One of the ideas we’ve been tossing around in conversation during the big boys’ visit is the concept of extremism. In nearly any form, on any political spectrum, in any category of taste or preference, the rigidity and stance on an absolute which does not exist is downright dangerous. That restaurant cannot be straight trash, any more than that political idea cannot be the only way to progress, any more than all people from that state behave in a certain way. There are a few areas in life for which absolutes absolutely exist, but most of life is nuanced and in nuance lies our strength.

To share a meal around a table at a restaurant, all eight of us, is to experience joy unlike anything I’ve known in years. Momma’s heart is swollen in the best of ways.

I took my dog for a walk today; she did not once pull on the leash and threaten to take me for a tumble. File under: things I notice when I make the time and space.

I can hear them downstairs, laughing and debating and making up for lost time. There is a rhythm between my husband and his first two boys, a rhythm that is difficult to describe but easy to spot.

The eldest was four years old when I met him, eight when I married his dad. He was thirteen years old when the baby was born and nineteen when he moved out. Today, he is twenty-two. Words cannot do my heart justice. I wasn’t sure we’d be here tonight, together under one roof, celebrating in this way. I’m grateful.

Amen and amen.

Our big boys are here, and the baby has not let go for a second. Good gracious. That was two long years but in many ways, we haven’t missed a beat. The world may be broken, but all is right in mine today.