Happy birthday, my love

 

As a tween and teenager I was the very romantic, dreamy sort.  I read love stories and daydreamed about a knight in shining armor.  I planned my wedding in great detail and practiced kissing on the back of my hand.  As a teenager, I wrote the most embarrassing, sappy love poetry which hasn't seen the light of day in decades, by the way.  I daydreamed romantic moments that were a mix of the First Love from Silhouette love stories and my own imagination.  Full disclosure: I still have about 25 of my favorite paperbacks from those early teen days though I haven't read them in years.  See?  Romantic, dreamy...

In college I told my mom that I had no intention of getting married until I found a man who would treat me at least as wonderfully as my Daddy treated her.  I went on to list all the other things I wanted in a husband.  My mom is always gentle and full of love, and she is a truth teller.  So?  What do say to your daughter in that moment?  After a quiet minute, my mom looked in my eyes and said, "I'll pray for you to find him.  Because, I'll tell you, there just aren't many men like your Daddy."

Fast forward about four years to our wedding rehearsal dinner.  I would give anything to have recorded the toasts that night, especially my Mom's.  She told that little story, though her version was longer and funnier.  She told a little of my hopes and dreams and a bit about her dreams for her daughter and my marriage.  Then, she said something like this, "You know, I worried for Relyn.  I knew in my heart that a miracle was the only way she would ever find a man who would make all of her dreams come true."  She turned to my sweet Jeffrey and said, "Jeffrey, I know you are the man God has for my daughter.  You've not only made all Relyn's dreams come true, you've made all our dreams for her come true as well.  Welcome to the family."

In that single moment, my mother, who always knows the right thing to say, summed it all up.  It's been nearly 25 years since then and Jeffrey still makes all my dreams come true.  Jeffrey makes me laugh.  He holds my hand and kisses me at home and in public.  He is never has anything bad to say about anyone.  He's a snazzy dresser.  He's kind.  He's a good father.  I could go on and on.  Instead, I'll just say this:  Happy birthday, Jeffrey, my love.  Thank you for making all my dreams come true.

the power of cheesecake

I've been fairy quiet in this place lately.  It's just so easy to become overwhelmed by life and forget to make time to reflect and record the days.  Oh, I write in my own journals every day.  But, there's just something about sharing your stories with someone else that I find compelling.  So.  Here I am again, after months of near silence, hoping I still have someone who wants to hear a few of my ramblings.  

Nearly a month ago, Sloane had a bike wreck and received a concussion. For the first several hours she couldn't remember the past three days or form new memories.  Those were a few long, scary hours, let me tell you.  She had a few weeks of no physical activity and a lot of brain rest.  From there, our schedule jumped right into full on crazy.  I was gone for work, we had guests, I had parent teacher conferences, grade cards are nearly due...  Blah, blah, blah.  We all have busy lives and busy seasons.  February has been one of mine.  I'm just weary.

Jeffrey and Sloane get up early most Saturday mornings and go for a hike in time to see the sunrise.  I go sometimes, but they knew that what I really needed was rest.  Late this morning they called me excitedly to share their plans for the rest our day.   There are lots of things on the list, things they both know I love.  Things like shopping in some favorite stores, dinner at a family favorite restaurant.  This afternoon includes dropping me off at Barnes and Noble for some time to browse all the books and yummy magazines and enjoy a piece of cheesecake.

It's a simple thing, really: quiet time in a bookstore and cheesecake.  It's also profound.  You see, Jeffrey knows me.  He knows me and he loves me and he looks for ways to give me what I need (quiet) and what I enjoy (chocolate).  Cheesecake is a small thing.  It can also be everything, can't it?

marriage

This photo was taken just before we became engaged and was carried around in a wallet for many years.

Tyler Ward, author of this great book sent an email to his readers asking for our best marriage advice.  This was my reply:

My husband and I have been married for 22 years.  We were both preachers kids, and had our dads perform our wedding.  My father-in-law said something to us that neither of us have ever forgotten.  In fact, we have worked very hard to live by these words of his.  He said, "Be good to each other.  Keep Jesus at the center of your marriage.  And, make the church the object of your greatest ambition."  That's it.  

That's everything.

twenty one years

I look at this picture and grin.  

There we are.  Look at us.  

Just babies.  

So young.  

And happy.  

And in love. 

It's been more than 23 years since this photo was taken in my college dorm room.  We don't look like that any more.  I don't decorate with old movie posters either.  I definitely don't wear sickly flowered dresses now.  I still hold him just like that though.  And he still has exactly that smile for me.  

We aren't young any more, and somehow, that's nearly unbelievable.  I remember being mildly insulted when we weren't included in our church's new young marrieds group.  Jeffrey laughed and told me that we had been married for eleven years and we really weren't newlyweds.  Oh.  Oh yeah.  

Those eleven years have since turned into twenty one.  So, ok, we aren't young anymore.  But, aside from our bodies, not much has changed.  

We still feel that young. 

We still live that hopeful.

We are still that happy and that much in love. 

God is so very good. 

I remember back when I was about 16 saying something like, "Ick.  Who would want to wake up to the same face for twenty years?  Booooring!"  Boy was I wrong, wrong, wrong.  The only thing I can think of that would be better than waking up to the same face for twenty years would be waking up to that face for 60 years or more.  That's my wish.  I want at least 60 years living, working, laughing, crying, praying, serving, loving - side by side with Jeffrey, my love.

God is so very, very good. 

Imagine giving me a man like him.

Jeffrey is such a man.

Let's grow old together, sweet boy.  It's a wonderful, wonderful life.

Nineteen is a marvelous number...

Exactly nineteen years ago today I was giddy, eager, ecstatic...
I was ready to marry the love of my life.

We were about to begin this magic journey together.
We were so young. So tender and sweet. So absolutely sure.

We were right.

We've multiplied every joy and divided every sorrow.
I go to bed each night thinking, "I couldn't love him more."

I wake up each morning, and thank God.
Because I do. Every day. I do.

I love him more.

Jeffrey, my love, you own my heart.
I love you with my soul, with every part of me.

If I could go back nineteen years, I'd do it all again.
And I wouldn't change a thing.

I love you.

That's not our official engagement photo, but it was taken about the same time. My ring was off being sized. I'll have to scan my wedding photos and give you a peek. Maybe next year, for our 20th.

A Passion for the Written Word

That this is the final day of this month of passions, is especially appropriate since our last guest is my favorite person of all, the person who makes my every other passion possible. My husband Jeffrey supports my every effort, all my interests, each endeavor. Today's post is an example of that. As I talked to Jeffrey about my month of passions, he offered to write about his own for me. Yes!

We were with my parents tonight and talking about the royal family. I said something about how hard it would be for most men to be married to a queen, but not be king. My Mom said, "Jeffrey could do it. He would stand behind you every step of the way. He'd be your backbone, your strength and your sounding board. And he'd do it all without any attention or credit." As usual, my mother is right. And really, Mom, that's just what he does now. That's Jeffrey exactly: my backbone, my strength, my wisdom, my passion, the love of my life. I'm so excited for you guys to get to meet him. This is Jeffrey, my husband, the butter to my bread and the light in every darkness.

What is my passion? Well, I have a few, but somehow they are all connected to reading. So maybe I could say that literature entwines itself into all my passions. Okay, I am a librarian; I can’t help it. Like most people in my profession, I have loved reading at least as far back as my earliest memories. Those memories include my mother reading Little House on the Prairie to my brother and me, as well as Dad reading Tom Sawyer and a novelization of Disney’s Davy Crockett to us. Books can take my breath away, break my heart, and inspire me all in the space of ten pages. Bilbo’s adventures still thrill me, Edmund Dantes still causes my heart to ache, and Johnthan Edwards still challenges my brain and my soul. I read all those pieces of literature before I had turned seventeen, and they still hit me hard. But you know what? I am not unique in this. I am not even rare―especially not in my profession.

So, what is special about my passion for literature? I have been ruminating on one answer to that question as a result of reading the educational research book Focus by Mike Schmoker. Schmoker quotes Kelly Gallagher as writing, “I am a different person because I have read 1984. I see my government differently, I consider privacy issues differently and I have a heightened sense of propaganda and language manipulation – all because I have read this novel.” Schmoker goes on to say, “I, too, am a different person, as are many of you, because of the characters and ideas I have encountered in prose and poetry.”

The reason my passion for literature really matters? A few of those works of prose and poetry did more than inspire, thrill, or sadden me. They changed me. They left me a different person.

What are those life-changing works of literature? Well, funny you should ask…

The Holy Bible ―

For me these precious, sacred pages are not a cliché nor are they obligatory. In these pages, I met the Jesus the touches a leper before healing him. Think what that touch meant to a man that had been ostracized in ways very few of us can even comprehend. In these pages the prophets of old burned into my soul the need to fight against the oppression of the poor, the weak, and the unlovely. In these pages, I truly learned that my fate is not determined by my meager strengths or even my deep inadequacies―I am a man cradled by GRACE!

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee ―

Simply put, I want to be Atticus Finch when I grow up.

“Self-Reliance” by Ralph Waldo Emerson ―

“There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse…”

These lines and so many others from Emerson’s genius gave me the intellectual underpinning to have the courage to ignore peer pressure as a teenager. I could not read those words and give up what I knew to be true just because someone else wanted me to or expected me to.

“Some keep the Sabbath going to church” by Emily Dickinson ―

Picture a poetry-hating boy sitting in a junior level American literature class and the teacher assigns the poetry of this crazy recluse from Amherst, Massachusetts. I was that boy, but one poem’s title caught my attention, because I keep the Saturday Sabbath. I read that poem, and it changed me. I suddenly thought maybe there is something to this poetry thing. I have never stopped loving it since then, and it has never stopped changing me (Thank you for this gift, Janet McPeters.). Because of a crazy recluse from Amherst, I found the worlds of Robert Frost, Adrienne Rich, Billy Collins, and even Shakespeare. But the most significant things I found after Dickinson opened my eyes and my mind are the next two pieces of literature.

“Ulysses” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson ―

My wonderful senior English teacher, Diane Whittaker, assigned this one to me, and twenty-three years later it still makes my heart race. I sat in an old radiator-heated classroom in 1988 and knew I must drink my life “to the lees.” I want to write on and on about how this poem affected who I am. So many lines from it course through my veins today, in this very instant:

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’

Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades

Forever and forever when I move…

…As tho’ to breathe were life!

…To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Today as then, reading those lines makes me want to sound Whitman’s barbaric yawp and pump my fist in the air.

One of my few regrets as a teacher and librarian has been that I have not found a teenager that this poem inspires, but I will strive, I will seek, I will find, and I will not yield.

“Curiosity” by Alistair Reid ―

“Jeffrey, you always have so many questions.” or “Do you always have to know why?” These are things I have heard all my life. It felt like most of the people with authority in my life thought something was slightly wrong with me because I could not let anything rest until I knew WHY. Sometimes it was uncomfortable, and then Diane Whittaker (Yes, her again) assigned “Curiosity” to my senior English class, and I found affirmation that not only is my curiosity okay, it is an imperative. In fact the problem is with the “wagging of incurious heads and tales.”

Face it. Curiosity
will not cause us to die--
only lack of it will.

Theories of Relativity by Barbara Haworth-Attard ―

Here, at forty-years-old, in my tears, I discovered compassion for those that I had deemed worthy only of my scorn. Never underestimate the power of young adult literature.

Louis L’Amour’s Body of Work ―

I know many people belittle his work, but I truly owe so much of who I am to Louis. I suppose that is why some small part of my heart still longs to be a cowboy. But far bigger are the things his characters taught me. I learned to crave education, to work hard, to punch hard and first if I have to. But the best gift Louis gave me was the knowledge of the kind of woman I wanted to spend my life with―a smart, strong woman that would walk beside me not behind me. And I found her―a woman “to ride the river” with. Thanks, Louis.

Frank Merriwell’s School Days, Frank Merriwell’s Foes, & Frank Merriwell’s Chums by Burt L. Standish ―

Most people have never heard of Frank Merriwell, and yet these didactic little novels changed who I was. These turn-of-the-century novels for boys were intended teach youngsters how to have good character. And you know what? It really worked for my brother and me. When I have been loyal, courageous, or tenacious, at least some part of that is Frank Merriwell popping up in my heart. If I were a cartoon character, he would be the face of the good angel on my right shoulder.

Before picking up each of these pieces of literature, I was not who I am, but each of them has been a significant step toward becoming me. Therein lies my passion for the written word. Every time I pick up a new piece of literature, I cannot know if I will be the same person when I have finished reading. I cannot even be sure I will still be recognizable as the person I am now. This is powerful. This is dangerous. This is sublime.

my best gift

I was at the grocery store a few weeks ago. Not the Wal-Mart where we usually shop, but the little store in our small, country town. Everything costs more, but you can count on a smile and a chat with your purchases. That day, though, was not a chatty day for me. I had worked a long day. It was after 6:30 before I even got to the store. I was tired and not in a very chatty mood. There I was moving at a brisk pace down the aisles, barely stopping to think. The only thing I really wanted was to get home. Home.

A young girl with long, rich brown hair and a green grocery store smock stopped me. "Excuse me. Aren't you Mr. Lawson's wife?"

Don't sigh, Relyn. You aren't that tired. What's it going to hurt you to be friendly? I summoned up a smile and a friendly tone. "Hi. Yes, I sure am. Are you in one of his classes? Can I tell him hello for you?"

"Oh, sure. But, what I really wanted to do was tell you something. ... I was just hoping that you know how much Mr. Lawson loves you. He talks about you all the time, and he never says anything about you without saying, 'my gorgeous wife, Relyn.' Or, 'my brilliant wife'. Something like that. He really loves you."

As I left the store I was crying a little. Not for the gift those words were to me, though they are still an incredible gift. I was crying because of the gift his words are to his students. To those girls: some with terrible homes, some with no fathers of their own - those girls know that there are good men. Those girls know that it is worth the wait to find one who will speak only good things about them. To those boys: some who can only relate to girls with insults or objectification, some who have never been taught to honor their mothers, much less other women - those boys have seen how to treat women with respect. Those boys have witnessed first hand the kind of relationship it is possible to have.

What an incredible gift my Jeffrey is. He is a gift to me, to his daughter, to his students, to everyone who knows him. What a good and Godly man I have married. I am so grateful. Every day I am grateful.

Today is our wedding anniversary. We were married at half past two on a Sunday afternoon eighteen years ago. The day was perfect and beautiful. I thought that day that I could never love anyone more. Funny how deliciously wrong I can be. I love Jeffrey more with each day, each trial, each joy that we share.


I love you, Jeffrey, with all my heart; more and more every single day. Thank you for this beautiful, simple, magical life we share. Happy anniversary, my love. Each day with you has been a gift.


I chose this picture for today because Jeffrey spent over an hour scouting out the poppies in the wild, retracing his steps, and taking me to photograph them. That's just the kind of thing he does. Every day.

The Bright Side Project

Do you know about the Bright Side Project? Oh, it's the most wonderful blog. You've got to go check it out. Then come back and visit me. OK?

So. You're back. When I first discovered the blog, the question was this: If you had a magic datebook where you could re-live one of the days of your lives, which day would it be and why?

I spent an hour reading all the wonderful answers people gave. I just love a thought provoking question. Don't you? So, if you could relive just one day in your life, which one would it be?

Here's mine:

I’m afraid I’ve spent nearly an hour reading all these wonderful answers. I’ve also been lost in my own happy memories, trying to pick the single day I’d do again. There have been so many wonderful days. My sixteenth birthday party was absolutely magical, but I’m going to have to go with my wedding day. I was one of those little girls who had been planning her wedding since she was five or six. My wedding day was absolutely everything I could have dreamed of. It was thrilling, gorgeous, and so very full of love. Everyone most precious to me was there. Everyone was happy and excited for us. I look back at the seventeen year old pictures and know we were just babies then. But, all the promise we can see reflected on those young faces still live in our nearly 40 year old eyes. We love each other more today than we could have dreamed of on that day. My wedding day.
Still. The best day of my life. Ever.

A Mish-Mash

I've wanted to write a stream of consciousness list/ post sort of deal for a while now. That's how my brain seems to be bubbling this morning. So, why not try it?

I warn you, this post is bound to be odd - and probably not very well written. How could it be if it's unedited? I can feel my mind hopping around like a bumble bee drunk on pollen. Flit - here it is to rest a while. Flutter - there it goes to peek at the flowers over there. Flit - and we're off again. If you're still with me, hang on this is bound to be an odd ride. I promise to post it unedited. Here goes.

First thing on my mind is wondering if you like my FavIcon. I really, really do want your honest opinion. A FavIcon is the little deal that pops up in the corner of your window tab when you open my blog. It's the red lip print that looks a little like a heart. That is my lip print and I like the idea. I'm just not sure about how it actually works. Did you notice it? What was your first impression of it? What do you think it looks like? Do you like it? Should I keep looking for another FavIcon?

Finally, finally I am taking Sloane to see The Frog Princess. Today. I am thrilled that Disney seems to be getting back to their fairytale roots. But, not too hopeful that it will be wonderful. I haven't heard one person say anything about this movie. Not one. I am hoping it's magical and lovely and full of great music and sigh inducing. I'm hoping... but not necessarily expecting it. Still, it will be a great time for Sloane. She so rarely gets to see a movie on the big screen. There are hardly any G movies being made anymore, you know?
My favorite Disney movie is Beauty and the Beast. Second is Mulan - at least until I think about Cars. My other favorite is Sleeping Beauty, but that may be because an old boyfriend once woke me up by calling me, "Sleeping Beauty."

Well, I do really, really like the dancing/falling in love scene. That scene reminds me of the dancing/falling in love scene in Moulin Rouge. Do you know the scene I mean? It's one of my all-time favorite movie scenes because it looks exactly like what falling in love feels like.

Another great falling in love scene is this one from Strictly Ballroom. sigh.

Speaking of love - I do SO love Valentine's Day. Love, love, love it! I'm wondering if you have any wonderful and unique plans for Sunday?

Our most unique thing is that Jeffrey and I celebrate Valentine's Day for Sloane on the 14th and celebrate our own on the 15th. We celebrated the first Valentine's we ever shared on the 15th. Now, twenty years later, we're still celebrating on the 15th. Twenty years. Oh my. How simply, marvelously wonderful. When I was a teenager I wondered if it was boring to wake up to the same face for twenty years. As an adult, I simply pray for at least fifty more years to wake up to the same precious face.

I find myself humming love songs all the time lately.

I love the way my pictures turned out from yesterday. I'm going to use one on this post. For their birthdays, I always sing to my students, give them a great book, and a big smoochy red-lipsticked kiss. They wear it all day and love it. Every Valentine's Day I kiss each student, hug them, and tell them how much I love them. It's one of my favorite times of the year. I think they love it too. Just look at the faces in the picture.

Have you ever put Recess Peanut Butter Cup minis in your chocolate ice cream? YUM!!

I wonder how old Sloane will be before she stops calling me to come help her when she showers?

Speaking of Sloane, she's out of the shower and ready for me to help her with her next blog post.

Gotta run. Happy Friday, friends.

The Things We Do For Love

Meet Captain Anne Cutlass and her trusty swain Long Knife Tom. These two are the absolute loves of my life. This is my favorite picture. Ever. I took it last night at the end of a wonderful day. Sloane's birthday party had been postponed another week because she'd been so sick. Finally, party day arrived, 13 days after her birthday. This year was a pirate party, chosen mostly because Daddy said he would dress up if it was a pirate party. Jeffrey is one daddy who never disappoints. Ever.

Not only did he make the costumes.


He made the treasure chest.


I made the ugly cake.


Oh well. There's no such thing as Super Mom. I do think, though, there just might possibly be such a thing as Super Dad. If there is, my husband is it.

You see, Jeffrey is not a party guy. Each year he asks me in utter sincerity if we can please not have birthday party for him this year. He doesn't like parties. He doesn't like dancing. He doesn't like silly. And, most of all, he doesn't like costumes. He really, really doesn't like dancing or costumes. Jeffrey's fine with all of these things for anyone who enjoys them, just not for himself.

But, you see. Jeffrey is a Daddy. The daddy of a much loved, very silly little girl. And Daddy Jeffrey does not disappoint. So there he was, in frayed and ragged, homemade capri-length sailor pants. Nobody but me knew that his jeans were in the cupboard in case he needed to make a quick trip to the grocery store. Silly only goes so far, even for Sloane. There he was on the floor reading to a gaggle of second graders.


There he was, attaching pirate tattoos. There he was, coloring beside the shy ones. There he was, hiding the treasure chest and making his treasure map look old.

There he was. Making his daughter - and his wife - very, very happy.

Six Word Stories

I've told you before that one of the things I love about Jeffrey is the way he seeks out little things to delight me. His latest "gift" has gotten me hooked on six word stories. Yes, an entire story in just six words. Man, my journalism teacher would have loved them. Here's one by Ernest Hemingway. It is rumored that he claimed it to be his best work.

For Sale: baby shoes, never worn.

Gasp. Gulp. Yes, I know. How about these two?

We kissed. She melted. Mop please!

~ James Patrick Kelly

It's behind you! Hurry before it

~ Rockne S. O'Bannon

Or these...

Baby's blood type? Human mostly.

~ Orson Scott Card

Fish's last thought: "That wasn't a fly!"

~ Ken Krimstein

Peter Piper's proposed 'pepper pick' postponed.

~ Joe Ghattas

Aren't they wonderful? Click here and here for more. What about you? Can you do it?


Baby shoes painting spotted here.

Because...

~ because you never keep score
~ because you are a man of integrity
~ because your kisses still curl my toes
~ because you are the man I always dreamed of
~ because you know the names of our neighbors
~ because you always clean the litter box - for my cat
~ because you love the symphony, and art museums - and hunting
~ because you are careful with your words so that they never bruise
~ because you understand why week-long birthdays are so important
~ because you do all the cooking - and then still help clean the kitchen
~ because you once built me a yellow swing that only moved side to side
~ because you play board (bored?) games with Sloane for hours - with a smile
~ because you are never in too much of a hurry to listen to someone who needs you
~ because you kiss me on the forehead as I fall asleep and say, "Good night, sweet girl."
~ because you never mind making a bathroom stop on a road trip - even if we stopped 1/2 an hour ago
~ because you have never once told me to "settle down" or to stop making such a big deal about something
~ because you drive me to a swing set when I'm feeling crabby - instead of getting irritated with me
~ because you pump the gas, stop for the milk, drop off the dry cleaning, go get the Chinese - every time
~ because you give me a massages that last an hour - even though I only last about 10 minutes on the massages I give you
~ because you never once did that man-thing and wished for a son - the daughter God gave us was all that you ever wanted
~ because you don't make fun of my absolute inability to read a map - instead you find a way to write directions so I can find my way

For all these things, and a thousand more, I love you, Jeffrey. Now and always.
Happy anniversary, my love.


My two loves.

And They Lived Happily Ever After...

Bouquet (for Jeffrey, from me)
Between me and the world
You are a bay, a sail
The faithful ends of a rope
You are a fountain, a wind
A shrill childhood cry

Between me and the world
You are a picture frame, a window
A field covered with wild flowers
You are a breath, a bed
A night that keeps the stars company

Between me and the world
You are a calendar, a compass
A ray of light that slips through the gloom
You are a biographical sketch, a bookmark
A preface that comes at the end

Between me and the world
You are a gauze curtain, a mist
A lamp shining into my dreams
You are a bamboo flute, a song without words
A closed eyelid carved in stone

Between me and the world
You are a chasm, a pool
An abyss plunging down
You are a balustrade, a wall
A shield’s eternal pattern
~ Bei DaoTranslated from the Chinese by Bonnie S.
McDougall

And a bouquet of love and appreciation to each of you, dear fireside-sitters. May your weekend be full of love, laughter, and a night that keeps the stars company.

The photo above was taken by my stylish and gorgeous friend, Mandy Kitchen. We were on the lawn of my favorite almost-local destination, the Philbrook Museum of Art in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I wrote once before about Jeffrey and I and fairy tales. For now, let me just say that fairy tales do come true. Today Jeffrey and I celebrate 16 years of marriage. We do thank God every day for the beautiful life we've been given.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy

My love has a birthday today. This post is about him.

There are so many reasons why I love my husband. I have tried to write the perfect post about Jeffrey for several days now. I have found, once again, that words fail me. They always do when it comes to expressing this immense ocean of love that I dwell in. There are no words for all that I carry in my heart.

Instead, I offer a few images that I hope will reflect even the tiniest corner of love that fills my heart. With these pictures, maybe the reader will know even a little of why I smile, why I sing, why I am a woman full of joy. It is because God gave Jeffrey to me.

Jeffrey, I love you because....

After nearly 16 years of marriage, you still look at me with this much love in your eyes.

You are this kind of father to Sloane.

You know just how to make both of us laugh, and you know when we most need it.

Daydreaming about you still makes me feel like I am inside a kaleidoscope.

Just like in the movies, I saw stars when we first kissed. I still do.

Your love is constant, unchanging, and beautiful; even when I am moody, irritable, and crabby.

There is no one I would rather walk through this life hand in hand with. Wherever you go, I'll go there with you.

Happy birthday, my love!

I did not take all the pictures used in this post. My sincere thanks for the wonderful images and apologies to the photographer for not giving credit.

Carry On

My husband, Jeffrey, is always finding ways to please me, to make me smile. He actively looks for things that will bring me pleasure. He takes me for a drive to show me the unique iris he found. He buys me the first Cadbury Egg each spring because he knows I love them. He gets up early with Sloane every Saturday morning so I can sleep in. Jeffrey had a different kind of gift for me last Friday. It was the video below, which he knew I would love. Watching it raised goosebumps on my arms. It made my heart swell with joy that there was such great beauty in the world and I am alive to witness it. I wanted to share in the hope that you will enjoy it as much as I do.

Did you notice the part where it panned the audience and two women were crying? I had to laugh at that because I was crying, too. Andrew Johnston's voice is undoubtedly incredible, but it was more than that. I was so moved by the fact that even though this 13 year old boy was nervous and scared, he persevered. Even though he had been bullied for years, he sang. I love what he said when asked what he did in the face of all the bullying. He said, "I carry on singing."

I carry on singing. Yes.

Carry on.

The photos is by Eric Dryer.

Dreaming of Impossible Things

I love serendipity and synchronicity, and the way things on your mind seem to circle back into the dailiness of your life again and again. Last Sunday, I began a list in my journal. (I told you I was an irrepressible list-maker.) The list is titled Things I Long For. It really is a list about things. This one contains no strong, character-driven wishes. Just a list of material things that would delight me. Today, I was reading some old posts by Maddie of Persisting Stars. One she wrote struck a particular chord with me. Perhaps because it references one of my favorite quotes of all time.

There is no use trying" said Alice, "One can't believe impossible things."

"I daresay you haven't had much practice" said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast!" ~ Lewis Carrol, Alice in Wonderland

I love that quote so much because I believe in impossible things. In fact, my favorite "quote" is actually a Bible Verse. Jesus looked at them and said, " With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God." ~ Mark 10:27

I love dreaming of impossible things. I find it amazing to realize just how many impossible things have come true for me. Here's my best example. I spent my childhood reading fairy tales, pretending to star in them, and writing my own. I also spent it in a warm and happy home with parents who loved each other and us. When I was a young adult my mother really believed it wasn't possible that I would find a man I was willing to marry. At least not without changing my standards. You see, I was bound and determined to find my own knight on a white horse. I would only marry a man who was a wonderful as my father. I wanted a man who would treat me as well as my Dad treated my Mom. My father really is extraordinary, and Mom worried for me that no more such men existed. I refused to believe she was right. I just kept on dreaming impossible dreams. And praying faithfully; asking God for what some thought impossible. About a year and a half later, at our rehearsal dinner my mother gave a toast. She told the story I just related and said how very glad she was to be wrong. She said that Jeffrey had made all my fairy tale dreams come true. She was right.

She still is right. Jeffrey and I have been joyfully married almost 16 years. Impossible dreams come true every day.

Here's to your impossible dreams coming true, too.

The whimsical illustration above is by Lisbeth Zwerger.