Home

I love to write. But sometimes, like this last year, my desire lies dorment for many months. I read a beautiful essay written my one of my favorite bloggers - CJane Kendrick, and suddenly, just like that, the need to write came to a boiling point and spilled over, until here I am - my fingers tapping furiously to keep up with my thoughts.

It is almost one year to the date that we moved into our snug apartment on Ida Lane. For a few days, I cried for the loss of my little red brick house - and the memories made there. I stood in the entrance to my living room on the day I locked the door, and handed over the keys. Staring at an empty room, I could almost hear Avonlea cooing in her swing, Rory waddling down the hallway as she took her first steps, chili bubbling on the stove, and laughter of friends as they came and went. This space had housed joy beyond my wildest dreams. During the last 6 months it also made room for my deepest, most personal sorrows. So deep and so raw, that I didn't believe the human heart had the capacity to house it.

  You see, the places we live breathe real with the life they hold, and as I stepped foot onto Ida Lane, it felt lifeless and cold. My only consolation being the two precious, warm hands that I held as I walked across the threshold. After a week of mourning our Amaryllis house, I put my shoulders back, and began to look up again. And with that decision, I started to notice things... Rory and Avonlea running up and down the hall pretending to be fairies being chased by a fire breathing dragon. Piling all of the pillows on the floor by the sofa and taking great leaps into them like a lake of cotton balls. Laying out my scriptures and favorite books on the kitchen table and devouring with an unsatiable hunger. Taking long baths in the red claw foot tub. Nights of snuggling, and falling asleep together on the couch. Hours of time spent making memories was adding up to something tangible and significant.

One summer evening in July, we walked in the door after an exhausting day of summer play, when Rory proudly exclaimed "Home Sweet Home!" And just like that, it happened. This WAS home. I've discovered that cliche's are that for a reason...they're true. That being said I can comfortably declare that "Home is wherever I'm with you."

Seasons

I love the changing of the seasons.

It's magical... the natural cycles of this beautiful world. Always changing. Always growing. Green leaves once strong and filled with life, slowly wither, turning brown and crumbly, falling to the Earth. And my favorite...after a long winter, tiny new buds begin to spring forth. A beautiful testament to natures ability to shed the life that has grown old with use, and start anew.

So are humans. One of the most significant lessons I have learned in the last year of my life is how great the triumph of the human spirit is, and it's God given ability to overcome. How small is our understanding of our own strength. How great is God's ability to work miracles in us! Many times these are miracles within the soul that only the the receiver can feel.

The summer of 2011 was a blur of agony for me. When I think back, all I can remember is heat, and pain.The swamp cooler in our home was having trouble working right, and consequently that summer was filled with sweating, and tears. Endless tears. There were so many afternoon's sitting by the baby pool at my mom's home, watching my girls splash, and giggle. It used to be one of my favorite summer pastimes...dangling my feet in the water, and enjoying the summer heat on my white skin. Not this summer. Those images of my sweet little one's were so very tainted with the fresh pain of my open wound. One night in particular, I lay on my couch in my underwear, trying to get some relief from the heat. The hum of the swamp cooler in the background. I had cried so long and hard that day that my eyes were literally swollen shut...throbbing and painful to the touch. I lay with a wet washcloth over my eyes, trying to soothe the hurt. The water dripping down the sides of my face like tears. I prayed. I prayed with all the energy of my soul. I prayed that this season of my life would come to a close, and that I would be able to find relief.

And then...something started changing for me in September. I was forced to let go the hope of my situation changing. I thought it would be so hard to do. It wasn't. It was liberating, strengthening, and downright beautiful. In letting go of the hope of my family mending, I was able to grasp the very real hope of healing. I distinctly remember an evening in early October. I was rocking Avonlea to sleep in her room. I had left the window cracked to let in the crisp air earlier in the day and had forgotten to close it. I rocked with my sweet baby in my arms, and listened to the loud howling of the cool October wind, the white Winnie The Pooh curtain waving back and forth like a flag. Then something rather magical happened. I could literally feel that wind breathing new life into my lungs. I breathed in deep, allowing the sweet scent of fall to fill my nostrils, and a voice in my mind said..."It's time." It was time to start living again. I had cried, and sweat out my sorrows enough to fill a large swimming pool, and it was time to dry up...and move forward. I kissed sweet little Avi and layed her in her crib, she didn't protest for a moment, she just watched me with her inquisitive little eyes and slowly closed them. As I climbed into my bed I could here Rory's soft, sweet snoring...that peaceful sound lulled me into the deepest sleep I'd had in four months.

The next day was cold, and I stood outside without a coat, letting little ice crystals collect on my skin, and enjoying every moment of it. I turned my face to the sky, and whispered one of the most simple and sincere prayers of my life "Thank you".

My heart got sewn back together in October...and I will forever love it for that.

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Yesterday morning as I was walking up the hill to my work building, hot chocolate warming my cold fingers - I reminisced on the beauty of change. My building is snuggled right against the East mountains...Big Cottonwood Canyon a short walk away. I could see the snow melting off the lower sections, and could almost taste the honeysuckle in the air from the trees surrounding me. I love witnessing the transition from winter to spring. My heart was swollen inside me, overcome with gratitude to God for just how far I've come. It's in these quiet moments that I can feel Him speaking to me....in the sun beating furiously upon me, in the wind through my window, in the quiet snoring of my baby girl, in the snowy crystals melting on my face, and now...in the beautiful trees along this quiet walkway.

They...like me, are just beginning to blossom.