Reminders from My Nephew

Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of babysitting and helping care for my eleven-month-old nephew. Since our interactions have been mainly over Skype up to this point--and we've only seen each other twice in person--I wasn't sure how it'd go. He's a big "mama's boy" and doesn't usually take to strangers. (It took him at least two days to warm up to Super Husband.) But I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly we became buddies! He was laughing and "talking" to me as if he'd known me all eleven months of his life! We think it may have to do with how much I look like my sister, his "mumma."

Reminds me of how I am with relationships: shy at first; nervous at how my humor, responses to things, and personality will be taken; and eventually, reaching out for deeper friendship with open arms.

Giggles and playful shyness aside, I've also been able to get to know his strong-willed side. The side that grunts in irritation when you tell him he CANNOT fling his chicken on the floor. It's amazing to see the way he looks at my sister and yells when she calls his name disapprovingly.

Reminds me of how I sometimes act when God corrects my bad attitude. I grunt, cry, and kick my way back to where I'm supposed to be, and finally the peace and restful reassurance settle in.

Then there's bedtime. No matter how sleepy he is (or even conked out completely) when you put him in his crib, he usually wakes, stands up, and starts whimpering as soon as you move toward the door. Watching him on the monitor, I see him "cry it out" a little before laying down and eventually falling asleep.

Reminds me of how I sometimes throw "tantrums" at the end of the day, too. Even as an adult, who can regulate her own bedtime, I sometimes find myself huffing at the clock, amazed at how time has passed, and sometimes crying inwardly over the end of the day because it means no more of the good things I've enjoyed in it--the "play" of projects, the "naps" of relaxing moments, the "milk" of meals enjoyed, and the comfort of loved ones I've spent time with. If it's been a good day, it's hard to let go and move on to the next one. If it's been a bad day, it's hard to stop replaying the events and wishing you could change them.

However, just as my nephew will grow up and no longer cry at bedtime (he just turned ONE last week!), I'm reminded to grow, learn, and trust in my Father. "A one-year-old taught you all that?" Yep. He's a smart cookie with big impact, even if he's unaware of it...although, given his "knowing" smile when he reaches up to pick "Super Uncle's" nose, sometimes I think he knows exactly what he's doing--melting hearts and changing the world for the people closest to him. LOVE that little guy!

Thresholds

If I didn't have 5 hours to kill on this flight back to Seattle, I probably wouldn't have time to write. Story of my life these days. But it's so worth it! These crazy past few weeks have led us to another Thanksgiving in New Hampshire. And boy, was it a good one!

Some of my favorite things about going home (other than seeing family for the first time) is rounding the corner to see my childhood house. It's a sight I felt comforted by back when I lived there, and possibly even more so now that I don't! The outline has changed. Dad has long since removed the old solar panels from the roof (no point when they don't work). Plus, there's the brand new addition and the beautiful back deck, complete I both a stone fireplace.

Mom and Dad have done some wonderful work on it. As much as I dislike change, these have been changes for the better. We still remember the way things were, and we can see them in home videos and photos. But these improvements make this house feel lived in! It's like they were always meant to be. My grandma and aunt seem settled into their apartment. Dad's basement room is the perfect hangout for the guys when the fire isn't warm enough for them to be out on the back deck. There's still some work to do, but it's looking good.

I've loved seeing the house change and grow, just as our family is changing and growing. Thanksgiving was a mighty celebration, full of gratitude that we could all be there together. My grandma (on Dad's side) suffered two strokes only a week or two ago, but she came and was able to stay quite awhile! And then there were the kiddos. Not one, not two, but FOUR babies were there (plus another on the way). Seeing the next generation play together, smile at each other, or just sit there looking adorable, was a really neat thing. It's like we've crossed a threshold, where the kids have become parents and the parents have become doting grandparents. Everyone seems to have stepped into their new roles joyfully (in spite of the challenges they bring--whether baby woes or "growing [older] pains"). I can't wait for future holidays, when the little ones are old enough to make up games with each other and become friends, as we cousins did. It's an exciting time!

And while we're not on the whole baby bandwagon yet, we're just as thrilled with how our extended family is changing. I LOVE LOVE LOVE being an aunt! And I'm pretty sure my nephew is one of the cutest babies I've ever seen. Rocking him to sleep, making him smile, and knowing that you're holding someone who shares your family's blood...I can't even find words for it! "It's AWESOME!" as my sworn brother would say. :-) Watching my cousins and siblings grow as parents has been awesome too. They give me hope, that I can do it too someday. That the sleepless nights and constantly changing plans are so worth it. And I'll admit, it melts my heart to see my husband as an uncle. His "dolphin squeak" had Benja giggling right from the start...and it didn't get old! (Don't you love how you can count on babies to laugh at all your antics? It's amazing what you find yourself doing for the sake of a baby's entertainment--like hopping up and down while puffing out your cheeks like a chubby bunny...not that I have personal experience...)

I summed up our vacation with the following Facebook status. I only got about three hours of sleep because of it, but when the muse strikes, I must write. It lists some of the things about the past six days that I'm so grateful for, even the hard stuff.

10 Conclusions from our NH Thanksgiving:
1) Pretty sure I have the cutest nephew around.
2) It doesn't matter how many times you eat Thanksgiving leftovers--it's still the best meal of the year!
3) I have never been so close to winning Settlers of Catan...nor shall I ever be again if I keep playing with my husband, sister, and bro-in-law.
4) The fox says, "Silence! I kill you!" (Trust me, we saw one.)
5) I actually like having my birthday close to Christmas, because it let me have the most beautiful, holly decorated birthday cake. (Thank you, family, for the sweetest pre-birthday party! Blowing out 26 candles wasn't so bad after all.)
6) My big sister is a super mom AND my BFF.
7) I'm grateful for a supportive husband who loves seeing me go all "New Hampshire native" for a few days.
8) There's nothing like a seeing the next generation at our family Thanksgiving. So cool!
9) I'll never be too old for Mom's snuggles, Dad's bear hugs, or Gramma's stories.
10) Having family who are also your friends is something I'm grateful for 365 days a year...and saying bye never gets any easier.

Renaissance Woman or Dilettante?

It's the story of my life--too many interests, too many "favorites," and none of them seem to fit together. Throughout my life, I've "seriously considered" (as serious as a youth can be about these things) living in Australia, China, England, Ireland, New Zealand, Hawaii, Alaska, or Florida. My favorite colors are blue, green, brown, and sometimes purple. In terms of fashion, I don't think my style fits anywhere--"I like what I like" was my eloquent response when my mom tried to suggest what my style might be (now you can see why I didn't get far in my modeling career). My hobbies have included being a musher, fisherwoman, Irish dancer, actor, photographer, archer, artist, and writer...mind boggled yet? Mine too!

When I was about 9 or 10, I remember lying awake one night, feeling torn over all my "favorite" cultures. At the time, I was going through an Asian kick, wondering why on earth we weren't at least a tiny bit Chinese. BUT, I already loved Native American stuff (one thirty-second Blackfoot, baby! I hung on to that!) and was discovering our Irish heritage (it was around the time I began Irish step dancing). Of course, I always loved huskies and dog sledding, so throw a little Eskimo in the mix. Plus, I really loved India as a child, because of my early discovery of elephants and all those beautiful, colorful saris. Oh, and Africa! It has elephants too! See my dilemma? Since then, I've accepted that I'll never be Chinese, Eskimo, Indian, or African. *sigh* But I still jump at chances to learn about or experience them more.

It's the same with music. I dread the question "What kind of music do you like?" I usually have to pick one on the fly, but my music collection is a messy melting pot. On any given day, I may listen to Celtic, Indie, instrumental (movie scores make up a huge part of this), contemporary Christian, world, pop, Christmas, AND Disney music. Seriously, I think I give my MP3 player whiplash. Why do I have to narrow it down? This way, I can pick whatever suits my mood. Need some extra encouragement? Contemporary Christian it is! Feeling bubbly? Disney songs are always a nice pick-me-up or a keep-me-up. Variety is the spice of life!

And forget books! I've devoured books in every genre and can't really tag a favorite. I suppose fantasy literature has the longest track record, but I can't really name any contemporary authors for you...in fact, I'm horrible at remembering author names, book titles, and plots in general...so don't ask me for recommendations, or you'll get what I myself am reading at the time (because I'll have seen the cover enough to retain that info for at least a month). However, I can recall that I did, once upon a time, read that book you mentioned, and possibly remember whether or not I liked it. (This makes me a novelty among my fellow English-degree holders and copy editors.)  It's often about impressions for me--I've loved many stories that seemed to come at opportune times in my life, or that touched me deeply. So, no hard and fast "favorites" in the book category.

See a pattern?

My freshman year of college, I discovered the word dilettante--defined by Webster's as "a person having a superficial interest in an art or a branch of knowledge," synonymous with "dabbler" and "amateur." With horror, I thought I'd found the word to describe me in my countless interests. Only a few months before, my college interviewer had tagged me "a Renaissance woman" for having been involved in so many activities and pursuits. I clung to her description, thinking this was the phrase which accurately described me. And in one fateful vocabulary lesson, this "Renaissance woman" was reduced to an unaccomplished dilettante, never going beyond a superficial knowledge of the things I thought I loved.

I never made it to Open Championship in Irish dance. Mushing never want farther than a few runs on trails through the woods with my two huskies (what happened to that dream of racing in the Iditarod?). I've never competed in an archery competition, much to the chagrin of my instructors who told me I had potential. I quit art lessons after only a few years. I gave up on fishing for awhile after I reached the age limit for "free fishing" (it's hard for a teenager to cough up $30 for a license!). I never pursued a leading role in any stage production. I didn't excel in my photography class in college and I still can't figure out how to use my SLR camera. The only writing I've ever had published was a poem in a local poetry magazine--I don't count that one non-fiction story in our college literary magazine.

Renaissance woman or dilettante?

But the more I think on it, the more I realize those things aren't failures. I can't be perfect at everything. I can't even be perfect at one thing! None of those activities or interests were wasted time. They shaped me and brought me among some interesting people. I still enjoy ALL of those things to some degree--even if it's just the memories! However, sometimes I wish more of my interests fit together--ever tried Irish dancing while firing a bow...from the runners of a dogsled?! So far the arts (writing, photography, art/design) have been the only things that can somewhat touch each subject.

Now I'll reveal what prompted this rant. The other day I stumbled across an article about the potential for Disney to obtain the rights to Tolkien's work, with the intent of incorporating it into a theme park. Being a fan of Disney (fostering imagination, discovery, and child-likeness) AND Tolkien (his epic scope and transcendent themes), I wasn't sure what to think of this. A part of me would love to see what Disney came up with and would enjoy visiting another "incarnation" of Middle Earth. Another part of me is a purist, who's afraid they'll butcher everything I love about Middle Earth or "cheapen" it in some way.

Then the writer pulled up a quote from one of Tolkien's letters, that said he would "veto anything from or influenced by the Disney Studios (for all whose works I have a heartfelt loathing)." My heart sank a little. I don't know why I thought Tolkien, in all his deep, philosophical British-ness, would've approved of the spectacle and seemingly simplistic themes of Disney. I guess I didn't think he would ever comment on it! And that was fine by me! I didn't need his approval. But knowing how much he loathed it felt a little like a direct attack on my sensibilities. Of course Tolkien would've objected to his work becoming a theme park...heck, he probably would've objected to the movies too! (And I really loved those!)

So I think what really struck me was the idea that my favorites could be so opposed to one another. I've always known they're very different--as different as Irish dancing is from mushing! What does my liking them both say about me? Does it mean I'm being manipulated by popular culture? (I don't exactly feel as if Disney was forced down my throat.) Does having such varied interests mean I was any less dedicated to one or the other? Or that I'm a wishy-washy person? Tolkien may have thought so. I probably would've been much too "much" for him. (For the record, I think Disneyland would've catered to hobbits and Elves a like--food, song, storytelling, and some thrills mixed in for any adventure-seeking Took or Baggins. Poor Tolkien never had a chance to experience the potential for himself.)

Thank the Lord I married a man who's just as varied as I am! We laugh about how we're glad no one pulled out the "How Well Do You Know Your Bride/Groom" game at our wedding/shower, because we probably would've failed (not because we don't KNOW each other, but because a lot of those questions seem to dwell on "favorites"). I've asked him several times what his favorite candy or candy bar is...and his answer has been different every time. The only "favorite foods" he knows he can count on for me is Near East rice pilaf (yes, that brand particularly), ice cream, and chocolate. The rest changes almost daily, as I suffer from food cravings and aversions even without being pregnant. Isn't that fun? I think unpredictability can be rather nice sometimes!

And all this has led me to reflect on all the unique, albeit strange, things I've done or continue to enjoy in life. It makes me more me than if I had followed one particular thread. If I'd been a strict Disney fan and read/watched nothing else, I would've never discovered Tolkien or Lewis! If I'd been a professional musher, I'd probably be living in Alaska with my 85 dogs, without having met my husband in a small Pennsylvanian college! If I'd made it to Open Championship in Irish dance...I'd probably have had several knee replacements by now!

As it is, I have all these experiences to draw on. It's why I have a little husky figurine on my desk at work. Why it stands right next to a carved elephant my parents brought back from Africa, which sits under my favorite photo from our last Disney World vacation! I can even pick a purple or brown ball at mini golf when someone else picks blue or green! Blessed variety!

Let's see, what other "favorites" do I have that don't really follow a set pattern?

Pancakes

Balloons

Palm trees

Lilies

Butterflies

Coconut-scented things

Baking
...
...
...

The list goes on..."ever on and on." (Thanks for that, Professor Tolkien.)

Bitter Was Their Parting

"There will be grief felt on both sides," Dad said as I was lamenting their departure. Of course, that was only three days into their visit! If I was feeling that sad about them leaving then, you can imagine how I feel today.

No two visits are the same. Each time, even if we do the same things like visit Pike Place or the Space Needle, new memories are made. "Extreme fishing" in 60 mph winds and the banter of Gladys and Walter (Mrs. B and Dad's alter egos) are among the most memorable moments.

We talk about life here--home improvements, Greg's future at his job, and starting a family someday. Yet even as the words leave my mouth, I find them bitter tasting. I have a feeling that my parents' hearts sink a little with each reference to our living out here for many more years...because mine sinks too. It's why I lie awake at night, wondering what it'd be like to pack up our life here and head east. Even though I know better than to indulge in false hopes, it sounds so easy sometimes.

After my visit "home" last spring, I returned west feeling pretty depressed, even though I shed no tears at our parting (which was a first!). A dear friend encouraged me in an email, saying, "I admire you, Tiffany, for your courage and commitment to [your husband] even though it has meant a separation from your dear family. It's truly beautiful, in the Lady Arwen sense." I smiled sadly when I read this. I hadn't thought of it that way before.

If you know me at all, you know how much I love Tolkien's books. So my friend's reference to Arwen shouldn't have come as a surprise. When I used to read the story of Aragorn and Arwen, how he was smitten from the first moment he saw her, how they pledged their devotion to each other on Cerin Amroth, etc., I saw only romance. Even Arwen's choice to forsake immortality and bind herself to the mortal man she loved seemed the heroic and "easy thing to do"--a typical "forbidden romance," if you will. I dreamed of having a story like theirs and wondered what it'd be like to give up something for love. My thoughts typically strayed toward giving up childhood and leaving the shelter of my parents' care for that of my husband. I couldn't fully understand how much that choice would cost and just how hard it would be.

Then, when my own love story unfolded and I found myself facing similar separation from the places and people I love, I somehow forgot their story. (Well, not forgot. It just didn't come to mind like it would've in the days where I drew parallels between the worlds on a frequent basis.)

What a perfect time to be reminded, when I needed that bolstering of hope and a reminder of how this life and love is so worth it! Tolkien understood the meaning of sacrifice and love. (I won't try to "moralize" his work, but one who has been saved by Grace can't help but recognize themes all around her which point to the One who sacrificed most.) Of Arwen's final farewell to her father, whom she couldn't follow to the Undying Lands once she'd bound herself to a mortal, Tolkien says, "Bitter was their parting that should endure beyond the ends of the world." I read over this passage again after my friend's note. And I thought to myself, "I know this!" I have to re-taste that bitterness each time they or we leave again. I read on about how Aragorn and Arwen's family grows, how she embraces her role as queen of Gondor, and how even at the end of Aragorn's life, when faced with yet another bitter parting...Arwen doesn't break! If only that could be said of me.

That's been my prayer today--that Jesus wouldn't let me break. That He'd keep holding me together, even when it feels like my heart breaks all over again with each goodbye. I've accepted that tears are very often a part of the letting go. And that's okay. All I have to do is tell my Love that the tears are close and he's ready and waiting to comfort me with warm hugs and gentle words. He's getting pretty good at this. I'm so glad to have pledged myself to this man--there is no going back to my "Rivendell," and while there is great sorrow in that, there is even greater joy.

Mom and Dad still have a way of caring for us, forever their children, even when we're living under our own roofs. It was nice to get to return the favor in some small ways, and even then, they couldn't seem to stop blessing us with help and surprises this week. I'm still amazed at how they drop everything to travel this far just to spend some time in their daughter's new "realm." And I'm certainly pleased that they like it and want to keep coming back! :)

Dad was right--there was and will always be a little grief on both sides when we have to part. But unlike Arwen, I don't have to say goodbye for good. (Thank Jesus!) I'm just returning to "my new normal"--as you've so often heard me speak about--until it's time to take an eastward journey again.

Wishes for Gramma

Two weeks ago, we celebrated my grandma's 87th birthday. For some reason, this age really struck me--partly because it means she's a lot closer to 90 than I imagine. To me, she's still my spry "Gramma" who played Twister with us when we were in jr. high and splashed in the pool with us when we visited family in Florida. I still deal with a measure of disbelief when my Mom talks about Gramma having a dizzy day or not being able to walk as long as she used to. When I see her, she's still as sharp and wonderful as ever. I just have to remind myself that she's aged a year (or half a year) since I last saw her. With that comes changes.

That's why I'm forever grateful for the way we celebrated her 82nd birthday. It was the kind of experience that ingrained itself in my mind, so I always imagine Gramma like she was that summer. (How can that be five years ago already?) To some, it might be the strangest way to celebrate a grandmother. But not to us.

We went to Disney World! My sister had just graduated college and I was going into my junior year. When the job search proved futile for both of us, we decided to do something wild and different. Rather than wallow over our joblessness and be bored, we'd plan a memorable vacation. What's the dream vacation spot? Disney World, of course! (I've never been to Disneyland...except in utero when my Mom and Dad visited California...so I refuse to debate this. And of course, there are thousands dream vacations out there. But, for the sake of this blog post, please agree with me on this one.)

When we told Mom, she mentioned that my aunt, and maybe even Gramma, would love to go too! Our Aunty D is a high-functioning, sweet, and thoughtful lady who happens to have down syndrome. She and Gramma live together, which is a blessing on many levels--Grandpa has been gone a long time (it's a strange thing to miss someone without ever really having met them), so Gramma and Aunty D take good care of each other. And, like me, Aunty D loves Disney! We both enjoy the movies (classic and new) and all the music associated with them. She hadn't been to Disney in two decades (count 'em, 20 years!) and had mentioned she'd like to go again sometime.

Well, that "sometime" was now! My sister and I were thrilled to tell them, and we couldn't believe it when Gramma's response to the invitation was an unhesitating yes! We expected her to be nervous about the long days in the sun and not interested in all the rides at Disney World. But her enthusiasm for our vacation made us kick into high-gear planning mode! We looked for comfortable hotels with them in mind and rented a wheelchair so Gramma could be off her feet while we toured the parks. It was going to be a "girls getaway," and it happened to fall on Gramma's 82nd birthday!

Before we left, I wasn't sure how other guests and park cast members would react to two young adults vacationing with their grandmother and disabled aunt. Would they shake their heads at us? We're we crazy to even attempt it? Knowing (and loving) my aunt and grandma, I knew we'd enjoy the time together, but I was afraid of others making it difficult or emotionally hard for us. When I expressed these concerns to Dad, he said we could be a testimony to the blessing of family. He said we could be an example of respecting our elders and enjoying friendship with them, regardless of age or abilities. So we moved forward with faith and prayed that God would use this time to bring the four of us closer together.

And He did! We had the best time! Not only was the slower pace more relaxing, we got to really enjoy the themes and storytelling of the parks. The wheelchair worked out great and we were surprised at how kind and helpful the cast members were! Sometimes we'd be waiting patiently in line, not worrying about our time table or the crowds, and they'd bring us to the front of the line through a special entrance! Totally unexpected and really special if you think about it. Better yet, people in line didn't seem to get mad at us or judge us for "abusing the system" (Gramma's wheelchair was certainly not about getting in the fast lane!). And it gave us plenty of time to see it all.

Some of my favorite moments were the shows we watched together, sometimes singing or clapping along. All four of us appreciate good music and it wasn't a surprise that we enjoyed this aspect of the parks. Some other favorite moments were sitting with Gramma in the shade, waiting while my sister and Aunty D went on some of the fast-paced rides together. We'd talk and, as always, I loved asking her questions about her life. It was treasured time. (Note: Gramma DID go on quite a few "less-tranquil rides," including Pirates of the Caribbean and the backwards-dropping Viking boat tour. She's a champ!)

I was also delighted by the way Gramma's humor bubbled to the surface at "the happiest place on earth." One of my favorite quotes from the trip was whenever one of us said, "Where are we going?" Gramma would throw up her hands and reply dramatically, "We're goin' CRAZY!" It made us smileevery time. Believe me, you ask that question a lot at Disney World! And it always lifted any weight from my shoulders to hear Gramma laugh and make light of every moment. :) We were going crazy--crazy with excitement and fun!

On August 10th, we went to EPCOT. I requested a birthday button for Gramma and was amazed at how well the colors matched her shirt! She was a sport to wear it, and it turned out to bring her some magical birthday surprises.

We'd planned a special birthday lunch for Gramma at the Rose and Crown restaurant. It was a quiet affair, in which we gave her cards and sang. There were no candles (the waiter seemed oblivious to our hints before dessert that we were celebrating), so we used the light-up Tinkerbell toy on Aunty D's drinking straw so she could make a wish. :) We're nothing if not creative!

My Gramma is also wonderfully patriotic. So we were excited to visit the American Adventure pavilion and see the show. It turned out WAY better than we could've hoped for! First, we sat and listened to an amazing a capella choir. The songs were so moving, I'm sure I saw tears in Aunty D's eyes as she sang along under her breath. As if that wasn't enough, we met the sweetest cast member on the elevator ride up to the theater. He was an older gentleman who clearly loved his job and did it well. He noticed Gramma's button and wished her a happy birthday--complimenting her on how young she looked, and I'm pretty sure he was the only one to ask, "How young are you?" :) We were led to a great seat in the theater, and when this same gentleman was introducing the show, he took a moment to congratulate Gramma on her birthday and asked her to "Give us a wave, Aileen!" while the whole crowd clapped for her. I was nearly in tears over this! It was like he knew this would be one of Gramma's favorite attractions at the park and he wanted to make it extra special.

After the show, he asked us to follow him. "We have some more celebrating to do!" He led us next door to the little restaurant attached to the pavilion. He spoke with a cast member behind the counter and returned with a little apple pie for Gramma. As he placed it before her, he called out, "Three cheers for Aileen on her 82nd birthday today! Hip, hip!" "HOORAY!" "Hip hip!" HOORAY!" "Hip hip!" "HOORAY!" everyone in the restaurant cheered.

Photo credit: http://www.thedisneyproject.com/2012/06/interview-with-lonnie-hicks.htm

I found out later that this wonderful gentleman's name is Lonnie. (I was too "in the moment" to make note of his name tag then.) I so wish I could go back and thank him again for how he blessed us on that day. I know it's all part of the "Disney magic" and cast members do this sort of thing all the time. But for us, it was an extra special memory.

We thanked him and sat down to enjoy the treat. (Because, being the wonderful woman she is, Gramma shared her little pie with all of us.) Aunty D wanted to buy a soda to go along with it, and as we stood in line, she told me through tears how this whole thing reminded her of Grandpa (who served in the Navy and was a proud American) and how she can't wait for all of them to be home in Heaven together again someday.

Wow. It chokes me up just remembering it. In that comment, through Aunty D, it was like Grandpa was with us too. This was the perfect way to celebrate Gramma's birthday that year. She was healthy and strong enough to endure the heat (and some pretty crazy wheelchair rides from her granddaughters...Weeeee!), and we made countless memories that will last us a lifetime. When I mentioned it to my sister again the other day, she said, "Aw, Disney! That was so much fun!" And every time we mention it to each other, some variation of "that was the best time" comes out.

So, that was our Disney vacation! I still smile uncontrollably when I look at photos and videos from it. (That's what all those record-keeping devices are for, right?) We've vacationed with Gramma and Aunty D to many places before and after, but this one was particularly memorable because of the perfect, celebratory circumstances, and the fact that my sis and I were still pretty new to planning travel by ourselves.

Next week, Gramma and Aunty D will be moving back in with my parents. I'm sure it will be an adjustment all around, but I can say in full certainty that I'm SO glad. Not only will this make care-taking a lot easier for everyone, it'll be great to have them so close. I love them both dearly and I'm grateful for the extra time we'll get to have when we visit. They lived with us when I was very young, so it's kind of like coming full circle!

Hopefully we'll make lots of fun memories with them in this next stage of life. I love seeing Gramma with her great-grandchildren (and hope to add my own kids among them someday!). And Aunty D's enthusiasm for life and experiencing new things always helps bring out "the kid in me." There's lots of good ahead.

So here are just a few of my birthday wishes for Gramma:

May you be full of God's peace and joy.

May He bless you with good health and happy years.

May you be surrounded by the love you so freely give.

May you enjoy the true fullness of knowing Jesus as your Savior.

And may you always "go crazy" with excitement for what God's done in your life, and how He's used to you bless others.

I love you, Gramma-ma!

Thank God for Hometowns

I already touched on our 4th of July visit to the East Coast. It wasn't until about a month later that I heard Carrie Underwood's song "Thank God for Hometowns." I found myself nodding at the chorus:

Thank God for hometowns
And all the love that makes them go round.
Thank God for the county lines that welcome you back in
When you were dying to get out.
Thank God for church pews
And all the faces that won’t forget you.
And when you’re lost out in this crazy world,
You got somewhere to go and get found.
Thank God for hometowns.

I wasn't "dying to get out," but I was anxious to be with my love out here in Washington. Our church was a few towns over, and I certainly didn't know as many people as I would've if we had gone to the public school. But I still love my hometown and there are certainly plenty of familiar places and faces, many of which I recognize though they may not know me--like the librarians that have been there my whole life, or the woman from my childhood church who always plays the spoons on the back of a bandwagon in the Independence Day parade.

I consider the whole state of New Hampshire to be "my hometown" in some way. Each town I drive through has memories or impressions of a particular life stage connected to it. From crossing the border from Massachusetts (on our way north from the Boston airport) to the northernmost towns by our family Camp, it sometimes feels like nothing has changed. Like someone hit the pause button when I left, at least to the places themselves. (When it comes to people, the changes are all too evident--the silver in my Dadda's hair, or the way my sister's little family has grown.)

Many of the towns in New Hampshire are celebrating their 250th birthdays this year. I marveled at them as we drove around the state. Banners across main streets announced the milestone. In my own hometown, the theme of the Independence Day parade was our town history. The floats all featured particular moments or particular landmarks and people of our town. I was thrilled to have Super Husband see it and get a better sense of what this place has meant to me. My favorite was the Sunday Driver Rock, a rock on the side of the road someone (no one really remembers who) painted these words:

(photo not mine)

It's been vandalized and repainted multiple times, and was most recently "edited" by a grammar freak. (Hey, I'm an editor, but even I wouldn't mess with this historical artifact!) Anyway, it was a fun tribute to one of the many quirky, "quaint" things about my hometown.

This little gem was taken on the front porch of our general store. Super Husband and I were sent on an errand and Dodge's Store (also 141 years old, I might add). It almost seemed staged--this beauty parked out front, and two elderly gentlemen sitting on the porch just chatting and "people watching" in our sleepy downtown. I felt a little foolish taking a picture, this Seattlite girl who's enchanted by old New England. But as I walked through that creaky front door to buy a bag of ice for my parents' party, I was "that girl who lives on Town Farm Road" again.

The song says, "I always find another piece of me, Walking down these old familiar streets." Now, I feel perfectly whole in my Lord, and He has eased the pain of homesickness time and time again (as this blog bears witness to). But I "get" these lyrics, because there's an element of rediscovery when you return to where you grew up. I'm faced with who I was, how I changed with the turning seasons, and why I am the way I am! I like the reminder that I came from this place. That no matter where I end up, this will always be where my journey began. And I always tell my parents, they couldn't have chosen a better town to raise a family in.

I hope my kids can say the same. That they'll thank God for hometowns too, maybe even sharing my thankfulness for this same town because this is where Grandma and Grandpa are. We'll see. Maybe someday this suburban/urban living will have a similar sentiment attached to it.

Christmas in July

I know it's cliche, but I truly felt like it was Christmas in July this year! Just like "the most wonderful time of the year," I got to spend time with family, attend parties, and receive some amazing gifts. Allow me to break those down for you:

Spend time with family: We spent a week in New Hampshire at the beginning of the month. It felt like that wonderful, "home for the holidays" type of trip, because I hadn't seen my family in almost three months (although, that's not too bad, considering our usual absences of 6+ months). We enjoyed many family meals (and pretty much ate every kind of meat you can imagine, including "lobstah"), sitting around talking on the back porch, and even some movie nights that I love so much! All we were missing was the Christmas tree and snow!

It was also our first time visiting NH in summer since we've been married! For that reason, we got to relive nostalgic moments of our dating days when Super Husband (then Charming Boyfriend) would come to visit. Perhaps my favorite moment of nostalgia was during our two day trip to the Camp--our family cabin in the mountains, capitalized because it's one-of-a-kind...it's not a camp, it's the Camp!

This is where we came to swim in the river (and jump off the 18 ft rock because I wanted to impress Charming Boyfriend with my bravery...even though that jump still scares me!), where Dad "tested" Charming Boyfriend by asking him to go down into the well and scrub the walls with bleach (he passed with flying colors), and where Charming Boyfriend became my fiance 3 years ago! We even revisited the exact spot--a beautiful meadow up the hill, where an old inn once stood at the base of the mountain. We were there to see if we could get a cell phone signal, but neither of us overlooked the "sacredness" of that place. It was there we were promised to each other, and where we shared our first kiss. I couldn't have chosen a more perfect proposal spot. "The boy done good!"

Attend parties: The day after our arrival in NH, we got to take part in a welcome party for our family's latest addition, my sweet nephew! Mom and Dad threw an amazing shindig and invited a lot of relatives and family friends, whom I always appreciate seeing. Super Husband makes fun of me for using the word "festive" to describe an event--he says his grandma uses that term, which makes me want to use it all the more! So there!--and it was a very festive time. My family really knows how to host a "pahty" (sorry, the Boston accent kinda boils to the surface when I visit New England). Welcome Benjamin! I don't think you know quite how crazy this family you've been born into really is! Not yet, anyway...

Towards the end of our stay, we got to celebrate America's birthday old-school style. My hometown turned 250 years old this year (a blog post about that to come) so it was an extra special time to introduce the annual parade and fireworks to Super Husband. We had our own little party, complete with a few relatives and some of our own fireworks. (That last one...sometimes yikes. Sometimes wow. Not sure if it's a good idea to let Super Husband and Sworn Brother pick out the fireworks.)

Gifts: I bet you know this one already, don't you? It's obvious, right? The biggest gift of July...my favorite, sweetest little gift...was a bike! (Please tell me you know I'm kidding.) I do really enjoy my new toy and I'm grateful to Super Husband for finding and buying it for me. But the greatest gift actually arrived in June. I didn't get to "receive" him fully until this trip. My handsome little nephew, Benjamin! While he has many nicknames already (unavoidable in this family), one of my favorites is Baby Benja! It sounds a little like "ninja," which is probably why I like it so much.

Of course, Christmas isn't about getting but giving!

I made this little cape for my ninja nephew. His aunty knows he's going to be a superhero someday. ;) I think he's pretty super already! As predicted, I cried when I first saw him in my sister's arms, both in a picture and in person ... especially in person. It was so surreal holding him in my arms. It's a bit of a jet-lagged blur (stupid red-eye flights), but I remember a bit of our first conversation. It went something like this:

Me: Hi Benjamin!
Him: *sleeping*
Me: You're finally here! We've waited so long to meet you.
Him: *still sleeping*
Me: I'm your Aunty and I love you so much already!
Him: *starts wiggling and face gets all scrunched up...you know where this is going*
Me: Welcome to the family!
Him: *mouth opens wide...I'm not the only one to say this kid has a big mouth...and cries*

As you can see, he slept through most of our "conversation" and seemed a little freaked out to have me as an aunt...because it certainly can't be because he has us as a family! ;) I think we're pretty cool--lots of quirks, humor, love, and fun all around! In reality, Baby Benja fits in quite nicely. He's already making faces and raising his eyebrows at us. :) Yep, he's my sister's son alright! And I looooooove him!

So, that's a very brief summary of our Christmas in July. Now I look forward to Thanksgiving and the start of the official Christmas season, because I'll get to see my Benja again!...oh, and the rest of the fam too. ;) I hate to think of how much he will grow by then, and all the firsts I'm sure to miss. But I'm grateful for our little FaceTime dates and updates from "BenjaMomma" (she graduated from PregoSis, obviously). So thrilled to see him and his fantastic parents settling in and doing well. And Grandma and Grandpa are over the moon, of course! Have I mentioned how talented they are? Within Benja's first month, both of my parents had composed their own (silly) lullaby for him. The kid's in for a treat--after 25 years of having songs "made up for me" (usually stealing other tunes and putting new words to them), I know what it's like to be both amazed and embarrassed at what innovative parents I have! Good luck, kiddo!

In the next post I plan to talk a little more about summer here at home. Stay tuned and subscribe if you don't want to miss an update! I can't guarantee I'll post a link on Facebook, especially if I keep up this blogging spree and post more often! (Here's hoping!)

Oh, and a very merry early Christmas to you!

Home Between the Raindrops

Today is our wedding anniversary. While year one was very much defined by becoming (a wife, a member of a new church, a long-distance daughter, a daughter-in-law, a Washingtonian), year two seemed to be about belonging. On our anniversary last year, we talked a lot about our new life together--how we'd settled into it, what's ahead, etc. Super Husband said he really wanted to make this place feel like HOME for me. And through our adventures, both in our "new" house (1 year since we became homeowners!) and away, I'm definitely at home now.

I fell in love with this song when I first heard it on the Olympics last summer. Strangely ironic given the type of year it's been. There's no one else I'd rather "roll down this unfamiliar road" with!

Two years. How'd that happen? Well, there's 24 hours in a day...plus or minus a few when you fly across a few time zones...and 7 days a week...and 52 weeks in a year! Fine, I'll leave the math to Super Husband and get back on topic.

Within the last year, I've learned to delight in a life shared. I love life with my husband more than words can say! Yes, even when I'm grumpy, even when we argue, and even when things feel chaotic. And I love sharing life with the friends and family I have out here on the West Coast, as well as those on the East Coast and everywhere in between! It looks different for every one of them--Super Husband and I share life 24/7, friends and family about 9/7, and all the rest only about 168/8765 or less (that's about a week out of a year, just so you know). No matter how much or how little time I get to spend with each of them, it's a delightful thing.

Now I'm home. waiting for Super Husband to come home from work so we can try that cute little Thai place down the street. That's another thing I've really learned to enjoy this past year: getting to share the little things in life with someone. I felt like I spent the first year of marriage analyzing marriage--what it means, what a godly marriage looks like, how we were doing as a married couple--which is all good, but it sometimes crowded out the sheer wonder of it all! I love having someone to go grocery shopping with, someone to "talk it out" with when my emotions mess with my mind, someone to sit up late with when I can't sleep. It's mind boggling.

On the plane from Boston to Seattle a few weeks ago, I plugged in my headphones to the in-flight radio. It was the first time I heard this song (below), and I smiled in spite of my pain at leaving New England. I smiled because A) walking between raindrops is pretty common in Washington state, B) we were on our way "off into the sunset" with a lot of unknowns before us, C) it reminded me how grateful I was to have my love beside me on that plane. I didn't have to fly back alone and I'm not alone here in my new home. I love walking between the raindrops with him, and no matter how many rainy days come, I'd never want to be anything but his bride. With a prayer and a hope that God's Grace goes with us, we're heading into year three.

Let's Start the New Year Right

This Christmas, I rediscovered the song "Let's Start the New Year Right" by Bing Crosby. I've sort of had a crush on Bing ever since "White Christmas," which I was very lucky to have seen for the first time at the age of two and continue to watch annually. Then I discovered "Holiday Inn," "Bells of St. Mary's," and a bunch of Bing's other music. (Don't worry: Super Husband isn't threatened in the slightest.) Come on, how can you not like a guy with the voice of an angel, blue eyes, and a silly name like "Bing"?! Plus, his music always reminded me of an era I didn't personally experience, but was familiar for my grandparents (and parents, somewhat). Anyway, "Let's Start the New Year Right" (although not the "official Christmas song of 2012"--see last year's post--which was "I'll Be Home for Christmas" obviously) seemed to fit our holiday season pretty well. (You can read the lyrics here, but be sure to take a listen at the bottom of the post.)

One minute to midnight
One minute to go
One minute to say good-bye
Before we say hello

Let's start the new year right
Twelve o'clock tonight
When they dim the light
Let's begin

Kissing the old year out
Kissing the new year in

Let's watch the old year die
With a fond good-bye
And our hopes as high
As a kite

How can our love go wrong if
We start the new year right?

I think we did start the new year right, even though it was far from perfect. On the plane home, after a tremendous visit to New Hampshire for Christmas and New Year's, I thought about what my "post-holiday blog post" should say. Over the course of the week and a half away, I thought about writing about familiar things, settling into life with my family again, being an aunty for the first time (bound to be a blog post eventually), memories of a loved one lost, and the goals I have laid out before me. I could write pages and pages about each of them, but I realized that the all encompassing theme should be about looking forward rather than always behind.

I heard an analogy recently of a windshield and a rear-view mirror. The windshield is much bigger than the mirror, because we ought to be looking forward while we drive, not behind. While this analogy was used to describe forgetting the mistakes, sins, and hurts from the past (from which we've been forgiven and healed from, or are starting to heal from), I almost saw it as a challenge not to glance back on what has been as often.

I'm a sucker for memories, and I love to recall and relive the fun times of the past with my family and friends. But, and I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before, sometimes that brings me down. Things can't ever be the same. And as much as I enjoy reuniting with old friends and sharing memories, sometimes that only makes me sad and depressed because we can never go back. I struggle with this when I'm away from New England, and just as much when I'm there visiting. Still, I like the idea of the rear-view mirror, because it shows that it's okay to glance back from time to time (at least in this example)...not in longing for where we've been or what we've seen, but in remembrance of what God has done.

We had a shocking glance in the rear-view mirror on New Year's Day at 2am. My mother-in-law called to tell us that her mom passed away unexpectedly. She was seemingly healthy and we looked forward to many more years of her friendship, guidance, and love. Personally, there was so much I still wanted to talk to her about, to get to know her more than our four brief visits allowed--my husband's graduation (back when I was still his "new girlfriend"), a visit to her vacation home in Florida, my sister-in-law's wedding, and then our wedding. There wasn't enough time! But in the grieving that followed, I got to learn more about Grandma and her Christian legacy--one that Super Husband and I are blessed to be a part of! God has done GREAT THINGS through the life of Grandma. And as much as I long to have her here with us, I can rejoice in what's ahead: a great reunion in Heaven, where I know she's with Jesus and my husband's Grandpa, whom I never had the pleasure of meeting in this life.

I'm grateful for the week we had leading up to the news of our loss. There were family parties, games, sit-down dinners, snowball fights, snowman building, and more. It was a Christmas and New Year's Eve to remember! I'm so thankful for all of it...and feel kind of selfish for feeling hungry for more. We got so comfortable being together again--all 6 of us (my parents, us, my sister, and bro-in-law) living under the same roof. I'm anxiously looking forward to our next meeting. For now, it's good to be home.

Better late than never, I wish you all MERRY CHRISTMAS (it truly was) and HAPPY NEW YEAR (it truly will be, Lord willing).

An Unexpected Birthday Gift

On the eve of my 25th birthday, I received an unexpected letter. Perhaps it was somewhat "expected," just long-forgotten. The irony struck my sister and I, as we talked on the phone about how quickly the years have flown by. "Sometimes high school seems not long ago, but then I remember how much things have changed," she said. Just then, I spotted the letter from my former English teacher and was a little confused to see familiar handwriting appearing through the thin envelope, like the vague glimpse of an apparition.

I opened the letter with trembling fingers, excitedly telling my sister what I'd just received--a message from the past. This is what it said: 

June 6, 2006

By the time you read this, a lot of things will probably have changed. You may be married. You'll be done college and you'll probably be more "mature." I use the word loosely because its definition has changed so much. I mean you'll have experienced things and taken on responsibilities so different from the ones I have now. But I don't want you to loose your sense of wonder at the little things: the beauty of nature, the merriment of holidays, and the simplicity of childlikeness.

I know it's not possible to not change. "If there was no change, there'd be no butterflies." And I want you to be a butterfly. Yet, even a butterfly has ties to its "immature" self. The spots it carries on its skin as a wiggly caterpillar become the ornament and decoration of its wings. So let the change be for the better. Don't let your new responsibilities and lifestyle keep you from taking time for the simple things I enjoy now, like sleeping with my window open to hear the summer crickets, stargazing, writing in my journal on the back porch in my pajamas during the early morning, singing when no one else is around, dancing though no one sees. I hope it's still a part of who you are now.

Above all, I hope you can look back on the time between then and now and see the fingerprints of God. May you have a clear understanding of God's will for your life. And may He grant you peace to overcome the fear of growing up.

 Moving forward,

 [Myself at 18 years old...signed with my maiden name]

Six years ago, I penned this letter to myself as part of an English assignment. It was the end of senior year of high school, and I remember my classmates (and myself) questioning whether our teacher would truly send them to our future selves. He made good on that promise and at the most opportune time.

I spent that much of yesterday (12.12.12) lamenting how I didn't have time to reflect before my birthday, an exercise I began the first year I realized birthdays no longer held the same excitement of childhood (the presents, cakes, getting special treatment on your very own special day, etc.). Then this, a letter written in my pre-English major ignorance--full of misspellings, double negatives, and other such grammatical horrors (which I've kindly left untouched here, for your untainted reading)...this letter arrives and offers more reflection and encouragement than I could have hoped to conjure up in my adult-paced life.

I chuckled at the foresight as well. I am married. College is already starting to feel like a distant memory. And I've certainly had plenty of experiences and taken on new responsibilities, many of which I'm still grappling to understand and carry out well. I'd say I'm more "mature" in the sense my 18-year-old self described--matured by time and experience, but with so much more to see, do, and become. I don't think I've lost my sense of wonder, thankfully, and I attribute some of that to this beautiful new place I've found myself living in as well as the beautiful new life I've discovered with my soul mate. There is much to wonder at in God's world and in a life that seeks after Him.

"If there was no change, there'd be no butterflies." That was my favorite quote in high school. I had it posted in my locker, held up by a butterfly magnet with feathered wings. I clung to this quote because I've never dealt with change well--it always seemed to manage to dig its icy tendrils of dread and sense of loss into my emotions. It still does, on occasion, but I've learned to fear it less, because I know that, in spite of the pain and the things I know I'll miss, I will survive the change though I carry the marks of it forever. One of my favorite songs we sing in worship says "Constant through the trials and the change, One thing remains...Your Love never fails. It never gives up. It never runs out on me." I think that's what the past-me was hinting at, though I've grown to believe it even more deeply now: God's Love never fails, gives up, or runs out on me, no matter what trials and changes come my way. No matter if I cross miles and miles to start a new life, far from the home I've known. No matter if health problems creep in to steal my bodily comfort. No matter what bumpy roads of marriage super-husband and I have to travel. His Love is there.

It was there with me in high school too, as I sat at my desk, penning thoughts I hoped would reach me on the other side of the unknown--that frightening stretch between "childhood" and "adulthood" that seems to occur during the college and early marriage years. Despite my encouraging words and bolstering confidence, that was a troubled time for me. I'd seen the death of a young friend and learned that life isn't a guarantee. I'd witnessed and shared the pain of family members as they battled depression and harrowing circumstances. I wasn't a child then either, I suppose. But God's love has surely carried me through that changing time and He still does!

I have seen the fingerprints of God in my life. Real tears of gratitude fall at that marvelous realization. I think if I knew then how my life would turn out in six years, I would have felt a mix of fear and awe. (A right response, don't you think?) What an INCREDIBLE birthday present! No matter how daunting (and rather epic) "a quarter of a century old" may sound, I prayerfully expect to see the fingerprints of God on the next 25 years also. This is my letter to the future.

April and Mae

No, that wasn't a typo. Mae is my middle name. My sister's is April. Kinda fun, huh? I was trying to think of a way to sum up the past two months, and those two titles fit nicely. (Thanks, Mom and Dad for the pun. Although I'm sure you didn't intend it.) April and May were full of wonderful visits from wonderful people!

Mom and Dad came to visit first, along with a good friend from high school. It was surreal having a full house, and we decided that WE LOVE IT! Our home has already been compared to an inn many times because it's a cozy spot for hosting movie nights, Writers' Group, and just a hang out. It suits this place! This was the Inn's first time housing overnight guests. We loved having the space to share, and seeing others feel welcome and at home here too!

My parents always bring sunshine with them, it seems. No joke, we had a beautiful week with very little rain (odd for April...very odd. I'm not just talking about "April Showers" here. In Seattle, they're called "Fall/Winter/Spring showers!). A little less "touristy" than their previous visits, we enjoyed showing them our new life. They fit into it very well! We even got to have an incredible Easter Sunday dinner with both sides of the family (minus my sister and bro-in-law. *sad face* But they come in later!). It was the first time we used our wedding china and our first holiday hosted in our own home. Such a fun bunch! This glorious Easter Sunday was the first sunny Easter we've had in the Pacific Northwest in about 10 years (or so co-workers told me). Could God have had something to do with it? Absolutely. 

Just like the first time they visited our little apartment, Mom and Dad made this house feel more complete, like all the pieces of my life there and my life here came together again. When they left, they took the sun with them, and it was rainy for the rest of the month. Like my wonderful in-laws, they share so much joy and wisdom with us newlyweds. There's something about having a conversation with your parents across the table (not across the country, via phone), and feeling like you understand them (and appreciate them) more than you were capable of as a child. Needless to say, I was sad to see them go.

Enter sister and bro-in-law! More sun (a little rain, but that's just to give them a realistic reference point for this place) and more fun! We had a blast showing them around on their very first West Coast adventure. The only trouble was wanting to do and see it all in a short span of time! Thank goodness for being able to say, "We'll do that next time you're here." Still, we did a lot of unique things. Ever had a five coarse breakfast at a rustic lodge at the top of a giant waterfall in the middle of the mountains? Unbelievable! We made such memories, trying new things, and testing the capacities of our stomachs. Yummy food and possibly even yummier nap after the food-coma set in.

I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but these two are more than just family--they're our good friends too! My sister and I have always been close, in spite of the bouts of sibling rivalry and spats every now and then (Mom and Dad are probably shaking their heads vigorously right now...yep, we were pretty brutal to each other sometimes!). But she's always been one of my best friends. Always will be! It was harder to see them go, knowing that there'd be no more family visits until we go home for Christmas.

Poor hubby knew I was taking it hard when I had not one, but two big fits of sobbing over a TV show we'd been watching. BBC's "Robin Hood" series. "Really?" you ask. Yes! It was just so sad! Here's why. I got attached to the characters and their stories. (No wonder, really, since I'm an editor and love good storytelling!) And when two of my favorite characters died, the fact that things would never be the same from that point onward just killed me. I couldn't hold it back! Messy tears. What was wrong with me? (No no no, Mom, I'm not pregnant! This was not prego-emotional!)

Then it hit me: EVERY MOMENT IS PRECIOUS with the love of my life, my family, and my friends. Okay, not a big revelation. We all know that. What hurt me the most is thinking that I'm missing the moments of their lives--my family's and my friends' on the East Coast. I'm missing the life my sister and bro-in-law will have when babies come. I'm missing helping my parents build an addition and remodel my childhood home. I'm missing seeing relatives on holidays and family gatherings. And things will never be the same. It hurts like heck! That's why I cry. 

I wish I could say something cheerful and rosy, something sentimental about the memories we make when we are together, but this is just me being honest. This life is happy, full of wonder, and challenging like I've never been challenged before. Believe me, I'm clinging to God and experiencing His love and provision in new ways. And I'm cleaving to my husband, because I need to be here with him and for him. For better or worse. Just because I miss my family doesn't mean I'm bitter about this new life. Quite the opposite! I just want to make that clear.

April and May--done. Lived. Now comes the challenge of the longest time I've ever been away from family and the East Coast. There's a stubborn side of me that just wants to see if I can do it, not fall to pieces over missing them. There's another, probably more real side of me that's okay with the grieving. With every tear I'm thanking God for the tight-knit kinship He has given us, and for the way He has made us friends as well as family.

April, Mae...June, July, August, September, October, November, December. It'll fly by.

24 out of 30

So much for at least a post a month! February was busy...no, February wrecked havoc on my "new normal" and forced me into a "newer normal." Does it ever end? Probably not. February in a nutshell: Started my new job, love my new job, find myself coming home exhausted from my new job (even though I get home two hours before my hubby), and had to take a week off my new job for a surprise trip to NH I'd already planned.

Did you catch that last part? The highlight of my month was seeing the shocked and emotional faces of my parents when I showed up at their door one night. (And you thought I was going to say my new job was the highlight, didn't you? Good guess, but no.) I found myself anxious, beyond reason, to let them know I was "home" again. For months, my sister--ever my partner-in-crime--and I planned this amazing scheme. I'd fly into Boston, spend two days there with my sis and bro-in-law, and I'd surprise Mom and Dad on Friday night when my sis and bro-in-law were, as expected, coming up for the weekend.

That's pretty much how it went down, only I had to pretend I was still in WA when talking on the phone with Mom. Talk about torture! Not being able to tell your loved ones that you weren't 3,000 miles away, but a mere 53 miles! But the surprise was worth it. The crushing embrace of my mother as we laughed/sobbed into each other's shoulders. The dropped jaw and disbelieving chuckle of my father as I came down the stairs. It was most definitely worth it.

*cue the cheesy infomercial voice* "But wait! There's more!" Not only did I get to fulfill my dream of surprising my parents (something I've wanted to do since college...but I guess flying across the country vs. driving from Pittsburgh makes it all the more shocking), we also threw them a surprise party for their 30th wedding anniversary! Sis and I were giddy about our schemes to get family and friends together to celebrate our parent's marriage. I'll admit, the giddiness turned into full-blown stress when late RSVPs, conflicting schedules, and the potential of having our surprise spoiled collided with our busy, working, married lives. But again...it was worth it!

While Christen manned the guest list, banquet hall, and other details out east, I'd spent weeks compiling videos and photos into a slideshow for the party. It was enough of an emotional roller-coaster for me--sifting through childhood memories, watching my parents grow (in age and in love), and thinking about how blessed I was to be raised by them. But reminiscing about various stages of life with them and their (our) family and friends? That proved to be even more of an emotional roller-coaster!

I had a good life there, under Mom and Dad's roof, in the shelter of their love. I never ever take it for granted that I grew up in the security of knowing they would stay together. It's their commitment to each other and, more importantly, the Lord that makes their marriage strong. I've always known that. They shared it with me from an early age. It's on a plaque in the hallway, a simple poem whose clear message I'll always remember...

Marriage Takes Three 

I once thought marriage took

Just two to make a go,

But now I am convinced

It takes the Lord also.

And not one marriage fails

Where Christ is asked to enter,

As lovers come together

With Jesus at the center.

But marriage seldom thrives,

And homes are incomplete,

Till He is welcomed there

To help avoid defeat.

In homes where Christ is first,

It's obvious to see,

Those unions really work,

For marriage still takes three.

~Author Unknown

Mom and Dad's 30th Anniversary Party. What a celebration of that truth! While I've only witnessed 24 years of their 30 years together, I've seen enough to know, whole-heartedly, that marriage is hard work. That there are tears, frustrations, and "intense fellowship" along the way. That there are days you seriously think about running. That there is joy beyond anything I could've dreamed of as a girl, dreaming of her "Happily Ever After." That love, laughter, and dancing can't help but fill a house where a family is united in faith.

They've shown me that when God has united you to your spouse, you have Him to cling to when the going get's tough. Forget "When the going get's tough, the tough get going," I'd rather have His forgiveness and love, which I can then pass along to my husband! There's no "secret" about my parents' 30 years together. They've lived it plainly before me, and, I think, before all those friends and family who've been a part of their lives!

It was so good to be "home." And the time I was able to share with my siblings, parents, and east-coast family/friends rejuvenated me in a way I hadn't expected. The time was enough, because it was unexpected time! There was no agenda, other than to keep our surprise a secret, and once that was out we had an absolute BLAST! We even got a snow storm before I left. Who knew shoveling over a foot of snow could fill me with such delight!

My parents drove me to the airport--another thing they hadn't expected to do that week. It was easier to go home to WA, I told them, because I'd seen how well they've settled into their "new normal" as Empty Nesters. It makes my heart happy to know they're making plans, traveling together, spending time with old and new friends, and improving the house they built together. (The same with seeing my sister and her husband thrive in the life and love they share!) It makes leaving so much easier.

I said easier. Not easy. It never will be. And when Mom turned the surprise on me, handing me a little brown Dunkin Donuts bag (you east-coasters will know what I'm talking about)...well, I'm not too proud to admit how it broke open my flood-gates. Here I was, thinking I could surprise them and bless them with a visit from their far-away-daughter, and a party where they were guests of honor...and they turn around and provide for me again. Letting me, the unexpected house-guest, stay with them, paying for dinners out (and dinners in, which are often times far better), driving me around, and then sending me off with a treat? Yes. I was ruined by a Dunkin Donuts' strawberry-frosted doughnut with rainbow sprinkles. It was too much...

It's always been too much from them. Besides the gift of life (duh!) they've always provided everything I needed, and more. I think it's safe to say my sister and I weren't "spoiled," and those of you who know us can either confirm or contradict that statement. They raised us to be thankful, and I can never thank them enough. So THANK YOU, Mom and Dad! Thank you for everything. Congratulations on 30 years of marriage. I love you both so much!

Seeing them standing there as I went through the airport security line, Dad with his arms around Mom, smiles on their faces as they waved and blew kisses...they're such a beautiful couple! I know. I'm biased. I think Dad had to lead Mom away, otherwise I know she would've wanted to stay until I was out of sight. I would've too! But it was for the best that they go, and I go. Yes, I teared up, thank you very much--seated on the airport floor, unashamed, eating my strawberry doughnut, and thinking about my husband waiting for me back home. I look forward to the day when, Lord willing, he and I can celebrate 30 years of life as one. We've both had such great examples. And even though the real celebration was for my parents' life as a married couple, I kind of felt like this trip was also a celebration of our life as a family for the past 24 years.

Mom and Dad, you were oh so kind to share 24 out of those 30 with us. Now go enjoy the years to come!

A Snowfall Kind of Love

"I think January 22nd would be the PERFECT wedding date," I remember telling my mom in the kitchen one spring evening in 2010. "01/22/11. It has a nice ring, doesn't it?"

The funny thing is, I happened to have this conversation before my husband proposed. After we were engaged, and started throwing around the idea of getting married in January, I was stunned to find that January 22nd happened to fall on a Saturday. We kept an open mind, and discussed potential dates with our reception venue. The 22nd happened to be the perfect match, one of few free evenings, no other events, and all the winter themed decorations would remain up at the inn. From that moment on, January 22, 2011 was a day we longed to arrive.

In what little time I've had to reflect on that beautiful day a year ago, looking at wedding photos and watching our video, I keep focusing on a few things. I notice the people at our wedding, some of whom I've had the pleasure of seeing again since that day, and others I haven't. I start thinking about all the moments of our wedding day and what it must have been like for our guests. We were so focused on each other, and the sacredness of that day to our new life as one, as is appropriate. But it makes me wonder and hope that it was as happy a day for them as it was for us. I love seeing them talking with one another, enjoying the food, dancing, and just seeing their faces again. I miss them.

I also find myself focused on this man who I married.  It didn't seem possible at the time, but there was so much about him I had yet to learn. I see that loving look in our happy eyes as we share our first dance, our timid little laughs as we feed each other a piece of wedding cake. For some odd reason, I keep thinking about how young we look. We're only a year older. I was so in love with him then! So how is it that I feel like I've fallen in love with him over and over, more and more, every day of the past 365 we've shared as husband and wife? It's a miracle! He's a miracle.

It snowed in western Washington this week, the most snow Seattle has seen in half a century, I hear. It was beautiful and we "lived it up" by playing in the snow, going for a walk, and admiring it from the windows. It wasn't until about midweek that I stopped and realized how much this reminded me of our wedding week--watching the weather, about a foot of snow on the ground and more to come, wondering if it'd mess with our plans. It did this week. We had to rearrange our anniversary plans due to power outages, our cars got stuck, events were cancelled. It's been a wild roller-coaster ride of a week, but then again, wasn't that exactly what I was feeling a year ago? Over-the-moon about marrying my man and sick with grief over leaving my family...really leaving them, to live almost 3,000 miles away. It was a tough time, but also the best time of my life!

After all the busyness and plans leading up to January 22nd, that morning dawned to find me full of unearthly calmness. Inexplicable, beautiful, pure peace. It was like I wasn't my usual, emotionally unstable self! Jesus had taken over and led me safe into the arms of the beloved man He had made with me in mind. It was the most unusual and incredible feeling I've ever experienced, and I haven't had words to express it until today. I thought I'd be nervous out of my mind, unable to function, cranky, and an absolute mess! But I see the picture of me putting on my makeup or laughing with my parents only minutes before walking down the aisle, and I remember what it felt like. "This is my wedding day, and everything is working out fine." I shed plenty of tears that weekend, don't get me wrong. It was a bitter parting, saying goodbye to my family and dearest friends. But my prayers and hopes for our wedding were answered, with the kind of peace I'm in such desperate need of every day. God gives it when I ask for it, but I'll always remember how He seemed to increase it a hundredfold that day. 

I was an unusual bride, in that after the honeymoon ended, I would not be returning to the "normal" of my old life, all the people who were a part of it and the places I knew by heart. Life ceased to be normal, and my new-normal began. I'm living it now, sitting across from my level-headed husband, with his steel-blue eyes fixed on his studies and the goals ahead. I feel so unworthy sometimes, that he should still call me his bride. My temper is trying to him sometimes, and I'm certainly not the easiest person to live with. That's when he reflects Jesus to me. Tender and gentle, understanding and yet firm. Loving. He's my long-awaited groom!

It wouldn't be a Squirrel Scribe blog post without a song, would it? So here's one I found a few months ago, that would've been PERFECT for our snowflake themed wedding. Oh well. It will make a lovely first anniversary winter wonderland song. I'm grateful for this first year, full of "snowfall kind of love."

Remind Me

For all the times I've cringed over my silly schoolgirl rantings or bit my lip at pages where I poured out the pains of my heart, I don't regret all the time I've spent keeping journals. I'd kept a "diary" as a child (Lisa Frank designed, if that gives you any point of reference), but my first real journal came from my mom. I was eleven, and the book, with it's floral print cloth cover and lined pages, beckoned me to write like no other blank sheet of paper ever had. I'd written a fair amount in the years prior, but never so singularly focused on recording my thoughts, musings, and experiences of life.

Thirteen years later, and with one small bookcase worth of completed journals, I still add to what I've affectionately called, since the beginning of my journaling journey, "The Tiffany Archives." My latest is a large, black book with my name engraved on the cover. (Oh, how blissfully far I've come from the days of Lisa Frank!) As I flip through it, I realize I've learned to be more contemplative in my writing, not just jotting down the boring details of the day with lightening speed, and wrongly claim I'd captured it. I started viewing my days as opportunities to experience something "journal-worthy" and then approach my entry as a blank canvas to paint a brief tableau, however poor, of what my experiences have meant to me, how they've moved me. I'm still learning, and I hold firm to the fact that keeping journals has done a world of good for me as an aspiring writer.

But there's much more worth in the practice than just improved writing. To be honest, I dreaded rereading my journals and hardly ever cracked open their covers again once I'd finished them. With the exception of treasured family vacations, Christmases past, or my first date with my now husband, I was afraid to relive the rawer moments of my life. I knew from the way I laughed at my first diary, with its one line entries, that I'd chagrin at my childish upsets and "I'm so grown up, look what I know" philosophizing.

A few months ago I decided to start from the very beginning--that flowery book mom never used and passed along to me. As I read, I found myself caught up in my own life story. I don't say that in a narcissistic way. No self-love here, trust me! If you read even a page of those early journals, you'd know there is no room for pride here. I would scribble my rage, or write all prim and proper, using big words I thought sounded impressive, but were totally misused (...come to think of it, I still do this!). As I was sifting through the pages upon pages of emotion and jumbled thoughts, I realized how rare and special this is--to see yourself grow up, to watch an unfolding of thought, emotion, and character in a way photographs and home videos can't capture. What else can capture your thoughts, deepest feelings, and ideas...in your own words? In the present moment, penned on paper for you to read down the road?

I've enjoyed watching myself grow and become (there's that divenire again!). I'm fond of likening it to metamorphosis, but then again, I've always had a fascination with butterflies. As I've read, my husband has asked for snapshots of who I was then. Unfortunately, some of the descriptions have been as follows: whiner, brat, selfish, and full of puppy-love. I was quite the ugly grubbling...still am at my worst moments! And the change to become a butterfly is a slow (and often painful) process. I've seen it happen in some more positive moments: practicing compassion, sharing others' heartache, learning to be still and meditate on what God has done for me. It's a humbling process.

It's my birthday. And on my birthday, it's inevitable for me to examine my past, particularly in the last year. It's been a particularly eventful year, life changing and character shaping in ways I couldn't have imagined! Once I've sifted through the heights of joy and depths of heartache I've felt this year, I go back through the past twenty-something, through journals and scraps of memory. Trying to sort out, "Who am I?"

Today, God has reminded me who I am...to Him and in Him. It's enough to make me feel so unworthy and so in awe of the life He has given me. It's been a great one! Imperfect. Sinful. But SAVED. And BLESSED beyond measure. It's been a joy-filled journey, one I want to continue in the power of His Spirit, with hope and gratitude for His Grace.

Whether it's my birthday or some seemingly insignificant day of the year, I need reminders of who I am to God. Re-reading journals, listening to uplifting music, and reading God's Word have all helped me with that. Let these videos remind you who you are too...

Counting My Blessings

Watching White Christmas on Thanksgiving night is becoming a tradition in my family. It seems like once the turkey is eaten, and everyone has had second helpings of pumpkin pie, we allow ourselves to dream of Christmas to come. And White Christmas is a perfect way to do it! I don't intend for this post to be a movie review, but I have to say, this film has meant a lot to me. This classic has drama, romance, incredible music and dancing, and an overall "feel-good" story. I love watching it with my Grandma especially, because she relates to the era in a way the rest of us can't. Each song creates a mood in me: bouncy and happy, contemplative, or just beaming with a big smile.

The song "Counting Your Blessings" had special meaning to me today. Thinking about leaving New Hampshire tomorrow night leaves me feeling sleepless and worried. And the simple lyrics and beautiful tune are like a soothing lullaby.

When I'm worried and I can't sleep,
I count my blessing instead of sheep,
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings.

When my bankroll is gettin' small,
I think of when I had none at all,
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings.

This Christmas, I can't give all the gifts I wish I could. We don't have the "bankroll" for a fancy Christmas party or tickets to a holiday show. But I feel so blessed for what we have this season: a chance to visit with both our families on special holidays, a new home to move into in a few weeks, and a husband with whom I get to share our first Christmas together!

I'll count these blessings, and so many others, tonight and whenever I feel that ache of sleeplessness, worry, or homesickness. Happy Thanksgiving!