1,461 Days of Election

November 8, 2016

Today is “Election Day.”

For some people, that means nothing. The controversy and insanity of this election has already brought so much disunity and chaos into the world that some have given up on politics altogether. The system is so broken and beyond repair that it’s not even worth trying to fix.

For others, this is a very scary election because both options seem terrible so no matter who gets voted in, we’re doomed.

Others have chosen one side firmly and are perfectly confident in their decision.

But let’s forget all of that for a minute.

The reality is that regardless of who gets nominated today, the majority of us will go on living our day-to-day lives. Obviously there will be policy changes that will affect and change things, but that is not what I’m referring to. I’m not talking about the decisions we make on paper, on our ballots. I’m talking about the little, unconscious decisions we make every single day that determine our character.

I’m talking about who we are.

The words we speak. The way we spend our free time. The way we spend our money. The things we do when no one is watching. How we treat people.

Who we are in real life.

We are so quick to sit back and point at political figures. They get all of the blame for the areas we’d like to see change in.

What we are missing completely is the power of the day-to-day.

Of our day-to-day.

The decisions that we make over and over again. The habit-forming choices we make to subconsciously become the humans (and therefore, society) that we have become.

We know hate so well in our world today because of who we are on a micro level – who we are to our spouses, our kids, our co workers, the cashier at the grocery store, people of different skin colors and backgrounds, orphans, widows, the poor.

We know racism so well today because of the selfish pretenses we have created to protect “me and my own.”

We know violence so well today because we don’t know how to love our enemies; rather, we aren’t even concerned with loving our enemies. We want revenge, we want what’s ours, we want what we “deserve,” we want it now.

We are all guilty of it. I don’t care what political party you associate with – we all fall short of the ideal humanity that we long to see.

Every human has the exact same responsibility. And that responsibility is not dependent on your political status, your ethnicity, or where your citizenship is. If you are a human, your duty is to love. That is what you were created to do.

Underneath each of our outer shells of put-togetherness, there is a deeply flawed human in need of grace.

Underneath that frail layer of human flesh, there is a soul that was very carefully and beautifully made in the image of a loving God who cares deeply for them – just as much as he cares about you.

If we would take the few extra seconds to remember that with every human encounter we had in a day, including the people all around the world that we encounter indirectly with the little decisions we make, I wonder how that would change how we respond to people.

I wonder how that would bring true change in our world as a whole.

The only way we will know this as a reality and not just an idea is if we choose to be the types of people to actually show grace in those small moments of our lives.

The types of people to actively choose selflessness in the small areas of our lives that form the selfish habits that make us selfish people.

So vote, yes. Absolutely vote. That is a right, a privilege, and a responsibility that we certainly should not take for granted or count as lost.

But vote every day with your heart, mind, and body, not just once every four years with your ballot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday Morning Madness

The faint melody of my alarm clock slowly brings me out of my glorious rem cycle, letting me know a new day has arrived. If I recall, my clock read 11:44pm as I finally drifted off to sleep last night, warranting a few more “snoozes” than usual before my feet actually hit the floor.

Sunday morning.

I make my way to the kitchen, flick the coffee pot on, pour a cup, and cozy up on the couch for a few minutes of quiet before the beautiful chaos of our get-to-church-on-time routine.

{The very fact that it is Sunday means every detail possible will work against our effort to actually get out the door on time.}

Now it is Lucy’s turn to slowly moan her way out of her glorious rem cycle until her moaning becomes “MAMAMAMA!”

The day begins.

I open the door to her room and see her happy little morning self. I’m reminded to savor these small, in-between moments.

{Breathe it in. Before the commotion of the next 45 minutes, take this moment in. Don’t miss it.}

Scrambling eggs to the chorus of crying because Lucy is suddenly convinced that she is starving to death. Slicing oranges into tiny, non-chokable-sized bites as fast as I possibly can. Before I can get her food on her tray, the now hangry (yes, hangry) cry quickly becomes: “Rldrldrldrldrldrld!!!” {MILK PLEASE}

All at once.

{25 minutes to go time. Oh, and I’m still in my pjs.}

Brush my teeth. Deodorant. Makeup. Clothes. Hair (Kind of).

{Negative 5 minutes to go time.}

Lucy’s sticky face. Poopy Diaper. Her church clothes that I forgot to lay out last night. Grab her beanie because there’s no time to rummage through her bows.

Nate grabs Lucy, I grab the diaper bag, and we are finally out the door.

~Sunday morning, ya’ll~

Just as we pull into the church parking lot, I realize I somehow forgot to eat breakfast. Nate parks while I grab a muffin from a nearby cafe and we both barely make it inside just in time for worship to start.

The worship team invites us all to stand as we worship Jesus together this morning.

I close my eyes, my sweet husband standing next to me holding little Lucy girl in his arms, the quiet hum of my fellow brothers and sisters singing along with me.. This is grace.

I am blessed.

{Another small, beautiful moment – breathe it in.}

We sit down and the sermon begins. Ten minutes in, and Lucy’s already bored with every item in her diaper bag. Here we go.

I look to my left and I see another mama also telling her little girl, Lucy’s age, not to make loud, spitty noises with her tongue.

Then there’s the embarrassed mama in the balcony who, in trying to entertain her toddler, accidentally flings several napkins down onto the ground-level folks.

It is here where I am overwhelmed with the gracious reminder that I am not alone. None of us are. We are all in this together – this beautifully messy Sunday morning routine. This routine where we gather from all different backgrounds to remind each other why we endure the day-to-day grind that is life. It is here where we remember how worth it it all is.

Remember today that it’s worth it. You were made for this.

Your heart is what Jesus is after. Never give into the temptation of believing that perfection is the end goal. You will be terribly disappointed and robbed of so much joy along the way.

Instead, embrace it – all of it. None of your shortcomings are too much to entrust to Jesus.

May your trust in his constant presence empower you to press on, facing each day {including Sunday mornings} with confidence.

Your strength is not your own, but that which flows from the perfect, forgiving, unconditional love of Jesus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All the Colors of Fall

fall-3Orange, yellow, brown, green – sometimes all at once.

The leaves – oh, the leaves.

Pumpkins.

Cinnamon Sticks.

Squash of all kinds and colors: butternut, acorn, pumpkin.

Cider, coffee, tea.. any warm beverage, really.

Yummy, autumn-scented candles.

Blustery, rainy days spent cozied up inside.

Sunny days that bring all of the beautiful colors of fall to life.fall-2

Or both at once. Cause it’s fall, and “inconsistency” is fall’s weather forecast.

Good books.

Crafts & projects.

Baking.

Anything and everything pumpkin: bread, pie, soup, coffee {Yes.. coffee gets counted again. Because I’m that excited about my new Pumpkin Spice blend I’ve recently discovered.}

Ah, yes, and soup. {Yep, soup gets counted again too. Just cause.. well, it’s soup.} The comforting warmth of soup on a chilly, fall day. I’ve recently spent more hours than I’m willing to admit on Pinterest stalking up on my soup recipes for the coming months.

And finally, running in the rain.

{This is one I dreaded until I tried it. But sometimes, what makes us stronger is facing the very things that we dread. There is something truly healing about being bold and fearless and running into the storm with full confidence. About the rush of physically pushing yourself beyond what you think you are capable of. It’s a powerful image of real life, and how approaching the inevitable obstacles and challenges of life are much like approaching a long run in the pouring-down-rain. It seems impossible and not fun in the least, at times. But coming out on the other side stronger than if you’d never tried at all – that’s not something you regret. Not to mention all of the beauty along the way that you don’t see if you choose not to run at all.}

Yes, sometimes we need to get drenched in the rain.

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Fall. So much to love.

But my ultimate love for fall is that it embodies the beauty of each season in one. Both literally and figuratively, seasons exist in life. We need them all for the world to keep spinning. Each of them gives some sort of unique touch to the fullness of the human experience. Some seasons are harder, while others seem easier. But it is when we learn to be content in the One who created the seasons that we find beauty in each one, regardless of what they bring.

 

Laying Down Perfection

“You have said, ‘Seek my face.’ My heart says to you, ‘Your face, LORD, do I seek.’ ” -Psalm 27:8

The simplicity of this verse stills my soul. All of my lofty goals and ambitions are suddenly laid to rest.

“Seek my face.”

All you desire is for me to seek your face.

To dwell with you.

Here.

Now.

You desire my honesty. My raw self.

It is here where I am able to find real life. Where I find my worth. Where I find what determines my joy, my peace. Where striving ceases and your restful yoke of grace and strength for this present hour is placed on my shoulders.

Yes, Lord. You desire me – the “now” me.

Because the “now” me is where you find the hungriest version of me. The me who doesn’t have the answers and is so desperate for you that all pretenses and obstacles in your way of getting through to me are torn down.

This is real purity – because this is where I understand what it really means to hunger and thirst for righteousness. After all, that is what you’ve called me to do – it is all you’ve called me to do. You say it is when I hunger and thirst for you that I will inherit your kingdom and live with you forever. And I cannot hunger and thirst for you if my soul is quenched with my own false idea of achievement and success.

So, for now and for always, “Your face, LORD, do I seek.”

I will hunger.

I will thirst.

I will choose to set my face towards yours and find my rest.

 

 

The History of Yesterday

I feel you reminding me over and over this morning to shake off yesterday and embrace this new day. You tell me the great potential of today is at stake if I keep running in the circles of yesterday.

But it’s difficult to accept such grace and to fathom that you give me a new, clean slate each day.

Just like that. Despite all that was yesterday. But why? Why is it so incredibly difficult to be given something so beautiful?

The reality is that the fleeting, deceitful, human heart is wired to receive love in the only way it understands love – which is, unfortunately, the way that we then love others. We do not love others in the perfect, patient, understanding way that you love us – at least not unconditionally. We love selfishly for the sake of what we get out of it, if we’re honest. We love with ulterior motives. Therefore, when you love me perfectly, I cannot comprehend such a thing because I have not yet attained the capacity to love like that myself.

It baffles me. It takes unlearning wrong habits of loving incorrectly in order to receive your love. And that takes a lot of humility.

The love I know how to give tells me that in order to receive love, particularly on my worst days, I’ve got more to earn back and make up for than what grace can cover.

But that’s a lie. Your love has never been earned by anyone since the beginning of time. Because there was never anything to earn in the first place, just growth to be had.

And growth is hard. It is not something that takes place from understanding something in our heads, but from putting into practice what we learn and understand in our heads. It is so much easier to read an amazing book about love than it is to consider the interest and comfort of another human being more highly than our own.

But that is love. And it is worth it. Because in the mangled, difficult, embarrassingly-humbling-at-times process of growth and love, we are becoming more like you.

It is in this process of learning to be loved by you and showered with your grace that we then are able to love others better. And more importantly, to know you better, love you more deeply, and walk with you more intimately. Which was your plan for humanity from the start – that we may dwell with you.

Thank you that yesterday is now history. Not something to be forgotten, but something to learn from.

{History for humanity is sort of like fire for metal. It refines us. It allows us to leave behind the dross of our character so that we may be edified into a far more beautiful version of ourselves. It removes the impurities that keep us from reaching our goal of knowing and loving you better.}

Yes. Yes, today is new.

 

 

Refuge: A Condition of Being Safe

What a privilege it is to take refuge in you, Lord.

What a blessing – in the deepest meaning of the word – to know that you are fully worthy of my trust. That the act of placing my confidence in you means letting go.

Letting go of worry.

Letting go of insecurity.

Letting go of anxiety.

Letting go of control.

I can do that because the reality is that all of life is experienced with you. You are always present. Though my fickle human heart deceives me at times, you are never far away. Though the voice of shame booms that I’ve crossed the line one too many times, that you’ve finally had enough and have turned your back, you tell me otherwise.

If only I would listen.

You always love. You always hear – and not just hear, but listen.

You know me far better than I know myself. And you are far more worthy of the trust I often place in myself.

Yes, yes you are good, Father.

You are quick to forgive me, always. You never hesitate to gently re-direct my steps back towards your arms of love and away from my own pursuit of destruction and death.

Your desire for me is good. Though the evil of my human heart is still a present reality, one that I fight against daily (sometimes hourly), your goodness still reigns.

Because goodness means knowing your joy and grace wherever I am.

It is because of this constant state of knowing and being with you that I am able to let go of trying to be good enough and accept your promise that you will not turn your back.

Yes, I belong to you. I am yours.

I will take refuge in you.

I will rejoice.

I will ever sing for joy.

 

 

Me and My Daughter, My Daughter and Me

 

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It’s quiet this morning. I see the ocean through the small window from this cozy rocking chair. I breath in, sip my coffee, and exhale, remembering the not-so-quiet giggles and splashes and rigid chill of that same ocean water from yesterday afternoon.

Her tiny, tiny toes cringe every time I lower her enough to touch the wet sand.

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She bends down and decides she wants to feel that muddy sand in her curious, tiny fingertips. She looks up at me, both bewildered and excited at such a thing.

Her relentless “happy” feet and legs are especially “happy” with every wave that approaches and crashes over our ankles – sometimes even our knees, if the waves are big enough.

Me and my daughter. My daughter and me.

For a split second, I lose all sight of the age separation that at times makes me feel more like a babysitter to this one year old than her mother.

For a split second, I catch a heavenly glimpse from God’s lens of perfect reality, of truth.

For a split second, there is no concept of my task-oriented closed-mindedness that often makes the day-to-day seem monotonous or exhausting or frustrating or full of failure, as a mom of an almost toddler.

You see {I write this through wet, glass eyes}, I am simply with my daughter.

Me and my daughter. My daughter and me.

I am in her world, she is in mine. We are together; sharing an experience together; enjoying each other – neither of us wanting it to be over.

No, I am no babysitter today.

I am a mother.

This is life – real, true, life-giving life.

{Which, although sounds redundant, is immensely refreshing. Because if we are honest with ourselves, life is not always life-giving.}

The reality that a de-sanding bath is imminent – for us both – or that her dinner/bedtime routine is rapidly approaching, or that we have no towel to wrap up, dry off, and warm up in is not relevant at all.

To either of us.

We are just two girls having fun.

{We are drenched – and this water is COLD; not to mention the fact that I had no intention of needing a towel at all. I was maybe prepared to dip my toes in the water, but the thought of any more than that stressed me way out. What a mess. That kind of cleanup is too much for my infamously obsessive to-do list. I’m way too good of a planner-aheader for that…

But this is unplanned. It goes against every grain of a to-do list.

This, is beautiful.

Once again in life, unplanned events act as great teachers. And this event, in particular, is a very gracious teacher. This is another life-giving life experience – when we are taught graciously, rather than having to learn the hard way. These are the rare lessons. The fun, undeserved, pleasantly unexpected rare lessons where the Lord lavishes grace for no reason other than love.}

And yet, in the midst of all of this, I am simultaneously overwhelmed with the most intense, protective rush I have experienced in my 13 months and 1 day of being a mama. My subconscious, Mama Bear death grip on her in my arms is the only barrier between me walking her safely back to the house and her getting swept out into the daunting power of that massive – beautiful and majestic, but daunting and powerful, nonetheless – body of water.

Holy Cow. I’m trying to take it all in. It seems impossible. I don’t want this to end, this feeling.

This joy.

This bliss.

This lack of comprehension of all the brokenness that is life, at times, on this side of Heaven.

And it isn’t a feeling of fear, this feeling I feel. More of beautiful, privileged responsibility.

But she has not one speck of comprehension of any of that.

All she can see is the next wave approaching and “I better start kicking now so Mommy swings me in the water again!”

For the hundredth time. And let me tell you, I could do it a thousand more.

And to think that this perspective, this protective love, this enthralling joy, this passion for another, for a child, is God’s constant – not split-second-come-and-go – view of us, makes me speechless.

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Upside Down Power

Of all people, Jesus had every right to not live as a servant, to choose self-righteous living – He was God, for goodness sake.

But he didn’t.

He was (is) the one who deserved to be served and honored, but he took every opportunity to serve and honor others. He used the great power and authority as the one true God of all the earth, in the form of a man, and surrendered it.

He laid it down.

He became humble {not in the sense that he was not already humble-for he was God-but in the sense that he portrayed beautifully what it looks like to correct the misconception of power from self-serving dictatorship into servant-like humility}.

Why would he do such a thing?

We common folk demand more than that in our day to day lives, let alone him. A king. The one true King. King of all Creation.

He lived this way to show the world how to be human-fully human. In every sense of what God intended when he made humans – us – in his image.

[This is what we fail to realize. Humans are not the dominant species. God existed before we did and saw fit that we should exist. So he created us. In doing so, God lowered his form of existence.

Let us baffle at that thought for a moment.. apart from him, we are merely dust.

We are not the kings and queens of the world. We are servants of the Most High. We are advocates of the one true King, loving the things he loves and hating the things he hates to exemplify and usher in his kingdom until he comes back rectify it fully.

And that is an honorable responsibility, if we choose to humble ourselves and accept it.

But society today is appalled at the idea of being servants to anything – and rightfully so. We have corrupted the beautiful privilege of servanthood and the meaning of authority into something negative and demeaning. In our petty human kingdoms that we have created and have so struggled to sustain well, we have forgotten the original intention of God in the garden – where he reigned, and we obeyed.

You see, we humans have forgotten the meaning and beauty of submission because we have taken advantage of and ruined the power we were originally given.

Yes, we were given charge of Creation to rule and reign until he returns to set things right. But every ounce of power we humans are given is to be submitted to the reign of the One who has given us authority over this world that we live in. And friends, if we are honest with ourselves, what is our idea of what it means to reign over anything? Of what it means to obtain power and establish justice? Does it really match that of Jesus? Do we really side with those whom Jesus sided (still sides) with? Do we really look much like him, at all?]

{Sorry. That was a long sidenote. But really.}

Jesus chose servanthood in order to show us, his followers, how to love one another with the love of his Father-of our Father. He willfully chose not to exercise the upper hand at times when it would have gone much better and easier for him to do so.

But he was not concerned with what was easy.

He was concerned with love.

He was concerned with others.

He was concerned with lepers, who never knew love or acceptance before they encountered Jesus.

He was concerned with the poor.

He was concerned with forgiveness (and no, not only those who sought forgiveness. But even, and especially, those who were against him completely. His enemies.)

He was concerned with grace.

He was concerned with empathy, with putting the comfort and benefit of others before our own.

He was concerned with humility.

If we truly stop and take a deep, long look at the life of Jesus – all that he said, did, and interceded on behalf of – we see a different kind of power than what we encourage and seek for our own lives.

In simple terms, Jesus was concerned with the Kingdom of God.

Are we?

 

 

 

Medicine for the Soul

Chicken broth, saltines, lysol, load after load of laundry, cuddles, and lots of coffee have consumed my to-do list the last two days. And by “consumed” I mean “replaced.”

{You guessed it: the dreaded tummy bug. We experienced our first case of sickness with a little one in our household.}

Now, if you know me, you probably know that I panicked – big time – because of my ridiculous phobia of throwing up. I will do just about anything to avoid it at all costs – both, being around it and/or experiencing it myself. So when I saw the body heave make its way up her little body into a gag and witnessed her lunch making a second entrance all over her and her high chair, I knew this was something I had to get over.

Fast.

Not just because I was the mom and was responsible on a practical level, but who was I to think more of my own selfish fear than of my child? I was the one she was looking to, both, for help and for comfort. And she was the sick, helpless, confused little one – the one actually in need of help. She needed her mama, and she needed her to be strong.

After that reality check, I still kept trying to convince myself that the episode was probably just a result of eating too fast or too much, or that maybe she was allergic to something and that she’d be fine as long as she didn’t eat it again. I quickly realized none of that was the case when she couldn’t keep anything down the rest of the day.

Panic continued to seep in.

How would I hydrate her?

At what point do I take her to the emergency room?

Oh no.. she’s crying and there are no tears. SIGN OF DEHYDRATION! My brain was like 10 fire alarms going off at once. The really loud, well, alarming ones.

Google became my best friend that afternoon. I was on it like throw up on Lucy’s carseat.

{Yes, that happened. And yes, it got in every possible crevice and buckle and strap and fold of fabric. And yes, I still go everywhere with Lysol wipes, continuing to clean it like a germaphobe. Even though it’s clean now.}

Finally, realizing she was exhausted and that she seemed fine for hours at a time as long as she wasn’t consuming anything, and that she was acting pretty okay, I gave her a bath and put her to bed.

Despite my anxious anticipation of spending the entire night holding a barf bucket, cleaning linens, and going to the ER with a severely dehydrated baby {worrier, much?}, apparently the worst was actually already over and she slept all night.

“Praise the Lord!” I thought. That wasn’t so bad, after all.

The next morning she had her 12 month check up. I figured that would be perfect because any mom can testify that hearing from a doctor that your child looks well is the most beautiful music to your ears in times of sickness. Especially because {and first time moms specifically can testify to this} our minds have the capacity to turn any sickness, even tiny ones, into deathly diseases.

But the doc wasn’t concerned in the slightest. My mama’s heart beamed with relief.

The only downside to this doctors’ visit was that Lucy was due for her 12 month vaccines.

{Definitely a blessing in the long run; In the big picture, I am so thankful for the wisdom and medical intervention we have today that can enrich the quality of life by preventing terrible life-long and/or life threatening diseases. Diseases much, much worse than the common tummy bug}.

We figured she’d be okay, though. After all, she’d handled all her shots before like a champ. The only side affect she’d ever experienced was sleepiness.

“Well perfect!” I thought. “A little extra rest is the perfect recipe for her continued recovery, anyway.”

Not so much.

That night, she was the fussiest I’d seen her. Nothing could appease her. After I put her to bed, she fussed and fussed all the way until around midnight before finally falling asleep. It was a long night. Even though I was reassured that it was a common side affect of immunizations, my exhaustion had taken over my conscience at this point and had stolen all of my peace of mind.

Even though the tylenol took a while to kick in, Lucy finally ended up falling asleep.

As I reflect this morning over the last couple of days, I feel gratitude slowly overtaking me for the really sweet moments this little rough patch brought our family.

I got to rock my sweet baby and sing to her while she laid completely still in my arms, letting me gently tickle her legs and hold her close. She never does that {the girl loves her bed}.

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I got to watch her and my husband have an absolute ball for hours building George the Cat a house with legos so I could catch up on lysol-ing and laundry. {There were moments when watching them together captivated my attention far more than a clean kitchen or bathroom did.}

I was too tired to get up before 7am this morning, so she haFullSizeRenderd her morning bottle in our bed and I got some extra morning snuggles with her and my hubby.

 

Sure, there were definitely moments of total exhaustion in between and just wanting my routine as I knew it to be back to normal. My task-oriented-self wasn’t too happy about the abolishment of the “to do” list, at first.

But those moments of exhaustion and anxiety were actually a really, really small part of my recollection of it all. My life and perspective on what love truly means was deeply enriched by all those precious, in-between moments. While being “productive” can be helpful and essential, there are also some other essential experiences for the well-being of the soul that we just cannot schedule.

Not being at all in control of the series of events in my household these last couple days have opened my eyes to true fulfillment. The hard parts of life that I constantly try to avoid with my “to do” list are often the very ones that I need to learn from. Difficult situations are not a sign that the world is ending; they are opportunities to love harder, trust Him more, and learn all you can so that when those difficult situations approach next time, your joy is able to grow stronger, not be destroyed. That kind of joy is where fulfillment is found.

 

 

 

The Fifth Season

One of the things I love most about summer is going for a walk in the early hours of the morning as the sun is coming up.

The air is crisp, but not cold. The sky is gorgeous; unique shades of gray, orange, purple, yellow – the color of sunrise. My mind is clear, not yet cluttered by any worries, anxieties, or to-do lists.

But the smells.. the smells are my favorite.

I do the same route every day – through the same neighborhoods, passed the same houses, looking at the same beautiful landscape and flowers that remind me what a brilliant Creator we have. I know this route well, so I can anticipate what smell goes with what house as I pass by.

I walk by one house and I smell wintergreen. Suddenly I’m 9 years old, sitting at my Gigi’s kitchen table on this beautiful sunny morning. I’m sipping coffee (I have her to thank for my love for coffee) out of my favorite of all the coffee mugs in her cupboard. It’s the blue one with balloons that reads “Happy Birthday” in multi-colored font. I’m not sure why that one was always my favorite; probably because my favorite color is blue. She always used french vanilla creamer, so I did too. We are reading the paper together (for me, this means looking at the weather, the movie section, and the two or three words I am able to fill in the cross word before giving up).

I walk by another house and I smell beautiful roses. Just like that, I’m 17 again and it’s my junior year of high school. I walk passed the entry way, where the front door is wide open because my mama opened it when she got home from the gym. Summer mornings were beautifully still and perfect in our neighborhood. This was the year I began getting up 30 minutes earlier than usual so we could drink coffee and catch up before we each started our day, since we didn’t get a chance to do that the night before because dance ran long. To this day, we still text, talk on the phone, or FaceTime almost every single morning at this time.

I walk by another house and somehow, at 6:30am, I smell banana-flavored shaved ice. {I realize this one is probably way off and that what I’m probably smelling is banana bread, or something more appropriate for this time of day.} But nonetheless, my nose has convinced me that I’m 4 years old. My dad and I are getting back to our little house on Calder Court after going out for shaved ice. His was yellow; he got banana. Mine was blue; I got bubble-gum mixed with cotton candy. I remember this time specifically because I dropped mine, so he gave me his. This was something we did often in the summertime.

I know when fall rolls around, I’ll be drooling and babbling about all the beauty I see and love in that season, too. I’ll be realistic and not get caught up in the moment – fall and winter are hands down my favorite seasons.

But there’s something about summer mornings. It’s almost as if they have their very own fifth season.

In my world, they do.