Even sweeter than the blueberries we filled buckets and tummies with.
It's been awhile since I've shared my own images on the blog. Too long. But thirty seconds in our backyard with drippy watermelon and messy mouths and there they are from my heart in a space that holds our growing up alongside so many other beautiful stories I've been invited into recently. Link in profile. #thesepicturesarepoems
As an anchor for the soul, Hope does not disappoint -Romans 5:5
Fatherhood not a job for the faint of heart, but that's okay because the adventure and joy this man speaks into these five tender souls is simply an extension of the ocean of strength he holds within his own. I love you, Chris, and how you are the dad you are so naturally is just one of the endless reasons why.
I love our story in its simplicity and imperfection. I love the way our us began young and fast and inseparable. I love the way our jigsaw souls fit only in each other in the way we became we”. But if love is something one falls into, unprepared, unaware, well then staying in love and its journey called marriage, it must be some sort of relentless hike. It’s a venture up the most perilous mountain, sweaty, gritty and exhausting as one foot in front of the other we trek on, hoping, trusting, working for that view at the top. So if I could tell myself anything eleven years ago today, a twenty-one year young bride holding the flowers surrounded by twinkling lights, giddy and starry-eyed, I'd say, Yes, you're right. You've found the one your heart loves and he's found you and together you think you’ve found the mountaintop. But, girl, just you wait.“ I'd tell myself, Just you wait, all this good you think you feel, it will pale in comparison to the great you’ll know and the best that’s yet to be.” I'd tell myself about the hardships and hilltops and travels and tears, the DIY disasters and family breakfasts and front porch coffee and Netflix date nights and all the gold of the rich ordinary. I'd whisper of the beauty the two of us will see and how it will fade in compare to the glory of the seven God will make us. I'd tell myself about the gray days through the years as we navigate the sacrifice of choosing each other, but that it all won't be anything like the stories we'll tell when our hair has gone white. Because just as pearls and wine and heirlooms and fine art could never be great without time, eleven years has brought its fullness of pressure and depth and meaning and value. But even so, there’s so much more to come. Eleven years, my love, and this is just the beginning. 📷 @lexiwharem
Sunscreen and chlorine and goggles and giggles.
I don't know the names of the seasons. Or how it all looks and feels as one chapter gently sunsets into another glorious sunrise. But watching and listening to my oldest deepen and widen in her questions and observations and revelations while simultaneously finding myself in the familiar rhythm of training routines and guiding patterns for the fifth time around as this baby could in some ways be called a toddler now, I wonder if this tender season called young motherhood could perhaps be nearing a sort of close as we together pass into the noise and complexity and beauty of adolescent and all that this next degree of glory holds. (2 Corinthians 3:18) And while the unfolding of this chapter is weighty, I find myself even more humbled by, even more hopeful in the promise that the Father's gifts are always good and that His Grace will be sufficient for all I need.
The finest way to end a summer day.