My name is Samantha and I am a writer based out of Raleigh, North Carolina.

My husband John and I spend our weekends together.  Our lack of internet or television, which has been more of a continuity of convenience than anything else, has come to benefit our hearts as well as our bank account.  The submergence into conviction has come over time, its voice soft and kind, not militant in restriction.  You know that feeling you have when you are on vacation somewhere remote, a place “frozen in time” as it were, a time less complicated and connected?  The days seem longer.  The conversation is deeper, the sleep sweeter, the inspiration coming in waves instead of sprinkles.  Well, our aim is to have that – in our home, every weekend.

While we do get to enjoy that on our weeknights as well, we both work full time and so delve a bit deeper into sacred life – full, rich, overflowing – during our weekends.

John’s grandmother grew up in a brick house facing the creek in a small fishing town on the coast of North Carolina.  They have kept that house in the family, making it a place of respite and rest for the generations that have come after her, both family and friends.  On the wooden dresser in the dining room sits a small, worn journal which has served as a log for those who have visited the house, including what they did, what they ate, the weather, and always – a description of what a blessing it was to be there.  It is always a joy to flip back through the simply lined pages with notes in blue and black ink.

These notes are to chronicle our weekends in such a way as that.


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