I have only been in 2 serious relationships. One that spanned from Junior year of high school to Freshman year of college, and one that began Sophomore year of college and is growing as I type this. My high school relationship taught me a TON. For 6 months we were both in high school and lived about 20 minutes from each other. It was great! It showed me how hard it was to be apart from your dual best friend and boyfriend. And it showed me how wonderful it was to anticipate his return! It showed me how special it was to hold hands in the snow and it taught me how important the little things are. It taught me a lot of really great things.
But it wasn't right for me.
Or rather, he wasn't right for me.
And equally, I wasn't right for him.
But he taught me about what I really need in a man through his flaws. And don't get me wrong, I don't say that to belittle him or to make it seem as though his only role in my life was to teach me what I didn't want. I have lots of flaws too that I'm sure he learned that he didn't want in a wife when the time came.
I learned that I am sometimes too tolerant; often as a result of just really missing him and wanting to smooth everything over. I learned that God doesn't deserve just 95% of me, he deserves the full 100%. I learned that trusting God often means taking a leap, blindfolded, into an abyss of uncertainty. Sometimes it means that everything else around you is falling apart BUT God. Breaking up with him was the hardest thing I have ever had to do thus far, but it was also the closest I have ever been to God. That first week after the break up was the first time I experienced depressed joy. I was withering on the outside, my skin felt as though it was just flaking off. But my heart, shattered as it was, was being repaired by nothing less than the pure and all-healing love of Jesus.
Dating long-distance, the first time, taught me about myself and about just how much of a jealous, perfect God I have to worship.
Contentment sought me and I finally let it find me after that. I struggled with loneliness and the fear that I would never find anyone who had made my heart move like that boy. But God slowly and gently softened my soul and wrestled my heart until it surrendered wholly to Him. I felt what it meant to be unconditionally loved and to need nothing but that as my mainstream of sustenance.
And then I met my best friend.
I met Ian just as I was becoming comfortable with my singleness. I saw him as just a cute army boy in my hated logic class who I would probably never have a decent conversation with. Little did I know that he would change my whole world, slowly and then all at once. It began as a single hour of tutoring, which turned into another, which turned into an all day finals study session, including multiple push-up breaks (by him of course). I began to notice the depth to which his soul reached. I didn't see it all at once, but I saw something different. I was being pulled in with every frustrating logic problem that he so eloquently explained to me. I began to fall for those beautiful, mossy green eyes of his.
We began to build a friendship and I still remember the first time I heard him pray during an InterVarsity large group night. I'm not sure what it was that captivated me about hearing his solid, unwavering voice speak words of hope and thankfulness to our Creator... but it pierced my heart and the puncture didn't heal, in the most beautiful way possible. It was the kind of wound that begged my attention into the wee hours of the night and cried out in blissful agony, forcing me to think about him and his beautiful eyes. He pursued me and did things for me I had only read about in fairy tales. He swept me off my feet without warning and I fell utterly and completely in love with him.
We spent 3 wonderful months exploring our new-found, friendship-entwined, love story and then all at once, our time together was threatened. My sweet boy had been accepted to the United States Coast Guard Academy, the school of his dreams that could give him the future of his dreams. I was so happy for him and I had to stay focused on him or else I would fall apart. When I stopped to observe myself in the midst of his joy, I couldn't help but melt slowing into a pitiful puddle of my own perspiration and tears. God had just placed this man, this friend, into my life only to take him away? I couldn't understand it, but I knew I was endlessly happy for Ian. Here he was, spreading his wings and preparing to join a band of brothers set out to protect and rescue the people of our nation. I have never been so proud.
We struggled those first few weeks after he was accepted. We had no idea what was going to happen next. He kept telling me that he wasn't quite sure if he was going to go or not. I tried to smile as he told me that, but I knew he was going from the moment he told me that he made it in to the Academy. It was where he was supposed to be, and even I knew that, having only known his handsome heart for a matter of months. He was so uncertain of our future and he didn't know if it was worth the hurt. I remember standing in the basement of our usual study building, holding his face in my hands and telling him that I didn't know what the future held for us, but that I was willing to find out. I told him that I was prepared to fight for us because the little that I had been privileged to learn about him proved to me that he was worth the hurt and the distance and the wait. He was still uncertain and it took about 3 more weeks until he stood in my upstairs hallway saying goodnight to me and I asked him this question: "Are you still unsure about us?". And he smiled, pulled me closer, and responded with, "No", and kissed my forehead.
I visited him in Houston, Texas, about 2 weeks before he shipped off to the Academy. Those days spent together were pivotal for our relationship. He slipped a letter into my hands as we fought back tears in the airport, knowing this was the last time we would see each other before everything changed for him. I sat on the plane, staring out the window, clenching my fist around that letter, tears silently streaming down my face. I just kept replaying the last line over and over again in my head: "So let's continue to fight, Emma. You're so worth it!". Oh how sweet those words meant to me. How deeply they wrapped their arms around my heart and assured me that this distance was not stronger than the friendship we had, as cliche as that sounds. I was ready to take on the distance and the horrifically, limited amount of communication; I was ready to take on the phone calls with weak signals and our reunions being only a weekend long; I was ready to fight for a lifetime with this man.
Dating long-distance this time is teaching me about loving someone else. It is teaching me that a lasting relationship is built on friendship. It is teaching me that friendship is built around laughter and tears, dancing and singing, doubts and uncertainties, and just a little bit (okay, sometimes a lot) of romance.
One of the biggest differences between my first experience with dating long-distance is that the first time, I was dating a boy who truly wanted to please me but wasn't quite mature enough to do so. I was focused on myself and how I could control and fix the relationship. This time, I am dating a man who truly wants to please our God and wants to bring me along for the ride. I am learning to focus less and less on myself and more and more on my Savior.
Dating long-distance has taught me that a relationship does not "just happen" when two people are "just meant for each other". It takes work! It takes sacrifice and it takes compromise. Serving and loving should be synonyms when it comes to relationships. I have never desired to serve someone the way I want to serve this man. And not only that, but he let's me be okay with being served by him and with feeling feminine.
I'm still learning that he is in fact NOT perfect. He is flawed and he is not where God wants him to be yet. God is not finished with him yet. There is still a lot of uncertainty, many days we will spend apart, and many long months of 1 phone call a week. I'm not sure where Jesus is going to drive us, but I do know that I fervently want to find out.
Friday, December 18, 2015
Monday, December 14, 2015
Do you remember?
Do you remember when we sat on the edge of the gazebo, over the frozen lake, during that beautiful blizzard? Do you remember how bitterly cold our bones were, yet the heat from our hearts seemed to keep us breathing?
I remember wanting you to pull me close and wrap your strong arms around me.
But you were reserved and playing it cool (and smart).
Do you remember when we snuck onto that golf course late at night and lied beneath the stars, talking about God and how magnificent he is? Do you remember when the sprinklers came on in the still of the silence and we bolted out laughing like we were shooting a scene from a movie?
I remember feeling like I was going to cry that night because of the letter you gave me, but couldn't even force myself because, in your arms, I was safe and had no reason to.
Do you remember when we ran around in a field of buttercups and stared at the clouds? Do you remember the silly pictures we took and you asking me to take a selfie among the flowers for your homescreen on your phone?
I remember you telling me I was gorgeous (with no makeup on and sweat on my brow) and my stomach leaping towards my throat.
Do you remember when we went to the tennis courts and I thought it would be a good idea to wear a skirt? Do you remember when you figured out that I had never been taught how to correctly throw a a ball which is why my aim is always off? Do you remember when we sat and talked about the differences in our upbringing?
I remember you making me feel feminine and sweet in the midst of teaching me how to wail a ball at your face. I still don't quite know how to.
Do you remember when we sat in your living room until 6am the night before I had to leave? The night before everything changed? Do you remember ugly crying into each other's shoulders and wanting to never ever let go? Do you remember the kinks in your neck from sitting in such an awkward position for 6 hours?
I remember feeling like I had never felt before. I remember feeling as if this moment could go on forever and I wouldn't be concerned. I was safe and I was warm and I was loved.
Do you remember when I tried to pump my own gas for the first time and ended up spraying it all over myself and the car? Do you remember how embarrassed I was? Do you remember how funny you thought it was?
I remember you trying to smooth it over and make me feel better by saying "I mean, I like the smell of gasoline!"
Do you remember taking me out to A Taste of Texas for my birthday and feeling so out of place? Do you remember how fancy it was and how awkward I felt when the waiter poured my bottled iced tea into my glass? Do you remember us giggling, trying to act like civilized adults and not like 5 year old's like we normally do?
I remember the way you looked at me from across that table the whole night. Like starlight had found it's way right to the very center of your eyes and sunshine was managing to pour out. I remember the gift you gave me which I wear around my neck everyday and use as a conversation starter to gush about you every chance I get.
Do you remember when we sat by the river after my flight got delayed another four hours? Do you remember how you cried into my arms in the car before we knew about the delay? Do you remember reading all of your quotes that I have saved on my phone?
I remember thinking you were one of the strongest people I know, to have the courage to be vulnerable with me like that... to let your guard down and show me the man that you so clearly are deep down.
Do you remember jumping in my parents car over thanksgiving break to get away from the hoodlums? Do you remember being bundled and looking like hobos with absolutely no destination except the map on our hearts that lead to each other?
I remember belting "All I Want for Christmas is You" and you smiling but keeping your eyes on the road. Keeping us safe.
Do you remember when we stayed up until 7am on my living room couch? Talking, laughing, cuddling, whispering, just being generally disgustingly couply? Do you remember falling asleep as I supported your head?
I remember experiencing something I had never felt before... it was a comfort that I've only ever felt from my dad before. It was a comfort of complete safety, complete relaxation. Curled up in your arms,perfectly snuggled against your chest... If I let my mind quiet down enough I can still hear your heart beat.
Do you remember reading 1 John in the car in a parking lot? Do you remember spilling ourselves out to each other about our needs and our desires and the right way to go about it all?
I remember seeing you hang your head in defeat and realizing that you felt like you were letting me down. I also remember at that same time my heart swelling and pressure building behind my eyes as I pulled you close assuring you that you in no way have let me down. I remember reminding you of all the ways you have shown me love and all the ways you have supported me.
My dear sweet boy, do you remember baking pies until 3 am Thanksgiving eve? Do you remember the absolute insanity that was going on between the three stooges (aka, my grama, mom and aunt)? Do you remember finishing the pies and dancing in the hallway to Jon Troast?
I remember you holding me in the kitchen and telling me softly "You know, my parents fell in love in a kitchen". I remember smiling and wondering what you must have been thinking to remember that...
Do you remember all the little moments we stole away with each other? All the little moments you brushed your hand on my arm, all the times we made faces at each other in the midst of my family chaos, all the times we laughed without ceasing?
I remember the moments when I realized just how much you simply wanted to be with me, no matter what my condition was. It was when you ran out to CVS to get me alkaselzter and gingerale and a soft pretzel... WITH my grama.
I've never known someone like you, Ian.
I've read about men like you.
I've seen examples of them in my life, my father particularly.
But I have never had the immense joy of truly knowing a man like you.
I remember what you were wearing, how your eyes sparkled as you stood across from me at that foosball table. I remember how you looked down for a few seconds, picked your head up, looked at me, and tricked me into going out to dinner with you! My heart jumped. Really, I think it moved a few centimeters.
Ian, I have no more words.
I, the girl who always has something to say, have been rendered speechless.
By you.
I remember wanting you to pull me close and wrap your strong arms around me.
But you were reserved and playing it cool (and smart).
Do you remember when we snuck onto that golf course late at night and lied beneath the stars, talking about God and how magnificent he is? Do you remember when the sprinklers came on in the still of the silence and we bolted out laughing like we were shooting a scene from a movie?
I remember feeling like I was going to cry that night because of the letter you gave me, but couldn't even force myself because, in your arms, I was safe and had no reason to.
Do you remember when we ran around in a field of buttercups and stared at the clouds? Do you remember the silly pictures we took and you asking me to take a selfie among the flowers for your homescreen on your phone?
I remember you telling me I was gorgeous (with no makeup on and sweat on my brow) and my stomach leaping towards my throat.
Do you remember when we went to the tennis courts and I thought it would be a good idea to wear a skirt? Do you remember when you figured out that I had never been taught how to correctly throw a a ball which is why my aim is always off? Do you remember when we sat and talked about the differences in our upbringing?
I remember you making me feel feminine and sweet in the midst of teaching me how to wail a ball at your face. I still don't quite know how to.
Do you remember when we sat in your living room until 6am the night before I had to leave? The night before everything changed? Do you remember ugly crying into each other's shoulders and wanting to never ever let go? Do you remember the kinks in your neck from sitting in such an awkward position for 6 hours?
I remember feeling like I had never felt before. I remember feeling as if this moment could go on forever and I wouldn't be concerned. I was safe and I was warm and I was loved.
Do you remember when I tried to pump my own gas for the first time and ended up spraying it all over myself and the car? Do you remember how embarrassed I was? Do you remember how funny you thought it was?
I remember you trying to smooth it over and make me feel better by saying "I mean, I like the smell of gasoline!"
Do you remember taking me out to A Taste of Texas for my birthday and feeling so out of place? Do you remember how fancy it was and how awkward I felt when the waiter poured my bottled iced tea into my glass? Do you remember us giggling, trying to act like civilized adults and not like 5 year old's like we normally do?
I remember the way you looked at me from across that table the whole night. Like starlight had found it's way right to the very center of your eyes and sunshine was managing to pour out. I remember the gift you gave me which I wear around my neck everyday and use as a conversation starter to gush about you every chance I get.
Do you remember when we sat by the river after my flight got delayed another four hours? Do you remember how you cried into my arms in the car before we knew about the delay? Do you remember reading all of your quotes that I have saved on my phone?
I remember thinking you were one of the strongest people I know, to have the courage to be vulnerable with me like that... to let your guard down and show me the man that you so clearly are deep down.
Do you remember jumping in my parents car over thanksgiving break to get away from the hoodlums? Do you remember being bundled and looking like hobos with absolutely no destination except the map on our hearts that lead to each other?
I remember belting "All I Want for Christmas is You" and you smiling but keeping your eyes on the road. Keeping us safe.
Do you remember when we stayed up until 7am on my living room couch? Talking, laughing, cuddling, whispering, just being generally disgustingly couply? Do you remember falling asleep as I supported your head?
I remember experiencing something I had never felt before... it was a comfort that I've only ever felt from my dad before. It was a comfort of complete safety, complete relaxation. Curled up in your arms,perfectly snuggled against your chest... If I let my mind quiet down enough I can still hear your heart beat.
Do you remember reading 1 John in the car in a parking lot? Do you remember spilling ourselves out to each other about our needs and our desires and the right way to go about it all?
I remember seeing you hang your head in defeat and realizing that you felt like you were letting me down. I also remember at that same time my heart swelling and pressure building behind my eyes as I pulled you close assuring you that you in no way have let me down. I remember reminding you of all the ways you have shown me love and all the ways you have supported me.
My dear sweet boy, do you remember baking pies until 3 am Thanksgiving eve? Do you remember the absolute insanity that was going on between the three stooges (aka, my grama, mom and aunt)? Do you remember finishing the pies and dancing in the hallway to Jon Troast?
I remember you holding me in the kitchen and telling me softly "You know, my parents fell in love in a kitchen". I remember smiling and wondering what you must have been thinking to remember that...
Do you remember all the little moments we stole away with each other? All the little moments you brushed your hand on my arm, all the times we made faces at each other in the midst of my family chaos, all the times we laughed without ceasing?
I remember the moments when I realized just how much you simply wanted to be with me, no matter what my condition was. It was when you ran out to CVS to get me alkaselzter and gingerale and a soft pretzel... WITH my grama.
I've never known someone like you, Ian.
I've read about men like you.
I've seen examples of them in my life, my father particularly.
But I have never had the immense joy of truly knowing a man like you.
I remember what you were wearing, how your eyes sparkled as you stood across from me at that foosball table. I remember how you looked down for a few seconds, picked your head up, looked at me, and tricked me into going out to dinner with you! My heart jumped. Really, I think it moved a few centimeters.
Ian, I have no more words.
I, the girl who always has something to say, have been rendered speechless.
By you.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
The Beast Inside
There is someone peering through my eyes from the very depths of my being.
Someone is reaching out and clawing at the seals within my heart.
Someone is knocking at the door to my mind and whispering its secret password.
I often feel that who I am inside is too messy to be shown to the world and so she has to sit patiently dormant until I am alone or with the few people who I trust enough to not judge her or cage her back up again.
I pity her sometimes.
It's not that I am afraid of her, but I don't trust her.
I don't trust her to understand the world or to know the right things to say. She's too complicated to explain to a stranger and she has too many problems that need to be worked out with God first.
She will forever need to be molded and changed and remolded again.
But that is the nature of the beast within, she will never be good enough.
And I do not say that out of self-deprecation, but out of the acknowledgement that she will always need saving. She will be let out into the sunshine and do a lot of good for a while. But then all too soon God will point out another flaw in the fabrication of her human flesh and she will need to be retrained, the collar re-attached, the muzzle re-applied once more. While it may seem like a terrifying, oppressive situation to continually go through, I am coming to peace with the fact that God is sovereign through all of that. In some way, a way that I cannot comprehend, all of the muck that I continuously feel and do has already been forgiven. I may not feel like it has at some points and I often have no idea how in the world I am measuring up and how I can live a normal life without being constantly on my knees, feeling unworthy and incredibly grateful. But maybe that's the point. Maybe the point is that we always do feel unworthy, because really, we aren't worthy at all.
But that doesn't seem to add up to everything I have been taught about the power of Jesus. His love and his name alone should be able to take away those constant feelings of unworthiness right? Shouldn't I be able to live every day without feeling like I need to do something else to feel satisfied and like God is "happy" with me? Shouldn't the word of God be able to speak into my life and into my heart and set me free from those feelings of not being good enough?
Why can't I face the fact that I am not good enough and that I never will be? Well no, the real question is how can I face that and be able to live joyfully without feeling guilty for my failings and feeling like I'm being a hypocrite for living that way? I'm not quite sure how to do that.
But I am learning. And I always will be.
One thing I know is that grace is such a beautiful concept that should not be withheld. God saw it fit to give us grace and pardon us by making His Son pay for our unruliness even while we were still doing it in front of His face. So who am I to deny that same grace to others?
I have never been left alone by God.
He has been by my side through the very good and the very, very bad and He has loved me through it.
He said he will never let me go and I believe that with every fiber in my imperfect body and mind.
Someone is reaching out and clawing at the seals within my heart.
Someone is knocking at the door to my mind and whispering its secret password.
I often feel that who I am inside is too messy to be shown to the world and so she has to sit patiently dormant until I am alone or with the few people who I trust enough to not judge her or cage her back up again.
I pity her sometimes.
It's not that I am afraid of her, but I don't trust her.
I don't trust her to understand the world or to know the right things to say. She's too complicated to explain to a stranger and she has too many problems that need to be worked out with God first.
She will forever need to be molded and changed and remolded again.
But that is the nature of the beast within, she will never be good enough.
And I do not say that out of self-deprecation, but out of the acknowledgement that she will always need saving. She will be let out into the sunshine and do a lot of good for a while. But then all too soon God will point out another flaw in the fabrication of her human flesh and she will need to be retrained, the collar re-attached, the muzzle re-applied once more. While it may seem like a terrifying, oppressive situation to continually go through, I am coming to peace with the fact that God is sovereign through all of that. In some way, a way that I cannot comprehend, all of the muck that I continuously feel and do has already been forgiven. I may not feel like it has at some points and I often have no idea how in the world I am measuring up and how I can live a normal life without being constantly on my knees, feeling unworthy and incredibly grateful. But maybe that's the point. Maybe the point is that we always do feel unworthy, because really, we aren't worthy at all.
But that doesn't seem to add up to everything I have been taught about the power of Jesus. His love and his name alone should be able to take away those constant feelings of unworthiness right? Shouldn't I be able to live every day without feeling like I need to do something else to feel satisfied and like God is "happy" with me? Shouldn't the word of God be able to speak into my life and into my heart and set me free from those feelings of not being good enough?
Why can't I face the fact that I am not good enough and that I never will be? Well no, the real question is how can I face that and be able to live joyfully without feeling guilty for my failings and feeling like I'm being a hypocrite for living that way? I'm not quite sure how to do that.
But I am learning. And I always will be.
One thing I know is that grace is such a beautiful concept that should not be withheld. God saw it fit to give us grace and pardon us by making His Son pay for our unruliness even while we were still doing it in front of His face. So who am I to deny that same grace to others?
I have never been left alone by God.
He has been by my side through the very good and the very, very bad and He has loved me through it.
He said he will never let me go and I believe that with every fiber in my imperfect body and mind.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
(Untitled)
Sometimes I get lost within myself. Sometimes I forget what is all around me and fold into the mortal body I have been given, deeper still I go... Deeper into the pit of my soul I often fall and sometimes it's dark and disastrous, and other times it is refreshing and riveting. Sometimes I can forget everything around me and just breathe.
Sometimes I just let God.
The problems surrounding me become obsolete and He becomes everything. He engulfs my very being into Him. He swoops in and lifts me higher than my fears, higher than my problems, and higher still than my persecutors. He becomes the only focus of my life and for a moment, there is more of Him than me. For a moment I am able to see that I can add to the beauty of what He has already decreed to be beautiful.
Sometimes I just let God.
The problems surrounding me become obsolete and He becomes everything. He engulfs my very being into Him. He swoops in and lifts me higher than my fears, higher than my problems, and higher still than my persecutors. He becomes the only focus of my life and for a moment, there is more of Him than me. For a moment I am able to see that I can add to the beauty of what He has already decreed to be beautiful.
Blurb
It was raining that Sunday morning.
She stepped outside, her hood loosely framing her face, and shoved her bag underneath her coat hoping the purple suede wouldn't get wet. She walked down the brick path as water cascaded in puddles around her footsteps and droplets found their way onto her already showered hair. But she didn't mind the bite of the rain that morning.
She made it to the cafeteria and unveiled her bag. It was unscathed.
Having swiped in, she made her way to her table in the corner; quiet enough for imagining up her next great rendezvous but public enough that no one would question why she was sitting by herself.
It was the perfect ruse.
**No idea what this was supposed to turn into, but I sort of like the mystery that it leaves, unfinished.
She stepped outside, her hood loosely framing her face, and shoved her bag underneath her coat hoping the purple suede wouldn't get wet. She walked down the brick path as water cascaded in puddles around her footsteps and droplets found their way onto her already showered hair. But she didn't mind the bite of the rain that morning.
She made it to the cafeteria and unveiled her bag. It was unscathed.
Having swiped in, she made her way to her table in the corner; quiet enough for imagining up her next great rendezvous but public enough that no one would question why she was sitting by herself.
It was the perfect ruse.
**No idea what this was supposed to turn into, but I sort of like the mystery that it leaves, unfinished.
My Honeydew List
I don't think you know exactly what you mean to me.
I don't think I even have the answer to that.
Sure, I'm moody right now and it's raining outside so the melancholy has officially sunk in..
But that doesn't change the way my heart skips and my stomach flips when I think about you.
I was going to ask you to promise me these things, but I'm realizing that's not fair.
So instead I will "suggest" them to you.
When you head to The Academy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to seize the entire Coast Guard in your two mighty fists, please try to remember this list:
1) When you get your hair buzzed, remember how much I love it when it's fuzzy like that.
2) Eat every kind of disgusting food combination you can think of. I won't be there to scoff.
3) You're going to change. And that's okay. And that's good. But don't forget who is at the center.
4) Please don't lose your wild, silly side (obviously only to be brought out during certain occasions
AKA NOT during inspection).
5) Remember how incredibly loved you are by your family. And write to them more than to me.
6) None of those girls know you like I do. Just saying.
7) Get ready to meet some of your lifelong brothers.
8) Remember that how much you miss someone is just a symptom of how deeply nested they are in
your heart.
9) Don't forget who you are deep down. Don't lose sight of the brilliant mind God gave you to
humbly serve him with. Don't underestimate the power of God within you. Don't second guess
His goodness and faithfulness in every aspect of your life.
And lastly,
10) Please try not to forget me. I'll be waiting for you.
I don't think I even have the answer to that.
Sure, I'm moody right now and it's raining outside so the melancholy has officially sunk in..
But that doesn't change the way my heart skips and my stomach flips when I think about you.
I was going to ask you to promise me these things, but I'm realizing that's not fair.
So instead I will "suggest" them to you.
When you head to The Academy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to seize the entire Coast Guard in your two mighty fists, please try to remember this list:
1) When you get your hair buzzed, remember how much I love it when it's fuzzy like that.
2) Eat every kind of disgusting food combination you can think of. I won't be there to scoff.
3) You're going to change. And that's okay. And that's good. But don't forget who is at the center.
4) Please don't lose your wild, silly side (obviously only to be brought out during certain occasions
AKA NOT during inspection).
5) Remember how incredibly loved you are by your family. And write to them more than to me.
6) None of those girls know you like I do. Just saying.
7) Get ready to meet some of your lifelong brothers.
8) Remember that how much you miss someone is just a symptom of how deeply nested they are in
your heart.
9) Don't forget who you are deep down. Don't lose sight of the brilliant mind God gave you to
humbly serve him with. Don't underestimate the power of God within you. Don't second guess
His goodness and faithfulness in every aspect of your life.
And lastly,
10) Please try not to forget me. I'll be waiting for you.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Dear Future Husband: Part II
When I think of you, I think of patience and gentleness; strength and humility; romance and sweetness. When I imagine your smile, it's one that sends shivers up and down my spine. When I think of our children, I think about how much they are going to adore you. I play our wedding over in my head and imagine you carrying me over the threshold. When I imagine you, I smile at your wild side and the way you can always make me laugh. When I try to figure out what your voice sounds like, it's always different, but always warms the very depths of my heart. I see you smiling at me like I'm somehow the prettiest thing you've ever seen and I want so badly to know who you are...
Darling, whoever you are, wherever you are, and whatever you're doing... Know that there is a part of my heart reserved just for you. There is a part of my heart that has never been touched by human hands that I'm dusting off and cleaning out just for you, my one love, my unknown other half.
I already love you.
I always will.
Darling, whoever you are, wherever you are, and whatever you're doing... Know that there is a part of my heart reserved just for you. There is a part of my heart that has never been touched by human hands that I'm dusting off and cleaning out just for you, my one love, my unknown other half.
I already love you.
I always will.
Monday, May 18, 2015
There You Go
Here I lie
With head held high
in the mist of the moon
and the sun coming soon
Here I sit
with my heart in a fit
in the heat of the sun
and my hair in a bun
Here I smile
with my mind in your file
in the bloom of the trees
and the buzz of the bees
Here I think
with my hands in the sink
in the grime of our meal
and the joy that I feel
Here I pray
with only tears left to say
in the haze of the dust
and the church bench crust
There you go
with your spirit aglow
in the light of your dreams
and my heart torn at the seams.
With head held high
in the mist of the moon
and the sun coming soon
Here I sit
with my heart in a fit
in the heat of the sun
and my hair in a bun
Here I smile
with my mind in your file
in the bloom of the trees
and the buzz of the bees
Here I think
with my hands in the sink
in the grime of our meal
and the joy that I feel
Here I pray
with only tears left to say
in the haze of the dust
and the church bench crust
There you go
with your spirit aglow
in the light of your dreams
and my heart torn at the seams.
I choose you
It will be difficult, but not impossible.
It will be stressful, but I am being more and more reassured that it will be worth it.
A man like him, with his character and integrity and gentle, yet strong sense of duty... you don't just give up on someone like that because of distance.
I cannot express how he makes me feel, the things he makes me want to get better at and the things he challenges me to think about. And for anyone who knows me, they know that this is a very rare phenomenon: not being able to pinpoint how I am feeling and why I am feeling that way.
He draws the breath right out of me and holds it captive just long enough for me to feel lightheaded and wonderful and then blows it all back into me in a rush of joy and excitement.
He has begun a process of focus and concentration within me; a process of learning more and more about my savior and knowing who he truly is.
He has done this all in slow motion, slower than I ever would have thought to breathe, but it was perfect timing. My breathing has slowed, rather than quickened. It has become rhythmic and steady, controlled and dependable. It has become lovely.
Him leaving will be just another change, another challenge we face. Granted, it will be the first true challenge we face and it will be a big one. It will test our commitment, our trust, our devotion... it will stretch us beyond the finish line that we foresaw and towards a new one, further into the distance.
Everything God has shown me about him has been nothing but encouraging. Even his hotheadedness and his habit of making everything a formula in his mind. Even those things have proven to be of worth in showing me his humanness and that he too falls short of the glory of our God.
When he is not physically here, I will be hurting. There is no doubt. I will struggle to feel loved by him in the way I know best. My body will ache to be in his arms as deeply as my heart will ache to connect to his. But I welcome that ache. I welcome that pang as a reminder of what he means to me. If there was no pang, if there was no ache, it would not be worth it.
He can rest easy knowing that I have confidence in my ability to learn his language. I desire to understand how he hears and processes my language. I am willing to be made willing by our God when I do not feel so willing on my own.
This little write-up might not seem as calculated or as organized as his thoughts probably are, but as much as I want to speak his way, that's also just not me.
This is me telling you that I think you are worth it.
This is me telling you that I am willing.
This is me telling you that I'm not going down without a fight.
This is me telling you that I've already accepted whatever choice you are going to make and that no matter where you end up, I still want YOU.
It will be stressful, but I am being more and more reassured that it will be worth it.
A man like him, with his character and integrity and gentle, yet strong sense of duty... you don't just give up on someone like that because of distance.
I cannot express how he makes me feel, the things he makes me want to get better at and the things he challenges me to think about. And for anyone who knows me, they know that this is a very rare phenomenon: not being able to pinpoint how I am feeling and why I am feeling that way.
He draws the breath right out of me and holds it captive just long enough for me to feel lightheaded and wonderful and then blows it all back into me in a rush of joy and excitement.
He has begun a process of focus and concentration within me; a process of learning more and more about my savior and knowing who he truly is.
He has done this all in slow motion, slower than I ever would have thought to breathe, but it was perfect timing. My breathing has slowed, rather than quickened. It has become rhythmic and steady, controlled and dependable. It has become lovely.
Him leaving will be just another change, another challenge we face. Granted, it will be the first true challenge we face and it will be a big one. It will test our commitment, our trust, our devotion... it will stretch us beyond the finish line that we foresaw and towards a new one, further into the distance.
Everything God has shown me about him has been nothing but encouraging. Even his hotheadedness and his habit of making everything a formula in his mind. Even those things have proven to be of worth in showing me his humanness and that he too falls short of the glory of our God.
When he is not physically here, I will be hurting. There is no doubt. I will struggle to feel loved by him in the way I know best. My body will ache to be in his arms as deeply as my heart will ache to connect to his. But I welcome that ache. I welcome that pang as a reminder of what he means to me. If there was no pang, if there was no ache, it would not be worth it.
He can rest easy knowing that I have confidence in my ability to learn his language. I desire to understand how he hears and processes my language. I am willing to be made willing by our God when I do not feel so willing on my own.
This little write-up might not seem as calculated or as organized as his thoughts probably are, but as much as I want to speak his way, that's also just not me.
This is me telling you that I think you are worth it.
This is me telling you that I am willing.
This is me telling you that I'm not going down without a fight.
This is me telling you that I've already accepted whatever choice you are going to make and that no matter where you end up, I still want YOU.
Friday, April 17, 2015
When You Go...
When you go, I'm going to miss your hand in mine and the way your eyes turn different shades of green depending on how closely you're holding me.
I'm in love with those olive greens and the way they look past my flaws and into my crystal blues.
I'm going to miss your captivating smile and goofy laugh.
They've swept me up, blown me away, and knocked me clean off my feet.
I wasn't prepared for your laugh and the way it makes my insides all fuzzy and woozy
I'm going to miss your beat up hands running through my hair.
I never expected them to hold mine so perfectly.
I'm going to miss dancing with you in an empty room and being awkwardly interrupted by security guards assuming we must be up to no good.
I never knew how comfortable I would be, swaying in your arms.
I never knew God had planned you for me.
You're selfless and you're loyal,
You're noble and just,
You're beautifully made and perfectly imperfect.
Happiness is fleeting, and I thank God you don't just make me happy but rather joyful.
But I'm going to miss you.
I'm in love with those olive greens and the way they look past my flaws and into my crystal blues.
I'm going to miss your captivating smile and goofy laugh.
They've swept me up, blown me away, and knocked me clean off my feet.
I wasn't prepared for your laugh and the way it makes my insides all fuzzy and woozy
I'm going to miss being able to spot your blue water bottle from a football field away and the anticipation that builds in my stomach as you come nearer.
I never thought that tall, handsome, army boy in my logic class would ever by mine.I'm going to miss your beat up hands running through my hair.
I never expected them to hold mine so perfectly.
I'm going to miss dancing with you in an empty room and being awkwardly interrupted by security guards assuming we must be up to no good.
I never knew how comfortable I would be, swaying in your arms.
I'm going to miss you teaching me new things about the bible as we sit across from each other, forgetting the world around us.
You're selfless and you're loyal,
You're noble and just,
You're beautifully made and perfectly imperfect.
I'm going to miss the way you open doors for me as if I was royalty.
You've practically convinced me that I am just that.
I'm going to miss eating with you and being disgusted by your strange combinations
I'm going to miss picking up the dryer sheets off of your floor and folding your laundry.
I'm going to miss being able to walk from my dorm to yours to bring you hot chocolate.
I'm going to miss having full conversations in crazy accents as we drive to our next adventure.
You make me feel like there's a whole new level of myself that I never knew existed.
You've opened my eyes and for some reason... I have a feeling you're going to be in my life for a while longer.But I'm going to miss you.
I'm going to miss every part of you.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Comfort Food
Spaghetti and Waffles.
Dinner and Breakfast.
Tangled and Neat.
I am spaghetti and you are waffles.
I am messy and you are sectioned neatly.
I am complicated and you are simple.
I think in loops and you think in right angles.
I interweave every possible story and you keep things appropriately separate.
I combine my emotions and you use one at a time.
It's hard to find my end and you have defined yours.
I let sauce fly everywhere and you've got perfect little syrup cubicles.
I never know when to stop and you know when you've hit your wall.
Swirls and Cubes.
Different and Incomplete.
Yet so compatible and so fulfilling.
When I cannot see where I begin and end, you mark out my lines and untwist my strings.
When you cannot break free from your thinking blocks, I soften your edges and let the syrup overflow a bit.
When my feet sway and zigzag, you line them back up on the straight and narrow.
When your head gets red and heated, I remind you of what's really important.
I'll add some sugar.
You'll add some spice.
Let's eat.
Dinner and Breakfast.
Tangled and Neat.
I am spaghetti and you are waffles.
I am messy and you are sectioned neatly.
I am complicated and you are simple.
I think in loops and you think in right angles.
I interweave every possible story and you keep things appropriately separate.
I combine my emotions and you use one at a time.
It's hard to find my end and you have defined yours.
I let sauce fly everywhere and you've got perfect little syrup cubicles.
I never know when to stop and you know when you've hit your wall.
Swirls and Cubes.
Different and Incomplete.
Yet so compatible and so fulfilling.
When I cannot see where I begin and end, you mark out my lines and untwist my strings.
When you cannot break free from your thinking blocks, I soften your edges and let the syrup overflow a bit.
When my feet sway and zigzag, you line them back up on the straight and narrow.
When your head gets red and heated, I remind you of what's really important.
I'll add some sugar.
You'll add some spice.
Let's eat.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Little Flame
Each morning when I wake
so to does that little flame within.
Fluttering and whispering,
of magic and love and uncertainty.
And as the day rolls on
the little flame, it grows.
It sputters and sparks, gently finding it's way
through every crevice of my blood-soaked heart.
Winding and turning the flame licks farther,
touching my mind with its scorching boughs.
Reminding me of you and your gentle ways,
reminding me of you and your warmth.
Even while this ice storm howls,
my soul knows no biting cold.
The flame consumes me, envelopes me,
holding me close and lingering on, lingering even in the dark.
It whispers softly into my ear,
all the things I need to hear.
It frolics frivolously through my veins.
It sends shivers up my spine and bumps along my arms.
I've lost all hope of extinguishing this fiery source of excitement
It has proven far to strong, far to determined
to be put out by conventional ways.
It is truly like nothing I have ever known before.
What do they call this phenomenon?
This burning up from within?
This unexplainable joy and anticipation?
What is it, that I might master it's curves and edges!
I feel it when I wake,
I feel it when I sleep.
I feel it in the winter,
even then I feel it's clever heat.
Will it go away?
Will the flames leave my heart charred and black?
Will the glow from its tongue leave my eyes?
I do not need to know, for I will not be afraid.
Little flame, may the wind make you blossom.
Little flame, may your glow be ever present.
Little flame, you're starting to take me captive.
Little flame, you just might set my whole life ablaze.
so to does that little flame within.
Fluttering and whispering,
of magic and love and uncertainty.
And as the day rolls on
the little flame, it grows.
It sputters and sparks, gently finding it's way
through every crevice of my blood-soaked heart.
Winding and turning the flame licks farther,
touching my mind with its scorching boughs.
Reminding me of you and your gentle ways,
reminding me of you and your warmth.
Even while this ice storm howls,
my soul knows no biting cold.
The flame consumes me, envelopes me,
holding me close and lingering on, lingering even in the dark.
It whispers softly into my ear,
all the things I need to hear.
It frolics frivolously through my veins.
It sends shivers up my spine and bumps along my arms.
I've lost all hope of extinguishing this fiery source of excitement
It has proven far to strong, far to determined
to be put out by conventional ways.
It is truly like nothing I have ever known before.
What do they call this phenomenon?
This burning up from within?
This unexplainable joy and anticipation?
What is it, that I might master it's curves and edges!
I feel it when I wake,
I feel it when I sleep.
I feel it in the winter,
even then I feel it's clever heat.
Will it go away?
Will the flames leave my heart charred and black?
Will the glow from its tongue leave my eyes?
I do not need to know, for I will not be afraid.
Little flame, may the wind make you blossom.
Little flame, may your glow be ever present.
Little flame, you're starting to take me captive.
Little flame, you just might set my whole life ablaze.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
I'm not going to write about you.
The possibility of this happening in my life is terrifyingly exciting. The possibility of you happening into my life scares the skin right off my bones. And the more scared I get the more excited I feel, but it's a cycle. And it must be stopped.
So I'm not going to write about you.
Because I write about things that inspire me, that draw my deepest, most incomplete thoughts out of me. I write about things that need more of an explanation than brain waves of thought and sound waves of speech can describe. I write about things bigger than myself and sometimes, on a rare occasion, I write about things that scare me. But to write about you would mean that I was accepting the fact that you've already become a part of my life that is too big to ignore... a part of my life that makes me think incomplete, confusing thoughts about "what if this happens" that morph into "I hope this happens". And doing that, well, doing that means that I've just completely lost my mind, over you.
So I'm not going to write about you.
Granted, you have many qualities that make you worthy of my illustrious pen skills, but I'm committed to standing my ground. When I write about people, it's usually because they intrigue me so much that I can't help but try and develop their character as though writing a screen play. Your unique, rich, non-conforming character would definitely make for an excellent screenplay lead role.
But I'm not going to write about you.
You know, your smile really makes me want to make you smile again and I hate that, because it makes me want to write about it. It makes me want to write about how very different it is from all the other smiles I know.
But like I said, I'm not going to write about you.
Sometimes I wonder how anyone truly finds me entertaining or funny or even just nice to be around. With all the weird things I do and the amount of times that my hands start flailing around as I'm recounting an extremely embarrassing story to my friends, it's hard to understand why there are friends at all! But there are some people who see me do that and think that that's what makes me, me. Those people even appreciate the fact that I don't try to hide the crazy. Sometimes those people even join me and sometimes they beat me in my own game of "Who Can be Weirder?" Now that I think about it, sometimes you do that...
But I'm NOT going to write about you.
Sometimes I sit and daydream about the perfect life I concocted for myself when I was a little girl. The Olympic gold medal athlete I would be and the white picket fence; the 5 little children I would have all by the age of 20 of course and the prince I would have them with. It makes me laugh a little bit at how differently everything has turned out so far. But I'm really okay with it. Now when I sit and daydream about what's next, I see a degree, and being a voice for the unborn, and building friendships, and you, and...
No, scratch that last one, I said I wasn't going to write about you...
Well I have a predicament now. I'm afraid that if I write anything more, I'm going to start writing about you. And if I do that, well, well we've already gone over what will happen if I go down that road.
What? What's that?
You're saying that I've already written about you?
Just now? And what else?
And that even if I hadn't, I've already lost my mind anyway?!
Well, how dare you make such an accusation!
I made a commitment!
I took a stand!
I made a promise, and you, you...
Oh no.
You're right.
I just wrote about you.
So I'm not going to write about you.
Because I write about things that inspire me, that draw my deepest, most incomplete thoughts out of me. I write about things that need more of an explanation than brain waves of thought and sound waves of speech can describe. I write about things bigger than myself and sometimes, on a rare occasion, I write about things that scare me. But to write about you would mean that I was accepting the fact that you've already become a part of my life that is too big to ignore... a part of my life that makes me think incomplete, confusing thoughts about "what if this happens" that morph into "I hope this happens". And doing that, well, doing that means that I've just completely lost my mind, over you.
So I'm not going to write about you.
Granted, you have many qualities that make you worthy of my illustrious pen skills, but I'm committed to standing my ground. When I write about people, it's usually because they intrigue me so much that I can't help but try and develop their character as though writing a screen play. Your unique, rich, non-conforming character would definitely make for an excellent screenplay lead role.
But I'm not going to write about you.
You know, your smile really makes me want to make you smile again and I hate that, because it makes me want to write about it. It makes me want to write about how very different it is from all the other smiles I know.
But like I said, I'm not going to write about you.
Sometimes I wonder how anyone truly finds me entertaining or funny or even just nice to be around. With all the weird things I do and the amount of times that my hands start flailing around as I'm recounting an extremely embarrassing story to my friends, it's hard to understand why there are friends at all! But there are some people who see me do that and think that that's what makes me, me. Those people even appreciate the fact that I don't try to hide the crazy. Sometimes those people even join me and sometimes they beat me in my own game of "Who Can be Weirder?" Now that I think about it, sometimes you do that...
But I'm NOT going to write about you.
Sometimes I sit and daydream about the perfect life I concocted for myself when I was a little girl. The Olympic gold medal athlete I would be and the white picket fence; the 5 little children I would have all by the age of 20 of course and the prince I would have them with. It makes me laugh a little bit at how differently everything has turned out so far. But I'm really okay with it. Now when I sit and daydream about what's next, I see a degree, and being a voice for the unborn, and building friendships, and you, and...
No, scratch that last one, I said I wasn't going to write about you...
Well I have a predicament now. I'm afraid that if I write anything more, I'm going to start writing about you. And if I do that, well, well we've already gone over what will happen if I go down that road.
What? What's that?
You're saying that I've already written about you?
Just now? And what else?
And that even if I hadn't, I've already lost my mind anyway?!
Well, how dare you make such an accusation!
I made a commitment!
I took a stand!
I made a promise, and you, you...
Oh no.
You're right.
I just wrote about you.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Him and Her
I wrote this about 4 months ago for two of my dear friends...
She’s a strong woman.
A woman who knows what she wants.
She’s intelligent in every way, able to write
thought-provoking papers and get out of sticky situations. She has a heart of gold, one of the purest
I've ever known, constantly thinking about what’s best for others and what will
make them comfortable and at ease. Her
fierce desire to please the Lord is what presses her onward, through the hard
times and above her persecutors. She is
a lover of all things in their purest form: food, nature, and people. She loves deeply and doles out mounds of
compassion to those in need. Her voice
is full, yet gentle, combining with the air waves around and in her to form a
lyrical noise as melodious as a chorus of songbirds. She laughs without hesitation at the smallest
of humorous thoughts. She leans not of
her own understanding, but on the plans of the Lord to guide and persuade her
onward.
She is a woman worthy of being loved by only the purest of
hearts and worthy of being appreciated for every little quirk. She is beautiful. She is real. She is
imperfectly perfect, and she deserves someone who loves that about her.
He is a man of gentle strength. A man who knows who he is in Christ.
He is thoughtful and romantic, capable of sweeping any, and
every girl off his feet, yet he chose her.
His blind naivety places him in a category only a few have been able to innocently
achieve. He loves being in awe and
continuously tries to find the beauty in everything around him. He has a passion that sometimes cannot be
controlled but is bound up so fully within him that it often doesn't matter if
it is controlled or not. He is a lover
of all things rare and God-breathed. He
pours himself into people and leaves himself for last, attracting everyone to
him.
He is a man capable of loving her to the fullest. Of giving
her everything she could ever need. He
is desirable to many, loved by most, but adored by one. He must become like a
velvet covered brick. Soft and gentle on
the outside, yet strong and stable on the inside. He can love her, and she him, in the perfect
unity of our God.
Short Story - continued
I’m sorry Gramps, it just reminded me so much of the good
old days.
You remember don’t you?
Sitting on the front porch on that old squeaky glider, rust creeping
over the edges of its white, flaking paint, just watching the sky gust and the
cows graze. We each had a glass of
lemonade in our left hand and a cigar balancing between our right index finger
and thumb, mine thin and yours thick.
Mama always said you were a bit of a hard ass, never letting anyone
break through you and always having something spiteful to say. But I never had much trouble speaking to your
soul and in turn, you speaking to mine.
We had a way of having deep conversations without saying a single word.
You remember, don’t you?
I never understood why you had so many orange, cylindrical
Rx bottles lining your bedroom windowsill.
I never understood why there were so many when you were taking them and
I especially never understood them after you stopped. You told everyone that you were doing just
fine and that the meds were really helping this time, even though everyone
could clearly see that they were not. I
don’t know why you didn’t just throw the bottles away. At least you wouldn’t have to be reminded
every morning of how quickly your own death was approaching with every pill
that remained in that bottle a day too long, day after day. I wouldn’t have blamed you.
I still don’t blame you for what happened.
Grama does, but I don’t.
And how can anyone even blame her? She never saw it coming,
that darling thing. What was inevitable
to everyone else was utter shock to her, a woman who, for 65 years had lived in
the same house with the man she loved so dearly since she had met him. We all dreaded that day, knowing it was
coming, yet hoping it wouldn’t. Everyone
claimed that they dreaded it because, of course, it would mean the end of you
in our lives, but really, I think that everyone was just so worried about
Gram. I tried telling her that you were
getting old and that sometimes people just have to leave us, even if it’s too
soon and even when we aren’t finished learning about who they are and telling
them about ourselves. But she just sat
there and chuckled lightly to herself and told me that you would never do that
because you promised you would be with her forever, in sickness and in health,
in life and in death, and that meant that if you were going, then so was she.
I didn’t know how to take that because quite honestly, if I
was with the man of my dreams for 65 years, I would have said the same thing.
That rusty glider is still on your front porch in case you were wondering. Grama let us get rid of everything in the house that we deemed clutter except that. She practically lived on that thing after you went. To be honest, I think she might have spent a few nights out there with the blanket you gave her on your first wedding anniversary and the picture you sent her while you were off fighting for our freedom. Your passing didn't hurt as much as her suffering hurt me after you went.
You were ready, she wasn't.
Gramps, what made you want to stay as long as you did? Was it just the familiarity of everything? Was it the people? Was it really Grama? Everyone says that it was her, and of course I want to believe that... but something tells me there was something else rooting you here. I know how deeply you loved Grama, I never doubted that. I saw the way you looked at her every time she placed your dinner in front of you like she had the last 65 years. You looked at her like you had never seen anything more beautiful in your life. Every time you saw her, it was like your blind, creaky eyes had just been flung wide open and there in front of you was the most magnificent creation that God could have ever conjured up.
I want someone to look at me like that someday.
Mama keeps ignoring the fact that both of you are gone now. Once Grama realized that your picture was never going to hold her and your blanket would always grow colder no matter how long she left it by the fire, she couldn't hold on anymore. She had nothing keeping her here as much as I would love to believe that her children were enough, they weren't. And I don't think they are hurt by that. They knew that you had invaded her heart long ago and had swelled inside every nook and cranny in her massive heart. They knew that they could never equal you, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, they were okay with that. I think it was because her love for you was so pure. It was so untainted and real. I didn't know you two for even a quarter of the time you knew each other and yet that purity permeated my soul. Is she with you now?
I can't imagine any other place she could possibly be. Her soul wouldn't allow for anything otherwise.
Mama keeps trying to tell me that we just need to look for signs you and Grama left behind to tell us a message or some kind of story. I have no idea what she is talking about. I think it's her way of denying that there is no getting you two back. She can't accept that fact that you already had your last words. I feel bad for her, I really do.
But if only she would let herself grieve...
Collette is 6 now. She doesn't remember you but I tell her stories all the time. All she knows about you is that you were a hero and you were brave and you loved so fiercely that it almost hurt. She knows that you were charming and handsome and that you knew how to herd cattle and till the fields. She knows that you had a stout chest and strong hands, yet they always felt soft patting our little heads. She knows that you loved her. I sing her the lullaby you sang to her when she was first born, even as you were withering away inside.
Your voice still echoes in my mind. It seems to float along every gust of wind and every chirp of the birds.
Gramps, what's it like where you are? I only ask because I like to be prepared before I meet someone I haven't seen in awhile. I see you in the meadows and I see you in the dirt. I know I'll see you in the stars eventually.
My journey isn't over yet, but when it is, I want people to talk about me the way I can't help but talk about you. I'm sitting on that rusty glider now, glass of lemonade in my right hand as usual. I see the cows and the pastures and the dust rolls along the creaky floorboards of that age old porch. Everythingg seems almost normal. Except instead of a thin cigar, this time I'm smoking a fat one and my index finger and thumb are maneuvering themselves to look just like yours did on those breezy, beautiful nights, watching time pass over the meadows and mosquitoes nip at our skin.
Not much has changed, really.
That rusty glider is still on your front porch in case you were wondering. Grama let us get rid of everything in the house that we deemed clutter except that. She practically lived on that thing after you went. To be honest, I think she might have spent a few nights out there with the blanket you gave her on your first wedding anniversary and the picture you sent her while you were off fighting for our freedom. Your passing didn't hurt as much as her suffering hurt me after you went.
You were ready, she wasn't.
Gramps, what made you want to stay as long as you did? Was it just the familiarity of everything? Was it the people? Was it really Grama? Everyone says that it was her, and of course I want to believe that... but something tells me there was something else rooting you here. I know how deeply you loved Grama, I never doubted that. I saw the way you looked at her every time she placed your dinner in front of you like she had the last 65 years. You looked at her like you had never seen anything more beautiful in your life. Every time you saw her, it was like your blind, creaky eyes had just been flung wide open and there in front of you was the most magnificent creation that God could have ever conjured up.
I want someone to look at me like that someday.
Mama keeps ignoring the fact that both of you are gone now. Once Grama realized that your picture was never going to hold her and your blanket would always grow colder no matter how long she left it by the fire, she couldn't hold on anymore. She had nothing keeping her here as much as I would love to believe that her children were enough, they weren't. And I don't think they are hurt by that. They knew that you had invaded her heart long ago and had swelled inside every nook and cranny in her massive heart. They knew that they could never equal you, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, they were okay with that. I think it was because her love for you was so pure. It was so untainted and real. I didn't know you two for even a quarter of the time you knew each other and yet that purity permeated my soul. Is she with you now?
I can't imagine any other place she could possibly be. Her soul wouldn't allow for anything otherwise.
Mama keeps trying to tell me that we just need to look for signs you and Grama left behind to tell us a message or some kind of story. I have no idea what she is talking about. I think it's her way of denying that there is no getting you two back. She can't accept that fact that you already had your last words. I feel bad for her, I really do.
But if only she would let herself grieve...
Collette is 6 now. She doesn't remember you but I tell her stories all the time. All she knows about you is that you were a hero and you were brave and you loved so fiercely that it almost hurt. She knows that you were charming and handsome and that you knew how to herd cattle and till the fields. She knows that you had a stout chest and strong hands, yet they always felt soft patting our little heads. She knows that you loved her. I sing her the lullaby you sang to her when she was first born, even as you were withering away inside.
Your voice still echoes in my mind. It seems to float along every gust of wind and every chirp of the birds.
Gramps, what's it like where you are? I only ask because I like to be prepared before I meet someone I haven't seen in awhile. I see you in the meadows and I see you in the dirt. I know I'll see you in the stars eventually.
My journey isn't over yet, but when it is, I want people to talk about me the way I can't help but talk about you. I'm sitting on that rusty glider now, glass of lemonade in my right hand as usual. I see the cows and the pastures and the dust rolls along the creaky floorboards of that age old porch. Everythingg seems almost normal. Except instead of a thin cigar, this time I'm smoking a fat one and my index finger and thumb are maneuvering themselves to look just like yours did on those breezy, beautiful nights, watching time pass over the meadows and mosquitoes nip at our skin.
Not much has changed, really.
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