#1 Have a baby

Seventeen hours. That's how long the midwife said I was officially in labor. But for me, the process of giving birth to my daughter started about forty-eight hours prior, when Super Husband and I were on our last date as a couple sans kids.

We'd been trying out a bunch of restaurants that were new to us. It was a fun distraction in those last weeks of pregnancy, and built in together time. We talked about our baby and what we hoped our birth experience would be like. I can't remember exactly what we talked about that night, only that we did talk...a lot! We were the only diners in the small Italian restaurant, and the waitress didn't rush us. When we finished, the sun was just about to set and we were dining near the waterfront; prime after-dinner stroll opportunity! Plus, everyone said walking was good for inducing labor.

Whether the Italian food or the walk had any affect, I'll never know. All I know is that it was just time. As I waddled back to the car, trying to ignore the stares ("Yes, there's a baby in there. And no, I'm not about to pop. It's a baby, not a balloon!") I felt something. Just something. Unlike anything I'd felt in the last nine months. Excitement and nerves swept over me, but I pushed them aside and mused to my husband, "What if this is the last date before she comes?"

What if? It was! Signs of early labor arrived as soon as we got home. The contractions followed that night--fifteen minutes apart, however--producing an adrenaline rush that kept me awake. If only I could go back and tell my silly-pregnant self to SLEEP!!!

The next day I relaxed at home, canceling all my plans for the next few days (just in case) and drifting on the waves of anticipation and dread. "This is it!" "No it's not." "But these are definitely contractions!" "But they're too far apart." "What if it happens quickly?" "What if it takes days?!" On and on it went.

The contractions amped up around 1 am the next morning. That's where the official count began, as the contractions became stronger and more frequent. The nausea of first trimester came back with a vengeance. (They tell you to eat as soon as you realize you're in labor, because you may not have the chance once you're in the hospital....That just didn't work out for me. I was literally running on empty!) There was no denying it. This was labor. And this was HARD!

I only slept for five minute intervals between contractions. Super Husband got just as little sleep and helped me log the time and intensity of each contraction. He called the midwives. He made me food that I tried (and failed) to eat. And we waited.

Strangely, I was anxious to get to the hospital. Just the thought of having help nearby and a soaking tub sounded amazing. Around 9:30 am, we got the OK. Our hospital bags were packed. I grabbed the quilt my Grammie made for me when I was a little girl and buried my face in it for comfort as we drove to the hospital. Squeezing my eyes shut and focusing seemed like the only way to get through contractions, and that made the drive seem fast. We parked in the zone reserved for drop-offs and laboring parents. Greg would park after we were admitted...

...Only we weren't. After visiting the on-call midwife, we found out I was only 3 cm. "What do you want to do?" she asked. I wasn't prepared for that question. What were my options? Walk around the hospital for an hour and get checked again...and possibly get sent home. Or go home now, try to eat again, and come back when I was farther along. Neither sounded very good, but at least at home I could have some semblance of comfort. I still cried in frustration on the drive back. We'd made it to the hospital! We were ready! And now I had to go home again?

Sweet Super Husband made me a strawberry-banana smoothie--ideal labor food, right? Sounds great now. Didn't then. All I could tolerate were a few sips of Gatorade, which I later realized was the "low-calorie" kind! Go figure. The one time in my life where I needed ALL the calories! So I spent most of the next five hours draped over the back of our couch, deliriously counting through contractions, or curled up in bed, trying to cat nap.

One thing that really helped me through this "trial by fire" was music. Super Husband played a worship song playlist on Pandora. As evidence of how long we were laboring at home, we actually cycled through the playlist multiple times, and "Walk with Me" by Jesus Culture seemed to play the most:

"Walk with me" and "how I need you" rang through my mind, echoing the cries of my heart. I needed Jesus in this moment, just as in every moment. But the intense pain and the unknown of what would come next had me recognizing my need with frightening clarity.

Finally, I felt like I couldn't take it much longer. I had to go back to the hospital, and they had to admit me, even if I was less than 5 cm along. I'm not sure how he managed it, but Super Husband convinced me, in my crazed state, to hang on a little longer and move more. Walk, rock on the exercise ball, do mini lunges on the stairs. I agreed...but only if he called the midwives first to let them know we were coming!

About an hour later, we were on our way once more. Convinced we'd be sent home again, we parked in the garage this time...on the second floor. We figured what little walking I could manage at this point could only help things along. The elevator taking FOR-EVER, however, did not. It slowly arrived. The doors slowly closed. We went slowly UP, picked up more passengers, went slowly DOWN, stopped at the SAME floor again, and then slowly down again to our desired floor. Oh. My. Goodness. I must have had three contractions in the time it took us to go down one floor. (Should've taken the stairs!) By then, the poor guy still in the elevator with us made some joking comments about how we'd remember this elevator ride as a part of our birth story. "And it'll be funny someday, I promise." Ha. Ha. Ha.

He walked ahead of us as we slowly made our way inside. The saint then asked for a wheelchair, as I'd stopped to lean against a windowsill for a contraction. (Wherever you are, sir. Bless you!) The nurse asked if I'd fallen. "Um, no. Just in labor." I said through clenched teeth. It is funny now--"just" in labor?!

"Okay then!" she said too cheerily and started wheeling me toward the Family Maternity Center...where I did want to go, but couldn't without a visit to the midwives first...in the opposite direction. Poor Super Husband must have been dazed, because I was the one who had to tell her (twice) that we needed to go the other way. Again, humorous to me now. Not so much then.

"We're back!" I chuckled mirthlessly as we wheeled into the midwives' office. There were other expectant mamas in the waiting room, and I feel bad for the horrific picture I must have left them. Already disheveled, feeling haggard beyond belief, and announcing that it wasn't a "one and done" kind of visit before the baby arrives. Sorry, ladies.

It took me a few seconds to register what the midwife was saying. "Okay, so you're 8 or 9 cm. Aaaand your water just broke! What do you say we go meet this baby girl?" I burst into happy tears, momentarily and blissfully unaware of the pain as we celebrated that THIS would be our baby's birthday! At long last! It wasn't without a tinge of fright, however, as she calmly announced that Baby had pooped already and we'd need to have NICU staff there at the birth. Not part of the plan, but safer for Baby.

The staff at the midwives' office were always so good to me and sweeter than pie! They cheered us on and wished us a "Happy BIRTH day!" as we left. Heading over to the other wing, I could hardly believe this was it! After all the anticipation and waiting for this moment, to be that far along was far beyond my wildest expectations. The next hour was a blur--signing forms, meeting our labor and delivery nurse, listening as she and the midwife joked and bantered about that day's news, and settling into the room we'd call "home" for the next 24 hours. The room where our daughter would enter the world!

In a strange moment of calm, I opened my eyes from another contraction to find our midwife sitting in front of me, watching me intently. It struck me how odd and amazing it was to have two people there with us the entire delivery, from this moment on! "What do you want to do?" Again, NOT expecting that question. Should've said, "I want to have this baby!" But instead I shrugged and muttered that maybe a bath would be good.

"Good" doesn't cut it! It was the best thing ever! A sweet bit of relief from an exhausting 24 hours. "Just let us know when you feel the urge to push," the midwife had said. I'd been a little anxious over that part...okay, a lot anxious! I'd never had a baby before. Didn't know what that urge felt like, much less how to actually do anything about it!! But the old adage is true--your body will know what to do.

After about an hour, I felt ready. After a bit of coaching, I knew how to get the most out of this most difficult part of labor. Super Husband was a bit surprised at how involved they let him be and he did AWESOME! I think he was more in shock about the whole experience than I was!

In a strangely appropriate way, Ludovico Einaudi (the composer whose song "Divenire" played as I walked down the aisle to on our wedding day) was playing during the birth. Obviously, my attention was elsewhere, but I'm pretty sure this was the song I heard, "Questa Notte:

Divenire means "becoming," a word that meant a great deal to me in our early years of marriage and becoming a wife. Likewise, Questa Notte, which means "this night," is perfectly suited to the birth of our daughter, because her name means "night" in Hebrew. And as night fell that day, our Lyla was coming.

I felt strangely calm and focused. I knew what I had to do. And I would do it. As the midwife excitedly announced, I was doing it! It was by God's mercy that I delivered so quickly. After about ten minutes of the hardest but most rewarding work I've ever done, a perfect, surprisingly big, hot, and purple little human being was placed on my chest.

Here she is!

I'll never forget the way her long fingers wrapped around my arm, already holding on for the ride of life. We cried and welcomed our daughter to the world. She didn't come in screaming (unfortunately) and I had to give her up for a few minutes while the NICU people checked her out. I couldn't take my eyes off her as they got her airways cleared. (She came so fast, the NICU crew barely arrived in time!) But her first little cry made me tremble with joy. She's alright. She made it. WE made it!

When I had her back in my arms again, I finally managed to tear my eyes away from her sweet, round face to look at Super Husband. In that moment, with golden evening sunlight pouring in the windows, my child in my arms and my hero at my side, I think my heart grew bigger than I ever thought possible. Bigger to hold the love I have for this man and our little girl.

When I first saw her big eyes squinting up at me, I was surprised how dark and impossibly blue they were. What a privilege to be the first thing she ever laid eyes on, to be the first to touch her. It was truly a miraculous experience. God showed me great mercy and kindness that day. I'll be forever grateful, forever praising Him for it.

And that's how one of my greatest dreams and desires came true. We had a baby! And suddenly all the other dreams I thought I had pale in comparison. She's such a priceless gift. Our family story started a new chapter, and we're still enraptured by it.

#4 Celebrate Super Husband earning his FSA

A journey that began when we first met is finally over! Super Husband obtained his Fellowship in the Society of Actuaries back in July, but we held off on the official celebration until he had his certificate in hand. I am once again floored by the intelligence and wisdom of the man I married. I’ve never met such a hard worker!

At Super Husband’s induction banquet, the speakers kept saying how this was our (the spouses’ and supporters’) night too. We smiled at each other, gave and accepted congratulations, but I still feel like I did very little compared to all the time and dedication my husband put into his fellowship. While he was taking numerous exams, working on time-consuming projects, and spending countless hours of studying…I was simply doing LIFE and cheering him on.

That role has changed since college when we first started dating. Back then, my support consisted of verbal encouragement, a few baked treats, and one very cheesy CD mix of “go get ‘em” songs for him to listen to on his long drive to the exam center. As his long-distance girlfriend and fiancé, it meant sacrificing date nights and closeness (part of why we lived so far apart) so he could start his career in Washington AND continue his studies.

As his wife, the supportive role looked more like this:

Do life (chores, represent him at social gatherings, etc).

Pray that he had the strength to study just one more hour.

Make coffee.

Keep our calendar relatively clear so he could study.

Make more coffee.

Pray fervently leading up to, during, and after the exams (waiting for results was hard too!).

Live in patience.

Offer the encouragement and words of praise he needed and deserved.

Pray that he’d reach the end SOON!

And he did.

With the last exam over, the results received two months later, and the fancy banquet out of the way, it was time to party! We were excited to host our own in-home celebration for family and a few friends who were there for us these past seven years. I even had a Pinterest board dedicated to the planning. I wanted it to be special.

I spent all day setting up the homemade touches I’d worked on over the previous weeks—difficult to do, as we were smack dab in the middle of planning our Europe trip. Nerdy math/actuary jokes provided a little entertainment…maybe more so for Super Husband, but that’s the way it should be! I chose his favorite colors—blue and green—as the “theme colors,” and completely overlooked that these are our city’s team colors, both in soccer and football. It worked out, as the lady at the dollar store had plenty of blue and green balloons pre-filled!

In a nutshell, it was a fine party. Just fine. Some key people couldn’t make it, or simply didn’t show. Our catering order was late and messed up (at least I tried to pull out all the stops and not put the pressure on myself to cook!). The evening was cooler than expected and all my backyard setup ended up underutilized. (Deja vu of my 16^th birthday party where we spent more time huddled around the woodstove than the luau-themed basement I’d spent hours preparing.) And I forgot to take pictures and have the guest of honor cut the cake. Thankfully, a friend took some with his amazing camera (and skills), so the evening wasn’t totally undocumented.

When it was over, we both felt relieved. Again, not exactly the resulting emotion I had envisioned. Content would have been better. Or celebratory? Exhilarated at what this party symbolized? Oh well, relief is still appropriate. We made it. It’s done. And we get to move forward in this life we share, without consideration for study/exam schedules. Praise the Lord!

My Precious is Looooost!

It's confirmed: Super Husband's wedding ring is (was) the One Ring. If it's gold, shiny appearance didn't convince you, the fact that it "had a will of its own" should! Sometime during the last week of May, the ring left his hand. It wasn't in any of the places he might have taken it off (to work out, do dishes, etc.). Believe me; I checked. On my hands and knees, looking in the most unlikely places imaginable, I searched.

Not on the counter, not in the recycling bin, not in the laundry. My neighbors must've thought I was insane, crawling around the lawn on my hands and knees, picking through the grass. If they'd asked, I would have told them it's because there's a slim chance he could have lost it there, while pressure washing our deck! Perfectly logical!

The scariest moment was when I was searching the garage...again..and found myself sobbing, face to the floor to look under the freezer, and repeatedly asking, "Where is it? Where is it? Where IS it?!" I thought about how much I must look like Gollum, though it didn't amuse me at the moment. I suddenly understood his crazed, anguished movements when he discovers "his precious" is missing.

I know, "it's just a thing and you still have your husband." I get that. But I also feel the sting of loss for what it was--a representation of our wedding day, our vows, the start of our forever. Not to mention, it was his grandfather's ring, with "God hath joined..." and their initials inside to remind us of their legacy of a God-centered marriage. That's not something you can replace.

Maybe we'll still find it. Maybe it'll show up as we go about the shuffle and mess of living. I'm trying to come to terms with it being gone for good, but it's just so hard to think about shopping for another ring, or looking at our wedding photos (and any photos since) where it's shown. I'm not a fan of a newer ring, even one that's more comfortable (sorry, Super Husband--just being honest). I want him to have THAT one, the one I put on his finger 3 1/2 years ago. And if he can't have that one? Do I let him walk round with a bare hand? (Well, that's how it's been for the past month. What's another 60+ years without one?!)

Not giving up on it just yet. It's either in the house or gone for good (I'd prefer the former, obviously). So, if you know any keen hobbits who may have something in their "pocketses," be sure to let me know. ;)

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.

Summer Summary

Last month alone, we went hiking, biking, camping, fishing, barbecuing, swimming, and picnicking. Pretty much all the quintessential summer activities. Oh, and squeeze in trips to the west-coast family cabin, a drive-in movie, berry picking, yard work, soccer playing, and archery (for the first time in a few years!). 

It's been a full summer!

For all of that, I'm not quite ready for it to be over. Thank goodness we still have about a month and a half of good weather left! Our upcoming adventures include (but are not limited to) backpacking in the Olympics again and a camping/rafting weekend. To top it all off, my parents and two family friends are coming to visit at the end of September! Glad to have that visit to look forward to, and maybe the transition to "rainy season" won't be that bad after all!

In my last post I alluded to our bike rides. This is a "new" activity to me, since I haven't had a bike of my own since moving here. Super Husband found me an awesome pre-owned "hybrid" bike (flat handlebars of a mountain bike with thin tires of a road bike), so I could have an easier time keeping up with his uber-fast road bike. There are lots of beautiful trails around this area. My favorite so far has been the Burke-Gilman trail around Lake Washington. Super Husband is a great encourager, and I find the words of affirmation just as sweet as the treats we give ourselves after a long ride--mainly ice cream and chocolate, but any sugary item will do. I'm looking forward to riding more and dread the rainy weather when we can't count on good biking conditions.

The second renewed activity is, of course, archery! My poor re-curve bow and mismatched quiver-full of arrows has sat neglected in my closet for about 3 or 4 years. When we were searching for a house, I thought for sure we'd have a lawn where I could practice. It took only a few home viewings to realize I will find no such yard in this neck of the woods--it certainly doesn't merit the term "woods" at all! I resigned myself to this fact and instead drooled over "Hunger Games," Disney's "Brave," "Robin Hood," and of course "The Lord of the Rings trilogy" for my archery fix.

A month or so ago, a friend asked to borrow some arrows for a photo shoot at work (at right). As I pulled out my gear, I realized this was something I had to pursue again, somehow. I started dreaming up ways I could shoot safely in our little yard, in a manner that wouldn't alarm the neighbors or passers-by. When no good ideas were forthcoming, I turned to that marvelous resource--parents! My in-laws reminded me that there's plenty of room to shoot at the family cabin down in Shelton. So this past trip, I bought a target to keep there. Ironically, it was the same exact target I bought in New Hampshire about 6+ years ago! (Confession: It was from Wal-Mart, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.) It made the cabin feel even more like home!

No pictures to prove it, but I think some of my form is still there! Super Husband and BIL (brother-in-law) shot too and did really well. It felt so good to hold the bow again, no matter how shaky my arms were. (Super Husband calls my "guns" "potato canons" for a reason. Good thing archery is only 20% arm and 80% back muscles.) I can't wait to get back to the cabin to shoot more! And it's only whetted my appetite to find a range closer to home.

For a truly new activity, Super Husband and I have been learning how to fly fish! We got these incredible rods from the aforementioned "visitors coming at the end of September" (thanks, guys!) last Christmas and couldn't wait to try them. Our first tries were in the front lawn of my childhood home, under the tutelage of my uncle, who's a pro! Dad (my original fishing buddy) took us to a few dams and ponds to practice. I quickly fell in love with this unique form of fishing. It's a lot more technical than I'm used to, but I'm up for the challenge!

Super Husband and I went to my favorite river in all of New England to try our luck. He managed to catch one trout on his fly rod, but it was too tiny to keep. Quick shout-out to Super Husband: He stuck with it and kept trying the difficult fly-fishing cast from the brush-lined riverbanks, while his wimpy wife traded in her fly rod for a normal pole and worm. Keep that in mind--he ain't no quitter! That said, I caught perhaps the biggest trout of my life that day...but with my old pole and a juicy worm I'd dug up from our "worm farm" back at the Camp. So I don't think it's quite the victory I was looking for. But I still had a blast! Super Husband has gone fishing with a coworker since returning to WA, and I'm hopeful I'll get the hang of it enough to start reeling in some big 'uns on my fly rod.

That's our summer in a nutshell. I love, love, LOVE summer in Washington! It's what makes the other nine months of the year bearable. What's your favorite summer activity? What new things have you tried?

Dang it, Craig!

I know I have a lot of catching up to do. I promise to post about meeting my nephew and this summer's adventures. But for now, I need to talk about something that may make you laugh, cringe, and/or shake your head in wonderment over our stupidity.

That's right. I want to talk about the joys of adulthood--particularly that wonderful, stomach-dropping moment when you realize (like Gob in "Arrested Development") that "I've made a huge mistake" and all responsibility rests on you and you alone. Okay, so it's not that bad. Let me start from the beginning.

For the past few months of Super Husband's "freedom" from studying, we've been getting serious about putting the finishing touches on our house. This has included yard work, reorganizing closets, and extensive Craigslisting. That last one has been the source of the most grief. Super Husband spends almost an hour a day browsing the listings and making offers on the furniture we've been waiting on. Somehow, we managed to buy ourselves a new vacuum in the process, but that's beside the point.

The point is, for all the work and consideration we put into the searching, we have very little to show for it...until yesterday. Late on Monday night, Super Husband says he's found a buffet! It's small, it looks light, and it's real wood so we can refinish the light pine with a stain that matches our dining room! "It even has a lip around the back and sides to keep dishes from falling off!" Great! I took a brief glance at it, thought the price was reasonable (given what we'd seen so far) and liked that it was in the same town where Super Husband works!

Begin phase 2: We make an offer, seller accepts said offer, and Super Husband plans and executes a lunch break run to pick it up! So far so good. When I come home from work, I open the garage excitedly to find...a baby-changing table!

Wait. Is there something he's trying to tell me? Am I pregnant? (No, for the record. No.) I kind of chuckled at first and took a closer look. Yes, it's a baby-changing table. Complete with drawers and a divider for holding diapers. When Super Husband comes home, I make a joke about it and his face drops. He'd paid extra to have it delivered, and upon loading the guy's truck he realized how heavy it was. He said he was having second thoughts at that point, and when the seller added "it makes a great baby dresser too" he was confused, since they claimed to have used it as a buffet table. Not wanting to back out then, he went through with it.

Laughter aside, we stood in our garage, staring at the large, glossy, pine baby-changing table. We'd paid way to much for it. We found out we can't refinish it because, although the drawers and front are solid pine, the sides are veneer. So, we're going to have to try to sell it again. (No Baby Mottet on the way in the near future, and I can't justify hanging onto it until then!) But I have a feeling we're going to have to cut our losses. It's work to post things, wait for offers, and coordinate pick ups. We'll probably lose money, not to mention sleep, over this thing. Dang it, Craig and your stupid list!

This "too-bad-you've-been-bamboozled" moment will pass and I'm sure we'll laugh about it someday. It's just one of many home-owner/newlywed mistakes I'm sure we'll make in our lifetime. That said...I still wish it hadn't happened.

Soooo...Expecting a baby? Have a little one already? Need a nice piece of furniture on which to change him or her? Call me.

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.

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.

Excuses, Excuses

I really hate it when I'm following someone's blog or other work and suddenly there's a huge break in the posts! Yes, I broke that cardinal sin of blogging. So let me start this long-awaited post with a few "excuses":

1. Summer sunshine
2. Summer adventures
3. Summer roadtrips
4. Summer visitors
5. Summer leaving
6. Fall starting
7. Fall fun
8. Fall finishing
9. Winter arriving
10. Annoying health problems
11. Life

How's that? Summer is the biggest excuse, mainly because it kept us so busy that I almost forgot the existence of my blog. (Almost.) Also because sun is so scarce, we spent every available minute, it seems, outside! The grandest adventures took place in the mountains. I undertook my very first backpacking trip with an amazing group of friends in the Olympic Mountains. (Earning myself, albeit loosely, the title of "Olympian.") I also took countless day hikes with super-husband and the in-laws, and while I'm still not even close to matching their stamina, I've enjoyed each trip. Throw in an afternoon on our very own lawn, drinking Italian sodas and reading travel magazines and it's no wonder why I LOVE WASHINGTON SUMMERS!


Super-husband also took me on an incredible road trip of the Oregon coast. I couldn't believe how incredibly beautiful and unique each stop turned out! Plus, car camping is my favorite. OK, I hate unloading the car, and if you're stuck with a parking spot more than fifty feet from your site, it can get a little tedious. I knew I liked car camping before this trip, but I never knew how much I love it! I blame the slow pace, clothes that smell of campfire smoke, and quiet mornings around the cook stove. Granted, the weather was beautiful every night we were in a tent.

Summer made its exit with "Lawn Destroying 101." Due to the lovely lack of rain all summer, our poor lawn turned brown by late September. Don't label us "Green Thumbless" just yet! We managed to keep a mini-garden of carrots and tomatoes alive all summer. (Technically, there were still tomatoes on the vine in early November, but they wouldn't taste too good. We couldn't get them to stop growing!) The peas were a failure this time around, but the real autumn harvest treasure came when...

...we got to go apple picking in our back yard! These sweet, juicy gems were almost too much for us! We couldn't eat, freeze, or give them away fast enough. (There may or may not be a bag of smooshy ones in our garage still.)

Fall flew by like the blustery days that brought back the rain. *sad face* In spite of my lack of faith in super-husband's wisdom, the grass in our lawn DID grow back by November! (He forgave my doubt. I'm a stubborn New Englander after all, who knows that once the grass withers in autumn, it's gone until spring!) That brings us to my favorite season of the year (at least in snowy climates): WINTER! Our little home turned into a winter wonderland (at least on the inside), mainly with all the silver-and-blue snowflake-themed decorations from our wedding. We've enjoyed countless Christmassy events with friends and family, and are looking forward to flying back east for Christmas. (There's another blog post or two bound to come out of that trip, if not before!)

Now that we're all caught up...oh, you want to know about the annoying health problems, huh? Suffice it to say that my Native American (only 1/32, mind you!) and Scandinavian heritage inspired my gallbladder to create precious stones! Frankly, it should've stuck with bile production. Now I'm one more organ short and unable to enjoy all the fatty treats of the holiday season with reckless abandon. Oh well. There's always next year.

Speaking of next year, this would be a good time to introduce my hopes for a little blog revamping in 2013. I don't have nearly as much time to write and reflect as I used to (pre-job), but I hope to continue chasing a few goals and writing more than a few musings about the journey. You still with me?

P.S. Sorry about the delay...now 'fess up! You didn't even know I was gone! *wink*

Blue Sky

The floor needs to be swept...again...and there's still half a pile of laundry waiting to be folded. But today, this is more important. It's been one of those months where I've been word hungry—dying to write, but with little or no time to do it. Finally, I get to sit down and have a good, home-cooked word meal. I'll have to eat quick though. (Did I mention I need to be out the door in thirty minutes?)

The sky came out this week, just in time for Independence Day. The sun came too, but it was the robin's egg blue that really got me. Usually, I only see patches of it through clumps of clouds the color of dirty snow. Recently, however, the whole sky feels so open and wide. It stretches to the horizons I've forgotten. Suddenly, the mountain ranges on every side seem closer than I remember. The green of trees really pop under the blue (or over it, when you're by the water).

Yesterday evening, super-husband and I took a walk down to the beach. He prepared a feast of a picnic, which far surpasses the sorry excuse for a dinner I usually whip up on busy nights. He told me I needed to breathe. I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath! But I was. And it costs not only me, but those around me. You know that feeling? Feeling the pressure build, like you're a can of soda (or pop, for my West/Midwest friends) being shaken up. Not pretty when that thing explodes!

So I breathed. I realize how often my words, both spoken and written, often revolve around the hard things—storms and rough waters. Sometimes that's when you need words most. But what about when the sky is out? And it's so blue, you can't quite match it to anything else in the world? I'm ready to talk about those things more. I need to! It's more like the fizzy bubbles of ginger ale rising in me than a "carbonation explosion."

I was blessed to see seven old friends in the past three weeks. It made me so happy to see each of them growing where they've been planted, and thriving! They're not the same people they were in college. Neither am I! I love who they were and who they've become. We had such fun—enjoying long chats together, road trippin', celebrating a wedding, and exploring new places around Seattle I hadn't even seen yet! Each experience with each different group was like a beautiful sunny day, regardless of the weather. (Sorry, friends who got to see the "real" Pacific Northwest. You missed summer by a day.) They were my blue sky!

Our new(er) friends here are my blue sky, too. Each one adds so much to our life here that it's hard to imagine it without them. And isn't it ironic, and rather appropriate, that our home church is called "Blue Sky Church"? I love that! God's grace is the source of all my blue skies in life. Wouldn't exist without Him! And I'm so excited to see what other blue skies He will reveal to us this summer.

Ready. Set. GO! Super-husband and I are anticipating an excellent season of blue sky (both literal and metaphorical). He finished yet another exam recently, and that means more time to go adventuring (my favorite!) and stay-cationing (equally relaxing as vacationing, in my book). Next up, a road trip along the Oregon coast. Super-husband says I need to get to know my home better, and that includes our neighboring state. What are you going to do under the blue sky this summer? I really want to know!

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."

The Huntress

I've been on the hunt a long time. In the past year alone, I've hunted for...

• the perfect wedding location, dress, decorations, etc.
• the furniture items our apartment lacked (mostly on craigslist)
• a church to call home
• a job
• the best deals on groceries
• and lately, a house!

Mostly, the search is thrilling. But after many disappointments, and even some triumphs, it can drain you. I admit, I've thrown in the towel far too many times these past few months, consoled myself with a self-appointed break from the hunt. But that only made me more restless. 

Then I realized that TRUST is the only true salve for the burns of worry and anxiety, the only thing that gives you joy in the hunt, and peace because you have the Master with you at all times. I was reminded to trust God with the details, and as a result...

• our wedding was a joyful and blessed event
• our apartment has everything we need, and then some!
• we became members and fellow servants of Christ at a wonderful church
• I got an editorial internship with a Seattle book publisher, and a few potential freelance job leads
• we have plenty of food to eat and share, our pantry and fridge are always full
• we have had a smooth house hunt, and possibly an accepted offer!

Don't be fooled; I didn't have one single moment of trust and all these things just fell into place overnight! It's a daily struggle with my sinful self, that part of me that finds worrying easier than action, that believes the evil one's lies that I am inadequate and incapable. I've found the desperate need to lean on His Holy Spirit to fill, uphold, and guide me. I falter...often, unfortunately...in this trust. But if I'm open to Him, God uses His Word and His children to speak affirmation and reminders to me.  

This happened recently through a book I read ("No way! She read a book? That's so unlike her!" *wink*). Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts talks about her own journey of building a habit of giving thanks for everything, the good things that are easily viewed as blessings, as well as those difficult things in life she refers to as "hard graces." And it's more than just a habit. It's an emptying of expectations, self, your anxieties, and fruitless striving, to be filled with His joy, with true thankfulness for His grace, so we can better trust and glorify Him. There were so many "quotables" I found in her book, things that resonated with me or pointed to scriptures I knew, but of whose weight I'd forgotten. But here's just one that speaks of the hunt:

This is what I crave; I hunger for Beauty. Is that why I must keep up the hunt? When I cease the beauty hunt, is that why I begin to starve, waste away?.... How I want to see the weight of glory break my thick scales, the weight of glory smash the chains of desperate materialism, split the numbing shell of deadening entertainment, bust up the ice of catatonic hearts.... I want to remember how badly I really want to see. ~Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts

There have been many times when I give up the hunt, and I feel that nagging ache of sorrow and hunger. And unless I realize it's a hunger for more of God, Beauty Himself, I keep despairing, and worrying. If I acknowledge that the hunt is really about seeking Him and His will, there is joy in it, and I trust. He brings an end to my little "earthly hunts," like the job or house search, and spurs me on in the "heavenly hunt"--the seeking after Him and His Beauty, sharing the blessings, and being the blessing to others.

From the restless searching in my youth for adventures and wonders (through books, movies, music, art, and imagination), to my more mature search for more of God's beauty, in the ordinary and extraordinary places, the outside world I've only begun to explore--I'm a lifelong huntress. So, as my newlywed life unfolds, and I learn more about who I am and who God wants me to be, I find I am meant to be a lifelong huntress, so long as I'm hunting for Him in all places, things, and circumstances.

Divenire

Half a year ago, I became a Mrs. I can't believe we're already half-way through "our first year," which most claim to be the hardest year of marriage. I can see that, but I also see how joyful and incredible it can be.With all the adventures, high and low points, failures and triumphs, I still find myself awed into silence when I consider this man who is my husband. He is patient, kind, fun-loving, adventurous, strong, and insightful. No matter how many times I break down into tears over homesickness, or lose my temper over something gone wrong, he is ever faithful in holding me, loving me, and reminding me, "I didn't just marry the happy you."

On our wedding day, I walked down the aisle to "Divenire" by Ludovico Einaudi not only because I LOVE the beauty and majestic swell of this song, but because of the very title: Divenire means Becoming. On that day, I was becoming a wife. I was becoming one with the love of my life. I was leaving behind my old life and my maiden name in order to become something new.

Six months later, I find myself still very much moved by this song. Not only does it remind me of that most sacred day of my life, but also who I am becoming. I'm realizing that "becoming a west-coast woman" means more than figuring out all the nuances of "Seattlite living" (which route to take to avoid tolls, which grocery store has the cheapest produce, how to navigate the bus system, where to find great coffee). It's an adjustment to the rainy winters and springs. It's learning to see the sunshine in my husband, when the days seem too grey. Many times, I've referred to my husband as a moon, reflecting the Son.  I want to become more like him, like Jesus Christ, whom he reflects.

I have so much more to learn. And there are days when I feel so overwhelmed by this reality. Becoming someone's wife and a member of the independent, adult world is difficult. The challenges arise from day to day--sometimes as small as deciding what to make for dinner, other times as big as dealing with personality differences. But do you know what I hear in the refrain of Einaudi's song? Grow. Burgeon. Learn. Change. Become who God created you to be. That's why I chose it for my bridal procession.

We're weaving together the separate threads of our lives. It's a process. Difficult, yes. But full of blessing. My husband takes me as I am, "in laughter and tears," as we vowed. But for him, I want to become better, more the woman God wants me to be, the best Christlike wife I can be. My new motto, on this half-year anniversary: Ogni giorno, divenire. (Every day, become.)

Post-Wedding Blues

I believe I've experienced what Susan Devries calls "The Princess Crisis." I've been reading The Most Important Year in a Woman's Life, and this particular insight into newlywed life strikes a chord in me:

A princess is beautiful, fun to be with, romantic, on a quest to win the affection of a charming prince, and surrounded by others who attend to her wants and needs. But after the wedding day, a bride often ceases to see herself as a princess--feeling more like the duty-bound queen--and when the princess becomes the queen, the real work begins.

I would add that, as a bride, I felt surrounded by others willing to help, or at least interested and emphatically curious about my wedding plans. And perhaps the most jarring part of this "crisis" has been, for me, the sudden disconnect from the people who helped me achieve that bridal dream, and made me feel like a princess bride. I miss their kindly advice, thoughts and well-wishes, their example, and their teasing if they could see me blunder through folding the overflowing basket of laundry at my feet! (Have I mentioned that even "kings" have their fair share of stinky socks?)

I do miss the bridal magazines, the bridal shows, the wedding ads in my mailbox, all the dreaming, the planning...the putting together of the most delightful puzzle of my life, where each piece slid into place with a satisfying sense of contentment. The resulting picture was far more perfect than I could've imagined! And the bittersweetness of the puzzle is that I will never do it again. And even if I were to plan another "wedding" (for my own children, for example), it will never have that same wonder of seeing my own dream wedding turn into reality.

So what's my new puzzle? I suppose it's this new life my groom and I have been carefully putting together, piece by piece. It's setting up house together, figuring out closet space, and sharing bowls of cereal in the morning before he leaves for work. It's the colorful primroses I planted in a hanging pot outside on our balcony. It's the walks after church on the sunny days, and the reading in coffee shops on the rainy ones. This puzzle is infinitely more complex and challenging than the wedding puzzle! And I think it's become my solution to the "princess crisis." I will always be my husband's princess bride, and he will be my prince and hero; not just for a single day of wedding celebration, but for the rest of our days! While we may carry the label of "romantic newlyweds" for awhile, we will be "romantic puzzle-makers" for life.