small in the large

There are only four questions of value in life. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same: only love. ~Johnny Depp

this is my mantra.

this is my breath. 

for what am i if not a product of love and Love made flesh? of this Word that walked and stepped and bled for me and me alone?

this product of Love, i am. from this expanse of Almighty and All-Seeing comes this child.

why then...

oh, why do we insist on making Him smaller? 

are we that insecure, that blind to Him?

it makes me ache.

for He is sacred. He is spirit and flesh and God and Man. 

for me, He lived and wept and stepped.

for me, He broke and bled and died.

this wondrous thing.

this wondrous One. 

He is my value.

casa

{via pinterest}

i'm home again.

it's a weird feeling, being back in my little apartment with all my own trappings and comforts of life.

traveling seems to transform my view on the world a bit more each time. showing me new corners, but then reminding me of the comfort of my home when i finally do return.

currently, it's freezing outside. it's the kind of day where i want to just curl up with a mug of soup and a really great book. perhaps even close my eyes and tuck myself under a quilt for a little winter's nap.

florida was warm and tropical. waving palms and crashing ocean waves onto the sandy beach. sand everywhere, wind in my hair.

in that place, my best friend became a wife. family was bonded and friendship for all of life to come were forged amid the dunes and ocean spray.

now the Midwest winds are blowing and the skies are so grey that the blue of summer is almost forgotten.

but my travels brought me back to this.

there is not home. there is a moment away.

{via pinterest}

this is my place. 

this is my corner. 

blue skies and sand are for some, and i love it when they bring me in and share their scrap of glory.

but cold winds and winter's swift coming

this is my place now. 

so i will find my comfort in worn novels and steaming mugs of tea. in patchwork quilts and bubbling tureens of soup. in the fall lineup of television shows and the caress of familiar laughter.

this is my corner 

my dwelling.

and i will grow here. shiver here.

love here.

abounding {129-141}

{your first sneak-peak at the wedding photos}

on this morning, my cup overflows.

i cannot even begin to express the condition of my heart as the Floridian sun caressed my cheek this morning, reminding me that my time to return has come.

i don't want to leave this place.

this place of love and connection and some of the most precious people that dwell in this world.

and even in the midst of all the stress and rushing that has flooded my path this week,

the blessings have been innumerable.

• 129. ocean breezes and the crash of waves

• 130. the sight of a fresh and pure bride stepping down the sand toward a glowing groom with handkerchief blindfolded, awaiting her touch on his shoulder, to turn and to see her for the first time.

• 131. the tears on a mother's face as her daughter steps from child to woman

• 132. laughter.

• 133. swing dancing in the ocean waves as waves soak our skirts and the sunset kisses our lips and eyes. 

• 134. secret smiles and inside jokes

• 135. the reassuring and loving caress of a woman whom i call Mama

• 136. my best friend, now a wife, as she sobs into my shoulder with so many smiles. this day was perfect for us both.

• 136. love. the love of family. of friends. of man and wife. of 35 people gathered together. it was overwhelming. 

• 137. the ordaining hand of God, bringing each moment together in the most perfect of ways.

• 138. His provision. His promises are sure. 

• 139. aching sides and streaming eyes as laughter echos from the bridal party's throats among the sandy dunes

• 140. returning home when the time is right.

• 141. knowing that i am loved, knowing that i am wanted and treasured. 

my list is endless this morning. i could write for hours. His grace is so much sufficiency for me

and so i board a plane and journey home. and i will weep as i kiss my second family goodbye. 

but for everything there is a season. a time to come, and a time to go.

and this has been my time

 of blessings never ending.

{linking as always with Ann this morning. this blessings are growing greater}

mountain petals

my best friend is now a wife.

i don't think i can fully comprehend it yet.

this entire week has past in a blur for me. a strange, complicated blur in which miracles can happen, the world stops turning for just a moment as two people become one, and small ocean beaches can turn into a fairyland.

i'm still wearing my bridesmaids dress. i can't bring myself to take it off.

this beautiful plum purple gown, barely brushing my knees, and my still-sandy bare toes are my reminders of this day. that, and a small cluster of dark purple and white flowers that lay beside my laptop as i type.

i'm a bit lost for words, i think.

this day was perfect.

a sunrise service on St. Augustine beach in Florida. a cluster of vest-clad young men and dark plum gowned girls, all barefoot and surrounding a chuppah of hewn logs and whispy white linen.

i wore the groom's ring on my thumb as i walked through the sand toward my place as the maid of honour.

and then she came. down the sand on her father's arm. her dress was perfect. her eyes were glowing.

i cried. 

the ceremony was words. close-held hands and tearful eyes.

 i do. 

i do. 

he dipped her down for a perfect kiss. they were joined together this morning on the sand.

they took hands and ran up the aisle. i thought they would never come back.

during the photographs that followed, i caught a moment with her groom. he smiled.

she's perfect. 

i hugged him and whispered, "be good to my girl."

he promised me he would. he promised us all he would.

at the reception, we laughed and ate as i sat next to my best friend and watched her blushing smiles toward the man across the table from her. this, her new husband.

i stumbled my way through my speech, voice cracking and tears spilling into broken sobs. she stood and hugged me. we cried together.

she took his hand and slipped into the silver car, with a final blown kiss at me and her weeping mother.

she is his. 

he is hers. 

this is the start of their forever.

congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Zachary and Alexandria Hightower

i pray you know how much i love you both.

10-16-2011

{pictures from the wedding coming soon}

catch

five minute fridays. we write for five, and only five, minutes. no editing, no overthinking, no backtracking. linking up with the gypsy mama.

the word

CATCH

now GO...

there is something so amazing about spending a week with a bride in preparation. most people don't get to see this part. this is precious between just a sacred few. 

because we get to see it all. the anticipation, the waiting for her groom to arrive. ten hours away no more. he will be here, and someday is only two days away from being forever. 

but there is the other stuff too. 

the stuff scattered around the room, suitcases open and tousled, things strewn helter-skelter. because she's preparing in this week. 

it's more than just tulle and ribbon and last-minute shopping runs and hot glue and sewing kits. 

it's a change of life. 

she knows that soon, she will have a human parachute. 

it's a drop and catch type of affair. 

she's dropping one name, and catching another. 

she's dropping the old life, the old home, the old surroundings

and catching the new. 


the new existance with the man she has loved for so long without even realizing he was the one she loved. 

this is a strange kind of balance. this thing of drop and catch.

but the dropping is slowly coming to the end. 

the end is in sight. 

and the catch. 

that beautiful soft catch. 

of sand and beaches and sunrises and tearful i do's. 

of money and children and grey-haired futures.

welcome to the catch, love. 


{please forgive my lack of commenting, loves. when my dear one is married, expect a return from me
also, would you please leave Alex a word of love? two more days before she is a wife.}

final arrival

she's next to me, curled up with a phone against her ear. her man is on the other end. ten hours away for one more night, and then he's here.

the groom and his attendants arrive tomorrow night. last night with just her and i before the men descend and the madness that leads to this marriage begins.

this is the night of coconut lotion and pampering.

of The King's Speech and one liter of Dr. Pepper each.

of so much aching laughter...but then again, that's been every night.

a night of a few shed tears and memories flooding as i run my fingers through her auburn hair, giggling as the smell of the hair dye overwhelms us both.

this is best friends on their last night alone together. 

she just tossed me a sheet of directions with six different languages on it, telling me just how to fix her lowlights. last night of preparations. because Zach is coming.

the groom is coming for his bride tomorrow.

the anticipation. the beautification. the preparations that abound and pile up around us.

it's a reminder of the Groom. waiting, planning. it is sacrilegious to picture Him shifting from foot to foot with excitement, looking at His Father?

is it time? can i go and bring her home now? 

{via pinterest}

and His bride...what is she doing?

is she preparing? is she ready, waiting?

or is she still so dirty? does she still reek of world and flesh and old self?

come now, church.

our Groom awaits.

be ready. 

paper cranes

{via pinterest}

some people are laden with much, and they buckle. the pressure overwhelms them and they fall to the ground, crying

no more. 

please no more. 

and then there are some that are given so little. and they take these scraps of paper and string and make something so beautiful from their bits of nothing. 

these are the paper cranes. 

the ones made from just paper and string, and yet they rise. they are the lucky ones, these origami people. 

my best friend is a paper crane. 

her paper sweet and her ribbon worn with love and pulling. because people like to pull at precious things and see how long it takes them to break. 

and so they gripped her wings and pulled like little boys to tug the wings from a helpless butterfly while it flaps and weeps for pain and grief

but her wings held fast. 

my paper crane girl. 

she stood holding His hand, and his, and sang like a bird to the skies 

soon red paper turns to white, faded pink ribbon to lace and pearls. 

and she will hold His hand, and His, and whisper i do 

and take to the sky to start anew. 

a bit worn with tear filled eyes, but never torn.

because her man is a paper crane too.

another hard-pressed one whom i admire and love. another one who hasn't torn, but has tended to her wings to make sure she did not rip in two.

i wish you blue skies always, love. but i know, when the rain comes, he will hold your umbrella, and He will hold you both.

my paper cranes in love. 

{linking with the beautiful emily and her imperfect prose}