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!

First Day

I feel like a kid, giddy and planning out what I should wear to my first day at school. I'm picking out photos and calendars to pin up on my work space. Maybe a new lunch box will be on my "to buy" list. But the fresh box of Crayola crayons will be staying home, because February 6, 2012 will be my first day of WORK!

Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have even dreamed that I'd be employed by the end of January. After over a year of searching (some of it...okay, much of it half-hearted), I began to accept that freelance editing from home would be the closest I'd ever get to my dream job of working inside a real book publishing office. I've enjoyed this type of work for the past month. And suddenly, out of the blue, my client publisher had an opening! Snow foiled the first attempt to interview, and sickness the second. The third and final attempt turned into a glorious day of sunshine, kind people, getting to know the office better, and receiving a job offer!

I'm excited, but for some reason an almost solemn mood has settled on me. I'm in awe, shock, and probably more than a little terrified that I'll screw up this opportunity. I needed some time to process how, after so long, literally going on years (since college) looking for the right job, the right job came to me when I was least expecting it. It reminds me of a similar search, one that ended almost the moment I could profess sincere contentment with being single. A man came into the picture and changed my life forever. Isn't that how it often is? Love and Grace find me when I least expect them too.

I'm going to be a copy editor at a company that publishes quilting and crafting books. Such a lovely, innocent subject! I love the idea of working with books that inspire creativity and handiwork. Yet, I know that, just as in school, the days will start to feel long and the work a little tedious, and I'll look forward to vacations and miss the golden days of "summer" when I had no work. But this will be the first day of something good. Very good. It's an education I've longed for, and the type of job I think I'll enjoy, if only because of the friendly co-workers I'll share it with. Most importantly, it's good because of Who ordained it to be, Whose provision allows both my husband and I to work and live with plenty.

It's a new season. I'm ready to dive in and make the most of these next few years. Because before I know it, a new and even more exciting and terrifying season will begin. (Yes, Mama, I'm talking about your grandbabies. *wink* Not yet!) It's just another step in the journey. A turn in the page. Hey, I'm finally an editor, so don't expect my cheesy life/book analogies to go away. I'm just getting started!

Oh, and as for those Crayola crayons? I may need to borrow the red one for marking up manuscripts. Just sayin'...

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."

Our First Christmas

For the past few Christmases, I've noticed how one particular carol seems to stand out during the season. Usually it starts out by grabbing my attention with its frequency--coming on the radio, in a store where I'm shopping, or in my own Christmas music playlist. So I start listening closer to the words, and out of it suddenly blooms a meaning or lesson I'd missed in my passive, mechanical hearing of the song in the past. Songs like "Good King Wenceslas," "The Little Drummer Boy," "Joy to the World," and "Oh Holy Night" are just some examples.

This year it was tougher to decide. The song that kept coming up was "Silver Bells," with its pretty descriptions of Christmas time in the city. It was a little ironic, considering I spent much of my Christmas season working at my internship in downtown Seattle, and I started noticing that the stoplights do indeed "blink a bright red and green." But all this song does is paint a highly idealized picture of Christmas in the city. So I'm not sure it counts as THE song.

Then there's "It Must Have Been the Mistletoe" which is all about our first Christmas. Equally ironic/appropriate. But once again, it's a pretty little song with very little depth. "Our first Christmas [has CERTAINLY been] more than we'd be dreaming of." And that's about it from this song. I like it! And it's been fun in the context of our first Christmas together EVER (not just as husband and wife). But it's not quite the meditative music I was looking for.

So what was it?

I'd heard this song before. It happened to come on the radio as we were headed to my in-laws' for my first Pacific Northwest Christmas. I got "Holy Spirit chills" at the words and the depth of what Christ's coming to Earth means. I can't fully fathom it! But this song has an angelic quality to it, that tugs at the heart to worship. And it helps that this video was paired with one of my favorite Christmas movies (and depictions of the Nativity). So moving. Listen to it again and let it sink in. Doesn't it just make you want to dance? (Maybe that's just me...)

He is here with us. In our first Christmas, in our new family, in our new home here on the west coast. He is there with my family on the east coast, with my parents on their 30th (plus some) Christmas and first with a truly empty nest, in my childhood home. With all those I miss terribly at this time of year, on both sides of Heaven. I needed this assurance this year, more than ever before, it seems. He's here with us in the homesickness, life changes, joys and challenges of marriage, and everything we face on this earth. He became fully human, and was yet fully God (still can't grasp the fullness of that one either!) so He understands it all. I find such great comfort in this.

It turned out to be a very blessed first Christmas. If I tried to list the ways, I'd probably reach the blog post limit! But at the heart of them all is this--God is with us!

The Inn

I can't wrap my head around this blessing. There is room for us, this Christmas. We moved into our new house only a few days ago, exactly a week before Christmas. In a mad flurry of boxes, bags, and willing hands to move us, I lost it. It was too much! Too much space. Too much stuff. Too much farther from the east coast I'd secretly (or perhaps openly) dreamed of returning to before babies. In that breakdown moment, standing in our now emptied kitchen at our first apartment, my husband held me. He stroked my hair and told me it would all work out. That we'd make it home. That God's presence there, with us, would make our house a home. We could rejoice in the room God provided for us.

I didn't realize it until now, a few days later when things begin to settle and the kitchen is in enough order to make a decent meal. There is room here. I'm not just talking about the extra space, and there's certainly quite of bit of clutter we need to deal with. I mean there is room for Christ here, in our home and family. It's something we talked about early on, as our house-search began. We greatly desired a home, not just because of the convenience or ability to modify it as we wished, but most especially because of how God could use us in a home. We and others have prayed over and over that this house would be filled with the Holy Spirit's presence, that whoever enters our doors would feel His Love, Peace, and Presence here.

We desire that this house will be a meeting place, a sanctuary, a place to worship God, a haven for all who seek it. We desire JOY and PEACE to burst from the every corner. And I'm so grateful for how faithful God has been to us in this time of transition. He provided for us, just as He has been doing since the beginning of time. His greatest gift, the sending of His Son to be born into human flesh, is true provision for us. He provided us with payment for our sins and an eternal, heavenly home with Him! Let there be room for the Christ child in our hearts and homes this Christmas and every day of our lives.

I can't do this without Him. I've felt the weight of responsibility and adulthood in purchasing our first home. I've been struggling with releasing expectations for our first Christmas together. And on top of all that, I'm trying to prepare my heart and keep the right focus in Advent. I feel like I can honestly say that there is room here now, in my heart and in this home. Not by my own strength or even by all the gracious efforts of my husband, family and friends who helped us move and challenge me to run after Christ daily. But only by His grace and provision.

The image of the Inns of Bethlehem keeps running through my head--all shut up tight with no room for Mary, Joseph and soon-to-be-born Jesus. It's a powerful image reflecting the sad state of my heart far too often. Christmas is a time of opening up--symbolized in the way we open our homes to others, open our purses in giving generously, and open presents in gratitude. In the truest sense, for me, it's a time of opening up my heart. I'm convicted of the times I've slammed the doors shut in the face of a stranger and friend alike. I'm grateful for Advent reminders, to repent and come humbly to the manager, the dank, dingy stable where God became a child among us. I want there to always be room in this "inn" of my heart, and this "inn" of our home (which we hope to fill with guests in the future). THANK YOU, LORD! You are WELCOME here, Jesus!

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...