Expectation

In expectation of His good provision
I wait, and close my eyes against the early autumn sun,
Inhaling apples, dry summer grass,
The first bite of crisp coolness,
Exhaling impatience into the sky.

I breathe deeply, filling my belly
With this last fling of sunshine before the rains return,
Expanding my ribcage,
And holding each breath down to my anklebones,
Knowing it must be released into winter.

I stretch one last summer stretch
Toward the south-drifting sun,
Preparing to curl my spine around my middle,
Ready to hibernate, pale and warm,
Waiting for spring and rebirth.

For in this spring to come, in expectation
Of His good provision, His perfect plan,
Renewing covenant, retelling story,
I will see His grace breathed out in breath upon breath,
Shining through His people Israel.

Life, into death, into life again.

Motherhood

I am so full.  Full of gratitude for this life I lead.  Full of the sweetness of baby giggles and kisses and single-word-exchange conversations.  Full of love for my sweet husband.  Full of cheesecake my sweet husband encouraged me to eat in honor of mother's day.  Just full.  But I won't burst; he helped me with the cheesecake.

I wore shoes today I haven't worn since before Mikaelin, which got me to reminiscing.  This time 7 years ago I was celebrating Mother's Day by graduating from college.  This time two years ago, we were going on our babymoon.  This time last year we dedicated our baby to the Lord.  This time next year?

Life is good.  80-degree May days full of lilac breezes and rhubarb evenings.  Community that's more like family than family.  Watching the Mikaelin Channel on the video monitor while she sleeps.  Crayon blue skies and minor home demolition projects.  Planning for the future, full of hope.  Gratitude and hope.

Genius

It's normal to think your child is a genius, right?  At least the first one?  Because we do.  Mikaelin is picking up words and associations left and right, and can say her entire alphabet when prompted letter by letter.  She can even recognize some numbers and is making connections on her own.  She's repeating nearly everything we say.  She's awesome.  And we need to start seriously devoting some cash to her college fund.

Sometimes I try to picture her as an adult.  It's kind of fun.  I would love for her to stay my tiny newborn forever, but that season's already come and gone, so instead I picture her once she's out of the toddler years and able to use logic and reason...you know, when she's in her 30s.  Not that I don't "treasure every minute;" I totally lock them in my heart to use as sentimental blackmail when she's a teenager.  I'm just so excited to see what God has for her life.  I love what God has called me to in this short span of years, and I pray that my daughter would experience such fulfillment someday.  I love my sweet girl, and am so grateful for the time that God has given me to care for her.

Crisp

This is my very favorite time of year.  This is the first time, however, that it's really snuck up on me.  My mind must have been occupied with other things.

Tomorrow I turn 29 for the first time.  Today, I revel in the warm, yet crisp, autumn air and admire the vividness of the change of season.  Autumn never sneaks up on the trees; they're never too busy to savor the shift in proximity to the sun.  The flora has an unhindered generosity in its willingness to slap us in the face with stunning hues that scream, "Pay attention!  The world is turning, and your Facebook friend count is really unimportant!  Come outside and play!"  Vibrant against a slate-grey sky, illuminated by the setting sun, Thomas Kincaid would weep at the inadequacy of his brushstrokes to capture God's perfect autumnal neon signs.  The air smells like pumpkins and caramel apples, macaroni and cheese and birthday shopping with Grandma.  The world looks like one last hurrah before winter.

It may be a symptom of my impending 30s, but it feels like time is gaining momentum.  What was a series of snapshots has become a timelapse, and I want to extend my gratitude to the trees for reminding me to stop and inhale the moment.  Lord, you do create unfathomable beauty.

Chronology

I recently found some time to upload all of my old digital photos from a long-dead computer onto the present computer, and was actually able to indulge and look through all of them.  ALL of them.  Some of those photos were from my first year of college, some from more recently, and all brought back a ton of memories.  I thought I would post a few, and the memories that go along with them.

 From my senior year ballroom dance performance.  I love dancing, and I love this guy.  He's getting married soon, and I'm so happy for him!

 At our college library, in the courtyard.  I just finished showing my mom the display I had made for the Slocum Award competition: a 2-case collection of Pirate books and objects.  It was pretty amazing, and afterwards my mom and I took silly pictures together.

 August 19, 2006.  I had my B'nei Mitzvah and became "fully Jewish" in the eyes of the Reform Jewish community.  I worked on it for about 6 months, which is about 1/4 of the time it normally takes. Granted, I was 23, not 13, but still.

 Sophomore year of college my girlfriends and I lived in a house together off campus.  We threw a Halloween/birthday party (3/4 of us had birthdays right around Halloween) and we dressed as Earth, Fire, Water and Air (from left-right).  It was an amazing night.

 My best friends from college.  We went to Disneyland a lot.  I was always the short one.  I miss them daily.

 My favorite shot from my trip to Israel.  We had just climbed to the top of Masada to watch the sun rise over the Dead Sea.  It was an amazing, unparalleled, unforgettable trip.

 My college girlfriends and I loved dressing up and would seek out occasions so that we could indulge. Sometimes we just made stuff up.  I don't remember what this was for, but I know we had a great time and looked fabulous.

 Our Senior Trip to Las Vegas.  Elyse made us all these avatars based on a comic Kaitie and I drew in Biology class, so I turned them into shirts.  I seriously miss those girls.

One year, for Halloween, we went as Barbies.  We had, from left-right, Wedding Day Barbie, Fairy Princess Barbie, Businesswoman Barbie, Rockstar Barbie, and Glamour Barbie.  I think we won the costume contest for group costume.

 At one of the many tea parties I've thrown over the years.  This must have been an early one, maybe 2002?  I've lost track...I've been doing it for 11 years now!

 During my study abroad in England, I joined the York Dancesport team.  I danced a Quickstep and got to dress like Belle.

 After study abroad, I went backpacking around Europe on my own.  I had a great time, but I would never let my daughter do this.  Venice was my favorite spot.

 Liz was studying in St Andrews when I was at York, so we did some traveling together.  I think we're in London on this one.

 One of my favorite things about being in Europe (besides the food), was the museums.  I went to every museum I could afford to get into.

 My pup, Zoe, up at my favorite place in all the world: our family home (the cabin) on Whidbey Island.

 I think this was the first tea party.

 We used to go out dancing/clubbing on a pretty regular basis.  This was in 2005 I think, for someone's birthday (June's maybe?).

We've been friends for a loooong time; longer than we've NOT been friends!  My grandma took us out to tea on the terrace of the Moana Surfrider in Waikiki.

I've never been good at putting pictures into albums, but it seems like such a waste for them to just sit on the computer.  I have thousands more, so many of which have stories that make me laugh and cry and miss and grateful.  There are some pictures that I probably wouldn't want my kids to see, but nothing I'd ever hide from them because the person I am today is a result of all of the events of those photos, and the person I am today is well loved.  The person I am today is the person I always hoped I would be.  I just didn't know it.

Contentment

I had to post something because every time I open my blog, my last post stares me in the face and makes me sad. Something *different* has to take its place.

 I grew up in Bellevue. That, in itself, is baggage. No, not merely baggage...Prada baggage. Coach baggage. Brand name, bought-at-full-price-on-Daddy's-Visa baggage. And when I got married, there wasn't room for that kind of baggage in our apartment, so off it went to storage. And now that we're settled, and I have everything I could possibly want out of life, I'm going through the things that were in storage, dusting them off, and trying to see where they fit in this life we're building.

 And my baggage wants back in. And I'm struggling. I miss being able to go to Nordstrom whenever I had a whim, treating myself to a new shirt or pair of shoes or whatever. I miss the teenage self that would spend money like crazy at the mall and come home with BAGS and BAGS of stuff. She was unencumbered by the guilt inherent in the knowledge that the $12 lip gloss could have paid for a (tiny, tiny) fraction of her daughter's college education. She wasn't shackled by budgets. She didn't even know how to coupon. She was free.

 But oh, so expensive. Because she bought the baggage, and now I drag it with me everywhere I go. Will someone teach me how to take this fancy, leather bundle of discontentment to the dump? Or at least Goodwill? I want to be happy with what I have, and stop comparing myself to other people. I want to love my home, not constantly seek to transform it into some deranged Martha Stewart project gone wrong. I want to focus my energy on loving and serving my family, not impressing strangers. 

How do you spring clean your heart in the summer of your life?

Inspiration

I recently read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. It moved me in so many ways: to laughter, to tears, to compassion, to empathy, to rage, to disgust, to deep, deep conviction, to love, to breathe, to write. The book was poetry and perspective, surface tension and darkness of depth. The book was my past in blood and my past in faith and my hope in future. It spoke of me, and played out dissonance I couldn't begin to articulate. What a moment of brilliance.

I miss writing. I miss it like I miss my father, with a dull ache that occasionally rises to an unbearable sharpness caught in the throat. I miss the inadequacy of words, the fumbling that miraculously results in beauty and brilliance. I miss the desperation, the drive to express what language can only stretch its fingers towards before it inevitably falls short.

This time of year is sharp, unceasingly on the edge of paranoia, seeing him in everything with a pain that the rest of the year is joyous nostalgia. This time of year is no more brownies with pecans, or horses in giftboxes, or grandchildren. It hurts, but hurts is not the word. Burns, tugs, weeps, regrets, longs, hopes beyond hope. What can you say, with words? You can't say tears, but you have to try. 186 years would still have been too short. Love you, Daddy.