We got married to be together. For better or worse. Let’s put on love. One touch here. A kiss there. A kind word. Love is made up of lots of little decisions. Let’s wear LOVE like a coat. Let’s wrap our SELVES completely in it.
I realized today when I tossed those pillows on the swing that the way I’m wired hasn’t curled up and died. My gifts for gathering people and warming up our home so people will feel loved and welcomed. This is who I am. I just haven’t known how to be that person in a different place.
I’m all for the first amendment; free speech and all. But what is to be done to a word that is both ambiguous and possibly hurtful? I’m thinking of the word old.
We barely knew each other at our wedding; it’s true. I can still picture myself in a scene from our honeymoon. We were taking a walk in a hilly area of St. Maartan. It felt surreal and scary and I recall thinking to myself, “What have we done?!”
“Faith must be tested, because it can be turned into a personal possession only through conflict. … Faith is unutterable trust in…
“Better a neighbor nearby than a relative far away.”
It’s been nearly a year now since Shari invited all the neighbor ladies over for a party at her home. A party to say goodbye to me. I wasn’t the only one in tears that night. Honestly I was crying a lot last year. I didn’t want to move from our home or our neighborhood. But we knew God was pointing us in the direction of South Carolina, after a job offer had been made.
A few months ago, while waiting in a long line, I found myself listening to a conversation in a public place. There was mild irritation between a husband and wife who were disagreeing over a minor issue concerning a child. A mom, who wasn’t acquainted with the couple, commented to the wife that she was so glad she no longer had to endure arguing.
I stepped outside into a beautiful April morning and did a little trimming in our mini-yard. Compared to the acre we lived on earlier, this one is on the tiny side. I happened along into a small spot in between our house and Debbie’s. There, hidden away, is the most beautiful profuse light blush colored rose bush. I was reminded again that I’m reaping things I didn’t sow.
Today I took out an instrument of torture on the lovely path— the instrument I formerly referred to as my bike.
A funny thing happened recently. I looked in the mirror two days after my eye surgery and saw an unfamiliar face looking back at me. I studied my skin with all its splotchiness and thought, “The sedation meds must’ve had some weird effect!” I couldn’t imagine why my skin had taken on a different color and older look.