{June 13th: Anniversary}

Hot rods. Mustangs. Engines revving. Hot dogs, cotton candy, mullets, men in their glory, 50's music. YES. (Two weeks distance prior was probably worth it after our little get-away: see last post.)

Needless to say, Matt and I had a blast on the weekend of the 13th. We celebrated our first year of marriage in Hastings, MN at a charming B&B, then in the Twin Cities (Como Park, and IKEA!)

Thank you, M, for a wonderful surprise weekend!

[photo 1: Matt's favorite Mustang]

[photo 2: IBC rootbeer and hot rods; couldn't get any cooler]

[photo 3: a view of our charming room]

[photo 4: kissing a cute turtle]

[photo 5: pink flamingo's and the Kinnicks]

{Tales of an exaggerated feeler...)

Our one year anniversary is only weeks away. And yet, here I sit with my loving and sacrificial husband...918 miles away. He's in Colorado. Next week Canada. Neither scenario gives me time with him on the phone (well, hardly), nor Internet (at least next week).

Only hours ago I spoke to him. The reception cut my voice out so that he could hardly hear my questions. He sounded like someone had dragged him through a sitting of all the Anne of Green Gables movies for a week and had restricted him from coffee and shut eye. But at that moment, what I heard was absolute disinterest and unconcern for his sweet, caring, little wife.

"My dear poor sweet pizzle-pie....how on earth did you get through this day with all that work?! You should go to beddy-by. Don't mind little ol' me; I know you love me more than anything on earth. You just put yourself to bed....", gushed myself.

"mumble. Yah, I spose'. Swimming in those clear blue mountainous pools sure wore me out. Why don't you put me out of my misery and let me sleep?!" He muttered...(well, at least it seemed that way to me.)

"Oh, fine, dear. I'll talk to you in the morning...just remember: I lOVE you.", I smiled.

Snort. "Well, g'night." CLICK.

Before I know it, I've gently hung the phone up and tears have begun to stream down my face. Tears of love and sorrow.

Yeah, that sounds right.

Of course, I write this knowing you couldn't have heard how tired he was, or how hard he was trying. Or how much work he put in today. Or how snotty I may or may not have responded (in my head, at least). Or how I said goodnight with a dry tone...and selfish anger in my heart. And that I cried angry pity tears when I hung up. And wrote a selfish email (before I deleted it).

*sigh*. Basically, my husband is an extremely gracious, loving, and godly man. And I do not like having him so far away and unavailable and exhausted. Yet, I love that he said he was encouraged by the time and energy he is investing. And that he missed me (yes, he did say that). If I thought about it, I would recognize my confidence in his character, his love for me, and how the Lord is using him greatly in Colorado.

As I confide in my sister in law, I recognize that much of the drama in my head comes more frequently when I skip out on time alone with God. How does that happen? I figure its because my focus is on myself, and feeding myself the right kind of 'dosage'. Love, romance, food, tears. Ya know, like kids with candy when they need Aspirin. Except, we sugar coat the medicine. This time, I just need the Healer. And Provider. And Lover.

Lord, help me to seek you with all my heart. And to be an un-exaggerated wife and feeler who seeks to love and understand her husband well. And to get through the next week and a half!
*********************************************
[photos]

Minutes before I drove him to the airport...

Matt romancing me only a month before....

{the embarressing truth revealed}

OKAY, it's time. I'm too intimidated by blogs. This may be a clue to the fact that I tend to be a people pleaser. Alas, I've just finished checking out a few blogs, and I'm inspired.

What to write about? Binge eating. My husband left me to 'board' the mountains of Vermont. I have the home to myself (I know, for all of Friday evening through the dawn of Sunday morning, unbearable. What's a girl to do?)

Keep busy. Dinner with Lindsay, sleepover and breakfast with Katie, coffee with Joanna. In between? Catch up on all my to-do's of solitude (read, do art, spend time with God, do some work). Rather, what happened? A out-of-control-junk-food-fest. Even though I sensed an inner voice saying, "be self-controlled" in a soothing and quiet manner, My response was ignorance and rebellion. "well, in a bit, just ONE more chip..." Half a jar of cheese dip later, my stomach begins to protest with a rolling gurgle
.

[the evidence: Tostitos Cheese Dip]

After dealing with it, I take a two hour nap (flashback: in Bible study with the freshmen I confessed that I didn't want to neglect God's Word this week...this also popped into my mind as I moved onto different activities). Then I woke up and ate some Chocolate Panda Paw ice cream left over from last night. I was only going to have a spoonful, then go spend time in God's word. Before I know it, Loralie and Rory Gilmore have joined me with an open cart of quickly disapeering ice-cream.

[and of course the chocolate panda paws]

Needless to say, my self control is lacking. I need my husband around, then I can once again pretend I'm more healthy and better at proportions. And I just need him. Funny, he forgets to eat when I'm gone, and I...well, you know.

*sigh* At least I was inspired by the Word of God later. His grace is sufficient for me, that's for sure. And though I have suffered the consequences, I know that 'there is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus'. Not even when it comes to stuffing your selfish, control-less, ignorant little face because you are lonely. I think I've decided that I'm not an introvert. Just a home-body.

(Don't worry, I didn't eat any more. I did art play (not work) instead and blogged).

[togetherness=happy and healthy]

{santification}

Marriage. I began dreaming of marriage at the age of five. Though, my ideal husband looked an awful lot like the loving man who raised me and the brothers who loved me. In fact, this was so strongly believed this (and I was unmistakably impressionable) that the little five year-old 'me' in her wedding veil (a can-can) made a vow to her proud father (with his help). The vow was to never marry and therefore never leave him. (My apologies, Dad.)


In the days of dress-up, I imagined myself as the captivating princess awaiting her prince charming. (My mother helped me transform my ‘princessly’ attire from a distressed blankie and fractured paper crown to a custom made magical dress…Miss Piggy-pink, of course).


Upon his first look at the lovely maiden, his heart pounds viciously inside him. He cannot breathe. His every muscle twitches in readiness to protect the fair creature from the evil things that surround her. He ever continues to pursue her madly. Her very name means 'perfection'.


The maiden, myself, was most certainly the dainty, quiet, sweet (in every way), and most forgiving, maiden. Later was I to find this was not so (with all loving thanks to my patient husband). The malfunctions were quite so obvious until marriage happened upon the prince and princess.


Lately I have been struck ever so softly, though quite blatantly, in the face with the realities of my inward frustrations. I have found that I am completely incapable of fulfilling all of my husbands needs, and he mine. As God knows me completely (Psalm 139) and understands my every thought and emotion (I have plenty of those), then I have no need to expect Matt to do the same.


1 Chronicles 28:9-10, "And you, my son Solomon, acknowledge the God of your father, and serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind, for the LORD searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts. If you seek him, he will be found by you; but if you forsake him, he will reject you forever. Consider now, for the LORD has chosen you to build a temple as a sanctuary. Be strong and do the work."


My understanding is that my serving God at this point in my life is to serve Matt with wholehearted devotion to Christ. I am to seek my King, as He is the one who perfects my ever-arising imperfections. Marriage. *sigh*. What a wonderful gift!

{Movement, texture, reflection, and light}:

Mmm...it couldn't get more delicious. The following photographs are shot around my home and (new) hometown (Ithaca, NY).


At the farmers Market with E. and L.


A candlestick labre M. and I found at an estate sale.


From Aunt G. and daughters. Thank you.


Self portrait in our estate sale goblets/candlesticks.


Eye candy on a bookshelf.

I can't say that I've been on top of creativity lately...thus the lack in blogging! ALTHOUGH, I've discovered the 'art' of cooking and baking. Now, that's fun. Not only am I exercising my 'creative outflow', but my husband gets to enjoy the outcome...and I'm becoming a little wifey.

Either way, I'm excited about these photos as each contain an aspect about photography that I love. Movement, texture, light, and reflection. Mmm...almost as yummy as my new found recipes (ever try pumpkin sausage and pasta? YES. You want it.) {L}

{a precedent passage}

Bright warmth flows in with the fresh, brisk, autumn breeze. Settled in the sunlight sits my husband, book in hand and his feet already having retreated to his favorite leather slippers. He eventually abandoned the cup of coffee he daily delights in. Strong, Vietnamese cinnamon, black java.

In an effort to take advantage of our day off, I sit in the office looking out into our cozy, downtown apartment. Looking back into old entries never published, I found one written out of frustration and annoyance. Starting off our first few months of marriage we lived out of basements and coffee shops. My thoughts throughout the time? Read on.

"Here I am on the other side of the counter. Once a devoted barista, I have become a coffee sitter, a nomad among the many in the world of transitional stages. Do I despise my situation because I am most likely the object of annoyance to the local coffee shop owners? (many thanks to those who welcome those who create their office, living room, and rest room out of their business) I myself never looked on the sitter with disdain (as long as he made an effort to spend his coinage and to share his space with fellow paying customers). Yet, what are they thinking when every couple of hours they glance across the room to see the same table occupied by the same customer? Oh to have my own place of peace that invites me warmly home to just 'be'."

A smile creeps onto my face as I recall the stress we suffered together through many unnatural and less-than-ideal situations that Matt and I found ourselves in. Praise the Creator for His
provision of a home of rest.


.................................... [photos]


Matt in our living room, feet nestled on the coffee table and mind engaged in his book all the while the sunlight and brisk fall breeze pour through the windows



.
The view from my seat in our office all the way to the bedroom.
Charming.

....................................................................................[end photos]

P.S. To our mothers and fathers who took us in, thank you so much for making the transitions easier. We love and appreciate all that you put up with!

{a day of diffidence}

Up until this last week, I have dreaded learning the stick shift that my husband and I own. I've been pretty content letting him drive us around. That is until I found myself stuck at coffee shops for hours when I could have been running errands.

So, here is where my story begins. Matt, the handsome prince, had spent at least two sessions patiently teaching his little whiny wife. I'd done well, and then scared myself thus professing "I'm NOT driving."

Eventually the 'stuck at home' syndrome kicked in. I found myself eager...even excited to get into our little neon. My dear mother, when staying at her home, bravely got into this little bright blue car we call Buster with her daughter at the wheel. With her in command, I made stops and I started again and again...and again. She had me drive into a steep incline and back out onto the highway. By the end of our half hour session, I was feeling pretty confident. Tomorrow, I was going to drive around the neighborhood looking for garage sales. By myself.

It was a Friday. The garage door opened with its rythmic groan. One could see the smooth movement of little Buster coming out of the garage with the sun on his hood. Yup. I was feeling proud. Look at me, I thought, pretty good, eh? I pulled quickly out into the street and switched into first. I drove all around. I made stops and started up with ease. I turned, I went up little hills. I felt it. Oh, yes I did.

Soon I had my husband in the car with me. This is when I typically tend to slip up. I pulled out of the garage and he hopped in. I backed into the street and started out. "That was nearly perfect!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. I smiled humbly. We drove around and around, all the time I proved myself an excellent stick shifter.

We pulled out onto the highway to make it over to another part of town. By this time I had been driving for nearly half an hour. I slipped up. Oops! I'm okay. We're doing good. We stop at a light. Green...that means go. Nice, smooth. Good transition. Soon a bright sign advertising a garage sale appears on the left. Do I turn here? Go straight?! I decided to turn. Wait. A car. Yes, must wait. I watch a car slowly pass. I see another, but in my confidence (sorta), I pull out. 'gluh chucka gluh-KA PUH' We weren't moving. My heart poked me. I turned the key and tried again. Buster died. I felt panic overtaking me. "Matt, it died!" He sat without expression. I tried it again. And again. The car was coming. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my charming prince with his hand over his grimaced face. We're gonna die and he gives me that. I let out a "DON'T DO THAT! Matt, I'm about to cry and I don't need that!" (>>yes, ask my brothers, I can be a drama queen). Eventually I put-putted the car to the other side of the street and started to glide along the street. With a snarl and a teary face I choked out " Will YOU drive?"

I got out of the car and could feel multiple curious eyeballs on me. I marched over to the other side of the car. Matt felt terrible for me and attempted to comfort me with a hug. His stubborn little wifey just wanted in the car. I knew what this looked like. I was a girl who couldn't control her car and her emotions, and here was the rescuer hugging and reassuring her. I wasn't going to let everyone see this streaky face and broken pride. "Can I just get in?". He opened the door for me allowing me to skulk in and pout.

Here we are again. It's Sunday. And I don't want to drive. Yet, I need to be able to drive myself around when we move to New York. I'm determined that by Tuesday I will get back on the wheel.

I'm scared.


{a tribute to those involved in my experience of discipline}

>Thank you, M. for your patience. And for driving.
>Erika, my sister not only in marriage, but in the learning of the stick shift, you are an encourager.
>Praise to my Creator for protection...and for answering my prayer for humility. I might not pray that for awhile.