You'd think after getting to go somewhere I've wanted to go for a very long time that I would have posted pictures and blog posts about it a long time ago. After all, we've been home for over a month.
But there's something I've been wanting far more, waiting for far longer, than a trip to New Zealand, amazing as that was. And now a certain little boy is making that dream come true, and he's also making our house a busier place, and things like blog posts and pictures just aren't quite as important right now.
The trip really was an amazing privilege and blessing though, and this blog was supposed to stay at least somewhat up to date with it. According to it though, we still haven't even come home. Thank God we have. 🙂
So here's just a few pictures from one of the most amazing places I've ever seen. New Zealand doesn't disappoint, not even when you're hoping for snow-capped mountains like you've seen in pictures but happen to be there toward the end of summer when the snow is at its lowest. ...continue reading
I call him Bud. He calls me Chayda. We get along for the most part, and it’s a good thing we do because we spend a lot of time together. We’re friends, but we’re not alike. He’s a boy; I’m a girl. He’s short; I’m tall. He’s blond; I’m brunette. His eyes are blue; mine are green. He’s a baby; I’m supposed to be grown up.
He’s lived twenty three months. I’ve lived twenty three years. There is so much I could teach him, so many things he needs to learn. But while I am showing him new things and unveiling the world to him, he is simply reminding me of things I knew once but have forgotten.
“Hold hands,” he says, and puts his chubby fist in mine. And suddenly instead of me simply following him around the yard, we are walking together, and sometimes I am leading him, but usually he is leading me.
I come to his house to take care of him, to play with him, to teach him. But while I am teaching him, he is also teaching me. And it is the differences between us that teach me the most. . . ...continue reading
O love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to Thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in Thy sunshine's glow, its day
May brighter, fairer be.
O joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be. ...continue reading
Perhaps it's disrespectful to be sitting out here eating Jelly Bellies and contemplating life on Mary Ann McTimmond's grave. If it is, and if she would have minded in a former life, I know she doesn't mind now. She, and likely those she influenced, has been dead and buried longer than I or my parents or my grandparents have been alive.
In a sense, she doesn't matter anymore. All she's left behind her, to me who never knew her, is a mossy, faded gravestone and a story that ended too soon. She was only twenty seven when she died. Four years older than me.
I wonder if she knew she was going to die, if it was some kind of long illness that took her. I wonder if she feared death. Or perhaps she looked forward to seeing again her infant son whom she'd held and loved for only a day before he was taken from her. She was twenty five then. Two years older than me. Too young to lose a child. ...continue reading
. . . life is beautiful.
It's brilliant sunshine against crystal skies. It's sixty degree weather in the middle of January. It's a warm breeze and the hint of laughter in the air.
It's little boys who say funny things. . . "I'm hot. Shall I take my shirt off?" It's little boys who do funny things. . . belly laughs that are too contagious to ignore and back rubs with tractors.
It's raking old, moldy leaves and still thrilling at the newness of life. It's being with friends. It's muddy shoes and blistered hands.
It's swinging. Going twisty. Holding still. Giving underdogs to the little ones. It's sore fingers from holding onto the swing next to yours, and perhaps sore lips from the smile you can't contain.
It's joy, and it's laughter, and if all is right with your God, it's peace.
This is life. Life is beautiful.