Today I, your mama, sat at the kitchen island, so very empty and so lacking of you, and cried. And cried some more. And then cried more. When I lost you so many weeks ago, I made myself move on. I reminded myself of all the others who have suffered even greater losses than my own and convinced myself that I needed to be strong; I couldn’t be sad for long.

Everyone around said they were sorry and I felt the need to say in return, “It’s okay. I’m doing fine!”

And I am. And I’m not.

I think about you. Every single day. You made me a mama for 10 short weeks and you made me the happiest. My body was already changing, making room for you, and since I knew I was responsible for you, I was the healthiest I’ve ever been while you were around. I delighted in already caring for you.

We live in a broken world and we wait for the perfection that’s to come. But that’s why things go wrong. That’s why there’s hardship. And that’s why there’s need to grieve.

So, baby, I guess I just wanted to let you know that you were the most important thing to me. I had dreams and ideas for what you would be like and how you would add to our family. I guess I just wanted you to know that although I’ve not shown much outward expression of grieving, I feel the loss of you always.

And I guess I just wanted you to know that I miss you.

Your Mama

and really, is there anything better than slicing into a loaf when it’s still warm from the oven, letting butter melt into that goodness, and enjoying the best snack ever? i didn’t think so. i’m not so sure this obsession will fade anytime soon.

if you don’t follow me on pinterest then you don’t know that this really, really good recipe is the one i use on a weekly basis (i use more whole wheat than white flour myself). and you probably don’t know that there are these delicious wonders that you could be making. and you should.

they’re the best.

it was just me, my sneakers, an extra sweater, and the great outdoors.

a warm sun. and a cool breeze off the river. and lots and lots of beautiful wooded areas.

it was almost two years exactly that i was driving through all these towns that i now go to for groceries, church, home. i sat in the passenger seat, my brother drove, and behind us were all the younger siblings. i introduced them to the very song that was played when my daddy walked me down the aisle. and i foolishly said things like, “i can’t believe people live out here — in the middle of NOWHERE!” i now have cousins who live in that specific location i was referring to.

moral of the story? life has a funny sense of humor. and don’t say stupid things.

but, i’m off track. the walk. wandering the area i now live in.

i wasn’t totally wrong two years ago — my new town is rather in the middle of nowhere (although cities are closer now than they were back where i came from). but because of this nowhere-ness, it also holds some beautiful reasons to live here.

a fifteen minute walk from my house and there’s a dirt road that follows a river. i noticed various animal tracks that i didn’t recognize as large as my own footprint in the soft mud. perhaps i should have been nervous as i left the dirt path and wandered through the woods, climbing about rocks, but i wasn’t. i was simply in love with life.

i suddenly wanted little nephews and a youngest brother with me. i wanted to pack up a picnic and bring them to this beautiful place that boasts of woods, streams, rocky paths, and a large river. and it’s right here, right in this small town that i live in.

suddenly i’m realizing that nowhere-ness has benefits.

it’s overcast today and rather damp. no more wandering and no more putting off the old fashioned mopping that i do (you know, the cinderella kind — on the knees, rag in hand, singing along, etc.).

but i would rather be outside.

only i forgot to put the freshly ground beans into the filter. i made us a nice pot of hot water.

after quickly showering, dressing, and packing clothes for his lunch hour gym time, the husband went outside to start the car. our only car.

but he was greeted by a flat tire.

he busied himself changing the tire so he could get to work. i rushed around to attempt brew #2 of coffee. garbage was quickly brought out to the curb since heaven only knows when our garbage man will show up (sometimes it’s 8am and other times it’s 2pm) and i kept one eye on the clock the entire time, fully aware of the things that need to get done today.

i didn’t plan on drinking my morning cup ‘o joe while mincing garlic and onion (it just DOESN’T taste the same when cutting such potent foods) but that’s what i’m in the middle of doing. and that’s okay.

it’s only 8:30am. the day is bound to go more smoothly, right?

but you knew that. you knew that i spent half of my 18th and half of my 19th year in germany. and you know that it was a big adjustment for this home-loving-soul. if you’ve been keeping up with these words that long, then you know it was during that season that i learned what it is to bloom where you’re planted.

that year was spent knowing that at the end i would be going back. i fell asleep some nights, a photograph of my family held tightly to my chest — i was everything lonely and homesick but knew if i could stick it out, one day i would wake, get back on an airplane, and fly home.

i’m gone again. it’s been long enough for the novelty to wear off and for reality to sink in a bit. it’s been long enough to bring some tears into my world when my heart realizes that it misses familiarity. it’s been long enough to know that there’s no promise of a plane bringing me back to what i know. and it’s been long enough for me to understand that i’m not to simply bloom here but i’m to grow here. this is the same and so different all at the same time. that year spent away felt as though everything in me had been stretched across the sea and i was told to continue blooming. but now, i’ve not simply been stretched — i’ve been transplanted  — and now the work is to settle my roots into this new life and continue to grow.

with a mums who loves everything to do with flowerbeds i’ve watched the process of transplanting enough times to not expect a quick and simple procedure. some plants take time to settle themselves and start thriving in their new place. and it’s not always easy.

but knowing what to expect doesn’t change that it’s difficult.

because it just is sometimes.

i curled up by his side this last sunday night. he was checking his email or facebook or something on our laptop and i was content to find the space i’ve come to know so well, tucked in right beside him. i looked at him and marveled. although we haven’t known each other for a whole year, there’s no other place i find such comfort than when i’m with him. earlier he had kissed my tear soaked face. i felt his support as he held my hand and listened as i struggled to express what my heart was feeling. afterward he said, “let’s pray.”

this making a new life — it isn’t entirely pretty and there are moments when it doesn’t feel good at all. but i’m remembering that it takes time. and i’m not having to make it on my own. i have the best person by my side.

it’s the small things in life, but today, for the first time, i didn’t view this big green house as simply the place i moved to a few months ago — it honestly felt like home. and when you think about it, that’s not such a small thing. it’s more like a big thing.

it smells like home, feels like home, and is the sanctuary for my soul that home needs to be. and i’m so thankful it’s become that.

he’s helped make this place a home for me. and that’s rather big as well.

but how i like the change that comes when i humbly ask for His help to overcome.

via

what newlywed starts out in such a luxurious space? i’m particularly fond of my baking corner.

sprinkles & color.

the husband asked if i could make cupcakes for the youth meeting tonight. they’re nothing fancy but they’ll taste good and i had color to put on top! i do love color!

old.

i’ve read a few books lately set in the late 1800s/early 1900s. and i’ve been following the growing-in-popularity downton abbey. and sometimes i almost forget that i’m not part of those stories and i don’t live in that time period. my trips to retrieve our mail from this postal box do not help.

walks.

they aren’t daily but they’re often. i like my owls.

lipstick.

when i actually take the time to put a bit of mascara on — it’s there! just look at the top lashes. — i reward myself by letting lipstick accompany. yes, i’m that pathetic. in order for me to actually take the 20 seconds to darken my lashes i have to promise myself something that i love more.

texts.

i know, you’re jealous right now because the very best of the best picked me.

food.

and that is one large calzone. now we can slice it and run. because friday nights are those kind of nights.

tonight is a homemade macaroni and cheese sort of night. that was my requested birthday dinner for years. no, it’s not my birthday but i still want it.

my hands are dry and cracking in the worst way possible. it’s from the floor mopping, dish washing, bathroom cleaning life i lead. and i like it.

the husband gives me lots of kisses. and calls me “princess”. and holds my hand every minute when we’re in the car. and talks to me a lot. and makes sure that i’m talking. a lot. and is everything i could ever want for my best friend for life.

our mornings are earlier recently. they’re a full hour of making breakfast, bible reading, and bible memorizing. together.

my heart is everything happy. content. at peace. joy-filled.

and i guess i just wanted you to know that. know that i’m okay.

all this is everything sad.