Category: Uncategorized

About a year ago, I stumbled upon this website that provided creative, beautiful desktops for every month. The best part? It’s F-R-E-E. Plus, who doesn’t love a little desktop-love to start the new month? It’s become one of my favorite parts about the first of the month. Here’s the one I chose for October:

See? You know you want one. Go choose your October.

During pre-marital counseling, Kyle and I were encouraged to come up with ways to love each other in big, noticeable ways. We learned each other’s language, so-to-speak, in the things that speak loudly to us and things that fall silent.

After almost three years of marriage, I confess, the ways Kyle loves me often fall on silent, dissatisfied ears. I am not proud of that.

We have been without a working dishwasher for a little over a year (first-world-problem, I realize). This means that one of us has to take up the task of the dishes. While I wish I could tell you that–in all my domestic greatness–I jump to it, it is often always Kyle. After dinner, anyone can predict the sounds coming from our kitchen on a nightly basis: running water, Pandora radio, and a humming Kyle.

Yes, he hums. It’s adorable.

What’s worse is that perhaps until this morning, when I was doing the dishes, I have not given this a second thought. His nightly task and labor just became something he did. I never considered in the grimy act of scraping crusty food off dishes, he has been fiercely loving me.

As I was mindlessly scrubbing, I started thinking of all the conversations that sat alongside those stained dishes. Tense moments around our table, times we’ve laughed so hard our dog has started barking out of fear, mornings I drank coffee and then left the cup on the kitchen table all day long, creating a ring that Kyle has scrubbed out for over two years.

And never has it occurred to me that in this little, unglamorous act, Kyle has really been saying, “I love you. I love you so much that I’m willing to do this thing that I will never get credit for, and I’ll never ask for anything in return.”

I think this happens in all of our relationships, not just marriage. We begin to take the dirty work for granted, expecting it from those around us, instead of welling up with gratitude. And in my marriage, I can say with confidence that this has been our biggest challenge: we take each other for granted. We start expecting and stop appreciating. We start demanding and stop noticing. We say, “Love me differently, love me more, give me everything,” instead of, “Thank you for every way you already love me.” I hope, in the years to come, that I become better about acknowledging all the unglamorous ways Kyle loves me.

I have written about my dear friend Stephanie before, how she singlehandedly draws out the best in people in every room she enters into, and how she just overall makes life a lot more laughable. She got married this past weekend, and it was such an honor to stand beside her in her wedding day. Her day was special for all sorts of reasons, but on an entirely selfish level, the day was really special for me. Since I’m about 5 months pregnant, I freely admit my emotions are running a little high. There was something about standing next to some of my closest friends, with this baby in my belly, watching Stephanie commit her life to the man we’ve all prayed for, and knowing I was apart of something very big in such a small moment.

The minister had Stephanie and Adam turn around and look at all the people who have been apart of their “story” before he began the ceremony, and to look out at all the teary-eyed faces was a little breathtaking. We all prepare for the big moments of life, the ones that we assume will take our breath away. But that was one that caught me off guard. Thinking about the many people who have shaped Adam’s life and how God knit together experiences that led him to this moment of promising his life to Stephanie was overwhelming. And to look at all the people who have shaped Stephanie’s life, most of whom I know, was equally as beautiful.

And then all the while to glance down at this little belly, and pray the same for him, well . . . that sent this pregnant lady over the emotional edge. I pray that he has the same kind of community as Stephanie and Adam have shared, and that on milestone days, he is able to reflect on all the people who have shaped his story.

Thanks for letting us be apart of your wedding day, Stephanie & Adam. We love you.

Dear baby boy,

We are so thrilled about you. When we heard the words, “You’re having a baby boy!” both of us sat with jaws dropped and staring at the screen with tear-filled eyes. We both failed at coming up with words to describe how swollen with joy our hearts felt. (Don’t tell him I told you this, but your dad may or may not have cried.)

We have prayed for you ever since we found out you existed, before we knew anything about you. And while I pray every day that you keep growing, I also pray for your character.

I pray you are so full of humility that at the first glance of pride, we guide you towards apology and grace.

I pray you are just like your father, in all of his loyalty and strength, and grow up to admire and love him.

I pray you have a heart full of compassion, seek out the broken and hurting, and live with arms open to the world, ready to love it.

I pray you have a hunger and thirst for knowledge, and it comes from a yearning in your soul to know your Creator deeply.

I pray you are a good friend to others, are loyal and true, and seek authentic friendships, no matter how hard it may be.

I pray during the season of your life when you begin to question us, you know that we love you.

I pray your heart will melt when you first discover the grace of Christ. And I pray that you would accept it recklessly.

I pray you will live a life of love.

I pray God gives us guidance when we don’t know what to do.

Most of all, baby boy, I pray we give you to God, as He so graciously gave you to us. I pray He gives us the courage to trust Him with whatever journey He takes you on.

We love you so much already.

You know what the real downside of this Chick-Fil-A controversy is, on an admittedly selfish level?

I’m pregnant. And all I can think about are waffle fries.

I woke up this morning thinking about sinking a crisp waffle fry into one of their delightful ketchup packs, then sipping my Arnold Palmer in blissful glee. Then I remembered it was Chick-Fil-A Appreciation Day, and thought, “Well, shoot, there might be long lines. I still want waffle fries.”

And we went, and I think there might have been 200 people in the restaurant alone. I have no idea how many cars wrapped around for the drive-thru. And we even went early so I could be guaranteed said-waffle-fry.

People with cameras everywhere, posting and taking pictures for the world to see that THEY SUPPORT CHICK-FIL-A!!! Which at first was fine, but then it got really weird. First, because (vainly) I was feeling self-conscious, the one day I chose not to do a thing to my hair, my face might be plastered all over Twitter. Something in my soul was stirring and saying, “Am I making an extreme political statement because my craving for waffle fries has overpowered my ability to make sound choices?”  I heard people making all kinds of remarks about how “this will show them!” and all I kept thinking was how much I just wanted some waffle fries. And possibly a milkshake. But definitely a fry. I think the employees even felt a little uncomfortable, as they are, whether they want to or not, being made political statements just by serving people and doing their jobs so they can receive a small income.

So, to those on both sides–disgusted by those posting photos and supporting Chick-Fil-A, don’t hate me. Please. And to those waving their Institution of Marriage Flags, I actually just wanted some waffle fries, so if you see my frazzled, untamed hair in your camera phone, please–for the love of this world, do not post it. I love all people. All I wanted was a crispy waffle fry. And lots of ketchup.

I have a love/hate relationship with my mobile device. Since I was a teenager, I’ve owned a cell phone. And no, not because my parents gave way and gave me everything I wanted, but because my dad is always ahead of the times, and dropped his landline in 1999. The next year, after he grew tired of his daughter using his personal phone to call her twenty-five eighth-grade friends, he bought us cell phones.

And I haven’t used a landline since. (Pause for dramatic effect.)

While I feel very grateful for this, and am by no means wishing I grew up in a log cabin, I also feel the tiring effects of being hyper-connected. All I’ve known is connectivity and constant availability, as I’m sure many my age feel the same. I’m available all the time because I always have my phone, and if I don’t respond to texts, something is surely wrong. When in reality, sometimes I just leave it at home, because I want to go somewhere and be physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually present. Let’s face it, I’m a spaz on my own; I don’t need the help of technology.

So if you’ve texted me lately and I haven’t responded until the next day, it’s because I’ve started turning my phone off before I go to bed. Or if you called me a few nights ago and I didn’t call you back until the next day (or the day after…), it’s because I left my phone in the car before I went into our friends’ house, so that I could just focus on the people I was with instead of checking my phone/email/texts/instagram/Facebook/Twitter/etc. every hour making sure no one desperately needs me (as if I am that important).

I think all of us could learn a bit from disconnecting. Not in an extreme, “I’M NEVER GOING TO BE ON FACEBOOK AGAIN!” type way. But in a, “You know what? I need to make steps to be more present with the people I’m actually sitting with,” way. What about you? Do you feel hyper-connected? Have you taken steps to disconnect from technology to be more present with the people in your day-to-day life? What have you found that works? What doesn’t work? 

Lately, our life resembles a lot more of a carousel than an open field of green grass. People hopping on and off, putting in their time and asking for a better turn, more excitement, less noise, and we open our hands and say, “Look, we have nothing left.” 

I am finding more and more relief in admitting that sometimes, I have nothing left to give. Not because I’m done, or burned out, but because I’m simply dried up, and I just need some quiet. Not because I don’t like you, or don’t want to spend time with you, or don’t have anything to give to you . . . but because I need some time to process all that’s happening around me, and without processing, let’s be honest–I’m going to fake my way through these conversations. And if there is one thing my soul gets the most angry about, it’s when I’m being fake.

So today I am breathing, asking God to fill me back up with peace, love, grace, understanding, and patience. . . in place of judgment, annoyance, tiredness, emptiness, and fear. And although I know the green grass is a long way off–I’m looking at it, from this carousel, knowing that in small moments I can hop off, soak in the air, and then hop back on.

Each one of us, if we’re paying attention, have smells and sights that bring us right back to a specific place. It sneaks up suddenly, with little-to-no warning, and ushers in a rush of emotions almost too big for the heart to take. This past Saturday, the Children’s Museum did that to me.

We got to join my in-laws and niece for her first birthday, and having not been there for at least fifteen years, I figured my memory would be faint, at best. Only walking a few steps, I quickly remembered the tall water-clock in the entrance, and how long it took me to understand it at the ripe age of 5 (how did all that water transfer back and forth so easily, and how did it know what time it was?). We walked around the ramp up to floor three, with our destination being pre-school Heaven, otherwise known as Playscape. One walk down the hallway and the recollection came back with a vengeance. The smells of diapers, sandboxes, mommy-perfume, hand-sanitizer, and old toys mixed together and I was right back to being 3. I could remember climbing that purple jungle gym, or at least seeing pictures of me doing so. I (very faintly, I admit) recalled my dad teaching me how to scoop the water into buckets and how much I wanted to do it all on my own.

Nostalgia is a tricky game, as we are transported back to a place from our past, with rainbow-colored glasses. I found myself, standing in this room full of 3-year-old, curly-haired blondes, longing to know: what was my mom really thinking? Did she enjoy this? Did she like her friends? Did they parent the same, or was there an unspoken tension in the air about their differences? Did she wish she could go back to work instead of be a stay-at-home mom? Was I throwing fits all day? And what about my dad? Did he really like this stuff, too? What did they talk about over lunch?  And what kind of absurd outfit did they dress me in that morning? 

In ten years from now, I hope I remember all of this phase of life. I hope I don’t look back and only remember the good things, but that I also remember the hard, growing seasons. I hope I refrain from making condescending comments to other 25-year-olds about how easy their life must be, and “Oh, I wish I could be twenty-five again.”  I hope I take a young woman out to coffee, seeking to learn from her instead of forcing my insecure “I know more than you” wisdom down her naive throat. And I hope when I walk into places that remind me of twenty-five, I don’t sit in a sea of self-pity, longing to go back . . . but instead feel thankful for the season that was, and even more grateful for whatever season I find myself in.

Thank you, nostalgia, for teaching me to look back with joy and push forward with gratitude.

PS–This what us 25-year-olds really looked like at the age of 3, if any of you were feeling nostalgic for 1989.