Itty Bitty

It's funny, the things that come out of your mouth when you find yourself an Auntie Lauren holding a little package of an 

about-to-be-all-out-squalling itty-bitty niece.

Phrases like "such an itty-bitty"

--having never crossed your lips before--

are suddenly uttered with utmost sincerity and variance of pitch into the itty-bitty face of that little itty-bitty, 

whether she is suddenly squalling or a

just-as-quickly-dead-asleep bundle of sweetness.

It's funny, how everyone within the vicinity 

of such an itty-bitty can't help 

but touch her,

gaze at her,

rejoice in her.

It's funny how such an itty-bitty can bring her family together,

and fill them up with peace.

And--it's funny--how such an itty-bitty smush of a face can keep her Auntie Lauren sitting on a couch for a solid 2 hours,
just thinking:

Itty Bitty? It is good to meet you.

Mothers, Mothers Everywhere

Here are the women who raised me: 

fed me, taught me, clothed me, loved me.  

They deserve a day that honors them and 

the sacrifices they have made for me 

over the many years they've called me theirs

(so thanks be to Hallmark).

This year I happened to be driving through NJ on that special day set aside, and so stopped in by my grandmother, to offer a kiss, a flower, and to have a good Knyfd-women-chat (which wasn't quite the same without our missing member, who also raised me, fed me, taught me, clothed me, loved me, and is on my list of mothers: Aunt Nancy).  

Much of what we talked about had to do with the fact that there is another woman in our family now who claims the title "Mother", and who was the real reason for my trip:

Our very own Marisa, and her beautiful little bundle:

Daniela Alexandra.

Happy First Mother's Day Maris, 

and congratulations to the Grandmas and the Great-Grandmas,

on this Mother's Day like no other!

6?!

I don't know how it happened, but somehow this joy of a child aged another year right before our very eyes.

And, since a full year of aging ought to be celebrated,

I found myself amidst a gift-giving extravaganza

during breakfast with my favorite family early one morning before school this past week.

She gives us much to celebrate, this not-so little one!

Stomping Grounds are for Stomping

Old or new, I am a proponent of stomping grounds, 

and of stomping right on over them at every opportunity.  

It keeps things interesting after all, 

and interesting things keep me interested in life.

Luckily for me, I have a variety of stomping grounds, and a variety of people who make them worth stomping through, which would be why this past weekend I stomped myself all over Harrisburg.

First? A rehearsal downtown, the "official" reason for my trip.

When it was over, I trampled my way over to Jody's, 

for a ridiculously yummy lunch 

and an update on the lives of Julie, Jody,

and Amanda.

The updates were interesting, unexpected, 

and evidence of a good and gracious God.

I'm talking new jobs, kept jobs, new babies, exciting moves; talking smiles and joy and laughter and love.  I'm also talking about crab cakes that I'm still dreaming about.  I'm talking about: good.

But it wasn't done! There were pictures on the deck, 

hugs all around, and then:

I had to go meet this precious boy,

and spend quality time with his precious mother.

Liz and I spent a luxurious few hours on her couch,

discussing all the things we don't usually have time to discuss,

and reminding each other of the value of our friendship.

Interesting? Yes.  Good? For sure.

But then, I had to leave her and her little ones
(of which there are 3 more than you saw here)
and get myself to a graduation celebration!

My friend Faith has somehow managed to work a full time job and get herself through an intense graduate degree at the same time over the past 4 years, and it just so happened that she was throwing herself a much-deserved open house to celebrate the end of it on the very day I was stomping my way through town.

Since no pictures were taken, let me paint the scene with words:

Warmly and graciously, the sun laid its blessing on Faith and me as we stood on the porch of the City House bed & breakfast, grinning at the gift of a moment together.  We caught each other up--briefly but well--on the happenings of life, looking out at the river winking back at us from across the cars lazily strolling down Front Street.  People milled about in the house behind us, happy and comfortable and eating delectable treats.  The sounds of their conversation spilled out of the open windows and doors, brimming with good will for the meaning of the event and the person that is Faith.  New guests arrived, and joined us with their own grins and their own good will.   We chatted easily, we continued to smile.  We felt: good. 

(If you want to see some official pictures to set the scene, go here)

But, after our all-too-brief moments of joyful reunion were over, I returned Faith to the rest of her friends and took myself to my next stomp:

Rick and Marina.

After some easy conversation in the coolness of their living room, (joined by this muppet of a dog who somehow stole my heart despite the drool he left on my leg) 

we headed over to the local Mexican yumminess and ate and talked and dwelt together to our heart's content.

As the rest of the night unfolded, these good and special friends folded me lovingly into the comfort of their home until the next day, when our time together continued through church and lunch before I headed off to the recital that had brought me to town in the first place.

In the end?
More than good, more than interesting,
more than just a random stomp.
A treasure.

All Is As It Should Be

Put me behind a piano, and I am a happy girl.

Put my darling friend at the front of it, and I am even happier.

On Sunday, Emily and I performed that recital that I have been warning you about,

singing and playing our little hearts out for those who had come to hear.

Now, in my lifetime there have been a million and one recitals in some very cool places with some very talented people, but none of them compare to the gift of accompanying a person who is also very cool and also very talented, but most of all?

Very much a part of my life.

I can't help but think that this is how it should be.

Or...

...is it? 

(Hmmmmmmm...)

A Day made up of Ds

The day was dreary.  The sky was darkened.  The air was dank.

A day made for?

Certainly not a dress rehearsal.

But.

Remember that recital Emily and I are preparing for?

A dress rehearsal we had to have.

So, despite the chill stiffening our bones and curdling our souls, we met up at the church.

We dwelt in the luxury of the time we had to determine if we know what we're doing.

We drank in the music.

And then?

Dunkin' Donuts, and a few minutes to delve into the topics on our minds before heading back into our real lives.

The final decision?

There's no denying:
a delightfully
delicious
day.

Do you believe?

Today is a dreary, cold, disgusting day.  The wind has found the insides of my bones, and the color of the sky is laying its gray blanket over my brain.  Today is a day to curl up somewhere and avoid living.

So, curl up I do, my coffee cup in hand and my computer on my lap, in a valiant effort to pretend that I am not avoiding anything.  I try to do some work, but feelings of blah-ness threaten to overwhelm me.  Dreariness covers my very soul, and downward spirals ensue.  Avoidance of life becomes the game in my brain.

I am aware of these games, however.  I am reticent toward downward spirals stealing my life from me.  And, I refuse to give in.  I take a deep breath, and I remind myself of this:

Three weeks ago, out of nowhere, we had a day of remarkably beautiful weather.  The sun was shining, glowing underneath my skin.  The breeze was floating, embracing me in its warmth and love.  The air was singing its song of newness and peace.

Heather, Kate, and I took advantage;
we went for a hike with some other friends and a few dogs, through the pine grove near their house.

We meandered calmly and peacefully through the leaves of the forest floor.

We marveled in the beauty of the nature that we found there, as if we had forgotten such nature existed during our harsh winter.

We explored with awe some surprising finds.

We felt the breeze in our hair, lingering in the pleasure of it moving gently through our clothes.


We lifted our faces and drank in freedom.

And we took joy in the loveliness of sharing it all together.


It was a glorious day.  We thought things were really looking up, and spring was now with us.








A few days later, it snowed.

Yes.  Snowed.

Each day following that glorious day I woke up expecting a return to warmth, only to find: cold.  In my bones.  For three weeks that cold persisted.  Yesterday, I walked to my car as ice splattered across my face.  And I've already told you about today.

But here's what that glorious day taught me, and here's what I'm holding on to as my coffee and I curl up:

Sometimes, I think God offers us these random days--these brief moments of sunlight and warm breeze--to say:

It's possible.  

And then? Sometimes, I think He takes them away.

To help us understand that, like these carvings made by bugs under cover of bark, beautiful things are always flowing under the surface of days that seem to scream "YUCK!"

And that our day of warmth will return as a season--a season we can trust has been prepared by the hard work of the winter.

To help us to trust the very basic fact that if the timing is wrong, the buds won't flourish for the long-term in the way they were intended to.




Sometimes, I think He offers this glimpse into what will be when the hard work is done as a gift, so that when He takes the glimpse away  He can look at me and say, lovingly and gently:

Baby, do you believe?

Because He knows that believing, I can stand firm.  I can look forward.  I can know that there is a time for every season under heaven, and that each one serves a purpose.  And I can point to the God who designed all this and say:

Glory be to you.