Monday, January 26, 2015

And still counting (6541-6564)

snowy days
early closure
bread in the cabinet
mini marshmallows

Snow on the trees

beef stew
soup on the stove
my bread machine
homemade herb bread
leg warmers

an easy Friday night
party invitations for Erin
moms to chat poolside while the kids swam
a new scarf to knit
days at home

that Hebrews verse--my favorite
an unexpected visit from Dad and Linda
a blanket he knitted, gifted
My dad made this. My favorite color--gray.

and talk of another in the works--for me
a God that never ceases to amaze me

Lego Friends on a Sunday afternoon
tulips in a pitcher on the counter
Tulips, because spring is not far away

yellow blossoms from a friend
a Monday surprise

friends who love

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

One of those days

It was one of those days where I needed to speak positive words over every step I took. One of those days where I had to take a big, deep breath--a lot. One of those days I wished I could start over.

It was also one of those days where a classroom of teenagers was the perfect medicine. One of those days where I got so lost in my work that the time flew by. One of those days that another mama spoke gently over me, words she didn't even know I needed to hear. One of those days that held something so unexpected.

Sandy told me how she saw the little flowers at the store and they were so cheery. Told me how she wanted them, as we both found ourselves aching for spring. She found me out later in the day, tucked away and nearly buried under papers, and she held out a little brown bag and a smile.

Inside the bag were the sweetest, cheery yellow blossoms smiling up at me.

"OH MY GOSH," I exclaimed. "YOU DIDN'T!" But she did.

At home, as I lifted the pot out of the bag, I found a tiny card with hand-drawn happy flowers across the front, telling me I'm loved.

Over dinner, we all shared something good about our day. I spoke about the flowers, and cried.

Monday, January 19, 2015

One thousand gifts and still counting (6517-6540)

for a movie on castles and dungeons
food in the fridge
lotion for these poor feet
good naps on the couch

two tables together in an unexpectedly packed restaurant
matching bows on her little girls
gifted bags in return when we gifted her
a visit with Marshall's Mom
a great turnout at homeschool skate

Lisa's daughter sitting for us so we could catch a movie
future talks with Nicole
plans on the calendar for a mom's night with Lisa
Louis Zamperini's story
Jiliann over for dinner and sleepover

Wegman's caramelized onion and bacon pizza
Burnin' love burgers with my family
and dessert
kids ready for bed
the beauty of these years

remembering the journey and the miracle of here
how Teena's house embraces
her smile
our friendship
hair color in the mail

Sunday, January 18, 2015


Shane and I went out to a movie without kids for the first time in twelve years.

We saw "Unbroken."

I knew I'd be a wreck over the film, but I didn't anticipate the weight of these parts: his brother's encouraging words to him, believing in him; and words at the end that spoke of trauma and nightmares that must have haunted him worse than the terrible pains inflicted upon him. Because you can forget how a pain feels, but a nightmare can bring a prison back in full color, unexpectedly--stirring up things one hopes to be forgiven and forgotten.

We had a busy pace this weekend of go-go-and-go and it was all good. Loved the love that fills our lives: lunch and hugs with Marshall's Mom; Linda at the table Friday night; Nicole for coffee; Lisa's hugs; her kids' smiles and laughter in my home; Jiliann overnight; a full day of happiness; hugs with Teena; and an unplanned dinner out.

That's burnin' love right there.

We got home, full and tired. This heart, tender. I stumbled across an old post, and laughed as I read aloud to Shane the "hate" and "hate". I looked at the pictures, and I electronically flipped through images, and looked lovingly at our dog today, and lovingly at that man of mine stoking a fire and said, "I still love it here."

I still love it here.