James Christian Roth.
To some, his was a name well-known in Mennonite circles.
To some, he was the friendly owner of a little secondhand store in Woodburn.
To some, he was a dedicated pastor and a wise mentor.
To some, he was a well-beloved missionary and brother in Christ.
To some, he was a faithful friend.
To many, he was a kind and gentle man, one who took time for others, one who gave selflessly, one who was wise and understanding. A man who knew and loved God.
But to me, he was my grandpa. And I miss him. ...continue reading
One year and one day ago, my dress was white, my feet were bare, and my lips were saying "I do" to the man who stole my heart. Eric and Chayli Baer, for a forever that lasts as long as earthly life does.
That was such a beautiful day. It didn't matter that it rained or that my dress was slightly stained. It didn't matter that the punch ran out or that we forgot to sign our marriage license and had to get reluctantly roped back inside after we'd already made our escape. We made the best of everything, and it wasn't hard at all.
How is it that time sometimes seems to steal that ability? You fall in love, and you tell yourself that you're never going to get used to loving him. You tell yourself you'll do everything you can to keep that brand-new swirl of exhilaration that is so unbelievable and so uncontainable. Every day you choose to see the best in him, and for a while you can't even believe you'll ever see the worst. ...continue reading
We were reading in the last chapter of Revelation last night, and as I thought about heaven, I suddenly realized something. They're there. James, Orpha, Esther, Rhoda. . . they're all actually there.
And something about it just seemed unreal and unbelievable to me. I knew them here, in this world, in this life. And to think of them now living in a place I've only dreamed of. . . there is something about it that makes me ache to go home as well. ...continue reading
In moving, there comes a strange moment when you can’t remember which house you’re in, what you would see if you looked out the window, and where you would be if you stepped outside. . .
And then you realize you’re not actually in Gervais, you’re in Newberg, and you still have half a day of packing staring you in the face. But you smile anyway and reach for another fistful of Lucky Charms and another wrinkled sheet of wrapping paper, and you pull yet another mug from the cupboard and put it in yet another box and are so grateful that you have a husband and that he has brothers and that they are the ones who will carry all these heavy boxes out of your pretty little house for the last time.
I like moving. ...continue reading
I should be packing. Or cleaning. Or at least trying to decide if dark green would really be a better feature wall color than the blue we picked out (we settled on the blue). But instead I am looking through old pictures and thinking of sweet days in the "honeymoon hut" we are about to leave.
I'm thrilled to be moving. God gave us this house, and now He's given us another house, and we are so grateful. But Newberg's been too good to us to not feel at least a twinge about leaving.
We've loved living here. The landlords are great, the neighborhood is quiet, and the coffee shops are numerous. Safeway and Fred Meyer (and maybe most importantly, McDonald's) are just down the road, and those places are important to satisfy our rampant watermelon and ice cream cravings. 🙂 Plus, our cute little house is now jam-packed full of memories, from before we were married to now.
Yes, I'll miss Newberg. ...continue reading