Monthly Archives: February 2012

today: valentine

He races his bicycle on the weekend, and he rides fast. He doesn’t always win, but sometimes he does well. And his pleasure in it is evident. He tells stories of racing weekends, face expressive and bright, relishing the fact that he gets to do this and that he does it well enough to be competitive. He knows that not everyone who has the desire to excel in a sport has the opportunity or ability to do what he does. He is passionate, and he is thankful. Collin was made, among other things, to ride a bike. It’s a window for him through which he sees how to live fully. I love this about him.

Getting to be with someone who has a grasp on what it is to live out of who he is moves me. Collin provokes me to want to live life alive in the way that he knows how to be alive. We aren’t perfect in our relationship by any stretch. In recent months, we’ve needed to learn how to disagree, fight and let go, and at times, we’ve both been exasperated and frustrated. I’ve needed to stare my selfishness in the face. It’s not always pretty. In the midst of growing a relationship, we find ourselves aware of our fragility and vulnerability, especially on the days that have been hard. And yet, that hunger to live so alive and so full, it drives us, both of us. These past months for me have been a process of learning to love and be loved right in the midst of life happening, good and bad, ugly and beautiful, allowing hope to trump fear.

Last night, we prepared dinner together and worked on our various tasks, chatting. He walked the dog to the mailbox. I made him a smoothie. The eve of Valentine’s Day was quiet and restorative. We are busy, separate and together. We wanted some quiet and normal before this week gives way to company and races and photo shoots and too lengthly to-do lists. We prayed before he went home, thankful for a great day and asking for good sleep and an awareness of God’s presence. I know that not everyone who wants someone to do life with has someone, and sometimes relationships break, fail, abuse, hurt or die. I looked at Collin last night, and I found my heart passionate and thankful that he is here and that he is mine. Collin is one reminder of God’s kindness in my life. He gives of his heart with confidence and grace, and he speaks words that welcome me into his story. He cultivates beauty in my life. He expects goodness.

I love that we are friends.
I love that we are taking our time.
I love that this is the page my life is on.
I love that he is my Valentine.

I was made, among other things, for this, here and now.

Thanks for indulging my need to record a little Valentine’s Day verbiage.

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today: february

“Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.”
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

It’s February, and one year ago, North Texas sat still and silent, held captive by sleet. This afternoon, I ran ten miles in 70 degree weather, arriving home sweat-soaked and thirsty. Quite a contrast. It still feels like winter, if not in temperature. It feels like winter, because life moves slower for me this time of year. I find time to think and pray, to create for the sake of creating, to stop and reflect and be. I crave wonder.

It’s February, and I’m looking forward to this month of quiet before things steadily build momentum for the rest of the year. I’m hopeful. And I think there will be stories to share. Last night I sat with friends who were praying for me, and I realized that sometimes I forget to remember all the goodness and grace in my life. For months I’ve lamented the writer’s block that seems to strike whenever I sit down to blog or journal. “I have no stories to tell,” I moan to my audience of no one. But alas, that is untrue. I have stories that weave a beautiful story, a compelling story, a redemption story. I just forget to tell them sometimes.

It’s February, and this blog is written with one purpose: to say it’s time for me to write. So write I shall. And wonder shall ensue. What provokes wonder for you?

tonight: mud

“I love a God who makes mud on the Sabbath.”
-Trent Sheppard

I’ll wear this mud on my face from here to eternity
if it means sight for these blind eyes
because in wearing this mud, a reminder of this
God reaching down, reaching in, holding on
God making mud, setting free
hands letting go
feet running home
depth coaxing soul
life taking hold
this is the process of broken pieces
made whole
God reaching down, reaching in, holding on
God making mud, setting free

I do believe; help my unbelief.