I’m twenty-four years in to this life, as of March the first.
The day was gray-skied, but the sunshine of
Love slowed down and spent time that day,
and Seth took my hand as we wandered the town for good things.
Here, some glimpses:
A six-inch hair trim, and deep relaxing as the older ladies gaped that mine abounds and is actually brown.
The admired wedding band fit next to the sparkling one, and we said “yes” and took it with us, as he squeezed my hand in the mall and looked those silly boys in the eye as if to say “She’s mine, fellas.” He is tenderly, fiercely jealous for me. Gracious, I see Jesus.
Fresh coffee at the hip place, and so good, and so hearkening to my college aspirations of living the earthy barista life. I still itch to write for hours, though, in places like that. Nothing seems to phase the comers and goers who stop in for a slower, better sip of life in their cups and conversations. We laughed and savored, too.
The brewery hummed, and my earlobes were graced with new gems. Brew your beer with apples, folks. It tastes good.
Library rotundas are good things, especially when there is free bluegrass music. He held me and I swayed, and saw others basking too. The twangy men were not quite crude, but much what you’d expect of late-middle-aged pals with paunches. They did echo heaven, together with anything else excellent.
After, confessions and weeping out fears at an in-between place. Love soothed and assured me, once more.
(Since then, even more transparency, bravery, tenderness, and trust. We learn that things are never too bad for a fresh start, and hearts are never too hurt for Christ to mend. Grace is always enough, and it dances wilder in our hearts when we take a deep breath and step light-ward. Let’s make this lifelong, you and I. Yes, you.)
Then a disappointing movie, but I can’t yet decide if it’s worth hating. Because we really are messes, but for grace. Maybe that was the Silver Lining.