Goodbyes and thank yous.

Credit to Nick Benson Photography 

"Tonight, alone in the dimly lit and dusty aisle-way, I cupped his big ‘ole nose in my hands and pressed my forehead against his and I cried. I cried for all I’m giving up. I cried for all I’m leaving behind. I cried for how it’s going to feel knowing someone that’s not me is going to love him. I cried for the way they’re not going to know his little quirks as well as do and for leaving behind his face and his smell and the way he responds to my voice after a whole nine years of being his mama. I mourned the metaphorical loss of my childhood and our early days together. I cried out of jealousy that someone who’s not me is going to love and care for him and that he will inevitably love them back, such as his puppy-dog personality goes. I cried for the years upon years of memories and our unmistakable bond. And for all my guilt. Of leaving him, of giving him up, giving him away, giving him to someone else to love on. Of feeling like I’ve failed him because I can’t take care of him anymore or that I won’t know when or if I’ll be able to see him again once he goes to live with someone else. I cried out of fear, of utter jealousy, sadness, of guilt and anger and helplessness. And that most of all, the inevitable is going to come. When I will have to say goodbye to this wonderful trusting gentle giant who has always listened and always loved. I’ll do my best to provide you with the choice you’re happiest. No matter what. Because of everything you’ve done for me, all those crippling days where I ended up on the floor of your stall or with my arms gripping your neck tight, my head buried in your fur or kissing your whiskers. I cannot even begin to describe how much I owe you."

Things have been increasingly difficult lately. Things in the form of growing up and giving up and goodbyes, and moving and growing. The realization of all I have to leave behind with this new life has been hitting hard; most recently the leaving behind of this monster-baby. I can't even begin to describe the impact that his presence and he has had on my life. Turning a blind eye to the fact that the day will come when I have to load him on a trailer and say goodbye and thank you for all he's done for me is easy, but not practical. Facing the truth is not something I want to do willingly. And something that hurts my heart an incredible amount.

Fearing the Fairy Tale.

To be honest, I've had this "idea" in my head for weeks. I've had the title of a post or the subject surrounding it and I've struggled with how to get it out. It seems like such a complex, difficult subject to address. Maybe I feel too immature to address it. But I guess that's the point. It's tough to describe how some days I can think of myself as this mature woman ready and able to get married and be immersed in adult-life and all that. Yet some days I feel so misplaced thinking about houses and finances and job searching and budgeting and meal planning and the future. It's all a little terrifying, if I do admit.

I'm a realist and a worrier. That is easy to admit. I write the mushy stuff, but I tend to contain it and let it out within increments. It seems ironically appropriate to sandwich this post between the Love Holiday and our wedding. It's hard to say what I mean when I say, 'fearing the fairy tale.' I'm still processing that part. It's difficult to get the words out. Maybe I mean that I am so hesitant to live in the dream-like reality the world lives in. Maybe it's out of fear or solely based on my personality. Maybe I've been told the fairy tale isn't real too many times, I believe it. Maybe I'm self-sabotaging in some ways. I'm honestly not sure.

I had an unfortunate circumstance in my life where someone accused me of holding an immature, dream-like type of love. They swore it wouldn't last. Their jealousy for my happiness turned into hatred and animosity towards me and my relationship. Harboring that over the course of a few years hurts, to be frank. It hurts to think that even for a second others would consider the love I have and hold to be anything less than genuine; anything other than real and meaningful. I know how I feel. I know where we're at. I know how we've progressed and the choices we've made towards our future. I know how we've matured and grown, sacrificed and persevered. I am certain that we have a future. (So certain, that there's an important event coming up to seal that deal). And I should not have to defend any of the latter to anyone. It's unsettling to think that my love wouldn't be taken seriously, wouldn't be held to the same standards as others. Even at some point long ago.

Being in a serious relationship young gives you tougher skin. The world usually disagrees to it, in fact. Listening to the skeptics and critics and doubters and strangers with opinions is frustrating. I know those daunting stereotypes. I've seen the eye rolls. I've felt talked-down-to by those older than me. But hearing those close to you with different views is a world of a different category. It hurts and hits closer to home. I didn't make this choice on a whim. And I most certainly did not decide it alone. I'm not professing to know everything about marriage or life or love. I'm not brimming with confidence over the fact that I know what it's even going to be like, or that we 'have it all together.' But I'm ready for an adventure. Maybe a little bit too tentatively. And that's my fear. Finding balance in those aspects.

I fear growing thicker skin, having confidence in my relationship and in the love that the world views as 'young' may have given me too many layers of skin. I fear it's allowed my skin to become too thick, hesitant to let the good and sweet dreamy stuff in still. There is a constant fear of 'what if I let it in too much?' What if I'm not taken seriously?

In moderation, 
I say.
Within the little cracks of my thickening skin, 
I can leave room to let it in.

I would think I should let it in. Let it slip in, soften the brisk edges and course corners. I should allow myself to let go of seriousness and planning and future fears even for a second; to relish in this phase of living we're doing. All the in-betweens. I want to live in the appropriate level of fairy tale while I still can, while I'm still young. Does that sound silly? I'm still working on my love, for myself as well as others and most certainly for Him, as well as for him. I am a work in progress, as is my love and our life that is slowly coming together.

As it should be.
I am in progress; a process.
Hammered down by the world and it's coarseness,
sprinkled with slivers of light and dreams seeping in through the cracks,
by stereotypes and every stranger who has said,
"well you look young," 
upon seeing that ring on my left hand and telling me,
"you've got plenty of time."

I have read article after article, listened to various opinions and views on marrying young. I have heard both sides. While I currently and obviously reside on the side of getting married young, I am not naive to the facts; that it will be hard. That the world will cause my skin to grow thicker and thicker. I am not oblivious to the stereotypes, the harsh realities, or the not-so-dream-like daily grind of life. I know that. I am not turning a blind eye. But maybe I'm focusing on it too deeply.

Maybe this post is simply for me and no one else. 

Maybe it's for the too-thick-skinned, twenty-something newlyweds. 

Maybe it's for the naive lovers, maybe it's not. 

But maybe I'm simply asking my own self, to lean on the side of the fairy tale a little bit more often. To not close it all off just yet. To believe in it for a little bit longer while stepping into whatever the world has to throw at me and my skin. I'm begging my heart to not close off to the sweet naivety of it all yet. To visit that side of town a few times a week. That I don't have to grow up all at once and shut it all down just yet. That there doesn't have to be two extremes; bitter, routine and tired love or spontaneous, sappy naive love.

That I can fall somewhere in the middle,
and that that's okay.

And that maybe I can stay there for a bit.
Maybe I don't have to pick a side just yet, or ever.

Valentine.

I guess it's a little anti-climactic writing this a day after-the-fact, but who cares, right?

With yesterday being...February 14th (haha, see what I did there?), I figured I would write about my valentine. I promise I will try to hold as much of the 'cheese factor' I can and try not to make you vomit.

May 2010

May 2010

May 2010

First off, this guy that I'm in love with is pretty great. There's been so many times where I roll my eyes at people who say that they're 'in love with their best friend,' but I guess in a sort of tongue in cheek way, I can say now that it really is true. He's the first one I want to tell something exciting or new or sad to. He knows how to deal with me at my most difficult and understands all my weird little quirks. He can read me like no other and understand all my subtle little attitudes and things. And believe you me, when some guy you've only known about two months tells you he's going to steal a plane just to come see you, your eighteen year old high school heart is smitten. (Still waiting, sir). 

It really is near impossible to believe that this big and important party of ours will be happening in almost three months. I find it funny to look back at old pictures and see where we used to be, how we used to act or look. All our silly pictures. All the places we've been together and all the things we've been through. I love reading over old conversations we have saved or old letters that get shoved in dresser drawers.

Where did the time go!? 

I remember our very first Valentine's. 

We weren't officially 'anything' yet, but he had me. My eighteen year old heart took a little bit to fall for his at first. He swears he fell first and quickly. We talked for hours that night. Late into the morning. About everything and anything and nothing. We giggled and shared secrets and asked questions. I've never known how easy it was to talk to someone for hours. And I do mean hours. That night is special in our hearts and in our relationship. That was our turning point. That night I finally realized what was happening, how I really felt about him. Four days later, we officially titled it. Even though we had absolutely no idea when we would see each other face to face again. Even though we had no idea what it meant or what it would turn into. Falling for this stranger boy I hardly knew but knew everything about was such a God-thing. There is absolutely no way to explain it other than that. February 14, 2010, I didn't know what would happen four years later. I didn't know that he'd get down on one knee at our favorite park and ask me to marry him, that we'd go through four plus years of distance together and so very apart. That we'd cry and laugh and wonder how the heck we would make it through four more months apart with 1500 miles and a time zone between us. I had no idea that we'd tackle a deployment and miscommunications, reunions and countless goodbyes and hellos. But we did it. Somehow. We're doing it.

First deployment; November 2011

First deployment win; December 2011

Second deployment; November 2012

August 2013

And in one hundred and five days we can finally say that we made it. We win.

I have no doubt in my mind that we will.

Sometimes it's nice to see where we began though. How it all started. How much of a blessing and surprise and unexpected person he was in my life; we were in each others.

It's funny how things happen, hmmm?

Insta-lately.

I'm over at Instagram a bit. Here's what's been happening in the last few days;

1. I have finally perfected my avocado sauce recipe*. 

Modifications that I made or that I would suggest making;
- I replaced lemon with lime because I like lime better with avocado and I thought it would taste better. It was delish! Feel free to use whichever obviously.
- The recipe suggests 1-3 cloves of garlic. For the love, don’t use three medium cloves. I had three pretty small ones in my hand and go, “hmm they’re small-medium ish size and I like garlic.” Nope. Good thing I’m not kissing anyone anytime soon. I think you’d be absolutely fine with 1-2 cloves depending on your garlic love and the size of them.
- I don’t have a food processor, but I do have a Magic Bullet. It worked perfectly! You definitely need to use some kind of processor or blade though to get the creamy-ness. I bet you could try a blender though!
- Let the pasta be really really hot before you put on the sauce. Otherwise it’ll get cold. (Unless you want it cold and in that case, whatever). I let the pasta sit too long and it was like luke-warm by the time I made it to the table with my fork and added the sauce.

- Mix the pasta/sauce in a medium size mixing bowl to make sure you fully cover all the pasta with the sauce. Since it’s kind of like a alfredo, it’s not just a ‘sauce on top in the middle in one spot’ dish. 

*You can find the recipe here!

2 & 3. The smoothie craze may be getting a teeny bit out of hand. 

My favorite concoction so far: I peeled an orange off the rind and then squeezed the skin into the cup to get all the rest of the juice out. Then before putting anything else in I pulverized just the orange to make juice. Then I add a whole cut banana and mango I'd put in the freezer the night before. Yum!

4. Microwave apples and cinnamon for dessert. 

Equally as delicious as the smoothies (I think I'm channeling summer with all my fruit-eating). 

1. Emily spent the day (last?) weekend. 

Wedding talk, couch hangs, Chipotle and Starbucks. A wonderful chill quality time Saturday.

2. Senioritus. 

'Nuff said.

3. Snow. Ice. More snow. Icey rain freezes, then gets more snow on top of it. 

Welcome to campus life lately.

4. Needed weekend Skype dates. 

Two weeks too long of silence from that sleepy, over-worked fella. Our schedules finally aligned somehow and I got a half awake date night. 

1. Social Life.

I was social two nights this weekend until almost 2am. Whoa. Glow bowling and diner eating. Fun and delicious. 

2. What homework? 

I'm a senior, didn't you hear? 

3. More snow. 

Go away now. 

4. More smoothies. 

Happy Tuesday!

The process // the processing.

There’s times I’m not sure what to do with this gift.

And as the freezing rain hits the trees and settles into its midnight staccato rhythm, I think about where this gift has taken me, all it’s allowed me to process. I think of where I would be without it. I allow myself to be carried back to places it’s brought me into and out of, how it’s taken me to places of happiness, but mostly triggered by allowing me to crawl and claw my way out of dark and dusty ones. I think of late nights and dimly lit lights, spending hours processing until my wrists were sore. I think of the naivety in my words after finding pages scribbled with middle school, then high school thoughts. I think of pages filling up as I spill out seemingly incoherent babble. I recall that summer she died, her conversation with me about her faith in God and what he was doing in her mere twelve years of living. Those times I wanted to run, flee. How I instead took it out on the paper. I remember how angry I was at him and how I hung up after his tired and robotic questions. How I'd wait for them to tell the inevitable news that never came. How I longed for peace, for silence. How it passed as we all grew. How I avoided the one squeaking step into my doorway each time I’d pass late at night after listening to walls and doors and voices. I remember it all because it’s there, it’s here.

My memory may fade, but the letters are there. So blatantly and able to find. Able to recall at a moment’s notice, but unsure if that’s what I want. I've pegged each often-painstaking word. I've processed it all until I often collapsed into bed, repeating over and over again. Sorrow may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Fresh starts after long nights. I think of my forgetfulness. I think of my gratitude for having it all there, in front of me. Even the painful moments. I think of my growth and how it has taught me, molded me, stretched me and formed me. I think of the blessing it is from Him and how He knew I would need it on those days. How He infused the inspirations into my heart and my soul and the desire into the tips of my fingertips as the pen presses down harder each line.

Some days I can't write fast enough and some days I know I am uninspired, unmoved, unshaken, numb. I think about how this gift, which I now only recognize as such. I think about how it creeps out during my darkest nights, weakest days, confused moments, panic-driven, and anxiety-ridden chapters. How it comes and goes, stays and dwells, surfaces when I need it and releases me when it's done. I think about my inability to verbalize, but the ease of keystrokes or pen marks.

I am hesitant to share it. Scared to publicize my fears and my heart. Scared at it’s ability to move and shake others than myself. Scared at not knowing where the words will end up, who with leaf through their pages with their morning coffee or evening glass of wine. Scared of editing raw words and thoughts, scared of having someone else do such. Scared of sending it off to strangers and having it picked apart simultaneously with my pride. Scared at the trail that will follow, or portrayal or misinterpretations.

Still processing.

Always processing.

What has God been doing in you this week?

Life has been interesting lately, what with Jesus doing work in my heart.

Since being away at school I miss my home church a whole heck of a lot. Over the summer, I started attending a church, nothing like I'd gone to before. It was the first time in a long time I walked out of a service and felt something, like I actually wanted to be there, like I actually got something out of it. I had finally found a church where I wanted to get up on Sunday mornings and attend, where I felt God constantly stirring new things and old things in my heart and soul. I started attending this church in the summer with my best friend and we went regularly. It’s a 'younger' church geared towards a certain demographic. It felt for the first time in a long time like my faith was mine and my choice. Being away at school, the demographic is very different than back home and all four years of college I've struggled finding a church I felt comfortable in, much less one like I finally found at home. I've struggled with pressure to find a church where I fit, where it feels like home. A home within a place that I haven't always felt like home. Since I go to a Christian college and used to live in a dorm we actually call it the “walk of shame” if you're in sweats in the dining hall after church time instead of ‘church clothes.’

I know it's in a harmless way, but still.

In the fall, I started listening to the podcasts from my church at home that I fell in love with over the summer, taking my own notes and having a little bit of my own worship service. It’s difficult, and non conventional, but I'm really okay with it. It’s not a permanent solution and I can't wait to really look for, find and settle into a church when we move. I can't wait to really listen to where God directs us as a newlywed couple, ready and willing to grow in our new environment together. But for now, this works. I'm okay with it.

All that to say....

Sunday I was listening to a podcast from a couple weeks ago on “the attitude of faith.” I wrote on my chalkboard;

"The attitude of faith is that I have the grace to bring the Kingdom of God into every situation."

This is something I struggle with for so many reasons. I struggle with finding my personal faith. I think it’s part of maturing in faith, distancing yours from that of your parents, or friend or inner circles, your tiny private school, your tiny town church family. Sometimes it all just feels so suffocating, so numbly intoxicating. I suppose it's difficult to understand unless you've experienced similar circumstances. I'm continuously hoping to figure out what is my own faith as I grow and how I can voice that in every situation; somehow. Rather than compartmentalize it only to Sundays or circumstances. Something that I've known for what feels like forever, but need a refresher of every once in awhile. I have the grace to bring God into every situation of my life. Because that is faith and that should be my attitude. I should habitually live in the attitude of faith.

“Our beliefs must inform our attitude. If not, there is a disconnect on what you believe versus what your soul believes.” 

I think that God is trying to show me faith. He's showing me that in every circumstance, even as mine change as much as they are recently, I must bring my faith and attitude of faith into everything.

Something that sounds easier than it is.
Stay tuned.