The Regression of Progress

“Now we are no longer primitive. Now the whole world seems not holy… We as a people have moved from pantheism to pan-atheism… It is difficult to undo our own damage and to recall to our presence that which we have asked to leave. It is hard to desecrate a grove and change your mind. We doused the burning bush and cannot rekindle it. We are lighting matches in vain under every green tree.

Did the wind used to cry and the hills shout forth praise? Now speech has perished from among the lifeless things of the earth, and living things say very little to very few.

And yet it could be that wherever there is motion there is noise, as when a whale breaches and smacks the water, and wherever there is stillness there is a small, still voice, God’s speaking from the whirlwind, nature’s old song and dance, the show we drove from town…

What have we been doing all these centuries but trying to call God back to the mountain, or, failing that, raise a peep out of anything that isn’t us?” (Annie Dillard, “Teaching a Stone to Talk).

I’ve been pondering lately, these reasonable and rational times we find ourselves in. On one hand we have learned much. So many great advancements in science and medicine and philosophy, a plethora of neat little theological boxes to choose from… I can’t help but feel at times though, that the more we think we know about this world, the smaller we make it.

I have no desire to harken back the Dark Ages, yet there are moments when all this knowledge feels anything but illuminating.

What are we losing in our race to prove and rationalize and exegete? What are we quenching in our striving to explain and define it all?

In the words of C.S. Lewis, “They err who say ‘the world is turning pagan again.’ Would that it were! The truth is that we are falling into a much worse state. ‘Post-Christian man’ is not the same as ‘pre-Christian man.’ He is as far removed as virgin is from widow.” And that was 1953.

The pagan world had the mystery and wonder and excitement that preceded the Incarnation. The modern, post-Christian world is bleak and dark in comparison. I rejoice the truth that can be attained, though I can’t help but lament the wonder that was lost.

I didn’t used to care about wonder, but the days have felt colder and shorter and louder lately.  Life can be hard and tiring, and while I often collapse into bed with a mind full of facts and reality, I can’t help but pray that I awake to a morning of hope that defies reason and miracles rather than answers.

I want to be proven wrong.

I want my lens of rationality to stop blinding me from the inexplicable works and beauty of God.

I’ve been handed truth undeserved, for which I am eternally grateful, but the more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. The more I know God, the more I realize how incomprehensible he is. And the more I long for my deafened ears to hear him in the wind and my skeptical eyes to see the mountains praise him.

“He stretches out the north over empty space; He hangs the earth upon nothing. He wraps up the waters in His clouds, yet the clouds do not burst under their own weight. He covers the face of the full moon, spreading His cloud over it. He has inscribed a horizon on the face of the waters at the boundary between light and darkness. The foundations of heaven quake, astounded at His rebuke. By His power He stilled the sea, and by His understanding He shattered Rahab. By His breath the skies were cleared; His hand pierced the fleeing serpent. Indeed, these are but the fringes of His ways; how faint is the whisper we hear of Him!

Who then can understand the thunder of His power?” (Job 26:7-14).

Continue Reading

The Aim of Being Needed no Longer

“The proper aim of giving is to put the recipient in a state where he no longer needs our gift. We feed children in order that they may soon be able to feed themselves; we teach them in order that they may soon not need our teaching. Thus a heavy task is laid upon the Gift-love. It must work towards its own abdication. We must aim at making ourselves superfluous. The hour when we can say ‘They need me no longer’ should be our reward” (C.S. Lewis, ‘The Four Loves’).

Few things in life, have proven harder for me than the act of parenting. It’s continually asking me to give more than I think I have. It empties me. 

In other realms, giving feels simpler. Even when motives aren’t borne out of selfishness, something is generally received back in response. Given to us because we gave. We give in our jobs and we are given recognition or at the very least, a paycheck. We give in academia and we are given knowledge and accolades and degrees. We give in our personal pursuits and we are given success and growth and satisfaction. Even when we give selflessly to our spouse, we are often given back a happier home or a sweeter love or a stronger marriage, of which we comprise half of.

But giving as a parent, rarely results in something being given back (if so, certainly not in correlation to the gift amount).

This is not to elevate the act of giving as a mother or parent above all others, in fact, it’s the one I most often see idolized. A selfish selflessness. In reality, it’s just a different kind of giving and a different kind of love, and it helps me to see that and understand that because unexpected and misunderstood things often breed bitterness and anger.

I know this, because at this very moment I’m sitting here after sending myself to my room because my giving was rooted in selfishness. Oh, I was giving alright—feeding and teaching and cleaning and pouring out—but it was bitter and angry giving. Giving that was angry at not getting back.

But we don’t give to our children to get back. We can’t give expecting a cleaner house or better behaved kids or quieter moments or a thankful heart in exchange. It’s a gift, not a barter. We require obedience and respect and kindness because it’s what we require of ourselves and what God requires of us, but it’s not in exchange for something.

We give of ourselves in order that our children grow and learn and become people no longer reliant on our giving. We give so they can one day give to others. We give because we were given.

Continue Reading

The Holiness of Beauty

“If you have been afraid that your love of beautiful flowers and the flickering flame of the candle is somehow less spiritual than living in starkness and ugliness, remember that He who created you to be creative gave you the things with which to make beauty and the sensitivity to appreciate and respond to His creation” (Edith Schaeffer, The Hidden Art of Homemaking).

The holiness of beauty is something I haven’t always grasped.

I spent my younger days chasing after beauty at the expense of truth. When truth was finally something I could no longer ignore, I assumed the righteous thing to do was forsake beauty. I was often discouraged that many of my interests seemed so unspiritual… art and literature and the sea and my love for making homes out of drab, old spaces.

The irony of it all, was that I don’t think I was able to truly grasp the beauty of truth until I learned to see the holiness of beauty. It brought theology to life for me.

And it’s one of the biggest things I yearn to teach my children. Because I want them to see God whether they’re singing a hymn in church, or watching the sun set, or enjoying life with a friend, or staring at a mountain, or sketching a lady bug, or walking through a museum full of masterpieces, or reading an excellently told story, or observing their granddad skillfully build a house or a table…

Because beauty always points to the One whom it reflects.

Continue Reading

The River of Waiting

These lovely old faucets came with the massive antique ironstone sink I found for the farmhouse kitchen we’re renovating. I’m not sure how practical they’d be, but I love the look of time-worn brass and I’ve been furiously experimenting with creating patina on new brass. It’s a ridiculous endeavor and the irony is not lost on me as I sit here, spending far too much of my day on something that time spent almost a century doing naturally and organically and wonderfully.

I stumbled over something I read in Acts this week and it’s had me thinking on the concept of waiting, and what it says about the God requiring it of us.

Waiting forces us to rely, in some way, on someone or something other than ourselves. On a child to grow, on a task to be completed, on time to move forward, on weather to pass, on anxiety or depression to lift, on people to change, on God to answer…

It does things to our soul like a river does to rock, and reminds us that we are not the one who breathes and loves and wills things into existence.

Though we yearn for the timelessness we were created for, for now, time relentlessly slips through our fingers and requires us to trust the only one who can hold it. Knowing that we wouldn’t be tethered to it, if it wasn’t preparing us and teaching us something that we couldn’t have learned as gloriously without it. 

Working on not wasting my time here, by wasting my waiting…

Continue Reading

Fighting Anxiety …Like A Child

[Originally published HERE at Servants of Grace]

I sunk into bed during one of those awful, pre-dawn hours of the night after a day where my required tasks had far outnumbered the minutes allotted to me. One of those “Come again, Lord Jesus” moments when you decide you’re utterly unable to wake up and take all the breaths and steps required to get you from one end of the day to the other. The mere thought of the sun coming up — brutishly forcing me to open my eyes and behold the whirlwind of problems and duties that would be there to greet me (in a far too short amount of time) — seemed to feed on my exhaustion and tension, convincing my sleepless-self that I hated the sun and its horrible inevitability and I had no desire to ever see it again.

But it rose anyways.

And after its arrival, one of those inevitable duties toddled into my room to greet me. While the rest of my children have developed varying degrees of self-sufficiency and self-awareness, this freshly-turned-three-year-old grasped my hand, pulled herself up, pressed my tired face between her palms, and candidly informed me of her wants and her needs for the moment. She wasn’t hesitant, or even demanding — but expectant. Because she knew she was incapable of getting through the morning and meeting her needs by herself. Yet she wasn’t troubled by it because she knew I was there, and I could. And my heart ached, because as I watched my sweet child I realized that though I know my God is there and is able, I can’t seem to figure out for the life of me, how to talk my heart into resting in this truth and my feet into walking that path of child-like reliance.

The Calmed and Quieted Soul

I longed to be able to proclaim Psalm 131:

“O LORD, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.”

Instead of a self-propelled soul that instinctively presses on, desperately trying not to forget those “oh yeah,” mental sticky notes to remember to seek the Spirit, I yearn for a childlike-soul that doesn’t even know how to take a step apart from him. Not out of fear, but out of a confidence so strong — in his strength, and goodness, and love — that I couldn’t even imagine trying to find my way through the day without clinging to him. O LORD, wean me of myself!

The Weaning Soul

I’ve raised enough babies to understand the difference between a weaned child and a weaning child. That one syllable is the difference between peace and anxiety, contentment and worry, rest and struggle, surrender and striving. …A weaning soul is a weary soul. One that needs to be stilled and soothed as it’s weaned from its desires and thoughts and ways, because something far better is being offered.

We need to follow the path of the psalmist as he seemingly describes his weaning of self, venturing from inward to outward — from heart, to eyes, to actions: “my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me…”(Psalm 131:2).

Until my heart is able to say that it trusts in Christ above all else, I will continue to be broken and betrayed.

Until my eyes can look to nothing above God to satiate my desires, I will continue to taste disappointment.

Until my actions are spurred by the Spirit and his strength alone, I will continue to trip and fall.

The road to that place can be long and trying, but rather than allow our anxiety to falsely prophesy hopelessness, let’s instead rightly proclaim the hope we have because we know who is leading us, and we know to whom we are being led.

“After a period of prolonged and painful struggle to have its longings answered, the little one gives over striving any more, and is at peace. …Like a weaned child, its tears over, its cries hushed, reposing upon the very bosom that a little ago excited its most tumultuous desires, his soul that once passionately strove to wring from God an answer to its eager questionings, now wearied, resigned, and submissive, just lays itself to rest in simple faith on that goodness of God… It is a picture of infinite repose and of touching beauty—the little one nestling close in the mother’s arms, its head reclining trustfully on her shoulder, the tears dried from its now quiet face, and the restful eyes, with just a lingering shadow of bygone sorrow in them still, peering out with a look of utter peace, contentment, and security. It is the peace of accepted pain, the victory of self-surrender” (Rev. James Vaughan, 1876).

The Sun Also Rises

Stressful days will come and go, and I doubt my nights will be forever absent of restlessly watching the clock advance as my brain mentally counts all the seconds I’m not sleeping and all the things I’m not doing. But every night when the darkness comes, I can remember that my sins and anxieties can die with it. And every morning as the sun faithfully rises, I can remember whose mercies for me are new—regardless of what the day brings — because death (and everything in between) was forever conquered.

Dear Lord,

Help me open my eyes in the morning and immediately seek you rather than the world and its worthless things. Make my weaknesses clear and your strength blindingly clearer. Help me rest in your hope rather than wallow in my fear. Thwart my feeble yet habitual attempts to rely on my own abilities. Burden my heart with what distresses you rather than what stresses me. Help me seek you more than answers, pray more than worry, and worship more than grumble. Be my peace in the chaos and my rest after sleepless nights. Help my mind wander to you when I’m weary and anxious. May I hope in the LORD, from this time forth and forevermore.

Amen.

 

Continue Reading

Dear Daughters

[Originally posted HERE at Servants of Grace]

To my dear daughters (whether knit within my womb, or the wombs of others), as well as anyone who has ever loved one:

These days have been laden with a palpable heaviness. I see things, I hear things, I read things and they press on my soul because they’re painting a picture for you and of you that is not from God, or in his image. It differs from what he created and tenderly looked on, beholding its goodness. It does not reflect him or his purposes for you, and it was not what you were intricately woven for. It’s a weight I struggle to ignore and can’t help but wonder how you will come to carry it. I mourn the deep scars it has left on daughters before you, and I yearn for you to have the strength and wisdom to navigate its seemingly inevitable forces.

I see violence against daughters. Their bodies, as currency to steal and spend for power and pleasure. Anonymity used to take what was wanted in the darkness that could never be had in the light. Strength used not to protect but to hurt, and wit used as a weapon for evil rather than good.

I see manipulation of daughters. Sex, as something entitled and owed. Fame or charisma used to coerce or defraud. Popularity as invincibility. Trust used to trespass, and means used to procure more and more and then take what can’t be bought.

I see objectification of daughters. Flirtation and advancement as means of feeding desires wanting to be fed. Respectability used to pardon indiscretion. Past victories used to dismiss present downfalls. Habits allowed to furrow, becoming blinders to seeming hypocrisy. Depersonalization, as a way to view daughters apart from their eternal souls.

Distortions and Definitions

These are not new distortions. They’ve been around in various forms since time was young, but you must learn to fight the forms they take in your time. These are not the only distortions. They are few of many — some you will face, some others will face — but all should be battled against because they distort the truth. I want to help you fight those coming at you, so you’ll be better able to fight those coming at others.

In the age-old narrative of a Father bringing his children to himself and a bridegroom desiring to be united with his bride, daughters have played mighty and graceful roles. Many will over-simplify and condense your character, stripping it of its uniqueness, because it makes the story easier or more comfortable to tell. Many will deny your consistencies and symmetries because it makes the story mesh better with their own tales or perhaps be about something other than what it is.

Be careful of that. Be wary of definitions of yourself that come from someone who didn’t make you.

The Anchor of Who We Are and the Beauty of Who We Can Be

Daughter, as you grow and walk through these weighty times, I want you to do two things:

  1. Rest in the unchanging ways you reflect God as his child and his daughter. The more you understand who you are and aren’t in relation to him, the harder it will be for the world to label you and convince you you’re something you’re not. You have something they can never take.
  2. Learn and understand the varied ways you reflect God as his utterly unique creation to display his glory in ways no one else can. Discover what he made you for and act on it. The more you grasp how God wants to use you, the harder it will be for the world to use you. You are something that has a value and a worth that can never be stripped.

Understanding what steadfastly remains the same and what grows and varies, will help you not lose your bearings or lose your vision.

The Solid Rock and the Living Water

Remember the more you know and seek your Creator, the more you will see him in his creation (including you!), and the more comfortable you will become in understanding yourself as his daughter.

Look at the clear and comforting rhythm of the seasons and cycles that you learned to anticipate before you could articulate. That expectancy of a cool dip to soothe the heat of summer, the recognition that the smell and crispness in the air indicates approaching snow. The birth brought forth in Spring, the death that approaches in Autumn. The life cycles of the plants you pluck and the insects you catch. The life cycles involved in the pregnancy and birth that brought you into this world. Yet every morning is new, every season is different, and every tiny little fingerprint is distinct.

And since the God of these is writing your story, you know his chapters and characters will be soothingly consistent and familiar, yet exceptionally fresh and varied.

Find security in the unchanging ways you reflect our unchanging God. The order and symmetry in how you my daughters, distinctly reflect certain aspects of God’s character that my sons do not. How both of you exhibit other aspects of God’s character together that we see consistently across his vast creation.

Find purpose in the extraordinary ways you reflect our God of unending beauty and creativity. The artistry and originality in how you reflect your Creator, uniquely from all my other children and from all of his, because of gifts and traits singularly woven together in you alone.

Our Legacy

Look at his past chapters. God’s cast of righteous female characters is both narrow in the seeming source and object of their faith, yet broad in the ways and means and personalities his image-bearers display his glory. We see daughters who were wise judges and mighty leaders, we see daughters who were meek and who clung to the feet of Jesus. We read of daughters who build homes with wisdom and perseverance, and daughters who destroy strongholds of sin and injustice. We hear of daughters whose hands compassionately feed the poor, hands that skillfully deliver endangered babies, and hands that drive tent pegs of justice. We see daughters who save lives, who risk their lives, who give their lives. We see God accomplish his purposes through his daughters whether a queen or prostitute, fertile or barren, married or single, young or old, strong or weak.

Daughters, you were formed in this place and moment for a reason. You are part of the symphony that takes the same notes that have been played for ages, and arranges them in ever-new, ever-relevant, ever-praiseworthy ways. You were chosen by the composer himself to be woven into his masterpiece, in moments and means that would not be as glorious or excellent without you.

My daughters, I pray for you, a mind that is fiercely wise. A heart that is tirelessly compassionate. A soul that is selflessly brave. Words that are true and deeply kind. Arms that are strong to build and defend and care. And eyes that continually seek your Lord as the source and object of your strength.

Continue Reading

Hands Worth Holding

Hey, baby girl. If you’re gonna find a guy later, find one like him. One who loves you every ounce as much when things are falling apart as he does when things are wonderful.

Like when you’re having a meltdown on the boardwalk because too much sun and too little sleep leaves you at less than your best. And things like walking and eating ice cream simultaneously feel like a really big deal, yet stopping to eat it feels bigger.

But guys like him just hold your hand and wipe your tears and patiently spoon feed you while you take deep breaths and walk at that perfect pace that’s not so fast that you feel out of control, but not so slow that you feel left behind.

And it gives you the chance to remember who you are and who made you.

Those are the kind of hands worth holding and shoulders worth leaning on. Trust me on that one…


Continue Reading

On Learning Our Children

We take it year-by-year, but these last few years we’ve schooled our kids at home. It’s not some big principled, reject-the-system, religious-exemption sort of thing, we just decide with each child, each Fall, in each place, where we think we should put them based on their needs and our abilities.

Partially due to two years of moving, even when abilities and bandwidth were low my third kid is one who has never had report cards or textbooks or bus stops. But she’s played and experienced and learned naturally. It’s what I kinda had wanted for all of my kids. Because I truly believe that it’s hard to make a child love to learn once you’ve killed their awe and wonder, and it’s difficult to nurture that when you remove playing and exploring and discovering too soon. And boy, does this girl love to learn. In a way that I’m not entirely sure she would have discovered if she’d been sitting in a desk instead of out in the world.

But there have been moments of fear. I recently went to bed a few weeks ago in tears and panic and exasperation because this spirited, recently-turned-7-year-old is not independently reading. I mean, I was reading The Chronicles of Narnia and Nancy Drew when I was seven, and this girl could care less about barely being able to read a cereal box. She has big brothers to read her words, parents to read her stories, and she simply has never felt the need. While I thought I was maybe okay with this, the system we still have to peripherally navigate, isn’t really. A (self-imposed) 30-minute evaluation resulted in words like “delayed,” and “potential learning disabilities,” and “totally not ready for second grade,” kinda shook me and made me second guess all sorts of things.

Just know, I LOVE teachers. I so appreciate schools. They’ve provided structure at times for my children who needed it. They’ve provided support at times for my children who struggled with things I didn’t feel equipped to navigate. Systems are needed when you have to educate millions of children in a nationally standardized way. I could never do what they do, day in and day out.

Systems can be hard though. I think they catch some big and important things and I think they overlook some big and important things. I’ve had a child who struggled with the system because he learned, and processed, and read much slower than others. I’ve had a child who struggled with the system because he learned, and processed, and read much faster than others. But for the most part I’ve agreed, and understood, and felt as if they were hurdles that were beneficial to learn how to navigate as a part of life. Hard work, patience, respecting authority, self-control, waiting for others…

The Things That Fear Hides

It hit me differently with this girl, this time around though. It was unexpected in that they were words and descriptors that were so utterly different from the ones I’ve gathered while observing her vivacious, bright, quick-witted mind for the last 7 years.

This child I birthed and know so deeply in ways others don’t have the privilege to. I hear her stories, I watch her play, I experience her thoughts and ideas. She’s quite possibly the most confident (yet realistic) child I’ve ever met, and for the first time ever I caught a little glimpse of her confidence faltering. And it killed me.

I’m not one for false confidence. It’s shaky ground that will not age well, but it’s so important to me that they understand the gifts that God truly formed them with. That they see them, develop them, use them, and understand that much will be required of them in those areas in exchange.

I want her and others to see those precious gifts in ways that a thirty-minute evaluation or a standardized test will not show.

I went to bed so conflicted and worried, and woke up like God was gently shaking me and reminding me of who she really was. Who he made her to be. Who I’ve always known her to be, yet was forgetting in my worries.

Who IS My Child?

She’s like my very own Anne of Green Gables. Some of my kids are smart, some are funny, but she’s that brilliantly witty combination of both. She quotes Shakespeare (“All’s fair in love and war,” she’ll say to her big brother complaining of unfairness). Her vocabulary and ability to communicate deep things takes my breath away. Not just remembering words, but hearing them, understanding them, and using them ages later in perfect context.

She loves every place we’ve ever lived or visited. She adores the beauty of the mountains, the excitement of the city, the peacefulness of the country, the newness and sociableness of hotels, the coziness of a 350 square foot travel trailer….

She loves interacting with people, yet she can play by herself for hours upon hours. She’s never been bored. She taught herself how to ride a bike in about 17 seconds.

She’s fascinated by how things work, how things are made, how things came to be. Her theological questions and connections blow me away. She loves documentaries, she loves creating things and describing things, she loves stories.

Her imagination is intense, her excitement is intense, her anger is intense, her frustration is intense, her love is intense. I’m not sure she’s ever felt anything partially or halfway in her life. She says what she means and she means what she says.

She will talk to anyone. Not like a child meaninglessly chattering away to any person who will pretend to listen… but wherever I take her, she almost always manages to locate and plant herself next to some other soul, whether 3-years-old or 93-years-old, to effortlessly connect with them and draw them out. Eventually I’ll find her, passionately, yet matter-of-factedly discussing family relationships, hopes and dreams, personality characteristics of grandchildren, favorite places traveled, shared frustrations of life, or how they like their job, or being married, or getting old, or starting kindergarten…

Give her 5 minutes on a playground, and she’ll have a “pack of boys” (in her words) following her around, fighting her battles, and playing her games. Not because she needs to dominate or control, but because she’s insanely confident and her excitement is contagious.

She sees people and gets people and figures out how to love them practically. When I have a migraine she holds my hand and brings me ice packs. She lectured my husband before leaving on a recent trip with the grandparents, that he better take good care of me and make my coffee just like she does, until her return.

She is a gift and she has a gift.

Learning My Child

I say all this, not because it’s important to me that people understand home-schooling, or question public-schooling, or tell me comforting things like I’ve done the best I could with her (I haven’t). And honestly, her summer reading tutor is absolutely wonderful and knowledgeable and much-appreciated, and knowing my daughter, she’ll probably be reading The Iliad and War and Peace by next week. But my point is, that even if she isn’t, that’s really okay too.

Ever since she was born, my verse for her has always been Luke 1:45. “Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord had said to her will be accomplished.” Because it will. Not because she will accomplish it herself, or I will, or anyone else will, but because HE will.

If their God-given strengths aren’t diminished by their God-given weaknesses, then they certainly aren’t going to be by their world-given “weaknesses.” Even if we’re going about this all wrong it’s not going to change who they are and who they were created to be. No parent, or school, or system, or curriculum could ever take away what was given to them by the hand of God. We need to look at our children and learn them. See their struggles and help them, watch for their gifts and value them, not because they are our child, but because they are a person made in the image of God.

Continue Reading

Strong Shoulders

One of the first things I noticed about Kevin were his arms. They were strong and muscular and completely different than mine. Yet over the years as we live and walk and fall together, I realized I’ve grown to be far more thankful for his shoulders. While arms can fight and embrace, shoulders tend to do more supporting and lifting and quietly carrying. And all I can say, is his shoulders are strong and steady.

Anyone who knows Kevin, knows that he says what he thinks. I’ve always loved this about him.

Most anyone can say strong words strongly, or soft words softly, but far fewer can say true words with gentleness and meek words with mightiness. And he’s grown into this so well.

He sees what people are good at and he tells them, he writes notes with genuine words to encourage people, he’s honest with himself and others when he’s weak or wrong, he loves developing someone’s strengths, he tells me how he loves me and why, he desires his words to be true and good.

He’s the most incredibly wonderful mesh of strong and gentle, real and relaxed, serious and humorous.

At any given moment he could be walking me through an art museum pointing out his favorite paintings, or forcing me to watch some dumb YouTube video. Listening to Bach Cello Suite No. 1 in G major, or Blink 182. Reading poetry, or quoting Calvin and Hobbes and Dumb and Dumber. Discussing Dostoevsky, Spurgeon, and business strategies, or the latest Premiere League drama and standings. Texting me photos of architecture he admires and quotes he finds inspiring, or ridiculous memes and practical jokes he’s playing at work. Watching a documentary on the history of National Parks, or laughing at re-runs of The Office. Demolishing kitchen cabinets, or playing dollhouse with his little girls.

Happy Birthday to my best friend, my closest friend, my cutest friend, my deepest friend, my funniest friend, my steadiest friend, and my favorite friend!

Forever thankful for your kind heart and your strong shoulders…
Continue Reading
1 2 3 5