replacing time

there's a little window beside my desk at work. all spring long, i sat and watched as little furball goslings stumbled behind their mamas. then, when summer arrived, i watched those goslings grow up into geese, navigating between the parked cars, scavenging for crumbs of take-out burgers, morning biscuits, or packed sandwiches. it was a beautiful evolution from baby to adult, all in a span of about three months.

but now fall has descended, taking away daylight savings time, and by 4:30 in the afternoon, my little window has turned black. the sun sets so incredibly early now, i can't see the geese. i can't see anything at all. the day feels so short. to me, sunlight equals energy. over the summer, when the sun was suspended in the sky until almost 9:00 p.m., it was as if the evening had endless possibilities. robert and i took countless walks down our road, we had many late night drive-through runs for wendy's frosties. we sat on our swing at watched the sun setting late.

now, we're ready for bed by 9:00, not walking in the fields. our eyelids begin to droop as soon as supper is over. watching glee last night took all the energy i could muster. it's not that i'm overly exhausted or overworked. it just that as sunlight=energy, darkness=sleepy.

so we created a plan. we decided to take that extra hour returned to us and instead of staying up later, we vowed to get up one hour earlier. this morning was our first try. we got up at 6 a.m. and selected a yoga television program on demand. i pulled on my leggings, drug my pilates mat out of the closet, and got ready for a half hour of relaxation, stretching and calm. but then we realized something. we neglected to read the description of the show. it was a jillian michaels yoga program. let me just tell you, this was not yoga, what she did. well, it was yoga, just yoga on about ten cups of coffee. five minutes in, i was already sweating. when she moved from a plank into push-ups, that's when we began to hate our lives just a little.

i looked over at robert, who had retreated to child's pose, his arms stretched out in front of him. we both looked at each other then silently, he turned the television off and we jumped back into bed, with 20 minutes left to sleep. and at that hour of morning, with the sun just creeping up, and a warm, dozing puppy curled up at my toes, 20 minutes was golden.

so we failed this morning. or did we? we tried. we know now that we are at least capable of waking up that early. so we'll do it again tomorrow. we'll try again. and maybe we'll fail again, but at least we'll fail together. but then--then we will grow together too. just like the geese. 

 source

fields of gold

it rained here yesterday. not a downpour, not even a sprinkle. more of a mist-a permeating, cloudy mist that just held itself there-over my office building, my car, my home, threatening to fall at any moment, but never really doing so. when the days are like this, i just want to curl up and sleep. it's like the Lord is telling me--rest, child. there is not much you can do today. just look at it outside. take this opportunity to restore and nourish your body.

and so i did. i made creamy mushroom and onion fettuccine for supper, standing over four warm pots, the steam tickling my face. i took an extra long bath, reading my latest us weekly cover to cover. then, with evening creeping in and monday night football on television, i curled up on my couch with pablo, nestling my face in his fur. we dozed there until robert woke us up and we all three drug our sleepy bodies to bed. and i declare, it was good.

but days like yesterday also remind me of brighter moments-days when it seemed the sky was just bursting with happiness, like all of nature had conspired to shine its beauty at the same time. autumn is gorgeous. this past sunday was such a day. i sat outside and actually watched as leaves came pouring to the ground, catching the sun mid-fall. and i left them there. i don't want to rake them up. i wouldn't mind if my entire yard were covered with amber leaves. it's beautiful and soon it will be gone.

i heart cheerwine slushies

we chose to live in our little cottage for a myriad of practical reasons: the rent is affordable, it's close to our parents, we have excellent neighbors, and the decor and style of the house is everything i never knew i always wanted. however, if we're being  honest, the selling point for me was the nearness of our little abode to the local community gas station. that's a sentence i never thought i'd say, but boy is it so true.

the station, known affectionately by locals as "kelly's" after the man who owns it, is nothing much to look at from the outside. it's your run-of-the-mill station, with pumps and a convienence store filled with beef jerky, two-liter soft drinks and styrofoam plates. however, once you step inside that store, you are one step closer to a life-altering experience. on the back wall, tucked beside coffee and drink machines, are two slushie machines. on the left, you have your typical fruit punch slushie. the owners rotate this flavor. sometimes it's orange, sometimes they go crazy and mix in mountain dew, you just never know. however on the right, in all its beauty, is the cheerwine slushie machine. has anyone heard of/tasted cheerwine? i'm not sure how prevalent it is anywhere besides the south, but here, in the land of moon pies and RC cola, it is king. 

flavored with the perfect tinge of cherry, it is an ultra-carbonated, fizzy soft drink that makes me smile simply saying its name. when i think of cheerwine, i think of the five summers i spent lifeguarding, sneaking free dixie cups of this liquid gold between breaks. i think of balmy summer nights when robert and i were dating in high school, making the trip to kelly's together. one recent morning, i was getting gas, and i had a cheerwine slushie for breakfast. that looks awful when i write it down, but it's true. they are delicious any time of the day. this sunday, robert and i stopped by this little watering hole for some refreshment.

even when it is cold outside, it is comforting to know these frozen beauties are never far away. i've walked there, ridden my bike there, and walked my dog there. i'm not above riding a sled there.

three dainty dresses

all new in the shop and less than $20

morning has broken

mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning

born of the one light, eden saw play

praise with elation, praise every morning

God's recreation of the new day
-cat stevens, morning has broken

today is a new day. the sun has risen over the fields and there is the promise of greatness on the horizon. so hug somebody today. take a second to look someone in the eye and say i.love.you. because His blessings are new every morning, and so are second chances.

weheartit

friday favorite

there is an old wooden swing behind my grandparents' house. held up by a rusting metal frame, the swing has chipped paint, creaking hinges and tired, strained boards. it sits among a backyard playground-seesaws, jungle gyms and swing sets. when our church got a new playground, my grandfather bought the old one, putting it behind his house for all of us grandchildren to play on. i remember magical afternoons in the sunset, swinging upside down, holding my sister up tauntingly high on the seesaw, swinging straight into the sky.

and there is a picture in a shoebox beneath my bed. a picture of my grandpa on the swing. one hand on his knee, the other around my beautiful grandma. how they loved that swing. no one uses it much anymore. grandchildren have grown up. the jungle gym went into the junkyard a few years ago. my grandma passed seven years ago and since then my grandpa hasn't been much for swinging.

when it came time to make my own home, to transform a little cottage on the side of the road into my sanctuary, i knew i wanted one thing-a swing like my grandparents'. because it's not just a swing. it is a symbol of love, of devotion. it is a promise to robert that i will swing beside him for the rest of my life. we found the perfect one at a little amish market in the city. on my birthday in april, robert suprised me with it. the swing-in all its crisp white glory, was sitting on our side porch when i got home. since then, we've watched the sunset from that seat. we've sat outside on balmy summer nights from evening to dark, talking into the blackness. since it's gotten colder, we have bundled up ourselves and pablo and gone outside to sit, watching our breath make clouds in the air, hands clutching warm bowls of soup.

this, my friends, is my favorite place in my house. i find immense peace and love here:

so my question for you is this: where do you find peace and love in your home?

in His image

God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. -Genesis 1:27

i remember sitting on my bedroom floor, rubbing my fingers between the carpet fibers – the soft, short threads somehow comforting me as i listened to my parents speak. we are going to enroll you in speech therapy, i heard my mother say. i remember looking up at my dad, his weak smile obviously forced, tears brimming in his eyes, threatening to cascade at any moment. because he shared in my struggle and knew the road ahead. thus, at eight years old, i began my struggle, which would eventually morph into a beautiful relationship, with communication. i am a stutterer. daily, i fight the battle of expression. saying my name, reciting a drive-through order, answering the phone, are all menial tasks i approach from a perspective different than most.

after that initial conversation with my parents, i entered into five years of speech therapy. i learned tricks that ranged from the simple—a rubber band around the wrist will remind you to speak slowly, to extreme—talking with marbles in your mouth for a week will help structure your tongue placement. i spent hours in the evenings thinking up fiction to tell my friends about where i went for the hour every day i was in speech class. communication, then, was a hindrance—something i had to do to survive, but the very act of which was utterly humiliating. writing became my hiding place. by the time i was 12, i had filled notebook after notebook with short stories, poems and songs. if i couldn’t express myself verbally the way i wanted, i could at least write it down. i finally realized the irony of this when i won a school-wide writing contest in middle school. the soon-to-be envy of my peers, i won the coveted prize of a trip to the local theme park, as well as a limousine ride. however, along with the prize, i had to read my paper over the intercom. i bowed out of the contest, gave the prize to the runner up, and told no one of my achievement. writing, i learned, may be a fantastic form of communication, but it cannot be a crutch. i was missing out by trying to avoid interaction. life is beautifully loud, and is not meant to be lived in silence, as much as i hoped it could.

           

i understand now what i could never be taught. for all her efforts, my speech teacher could never explain to me what i had to learn myself—that proper communication is vital to ensuring strong relationships, scholastic achievements, and work-related ventures. i majored in english and journalism as an undergraduate, stammering my way through speeches until they became second nature. for a part-time job in college, i threw myself into a job in corporate communications, volunteering to answer phones, plan events, and conduct phone interviews. overall, i embraced what i had once feared, and what i found was life changing. no one laughed at me when i took a little longer before starting a presentation. i was not taunted at restaurants when I requested sp-sp-sp-sp spaghetti instead of spaghetti. people are inherently good and worthy of being communicated with. in addition, my speech vastly improved when the element of apprehension was removed. i start grad school this spring at johns hopkins university. i'm majoring in commuication.

   

genesis 1:27 tells me i am made in the image of my Father. My holy, perfect awesome Father created me. flaws and all. that alone is enough for acceptance. i can embrace who i am because my Creator made me this way. but this battle also links me to my earthly father, who shares my struggle. daily he fights through it, just as i do. and if my stutter makes me like him, i couldn't be more proud.

dancing with dad at my wedding