the great wait

i thought on this blustery monday, i would have it. at least have the baby steps toward it. that inching toward the light i'd so hoped for. but the meeting for my speech easy has been delayed until november 11. a private matter in the speech pathologist's life that prevented her from meeting last week.

so this monday looks like any other. the frost on the ground outside is slowly melting as the sun creeps up. i've got my coffee cup and my Bible beside me, fuel for the day. pablo is asleep on the bed in the next room, curled up against the chill of seven a.m.

and i will wait. as sarah waited for children and job waited for grace. because it will come. not on my watch or agenda. but nonetheless, it will happen. just as the tree outside my window turned ruby at just the precise time in october. a scheme not my own, but His. and with prayer, i just might grab a glimmer of that illusive patience that has always slipped right past my touch. it's a lesson, this waiting. but one worth learning.

microscope heart : kate

you guys are in for such a treat today. my sweet friend kate from one size fits most is this week's microscope heart. kate is such a beauty. she's smart, kind and thoughtful. her blog is chock full of inspiration and themes of self-acceptance. be sure to read her "where it began" section for a beautifully written, informative look into her world. she's an inspiration, that one.
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since the introduction of this new series i have been hopelessly trying to narrow down the one thing without fail that can always make me happy. and to be honest, i struggled a bit. i tried to find it, to search it out, but it became artificial. not authentic kate. i would look at my life and try to make something be that one thing and it was never genuine. there are millions of little things that make me happy but when i actually stopped trying to look for it, i found it. its the wind. strong and passionate. its the breeze. light and romantic. and its even a small chill. crispy and humbling. 

it could be in the blazing summer. that mysterious little gust that makes the sweat beads quiver for a brief moment and instantly makes you feel renewed. rejuvenated. or it could be in autumn. when the first chilly air of fall lifts up your hair to dance and whip around in its wonder and leaves you yearning for more. it can even be in the dead of winter when you are already frozen to the core but a ferocious wind attacks and nips at your cheeks and all you can do is open your mouth and inhale it deep into your lungs. and for me, lately its been when i have all the windows down driving through the streets of my hometown.

cool october air pouring through all the openings in my little car, cosuming me, and making me feel alive. with no music on the whistling, howling, and soft murmur it creates tells me a story i have been longing to hear and feel deep inside of me.

because the wind has always been a cleansing thing to me. a renewing. a mystery. it flows around you, through you, and inside of you. and you never know where that breeze has been or where its going next. as a little girl i remember my parents always saying, "God is like the wind. even though you cant see it, you can feel it." so whenever i have a moment of doubt, a stumbling block, a rough patch, or am in desperate need of cleansing, i close my eyes, feel for the wind, and am consumed by its wonder. and that to me, is my beautiful happiness. 

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thank you, kate, for everything. 

what's the smallest thing that makes you happy? tell me here.

scenes from a country cottage: a breath and a rest

 

my favorite time of day, besides those five seconds spent on my tiptoes in the kitchen, kissing robert while juggling a purse, bookbag, dog leash and high heels, is mail time. it's not a long walk to our mailbox. not like my parents' driveway, that long, curved asphalt.

it's just a straight walk on a gravel drive. under pin oaks and the sun, setting sooner than i would like, spreading a golden bath on the day. and quite honestly, i never get any mail, save for a few celebrity magazines and some bills (such is the fodder of a young woman i suppose.) 

but it's the walk that counts. those seconds, brief and fleeting though they might be, are solely mine for the taking. for the savoring and devouring. a reprieve between work and home. a soul recharge.

and autumn is busy. it's gorgeous, but its hurried and full of festivals. pumpkin patches. county fairs. i'm afraid i've thought too much about the season as a noun--the way it tastes, smells and feels. i've reduced it to an idea in a storybook, a paragraph on a page.

but i haven't sat. on a white swing in the sunset. with the evening hitting me square on my closed eyes. and thanked the Lord for october. for the change that's in the air. and for the anticipation of something on the horizon, just past the mailbox, and before the hill up ahead. a moment of flat, solid ground before the leap. a breath of cool before the cold.

someone's got a dirty mouth

like mamas who stuff lollipops in their purse before church, we know all the right bribes to make pablo stay quiet. our go-to incentive is a little treat filled with peanut butter. perfect for those nights when we want to watch modern family, work on homework, or just  hang out without a pup on our laps, begging to play.

the only problem is, he looks so darn cute afterward. so cute that i turn off the television, shut the laptop and invite him into my arms.

and shows get missed. homework piles up and alone time isn't so alone anymore. but one look into those chestnut brown eyes and suddenly it doesn't quite matter as much as it used to.

to order vanilla

 xxx

i grew up eating chocolate ice cream, because i couldn't say vanilla.

-speecheasy video

one day in middle school, mama laid a newspaper clipping on my pillow. a new device had been created. a teeny, in-ear mechanism that would essentially create an echo of one's own voice when speaking. the tool was heralded to greatly reduce stuttering, as many stutterers experience relief when speaking in unison, and the device's choral effect did just that.

so the speecheasy was born. but at fifteen, i was more interested in cheer practice. in that awful algebra class. the boy down the row at the cafeteria who whispered to me during silent lunch. so i tucked the clipping away, lost in the tupperware container under my bed, the one filled with photo albums. movie stubs. printed-out AOL conversations too sweet to delete. forever doomed to be lost among the relics of my youth.

but then i grew up. dated then grew apart from the boy from the cafeteria. graduated and got a job in a city. that algebra class gave way to a master's program. such is the ebb and flow of life.

but last week, it hit me. this realization that while i am special and perfect just the way God made me, there is this technology out there. this special work of man that could give me just a little, a smidgen, of relief. from the tense, locked jaw and squinted eyes i get every time i give a presentation (i actually stopped halfway though my speech last time and apologized to the crowd.)

so i researched the speecheasy. and became discouraged. the sum of money expected for something no bigger than my thumbnail was through the roof. and for this frugal, thrift-store-loving woman, it was enough to send my heart to my knees.

but then, at eleven o'clock last thursday night. with pablo asleep under the lamp and a blanket around my knees, robert came into the den, an envelope of money in his hand.

he had saved all year, hoping to open up a retirement account in december. self-employed, he doesn't have a 401K. so he had squirreled away, week by week, in hopes to start a nest egg for himself and for us.

but that night, he just reached out his arms, and handed me the envelope. i want you to use this, he whispered,  for your speecheasy.

it was the exact amount, to the dollar, i needed. every last penny of my need met, by draining every last penny of his. a God moment so spectacular.

it was entirely selfless, incredibly beautiful, and enough to send me into a gut clenching sob.

my appointment is friday.

and i am nervous. i am anxious and scared and full of questions. but there's this man who sleeps to the left of me, and this morning he left me a love note on my laptop. and finally, nine years later, i'm ready to take that step. with one eye on Him and the other on him. oaring my way through these seas. a beacon of light on the shore.

microscope heart: charla-beth

today's microscope heart comes from my sweet friend charla-beth. not only is she a beautiful, talented writer, she has a heart of gold that shines so sweetly for our Savior. be sure to check out her blog here.
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When I first decided to send something in for Microscope Heart, I made lists upon lists of the littlest reasons for joy.  And those lists turned into more lists.

But the very first thing I thought of, the first item I wrote down and the one thing I kept coming back to... was the smell of morning. 

Like that rich smell of the summer between ripened fruit and freshly cut grass.  Or the crisp smell of autumn when the earth's buds begin to close her petals and morning dew quickly turns to frost.  There's that frosty bite in the air after new-fallen winter rain.  And come spring, the smell of fresh earth and new blooms permeate the air.  Regardless of the day, the month, or the time of year, every morning has that “new day” smell that I simply can’t get enough of.

And everything in my being knows that it is good.  Because with the fresh smell of morning comes the reminder that I have been given today.  And even if yesterday was a hard day, a stumbling day, a weep-worthy day, the morning brings a reminder that creation is renewed with each and every sunrise.  Myself, included. :)

“Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning...” {lamentations 3:22-23a}

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 see what i mean? gorgeous. thank you, sweet friend.
tell me about the smallest thing that makes you happy here.

days seven and eight: the end

 

 

 

 

 

if there's anything this trip taught me, anything i learned over the miles we trekked and state lines we crossed, it's that this country of ours is something else. from towering maples that produce some of the sweetest, purest syrup i've tasted, to apples the size of basketballs and foliage so pretty it makes my heart ache, i was in awe.

our last two days were devoted to touring the local economy. we sat in a cold sugar house and watched a video on the making of maple syrup. the owners  brought us blankets and cider and the video was nice and short. we toured cabot creamery, sampling 25 different cheeses before nine a.m. then came ben & jerry's, green mountain coffee company, wilbur chocolate factory, and even the teddy bear factory. we learned about the land, and what fabulous goodies spring out of its bounty.

we spent our last night in amish country, waiting behind buggies at crossing lights. it was pure, spacious, clean and idyllic. and being so far out, amid the farmhouses and silos, it almost felt like home.

these two weeks back have been an adjustment of sorts. of papers and studying and work and pablo. but we've settled back into our routine quite fine. because as i've said before on here, traveling is fun. it is beautiful and worthwhile and downright thrilling at times. but nothing in this world beats your own bed. and the pin oaks by the cottage are just turning to crimson and i'm so thankful to be home underneath them, thanking the sweet Lord for getting us back safely. and for the ho-hum drill of an ordinary, quite spectacular life.