICKETS!

Meet the Speakers!

(photo credit)

Emotionally draining and physically spent would best describe my last two weeks.  The wave of relief I have when my head rests on my pillow at night cannot fully describe how empty I feel by the end of each day.

Some days I am spent.  There might not be one creative or inspiring muscle left in my body or brain to formulate a post for my blog, or a chapter in my new book.

The energy has been spent in other areas, and my writing is left calling my name  – with what seems to be no return.

When a call to write still resounds in my heart and I wake up to God-inspired thoughts to share, I know that this is a season of investment in other areas of my life.  It is not permanent.

And this is what God has proven so faithful to show me – There is a Return on our Empty.

“I am so empty and I have nothing left to give.”  A conversation with my husband this week.  His reply : “There is a community of lives you are investing in right here and your return will be in so many ways you may never see.”

Investment in people, lives, children, homeschooling and more is building relationships that build upon one another.  Calling upon one another because of the spark of investment that  I initiated or tying relationships together to build a better and stronger Kingdom work.

There are so many days that you might feel empty.  Completely drained of ambition, energy and creativity to write or invest in ONE more person, blog or relationship.

I am going to share what I now see God doing when I am empty – void of even the ounce of strength to smile or stand it seems.

He empties myself of me, and the places I have been filling with HIM overflow into other’s lives.  He uses my weakness for His glory while I cannot move more in my own strength.

While you are sitting with a friend at the hospital and her husband has little time on this earth  – you are empty, but you know you need to be there.  Just BE there.  Words do not always wax eloquent.  God fills in the gaps.

When you are hosting 50 people in your home for a homeschooling meeting and your little ones tug at your leg and want to be held, and a new momma is in tears with her struggle to stay sane at home with babies – Let God speak HIS words and let your empty vessel full of weakness BE His glory.

While you have writing deadlines, and blog submissions due, and your little ones are up all night with croup, your husband waits for you to spend time with him, and your blog sits empty…. invest in prayer for your blogging friends, write their names on your list and let your empty be your story. 

His power does NOT need our words.  This community should be a return on our empty.  His inspiration, His power and His community for the Kingdom work.  

I am empty, and I am humbly asking for added measures of strength as I have invested all that I have today into others.

But He is always on the throne and never left, and the return of our investments will be far greater than something done here and in our words.

When you are empty and beyond an ability to invest or create, do you feel the discouragement and weight of uselessness settle in?

Be filled with His strength and invest with promptings and leading.  It will never return void.

Written by September @ One September Day

I feel like I’m breaking in a new pair of boots. Although they are cute and stylish boots, they are a little uncomfortable and will take some time to get used to.

These new boots represent a new season for me. A season of change and a whole lot of newness.

My personal new season, my new pair of boots, is motherhood.

Yes, I recently announced that I am pregnant with our first babe {Yippee!}.

Although I have many friends and family members who have traveled this path before me, it’s still a new experience for me. I feel like I’ve just put on a new pair of cute {albeit slightly uncomfortable} boots and I’m beginning my journey, one step at a time.

Recently, like many of you, I had the pleasure of reading Desperate by Sarah Mae and Sally Clarkson. Even though this book opened my eyes to the MANY unknowns of motherhood; I left feeling encouraged and hopeful. I felt encouraged because I realized I don’t have to embark on this journey alone. I don’t have to travel this trail in stiff boots that are bound to give me blisters; I can walk beside a friend, someone who has gone before me, who can guide me along this mysterious path as I break in my new boots.

We’ve all been in these boots before. Maybe they aren’t the boots of motherhood, but maybe they are the boots of a new home, a new city, a new job, a new blog. Maybe they are the boots of a new relationship, one that is perhaps headed towards marriage. No matter what new boots we find ourselves in, there is always someone who has broken in boots similar to ours before we try them on.

We don’t have to break in our boots alone.

In fact, we should never go it alone.  The beauty of relationships is modeled in the Trinity; the very partnership and relationship between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. How can we not see that this is the way we are to live?

My heart has grown passionate about sharing in the burdens that make up the journey that is life.  Now I don’t mean to suggest life is merely a series of struggles, but during our times of need we tend to isolate ourselves, closing doors in our trials, fears, and pain.  Yet many have walked similar paths.  Many can bring Light into our personal darkness, many can shed Light on the unknowns in life.

All we have to do is ask someone to journey alongside us.

The Allume community is about encouraging women to walk in the Light, encouraging each other to boldly step into our individual callings, to walk confidently and comfortably in our boots, and above all, support one another as those new boots are broken in.

Ladies, let’s not let each other break in our boots alone, let’s do this life together.

What new boots are you walking in today? What kind of support and/or encouragement do you need? Who could you ask to journey alongside you? 

By Mandy Scarr

Year’s end is pregnant with new year’s beginning. Reflecting and planning come with mourning and hope. Lessons from the past are making plans for the future. Maybe it’s time to let some things go. It’s okay to move on.

You miss the beauty of change when you hold mementos that can’t be changed. Coffee cups never again shared. It’s time to make some new memories. It’s time for new cups.

The year is long when winter drags on. Plenty of time for the heart to mourn when night comes early and days are barely there. The snow is gentle. It hides the shame of naked death. It stores up life for the buds of Spring.

Like a new mother’s breast, forgiveness aches for you. Like a starving infant, you can’t survive without it.

Losing your innocence is like losing an article of clothing. One less layer between you and the sandpaper of life. You see reminders of your experience in the mist under the street light and you hear it in the cackle behind the seductive laugh of virtue about to take leave.

Whether innocence was taken or you gave it, it takes a mountain of faith to believe in a mustard seed of purity.

You cannot get the spirit within you to stop ringing the bell of ‘what if’.

What if, with the morning sun, the new day came with a fresh chance? What if today is a new day and you can leave the sting of yesterday behind? What if today brings a renewed promise?

God keeps renewing the promise and setting the date as today… -Hebrews 4:7

You must remember that sin is inevitable, but the power it has over you is an illusion. The only reason a person would let grass grow under the defeat of their sin  and no longer be gaining life and godliness is because they have forgotten that they have been set free.

But if anyone does not have them, he is nearsighted and blind, and has forgotten that he has been cleansed from his past sins. -2 Peter 1:9

Don’t forget your freedom, defeat is not yours no matter what you’ve done. Today is a new day.

Serena Woods, Grace is for Sinners

She always asks me, “You and me forever, right mom?” I assure her that yes, indeed, it’s me and her, forever.

We all want to belong to someone, don’t we?

It’s easy as a single parent to sometimes feel like I belong to no one. My daughter, she’s at home in my heart. But me? I feel the loneliness creep in with a heavy silence, long after the child’s play and songs have gone quiet into the night.

Confession: I snuck out of church a few weeks ago. I stepped off stage from leading worship, and when all greetings stopped, all backs were turned and all eyes were looking forward, I took my exit to the door and found a brick wall on which to sit. Sometimes I can’t handle all the couples coupling up. All the seats taken. All the places I feel unwanted or don’t belong. Sometimes it all feels a lot worse than it actually is, and when it does, I need to get fresh air and clear my head.

photo source: weheartit

And it was that kind of morning.

Outside on the city streets, I didn’t feel as alone as I did inside a room of several hundred people.  I don’t know if I can blame it on being single, divorced, being in a city without any family around, being friends with lots of couples, or what. I don’t think I should blame it on anything really. It just is. And every so often, it feels like I no longer belong anywhere, with anyone, to anything.

Even Mother Theresa said — “The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved.”

So I sat on the brick wall outside of church, and watched the cars, the people, the city move on a brisk Sunday morning, and tried to regain some control back on my emotionally spiraling heart. I moped, really. I gave God the silent treatment, and let the tears flow.

As I did so, a woman wearing ragged clothes and no shoes passed slowly by in her wheelchair, and stopped in front of the other church that sits right next door to ours.

She rolled to the front of their steps and began shouting at the closed, metal doors.

“Hey! Hey! Anyone still there? Hey!” Her voice echoed off the stone building, and no one gave a glance, except for me it seemed. I watched her wheel to the side of the building, and she continued to shout vehemently, banging on the side door with no response. I knew what was coming. I felt the awkwardness seep under my skin. She turned to me.

“Hey you! Will you go in there? They have food for me and I’m late.” I hopped off the brick wall and walked toward her. She continued, “I blew a wheel out this morning,” she gestures toward one of the front wheels on her motorized wheelchair. “Another guy in a wheelchair helped but now I’m late. Will you go in and ask if they still have my food?” Food that they give to the hungry. Bakery leftovers. Day-old rolls.

“Yeah,” I said and walked up the steps, into the inner city church. A man brought me to the basement, grumbling about how the woman outside was almost too late, and “lucky for her”, handed me a few bags of food and sent me on my way. After delivering the food back to the woman on the street, she gave thanks: “God blessed me today. On behalf of me and my daughter, thank you. Thank you.” And she went on her way.

And like a ton of bricks, the Lord cut to the quick of my selfish, self-centered heart. As if he wanted to quickly answer my teary-eyed questioning of, “God, I don’t feel like I belong to anyone.”

“You belong to me,” He said. Fast. Fierce. Jolting me on the city sidewalk, and causing that familiar lump to rise in my throat. I felt the closeness of a kinsman redeemer, reminding me that my place is with Him.

You belong to me which means sometimes your seat is not among your peers and friends. Sometimes it’s on city sidewalks. Sometimes, even when you think you’re running away from me, you’re actually running toward me.
You belong to me which means the people I love are the people you love. The ones who belong to me, should belong to you too.

It’s amazing to me how in a moment when I wanted to use my sorrow as a defense against openness and community, God wanted to use it as an inroad to brokenness and humility. I made my way back indoors to my church family, and looked around. The belonging I ached for wasn’t a person, or a chair, or a face. It was that steady, Gospel-truth reminder that I’ve been bought with a price that I cannot repay. That in all of this life, I belong to something, Someone greater. My soul ached for something, and I labeled it loneliness with my flesh, but it really was disbelief in my position in Christ. I didn’t need back-patting encouragement; I needed Gospel-realignment.

This morning my daughter asks me again if we’re a family. “Yes love, we are.” 

“We belong to eachother, right?” she says wistfully. And I say yes, feeling my heart creak open to the reminder again that we are His. Our words. Our stories. Our seats. Our homes. We belong to Him. The kinsman redeemer. The one who places us within our boundary lines. The one who builds families, answers prayers, and also binds up broken hearts and leaves the 99 for the one.

We belong to Him.

photo credit 

I haven’t had much time for writing in the past few weeks.  Let me rephrase that–I haven’t made time for writing in the past few weeks.  This fact caused me to experience a range of emotions.  At first I was annoyed, then I moved to frustration, and finally to acceptance.  My “no” to writing paved the way for “yes” to others.  I baked Christmas cookies which I hadn’t done in years.  I finished reading a book that had been riding with me, its pages calling to be read for a few months at least.  At this point, I look at my blog and am completely overwhelmed.  I know, the writing chick at Allume and she hasn’t written anything lately.  I know.  Last week I wrote a post here at Allume and it somehow disappeared into thin air and you know what?  I didn’t rewrite it.  Obviously it was one of those posts that I only needed to write for me.  No one else needed to see it.

Sometimes our writing is exactly that–for us.  Writing ultimately starts with us; at the crossroads of our experience, at the peak of our pain, at the diverging road in the wood–our writing begins with us.  Most often it helps another person and the penned words foster community, camaraderie, and solidarity, but it begins with the writer.  

Yesterday I was chatting with Trina and I confessed that I have no clue what to write about.  It’s not a case of writer’s block, per se.  It’s more like I have no idea where to start.  This is testament that we all get stuck at times.  Every.Single.One.of.Us.  

She suggested writing about one of my passions.  Plopping my bottom in a chair and going for it; writing until the words run dry.  It doesn’t matter if the finished product leads to a blog post.  It’s about the words and the thought and the process from brain to cellulose (or computer screen).  It’s about the practice.  Practice.  Practice.

 What’s one passion of yours and could you, would you write about it until the words run dry?

What tips and tricks help you when you feel stuck with your writing?

I love Christmas gifts, but this year the greatest *new* gifts I received were given to me a few months before Christmas. For me 2012 was a year of connecting my heart with hundreds of other women with the same passion(s) as me: loving God, writing, and being a wife/mom.

I thought I was unique, but being around a group of amazing women at the Allume Conference, I turned to a friend and said, “I think I found my people.” When God formed me with His hands, He must have liked the cookie cutter He used . . . because I’ve met 100+ amazing women this year who appear to me to have a similar shape. And it impacted me greatly. It’s still impacting me greatly.

Here is my journal entry that I wrote on the return flight from the Allume conference:

I’m coming back from Allume spiritually charged. Why? Was it the speakers? Well, the keynotes and session talks that I attended were great, but that’s not the reason. It was the women. Heart-full-of-love women who have ministry hearts. Who believe they can make a difference. Who aren’t wrapped up in the publication process (not mostly) but who speak truth and encouragement to hearts on a daily basis.

These women are kindred spirits with Hudson Taylor, George Mueller and Amy Carmichael. Who want to share Jesus and help people . . . but they’re not packing up their bags and heading to Africa to do it. (Well, not always.) They’re sitting at home, pouring a cup of coffee, and then pouring out their hearts into blogs while their children play in the yard or tumble on the crumb-covered couch. (At least mine is crumb-covered.) A missionary heart is not hindered by ten loads of laundry, piano lessons, and a bad hair day. 

These blogger mamas are concerned, too, about how the sacrifice for the call will affect their families. (Just like any missionary should be.) They’re concerned that their online ministry will ruin their kids. Concern is a good thing. It is evidence of their care. Concern turns them to God. Concern leads to prayer, which is exactly where they should be—on their knees. 

But they should not be concerned about being a missionary mama. What better example can they provide for their kids? None. The missionary’s role is to share Jesus and truth with whomever God puts in their path. For missionary-blogger-mamas this starts with their kids. 

Thank you, Jesus, for these kids—our kids. They are our first love and our first disciples. I also pray for for missionary-blogger-mamas, who give themselves for the glory of God. As they spread your Word, we trust that it will not return void and that both distant readers and close relatives will be touched, inspired, and forever changed.

And if you are a missionary-blogger-mama (like icing on a gingerbread man) here is God’s stamp of approval for you.

God says: “ You are beautiful, talented, highly favored, unique, planned, desired, known, loved, seen … MINE.”

The branches can almost fool me as I gaze at them from across the room.  Yet another Christmas with a fake Christmas tree and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  As a child I’d anticipate opening the attic door and smelling the mix of must, dust, and a myriad of other unidentifiable scents that mingled in the space over our porch.  The tree was older, larger, and well loved.  We’d carry it down the stairs bit by bit and eventually deck it out with all the normal trimmings.  

I don’t remember much about the stringing of the lights, but the ornaments are burned into my memory.  Ours was a tree that would never be featured in any decorating catalog.  Replete with handmade school crafts and mementos from my parents’ travels abroad the tree told a story in which every ornament was a chapter.  

Of course there were the “baby’s first Christmas” ornaments (years 1985 and 1987) which always caused a small disagreement as I had two ornaments and my brother only had one.  I always told him it was because I was the firstborn.  And a girl.  Don’t worry, he got me back when he became a Marine and he gets an 11×14 picture of himself on my dad’s mantel whilst my family and I get a mere 4×6. (no resentment here…no, really, it’s all in jest, but I digress).  The few antique ornaments hang high above where little hands can reach them.  They refract the lights creating beams of red, yellow, and blue.  My obsessive self makes sure they hang in  the order of the Christmas story–the shepherds first, the nativity second, and the wise men third.  We can’t have things out of order now, can we?  

A golden Rudolph hangs, his bright red nose sparkling.  He was a gift from my sitter when I was younger reminding me of days spent playing and the many excuses I used to think up to try to negotiate naptime.  There are macaroni picture frames and handprints traced.  

I stood in the aisle this Christmas at Wal-Mart and survey the many many different ornament sets…brights, chocolates, all white–part of me wants the pretty tree, the picturesque one with the matching ornaments, but where’s the story in that?  Instead I’m going to have my tree with its handmade clashing colors and mismatched ornaments that each tell a chapter, a story.

What story does your tree tell?

photo credit

the words “authentic” and “real” are fun little buzzwords in the blogging community. as writers and community leaders it’s safe to say that we strive for authenticity and truth in our writing and our interactions with our readers. where’s the line, though?

at what point do we draw the line and say “i will not write about this”?

earlier this year, at Allume the following question was posed during the writer’s lab in which Mary DeMuth, Denise Eide, Sarah Markleyand I all spoke. i can’t speak for the other ladies or share their opinions on the matter, but i wanted to address this question here.

what advice would you give to someone that wants to share their personal testimony, but comes from a “private” family?

first of all, your life is your life. i do, however understand being mindful of others involved in the story. i’m divorced. i have to be quite sensitive about what i write pertaining to the divorce online for the following two reasons: one, my ex-husband is still their dad and i don’t want them reading details online. secondly, i have no right to speak badly about another person which leads into my next point.

Mary DeMuth talked briefly about the fact that when she wrote her memoir, she told it from a child’s point of view instead of pointing fingers. she relayed her experience as she experienced it. (Mary, correct me if i’m wrong on how i explained that.)

honestly, there’s a lot that i don’t write about on my blog. i can be authentic, meaning i’m truthful and honest and i tell it like it is without telling you bluntly about every little detail of my life. i did not write about my divorce or separation while i was going through it. i mentioned being a single mom in my posts and some of my friends and loyal readers picked up on it and cared enough to email me to inquire about it, but other than that, people skimmed right over it. now that the divorce is finalized, i can finally feel free to blog a bit more about it. that happens to me quite frequently.

rarely do i blog about something that i’m experiencing WHILE i’m in the midst of it. more often i process it after the fact by writing about it.

most of all, i want to give you permission. permission to write, to process, and to eventually publish if that’s what you think you should do. just because you write something doesn’t mean you need to publish it. i’d begin by writing your testimony. you might want to have your husband and another trusted mentor read it. then pray about it. if you are getting the go-ahead on all fronts, then by all means publish it. it is your story. be sure you publish it mindfully and check your motives. the point of a testimony is glory to God for what He did, not an opportunity to publicly vilify or shame a third party.

so that’s my answer.

what do you think? how do you handle sharing your personal testimony or experiences when you come from a private family or your story involves others? i’d love to hear your thoughts.

happy weekend,

KJ Tanner

It doesn’t take much to look at life and pick out the negative; the grotesque.  Pain, suffering, death and despair don’t lurk in the shadows, no, they hover near our faces, sit down at our dinner table and pad through our hallways as if they belong.  With negativity at such an all time high it doesn’t take a keen eye to focus on the dreary, the despondent wallowing of our lives.  It is the lazy soul who wallows and rolls in the mire of our condition.

 It takes a much more controlled and aware, might I say mindful one to find the streak of hope, the burst of sunshine, the one, minute inkling of something better.  It’s not that the good isn’t present, it’s only whether or not we have trained our sight to focus like a laser onto the good.

 Mindfulness is a new topic to me–a new practice.  Before you run for the hills, let me rephrase that to read living in the moment.  Recently at a conference I mentioned mindfulness by encouraging my audience to close their eyes and consciously become aware of their surroundings–of the chair beneath them, of their feet on the semi-plush carpet. 

 The same practice can enable us to appreciate our lives even more.  Does this examination of the good drown out the bad?  Does it negate the injustice? By no means, but it does supply hope in an ever-wanting world. 

 So here’s to the one day reprieve in between the apocalypse of the stomach bug in a house of four kids.  Here’s to short runs and hot showers and three pages read while the children aren’t waging the next world war between themselves.  Here’s to the silver lining, the plush carpet, the heated car, and the warm blanket at night….

Have you ever practiced mindfulness? How has it helped you? 

 Today be mindful of your surroundings.  Take note of the floor under your feet, the cold wind biting at your cheeks, the sloppy toddler’s kiss.  The memory will only add to the reservoir of experience from which to draw when you are writing.

                             Hoping you have a lovely weekend,

                      k. j. tanner

@kjtanner

i’ve been thinking about this quote ever since i found it hiding on the interwebs. saying that i’m thankful for my creativity almost sounds narcissistic. let’s rephrase that, though, ‘thank you for giving me the ability to create…’ thank you for giving them whoever them might be the ability to create in the way they do.

one of my professors once said that true enjoyment of a concerto is when one can sit back, listen to it and at the end not wish that they were in turn able to do the same.

to read a blog post and not wish to recreate it. instead to give props. mad props when due. not that we can’t learn from our peers. not that we can’t aspire to improve, to be better, but to recognize that we are on a journey and that talent displayed that we so envy did not appear overnight–it was honed.

to read a post and appreciate the hours spent pondering and crafting, editing and the bravery to finally press publish to listen to the music and understand the hours of practice, the many, many wrong notes hammered upon until the sum of which debuts as a masterpiece. to look at a person meeting their fitness goals and know that in this moment we can’t and don’t know where they started.

appreciating the end result intertwines itself with a respect of the blood, sweat, tears and sacrifice it took to get to the place they’re at today. to admire and recognize that each of us, whether it be with words, our hands, a brush, a pencil, our voices, our bodies, whatever way we create, a facet of the Creator shows through.perhaps He is brought into better focus through our creations.

we create first and foremost for Him. then we create for us. i inscribe on pages what speaks to my heart, what mends me, what casts me into despair–but it’s amazing how when i thought i was writing for me, it turns out to help someone else.

we break bread when we create. we spend time stirring together an amalgamation of emotion and thought; opinion and experience. then we break it out of its box and feed it to the world even if that world is just one person who reads it or watches it.

creating always evokes emotion of some sort. hate, anger, fear, angst, happiness, uneasiness, and impetus of such to move to action whether it be outward or inward. i’m starting to practice Chesterton’s quote because it makes me take heed.

take heed of the sacrifice, take heed of the finished product. to say, you are not where you started and sometimes the person that needs to hear that the most is me.

what’s your favorite way to create?

with love, kjtanner

redefining awesome

Get Ready.

The #Allume Conference is about to become a force for real Light living.

#wearethunder #anewthing

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; 

now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? 

I will make a way in the wilderness 

and rivers in the desert. “

Isaiah 43:19

.   .   .

Photo Credit: Storm Clouds In Arches National Park

photo credit

Memories that don’t include the desire to write down a story elude me.  The earliest that I can pinpoint exactly what I wrote is when I nine.  There are two choices between desks; an olive green or a drab yellow.  Neither inspire creativity or ingenuity.  Even so when we trade desks every other month I still race to sit at the green.  I’ve never been a fan of yellow.

A prairie story went to the competition that year.  The title is forgotten, the characters a mass of muddy water, but the pig–I remember the pig.  Her name was Maurecia.  In sixth grade I wrote a six page poem based off the computer game “Heroes of Might and Magic” which my dad, brother, and I played with abandon.  That was a poem of which I was extremely proud and my teacher actually lauded me with a much coveted, “Well done.”

That same year I wrote about washing dishes.  It’s also the first time I found my ‘voice’.  This voice would elude me for years as I tried to mold my writing to please others, say what they wanted me to say, get the good grade.  That day, though when instead if documenting a point by point how-to essay on washing dishes I crafted a sarcastic satirical jab back at the inanity of sticking one’s hands in dirty water swirling with bits of food, I found my voice.  I found a piece of me that no one could take away.

As time progressed my writing hid itself in journals and pads of paper impressed with ink of multiple colors and textures.  As my writing became more conversational, revolving around my schoolwork, my aspirations, my crushes, I wrote out all that “stuff” and unknowingly improved my ability to write for longer periods of time as well as word counts.  If you were to read those journals you would probably see teenage angst and nothing worth publishing, but I look at the and see practice. Practice. Practice.

His name was Nick Jones and he asked us to call him Nick.  None of this professor jones nonsense with him.   The house of sand and fog was required reading.  I waded my rear end through it and dragged my feet as far behind me as humanly possible.  What better way to show my disdain for this book than to hit it with a dose of Kristina’s in appropriately sarcastic writing.  I know, right? How could I go wrong?  The paper written I finished it and turned it in resigned to the fact that I would indeed be happy just to pass. 

This was back when term papers literally meant “paper”; tangible, fibrous cellulose marked up with ink.  I received my paper back and there were the words I will take with me to my grave because they changed my life.  “You have talent.  You need to hone this.  Take some writing classes.”

It was the first time someone believed in my writing and valued my words enough to encourage me to spend time improving them.  I didn’t take his advice until later, but he is still the person who first encouraged me to unearth the buried artist inside of me and unleash her arsenal of words.

Thanks, Nick.

Who has influenced your writing or encouraged you to write more??

Friends, link-up your Allume posts here so we can all read them! 

Hey everyone!!

We are going to be having a marriage and blogging panel at the conference featuring four couples (Tsh & Kyle, Nester and Chad Smith, Crystal and Jesse Paine, & Jessica and Jordan Heights) on Saturday. They will be discussing questions that YOU ask, with regards to marriage and blogging and how it all fits in the balance of life.

This is an opportunity for you to ask any questions YOU have regarding this topic. But we need your questions now.

So, if you have a question you would like answered during this panel, please leave it in the comments. Thank you!!!

photo credit

Husbands, hack your wife’s blog!

Write a post or post a vlog of how the blogging community and/or the Allume conference has impacted your wife for good, then link it up below! We will pick one husband from the link-up to win an iPad! Your wife will bring it home to you from the conference!

Here is an example of what to do!

Have fun!

You may only enter if your wife is attending the Allume 2012 conference. Entries must be in by Tuesday the 23rd.

I have a seven inch scar that stretches from the top of my left hip and down. It’s the reminder that I was born with a broken body. Sometimes, it feels like a stinging reminder that something wasn’t complete when I entered this world. Sometimes it reminds me that miracles happen through the careful hands of doctors and low-hanging surgical lights.

Then there’s the scar that sits dime-sized in the middle of my shin. An excited summer child running through a dark field, tripping on a big-revival-tent spoke. Legs marked by tree limbs, beach skirmishes, bicycles spinning wildly out of control somewhere around the bend in our middle driveway. Dots and lines of scars on my knees from sports injuries, slipped kneecaps, lacrosse in my junior year gone wrong.

I am marked with scars of life. I can remember looking at my friends unscathed legs, realizing that they would grow to have the legs of women that men marveled at. I would never have those legs. I would have the legs of a girl who was broken when she arrived, broken when she ran, broken when she fell, broken when she lived.

These are the things that sometimes cross my mind when I am changing and I feel the tension of skin against scar. I am always measuring my beauty against experience, and sometimes wishing my experience hadn’t stolen so much of who I could have been. And they’re not just on my legs. But I feel them in my heart too. All sorts of scars that make me wonder if my beauty and story is forever marred by the gashes.

I don’t know what Eve looked like on the outside, but I know when she took that fruit, she ripped a scar from her heart down the lineage line to my own. And that’s the one I’m most aware of.

photo by Kristen Rae Photography

I’m tempted to hide these scars, like her. With leaves. With lies. By flashing you a smile and an “A-Ok” attitude before you get a glimpse into how broken I sometimes feel. I cover them, sprawling my fingers wide along jagged edges I can’t conceal.

But these scars? If I trace them, they become lifelines. Stories. Reminders of healing. Reminders of lessons learned. Reminders of protection, foolishness, helplessness. I trace my finger along these white lines and feel the pulse of redemption. There in my heart too, I trace. I see that all things come back together for good.

The best kind of healing is the kind that happens fully, completely. What’s left behind is not a mistake. It’s a reminder that God came near, and His grace took over when everything could have been abandoned. I feel a sense of camaraderie to Jacob, and his limp, and knowing that God comes close and lets us wrestle, and then leaves us changed. 

So as we grow in relationships, friendships, at home or wherever we find ourselves comparing perfect shiny legs and bandaged, bruised hearts, remember that the things that break us are the very things that tell the story of our Rescue. Christ is taking all these broken pieces and making us into something we didn’t expect.

And we can trace these lifelines with our fingers and whisper thanks.

Mama was solid. Unchanging with seasons or my emotional upheavals.

She wasn’t glamorous, though she was beautiful. She wasn’t someone to admire from afar, she was the one you wanted to stand closer to and share life with.

We lived in Alaska at a tiny Bible School and my parents were in charge of the Student Ministries team. Mama made the role sparkle. 

She sang the “Chiquita Banana” song while standing on a table in the middle of dinner, while everyone else rolled on the floor laughing. She would dress up and acquire outrageous accents, sing hysterical made-up lyrics to popular songs and bring down the house with her stories and jokes.

I wasn’t much like my Mama. I loved her. I always wanted her around. But my personality was so vastly different that I knew I would never be able to step into her role. 

So instead, I created another, different, “better” role to fill. I devised a sophisticated, tall (I really was tall for my age at one point in my life) non-frizzy haired, model Christian that existed only in my head (or at a great distance).

Mama would whisper things to me at times. Things about God calling us to not fear and about using gifts and not burying them in hopes of something different. I didn’t always listen very well.

At some point along the way, I came to a few startling realizations:

• número uno: I’m too short to be tall and sophisticated. I’m 5’3 and will forever be 5’3 (or shorter as I age, I suppose)
• número dos: While I’m capable of straightening my hair and pulling off a Pantene-commercial style for a night or two– my hair is, and always will be, wild. Curls that zing and snap and frizz right up in humidity.
• número tres: It’s true that I’m not my mom. I don’t sing goofy songs (very often) and I don’t dance on tables (at least almost never).  But I do have my own funny quirks. I can tell outrageous stories about ridiculous things that I’ve done or noticed other people doing. And I can drop down to the level of any child in the room and convince them that I’m the most fun ever with a few winks and handfuls of dirt.  (Sophistication just doesn’t match stained clothes and stories about that one time that I decided to face off with the new heifer and ended up on my backside in the manure pit.)

The truth is that even though I heard from the time I was little, God made me unique, I still doubted and still felt that I needed to measure up to something else. 

And another truth has become glaringly clear: it’s all about fear. 

The only reason I want to look a certain way, or be perceived a certain way, is because I fear what people will think of the real me. What if a quirky short girl with frizzy hair isn’t someone anyone will like? What if people look at me and find me childish or immature or [fill in whatever fear you may be battling]?

I keep going back to the verses that Mama quoted. In 1 Peter 3 there is talk of the things that make women lovely in the sight of God. The chapter that talks about beauty not coming from outward things but from the heart. And Sarah, of old, who was beautiful because of obedience. And then. It’s the verse that Mama repeated over and over into my ear.

“You are [Sarah’s] daughters if you do what is right and do not give way to fear.” (I Peter 3:6)

I will never be able to fill anyone’s shoes but my own and I will never be confidant or content unless I am walking in obedience to Christ. In obedience, I am beautiful and I have no reason to fear. 

It can be easier, at times, to hide behind a computer screen. Especially for writers. And in the stepping out– fear can appear in full force. The enemy would like nothing more than to keep you cowering or trying to be something different than what you were created to be.

I won’t make it to Allume this year (Amazingly, there isn’t anyone begging to do barn chores for me. It’s like they don’t trust their cow-fighting skills or something.) but my prayer for all of you who are going is simple: be obedient to Christ and be real. 

Everyone will love you, I promise.

And I’ll be expecting all kinds of wonderful stories and pictures (and if anyone knows the Chiquita Banana song, well…).

by, Natasha

Darcy, our fabtastic Allume photographer, will be doing professional headshots for $35 on Thursday and Friday of Allume weekend.  All proceeds from the headshots will be donated to the non-profit organizations represented at Allume!

The tickets for the headshots will be available for sale here on Tuesday, October 16th, starting at 9:00pm EST.  You’ll be able to choose between Thursday and Friday afternoons when you purchase your ticket, and will select a time slot for your head shot when you register at Allume.

Grab your ticket here!

Fabulous Allume attendees –  I’m talking to you!! 😀

Have you ever been talking to someone at a conference and thought, “wow, she seems familiar…but I don’t recognize her?”  Then, you hear her blog title or twitter name, and have a face-palm moment?  Don’t feel bad!  It happens to the best of us!

To avoid face-palming ourselves all weekend, we need you to enter your information on this Google Document, so that we can make sure your nametag tells us who you really are!  {Especially if you purchased your ticket under your husband’s name – we want to call you by your name, not his! :P}

Click here to enter your information.  It will be printed exactly as you enter it, so make sure to include what you want us to know!  🙂 

All information must be entered by Saturday, October 20th!

Ok gals, go, go, go!!!

~The Allume Team

Oh my word!  It’s a month away!  Allume is a month away!  Also known as get-your-butt-in-high-gear time!

This year, I’m excited to announce that among all things wonderfully, fabulously Allume, the food is going to be great!  Or at least, the menus are thus far!  We’ve received some questions regarding food allergies and preferences and I wanted to take a sec to address those questions and concerns.

We will be doing our best to accomodate food allergies and preferences.  Now, if you’re just plain picky, I’m gonna say…you should be able to find things you will like, but if you don’t eat meat or fruit or veggies or rice or grains….I have no clue what to ask the hotel what to fix for you.  Should you find yourself though among those who may be gluten-free, dairy-free, vegetarian, vegan, or nut allergic, we need to know who you are to make sure we take good care of you.  If you have other food issues that we need to address, please let us know those as well.

Because we need to give the hotel advance notice for menu planning (as well as keeping track of it ourselves), we’re going to give you until midnight on Friday October 5th to inform us of your food needs.  Send an email to Christin at allume dot com detailing your dietary restrictions.  Please include clear language if you are dairy-free, gluten-free, nut-free, vegan, or vegetarian so that we can easily put you into some categories and serve you well.  If you do not get us the information by midnight on the 5th, I make no guarantees regarding your food situation.  Basically, in the words of Jerry McGuire….”Help me, help you!”  Get us the info we need, and we’ll work hard to get you the food that you need!

If you think you may be hungry outside of mealtimes and have dietary restrictions, I’d suggest bringing a few snacks to keep around as well. 

And once we’re all happily congregating and hanging out at Allume, if you have food questions, concerns, complaints, whatever….I’m your girl.  So….problems about food…talk to Logan.  Concerns with food….talk to Logan.  Questions about the food….talk to Logan.  Raves about the fact that there will be plenty of green vegetables and no ginormous piles of dry shaved beef…you can bring those to me too!

So remember, dietary info to Christin at allume dot com by midnight on Friday, Oct 5th!  Look forward to seeing you all at Allume!

Image Source

There are a few things you need to be prepared for this year at Allume…

Shuttle

There is a shuttle from the airport to the hotel, but it costs $12. You will want to make sure you have cash because you will pay the driver. You will also need $12 to get a ride back to the airport when you leave the hotel. You will need to call the shuttle service when you arrive in Harrisburg; the number is: (717) 233-6000.

Parking

If you drive to the conference, you can park in the parking garage that is right next to the Hilton. It costs $10/night (that is the discount rate if you stay at the hotel). 

Books

This year we have a book table where you can purchase books from the Allume speakers who are also authors. You can use cash or check to buy the books.

Dude Room

This year we also have a “dudes room” where any husbands or, you know, Darren, can hang out when they want some testosterone time. Think recliners and football.

Baby Room

We also have a mamas and babies room this year that will have a changing table, comfy couches, and toys for the babes to play with. This room is close to the ballroom and we will have an audio feed to it from the ballroom so you can hear the speakers if you need to leave the ballroom.

That’s all for now! Can’t wait to see you in 31 Days!!!!!!!!!

You’d think that the map of one’s own heart would be well-traveled and as familiar as a favorite book, pages curled over, browned in some spots.  The mottling of the ink from dark coffee mixed with tears of both joy and despair spreading rampant across the parchment masking the events that caused their welling, their pouring, their eventual drying.  To look at one’s own heart is to see where one has been.  It cannot tell you where you are going.  

Obsidian obelisks remind of pain and waterfalls of tears cascade about them, but then there are the hills, the place where they said I’d find you.  They were right.  I found you on the hills, where foliage gives way to craggy rock and the air goes thin making my chest heave with the exertion and gasp for life-giving oxygen.  ‘Twas on the hills that we first met and my hand clasped to yours and I said I’d follow.  It wasn’t until the valleys though, that I began to know you.  

No, it wasn’t on the hills where my soul soared and I ran to dive off the side and wait for you to catch me.  No, it was in the valleys…in those dark places where the muck stank of dirt and rot, of the dead and hopeless that I began to know you.  It wasn’t until my chest cavity was carved out and with only a dull ache to remind me of what used to be that I finally understood just a little bit of what it means to be emptied.  So there, dizzied, wandering, not sure in which direction I should plant my next step, there did I turn to you.  Palms outstretched, plans marred, feet blistered with the desperation of my plans gone awry I offered to you all the bad I could see, all the good I didn’t know and asked you to point me, to lead me, to tell me where to go.

And so the compass rose leads.  This cartographer with His tools sketching out lines and landmarks; routes that I have yet to know their names with individuals I have yet to meet.  All I must do is follow.  One foot in front of the other. 

-Kristina @kjtanner

Redefining Awesome

“Only if you have been in the deepest valley, can you ever know how magnificent it is to be on the highest mountain.” — Richard M. Nixon

As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good ol’ way
And who shall wear the robe and crown?
Good Lord show me the way

O sisters, let’s go down
Let’s go down, come on down
O sisters, let’s go down
Down in the river to pray

I don’t know what it is for me about old, old gospel songs, but I love them. They’ve been on my brain lately for some reason too.  A link to the past perhaps…of faiths that ran deep in times that skewed hard.  Maybe it’s the obvious trust of a good Papa that covered doubt in the dark places, and confidence of old in the goodness of our Father to provide….to be who He says he is.  Whatever it is that lures me to these old songs….I do hope in our current times of thumping drums and electric guitars that we don’t forget entirely the faith or songs of old.

Some very special friends of mine threw a love feast for me last week to celebrate my birthday.  I can honestly say it was my most favorite birthday celebration ever.  They each brought gifts for me that meant something to them.  They weren’t allowed to buy anything, but rather, the gift had to be something that the Lord impressed upon each of them for me from their own homes.  They shared words of knowledge and of encouragement that the Lord had given them as they shared the gifts.  Ya’ll….it was incredible.  Words about who I am and who they see me becoming.  Boy….it was so unbelievably special!

One of my friends gave me a pin that was new, but fashioned to look vintage.  It had been given as a gift to her some time ago, and she said that when she was asking the Lord what to give me, it seemed to jump out at her.  She talked about how just as I wear a vintage piece, she sees that I wear the testimonies of the past as precious jewels to share as well.  That I value the past, and the things of old.  Funny enough, I’d just responded with similar words the day before to a comment on last week’s devotional that I wrote.  The idea had been shared to “learn it, log it, and leave it” with regards to moving forward in faith.  While I understand the original intent of that particular statement, I’m not so sure that I agree.

Here’s some of what I’d said in response…“As far as learning, logging, and leaving, I get that…but I think we have to make sure to take with us the nuggets of wisdom gained from each experience … It’s remembering the blessings now and calling them back into existence….the knowing and recalling the goodness of the Lord…it’s the power of the testimony to remind us that what has been done before can be done again.”

I went back a couple of days ago ya’ll to a post I wrote on my own blog in March of this year, the day we lost Fisher.  Can I tell you that 6 months later, it felt almost foreign to read the very words that I penned?!  They’re my words alright, but where I sit now is so much different from where I sat then.  Sure there’s still pain, but from this place, I see tremendous growth too.  I can’t just log it and leave it….I have to take from it too.  We leave the past, but what is a testimony of the present without the guts of our past?  I don’t think we’re supposed to live looking backwards, but I believe that with the knowledge of what’s behind, our moving forward becomes that much more powerful.  Our testimonies become that much richer with a clear picture of what preceeded our growth.  When we reach the top of a mountain, our success is greater when we can see the path from whence we came.

I started looking for thoughts people have had about climbing mountains.  I’ve done some decent hikes in my life and enjoyed the benefit of views from the top after grueling climbs to get there, but I wanted to see what experienced mountaineers think about the process.  There’s often wisdom to be gained from people who are experts at something in the natural that we can apply to our relationships with the Lord.  I just love this quote that I found.  (Just fyi, the guy who said this was not a believer in Christ. Just goes to show that the Lord can and will use all things for his glory!)

“You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.”  — Rene Daumal

There is power in testimony….the power in the knowing that from whence the Lord has brought us, he can do again!  That we move forward and remember what was behind, but we also remember the goodness of the Lord along these places in our past.  We treasure the past to make greater the fruits of the future.

            You make known to me the path of life;
      in your presence there is fullness of joy;
      at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.  ~ Ps 16:11

            He leads me beside still waters.
            He restores my soul.
                  He leads me in paths of righteousness
      for his name’s sake.
            Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
      I will fear no evil,
                  for you are with me;
      your rod and your staff,
      they comfort me.  ~ Ps 23:2–4

            All the paths of the LORD are steadfast love and faithfulness,
      for those who keep his covenant and his testimonies.  ~ Ps 25:10

And just for fun….close your eyes and listen to this song.  What way do you need Him to show you today?

Image Source

I wait for something epic.  

Something worthwhile to share.  When it doesn’t I’m stuck wondering what it is I’m supposed to write on the is screen.  

Honestly, there is always something about which to write and more often than not, it’s not epic.  Instead, it’s mundane.  It’s the everyday that we remember–that draw’s us into one another’s lives with a call of “you too” and “It’s not just me.”  

My only advice when this occurs is to pick up your head.  

Spin around 360 degrees and make note of everything within ten feet of you.  There will be something to write about.  

I spin now and I see my work area, cluttered and full, replete with paperwork, projects unfinished and schedules.  The white and wood island stands stately in the middle of the kitchen.  I’m so proud of it because my neighbor set it out for free and I totally carried it across the road with the help of my babysitter.  It’s  a monument to the free gift of an island when I had prayed for one.  

“You have to surrender to the act of writing, give up to it, trust that if you have anything, it will discover it for you.”  – E. L. Doctorow

I scrawled that quote onto my wall smearing paint with “wipe-off” markers that are now indelibly engraved on my wall.  To offer up, to surrender to write, to trust in our words–it can be so scary, but then again, any action that involves trust requires an action of bravery.

So today, ladies.  Be brave.

Write.

Can’t think of what to write?  Turn in a circle.  Then tell me what’s inside your circle.

First and foremost, I write for me.  I put fingers to keys and more preferably, pen to paper because if I don’t I would be one more step towards crazy.  I must write.  Even if it is just a list of what I did during the day, my brain needs to have the outlet of recording something.

The desire to write, and write well is lodged deep within my heart.  I remember the day I decided I wanted to be a writer and I also can look back and see how that dream was crushed, buried, and pushed aside.  So now, I write because I know it is my calling and to deny that would be tragic.

A few weeks ago I was speaking with an extremely talented friend of mine.  At one point she took up a hobby, let’s say it was painting.  She ate, slept and breathed painting and even started looking at schools to attend to improve her skill.  Then one day, someone very important to her said these words, “You’ll never be able to make it in art school.”  My friend packed up her oils and pastels, her easels and smocks and has yet to pick up another brush.  Her talent is gone because one very important person didn’t think before she spoke.

I tell that story not to just drive home the point of thinking before you speak, but to also remind myself that one human’s opinion of me or my work cannot define my art or my craft.  The only person that can define it is Jesus.

Now, while I knew I wanted to be a writer from early on, I didn’t star a blog three years ago with the idea that I was fulfilling my calling. Instead I started a blog as a way to not go crazy while I was pregnant with my third child in less than four years.  To look back on that, I might have already been crazy.  No, I just started writing because I didn’t know what else to do.  Everything else fell into place after that.

Today’s Challenge:  I’d love to hear how you started blogging and what your dream for your writing is.  No dream is too big or small.  None of this, “I started blogging because I was bored.  The end.”  No, craft a story.  Make it interesting.  Make me understand why you worry yourself silly about things like SEO, grammar, and why we all just don’t give up?

Subscribe to our feed via RSS or e-mail to have our posts delivered to your inbox for free.

When we write, we tend to get overly focused on output and forget the need for input.  We generate content, we write posts, we brainstorm ideas, and write, write, write.  The focal point of our craft is output, but if you keep up a constant stream of output for too long while forsaking the input.  Don’t underestimate the need to replenish your thoughts and renew your perspective.  A fresh point of view is invaluable.

If you are going to be writing with any regularity, you must be reading with even more regularity.  That doesn’t mean that you have to finish a book.  It also doesn’t mean that you have to read fiction, or conversely, non-fiction.  I am just politely, yet strongly suggesting that you read something.  You don’t have to finish a book, or even an article, just read it.  Read it for the sake of injecting information into your brain and coaxing your imaginative neurons to once again fire away!

I’m not sure what you fancy as far as reading is concerned, but you do.  You know which books draw you in and make you update your Facebook status to “Just one more chapter turned into seven more and THE END!”

Today’s Challenge:  Today’s challenge is two-fold.  First of all, I’d like you to pick a book to read this week.  You don’t have to finish it by the end of the week.  Heck, I don’t even care if you ever finish it.  You aren’t reading to finish it, you are reading to refresh your brain and excite your perspective.  This week, I want you to commit to read for ten minutes a day.  It can be out of the same book, it can be articles in different magazines, whatever you want.  Just read.

For the second part of the challenge, I’d like you to write about one of your favorite books.  Why was it your favorite?  Which character stole your heart?  Perhaps the character made you cringe or caused you to ponder their actions.  Tell me all about it over in the Facebook group.

It’s only Day 20, which means we have ten days left to become better writers.  Subscribe via RSS or e-mail and our posts will be delivered directly to your inbox.

“Human beings need to tell stories. Historically, it’s the quickest way we have for transmitting useful information to other members of our species. Stories are not simply nice things to have; they are essential survival tools.   And yes, the stories we tell ourselves are just as important as the stories we tell other people.”

~Hugh MacLeod

Behind every woman is her past.  Ahead of her, a future wild and untamed, penned by the mighty hand of the Author of all time.

These pages are worth turning.

And yet, as we interact here in the online space, so little of a person can be discerned – can be known.  We see but a wavering reflection, the cover of her story, and if she’s open and willing, we get to skim the Cliff Notes.

We believe that every woman in the Allume community has a story worth telling – a story worth hearing.  That the Cliff Notes are wonderful, written from her heart and lovingly offered to us, but also, that the story God has given her to live and tell is gritty and arresting and complex and amazing – just as she is.

Each month, we will share such a story.  We will trace a cover with our fingers, smell the glue of the binding, hear the crinkle of pages turn as a brave and beautiful woman unclasps her heart and un-shelves a volume of her life.

We will tell our stories.

So, as we begin to delve into the treasures contained within you, the woman of the Allume community, we begin with a humorous anecdote from Mandy of Daily Cup Of Grace, the winner of the Allume ticket from our opening Twitter party.  As you will see, there is always something worthy of note {and in some cases, a knowing giggle} happening just below the surface.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In her own words, Mandy writes:

We are working behind the scenes cooking up all the goodness for you and we’ll be ready to go on Monday, March 5th. Come back then (or just subscribe via RSS or email and you won’t miss it)!

…

Photo Credit: Pink Feather

Time & Place:

The Twitter party will be at 9pm EST under hashtag #allume

Your Hosts (make sure to follow them!):

Sarah Mae using @allume and @sarahmae

Jessica @mutheringheight

Prizes (can I get a WOOT, WOOT!):

Three $50 gift codes to DaysSpring (yep, three winners!)

A 90 minute branding consultation with @kerrybural from Resonate Group (they helped prepare us for our launch, they can help you with your blog or business!)

A full DVD set of the What’s in the Bible series

A book bundle from Tyndale House

and…

A FREE conference pass to Allume Social!!!! HOLLA!

To join the party:

If you don’t already have a Twitter account, go ahead and sign up for one here (it’s free): Twitter.com

Now go to Tweetchat.com and where it says “enter hashtag to follow” put: allume (in order to tweet along with us, you’ll need to sign in – no worries, it’s free and easy)

—> How to Use Tweetchat for Parties

Helpful Resources:

What is a Twitter Party?

How to Successfully Navigate a Twitter Party

Tweet you tonight!

This is it, the day we’ve been counting down to! The big announcement!  It’s been hard to keep something this fantastic a secret, and now, we’re thrilled to let you all in on it! Here, grab a salted caramel mocha and get comfy (you’re among friends)…

Today is the day we launch the new name for Relevant and introduce you to the broader vision we have for the online space. First things first, the new name…

(ah-loom)

Light (in French…yes we took liberties with the pronunciation).

We love the Light, how He breaks into the dark places in our souls and makes new; He illuminates the beauty that reflects from Him. Oh it is so good! He is so good, and when we open ourselves up to His molding, we are then able to live out of His light. Allume is a community that encourages women in living out the Light in all their spheres of influence.

In the home, in their communities, and throughout the world.

The vision for Allume is to encourage, inspire and teach through articles, video, podcasts, and conferences. Speaking of conferences…

Why the name change? Turns out, “Relevant” is trademarked (I know, I know, we should have known!) and so we went to work searching for a new name that fit. We prayed and Googled and Trademark searched and prayed some more, and we landed on Allume and then Allume Social. We love it. It just rolls off the tongue and it perfectly describes what we’re about: Him, the Light of the world.

Now, there is no need to worry, everything you love about Relevant will be intact in Allume Social.  The heart and soul (the purpose and core values) of the conference will stay the same – the coffee, the connection, the heart bonding of kindred spirits – but now, the conference is a part of something much bigger.

To celebrate the launch of Allume and all it’s awesomeness, we’re hosting a Twitter party tonight at 9pm EST under the hashtag #allume!  There will be scads of prizes, proverbial cupcakes, and a FREE CONFERENCE PASS to Allume Social!!!!

Before you come, make sure to follow Allume on Twitter, and Like Allume on Facebook!

It’s going to be a blast, and we can’t wait to see you there!

(Check out our post on incourage today-goodness abounds!)

P.S. We’re still working out a few kinks here and there on the site; hang tight and hopefully everything will fall into place soon!

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