Confession: I can’t help but wonder if it is this way for everyone—
if the sound of singing at your own church on a Sunday morning
is deep comfort
like the smell of your own home
and the feel of your favorite blanket.
We returned to sorrow and joy interwoven: birth and healing, loss and death.
Three of my dearest friends have given birth this summer to beautiful baby girls. Welcome to the world, Frieda Rebekah Cassandra. May you each become as lovely as your mother.
It is so good to be home.
I posted a family picture from our week on my About Me page, and updated Current Reading.
More Free Advice to Men:
(Married men this time. All you single guys can breathe for now.)
If you ever want to make the world drop its jaw— — and I mean really — —
send your wife on a four-day trip without the kids.
Your self-confidence will grow. Your wife will wrap herself around your little finger. Your reputation in the community will attain unprecedented heights.
Instant brownie points all around.
I must warn you that your wife’s reputation may suffer just a bit. Most onlookers will be sincerely supportive; a few will hide their alarm under polite concern—“HOW long is she going to be gone?” and “Is she taking any of the children?”
It appears that, much as we try to break out of old stereotypes, a few of us do not in fact believe that a home can run smoothly for more than three hours without a woman there to wrestle with the big questions in life, such as “How can our son have seven pairs of pants in the laundry and zero shorts?”
I came back to exuberant kids, a clean house, and a long, sweet kiss.
He’s some man.
And it’s good to be home.
P.S. I hope you enjoyed my sweeping statements about the south as much as I did. As Scott Adams would say, BOCTAOE. (But Of Course There Are Obvious Exceptions)
Confession: God has been so good to us.
A year ago I was packing boxes, preparing for our first move of three in eight months. I was dreaming of living in The Gray House someday, but felt like Abraham beginning a journey-with-an-unknown-destination. I put a time capsule note on the bottom of one of the kitchen items I knew wouldn’t be unpacked in a temporary place, not till we reached our long home… God keeps His promises.
One year later, after grief and loss and growth and distress, we are here, celebrating our first spring Home.
buds on our blueberry bushes
growing violets and baby toes
a brand new bleeding heart
filthy and happy--vive le snot!
God keeps His promises.