It’s not a clear picture; it never really is. But this is from the day that the lights went on for us…physically, literally, metaphorically. And my girls were right there to soak it in.
The greatest gift we have, in rain or shine, drought or harvest, blurriness or clarity, is the family given to us by God’s amazing grace.
My friend Sandi met my girls exactly once. We stopped to have lunch with her the day we arrived at our new South Carolina home.
And yet… (as evidenced by the sweet package she just sent to them)…
She knows exactly who they are.
There are a lot of details.
My head is still spinning.
But the nutshell: I have a new job.
And Rod has 2 new jobs.
And we’re still going to homeschool the girls in the fall.
And this is kind of how we’ll be rolling.
(that is my 4 year-old, sitting at my desk with me. At work).
And I could not be happier about or more grateful for it.
“For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your fathers house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this? (Esther 4:14 NKJV)
No matter where we are, who is near us, or what else changes, these three people are always them.
(usually though, Miranda is smiling, but it was hard to capture the perfect representation from my place in line at Aloha Isle…)
It’s a pretty wordless Wednesday for me. My heart is full with life, as I sort through sweet reconnections, warm memories, high hopes, a glorious ninth anniversary, and one sad goodbye.
I visited Pawleys Island for the first time this week. I am in love with many things about it, my idyllic vision of a beach town come to life. Maybe we will live there someday.
This was the view outside a cafe where I had lunch with my friend Rick yesterday:
Today I celebrate nine years since promising to be Mrs. Burton until death parts us. This week, two people I love and respect so much – my sis-in-law’s amazing parents, showed us what that looks like. I was not there when they said goodbye. I can only imagine it was done like everything else I’ve seen them do: with quiet determination, loyalty, and grace. We will also miss Papa B.
And our mourning and remembering and rolling with it and hoping and celebrating life will occur like everything else we do: together.
remember, helmets are safer…