Lonely

I have come to realize I hate when my husband is away. I’ve thought of calling him a million times today; I love having someone to share something funny with, or to bounce an idea off of, or just to simply ask how he’s doing. Every time I reach for the phone I remember he’s in Africa, and then I get this sick lonely feeling in the pit of my stomach. For some reason it makes me feel completely alone. I have people all around, but I feel like part of me is missing; the part of me that I enjoy. The one that makes me relax and have fun; the one that reminds me that not everything has to be so serious. I know that I can be these things while he is gone, it just seems harder. Learning how to be alone is a discipline, and I’m finding myself not wanting any part of it. I love short times of solitude, don’t get me wrong, it’s the long periods of doing life by yourself that I could do without.

Tom if you read this, we are a great team. You make my life a lot easier and a whole lot more fun.

I Love

I love gum, and silence (even though I just learned to spell it), and the sound of old hondas in reverse. I love pictures of people laughing, and paintings of people eating at some unknown cafe. I love hot summer days when you have nothing to do but swim and BBQ with good friends. I love watching old people, especially when they lift their hands in worship. I don’t know why this is, maybe it gives me hope that they have lived through it all and still praise the Master. Maybe it is because they have more answers than I do and I’m a bit envious. I love good books and flowery language, and most of the time I wish I knew how to speak it so I could seem mysterious and romantic. I love the ocean and the desert; both vast and untamable. I love naps and movie days; those days when you put away your to do list and decide to do nothing. I love painted toenails and big necklaces, and every once in awhile I love to get so dressed up that I don’t even recognize myself. But most of the time, I love ponytails and t-shirts and comfortable flip-flops. I love deep conversations; the kind that make you think even after they are over, the kind that change you for the better. I love nostalgia, times of remembering the good and the bad. Times of remembering lessons learned and good times past. I love finding the hand prints of God in every part of my life, so that my everyday seems purposeful. I love sisters because they know all your stuff, and most of the time they love you anyway. I love the kind of laughter that takes your breath away; when tears fall and lungs burn, but you just can’t stop. I love marriage; a lifetime spent discovering someone other than yourself. I love having kids and learning who I am as a parent. And when I seriously fail as a mother, wife, friend, sister, I love the fact that there is forgiveness, and with everyday comes the hope of new possibilities. There is so much I love, and yet most days I don’t remember them. I remember the task, the broken vacuum, the things done wrong. I remember all the ways I’ve failed and all the things that I need to do. But very rarely do I take the time to remember the little inconsequential things that put a smile on my face and make me feel at home. The things that make my life unique and wonderful. It’s time I start to remember the things I love.