I remember thinking I should write more last New Year’s Day, as I curled up on my couch to write a little post. And then the next day happened, and the next and the next until I knew I had to keep going for all of the days in 2022. I’m glad I did. There is beauty and freedom and growth found in the simple disciplines of life. I’m grateful 2022 happened, and I’m excited for what 2023 will bring. Happy New Year.
When a friend asked for a craft night sleepover with my kids, and Ravn emailed me notification of pending flight expiration, I acted on a whim. I booked a night for Chris & I here, complete with massage appointments and a fancy dinner this evening. We’ll be home in less than 24 hours. Happy Anniversary, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year to us.
This week is always the weirdest. Foggy, disorienting, cozy, lovely. I can’t decide if I need to travel next year or take the week off from work or repeat this year’s events… I floated through halls and offices, visiting with coworkers, taking extra time with patient care, and then slipped out early most days to hang with my family before the sun set.
It wasn’t until my baby crawled into bed with me this morning that I realized she hasn’t done it in a long, long time. As she fell back asleep, limbs askew and draped over me in the most inconvenient of ways, I vowed to touch my kids more in the coming year — more snuggles, more often. I don’t want them to grow up and away from me in these tween-and-teen years without it.
Tonight, I made a stew with halibut and clams that we caught in our bay. I followed a recipe from a local homesteader/restaurateur’s cookbook. I cooked with a white wine from the winery down the street. I don’t think a day goes by without me saying, I love where we live. Chris usually replies with, Say it again.
Tonight, I made a stew with halibut and clams that we caught in our bay. I followed a recipe from a local homesteader/restaurateur’s cookbook. I cooked with a white wine from the winery down the street. I don’t think a day goes by without me saying, I love where we live. Chris usually replies with, Say it again.
In addition to attempting to ski in 2 degrees and attempting to cook the Chinese food we traditionally ate in the south on Christmas Eve, I took a trip down memory lane this weekend. This consisted of me cramming myself into the tiny closet beneath the stairs, “the book nook,” which houses all of my old Instagram posts in sweet little hardcovers.
Glass of wine in hand, I read through every December dating back to 2010, and discovered a few thematic elements in my writing. First, I have always treasured this day more than Christmas itself. Second, I have typically selected a great nail color for the holiday season. Third, I have consistently carried heavy and complicated feelings due to some sort of rough season I’d survived in the months leading up to the holiday.
As hard as I’ve tried to dismantle and deconstruct my faith over the years, I cannot shake the character of God, nor the life of Jesus. While I often fail to recognize and represent both in the everyday chaos around me, the character of God and the story of Jesus read plain and true to me in the Scriptures. They are my firm foundation, in a world that often leaves me feeling cracked and crumbling.