Just stopped in to say...

Happy birthday to my amazing husband, Aaron. You constantly surprise me with your love, kindness, and servant's heart. I am beyond blessed to walk through life with you. I hate to be away from you on your 24th, but I know we will celebrate (with Hannah!) when you get home. I love you, and I am so thankful for you. ;) 

<3- M

750 words: week 4

Dear Aaron,

You've been in Puerto Rico for 3 days and I've forgotten what this feels like -- this heavy feeling in my stomach because I had you for a good few weeks and now I miss you. It somehow feels a little different, though, because we will have our time together in Portland and then in North Carolina with our families in late December. I still can't believe that the day you left I got a spider bite and Scout couldn't stop sneeze-seizuring... it seems like every time you have to go, weirdness sets in. I wanted to tell you that I found your ancient zune charger and I've been listening to old music I forgot about. It reminds me of early college years when I used to lay in green grass and drink Mediterranean Irish coffee drinks until my stomach hurt. I put that dinosaur of a zune on shuffle and walked around the neighborhood and I just kept wishing you were with me, because every song that came on was like a dream of us listening to it years ago, before our lives changed into what they are now. Even so, it was like listening to a secret -- as if we always knew we'd be here. 

I am picking up my dad from the airport tonight and he has requested a Jalapeno Margarita first thing. I'm excited to show him our she & him Christmas record and I will flip both sides over and over in honor of you. Even though I wish you could join us, I am thrilled to spend my 24th birthday with my parents tomorrow. I promise to take pictures of outrageous moments & food if you promise to do the same and hurry home to us. 

P.S. I love you and I can't guarantee that my dad and I won't buy a VW camper while you're gone. Don't be mad, you know how it is. 

<3m

"Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground -- you can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip. Tidiness suggests that something is as good as it's going to get. Tidiness makes me think of held breath of suspended animation, while writing needs to breathe and move." -- Anne Lamott

As writers, we have to push past the fear of perfectionism and just write. If we want to become better writers, we must practice writing the kind of fiction or nonfiction we want to write. The idea behind 750 words comes from a book called The Artist's Way and the use of morning pages. Morning pages are stream of consciousness writing to exercise creativity and teach you to get in the habit of writing at least three pages a day.The idea is to clear your mind, allowing for a free flow of ideas for the rest of the day and to free yourself from getting stuck on editing or anything else that may stifle creativity.This writing is a great tool against writer's block, but I struggle with writing a quick draft and clicking publish. That's why on Wednesdays, I post at least one (part or whole) of my 750 word writing exercises from my week. I would love for you to join me! Feel free to grab the image below and post a link of your own 750 word exercise posts in the comments. Click here to see all 750 word posts.

<center><a href="http://lightbymorning.blogspot.com/search/label/750words"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/kGzsy.jpg" /></a></center>

One Year of Marriage

Dear Aaron, 

I will never forget our first Christmas together as husband and wife - sitting around the fireplace with the whole Turbeville clan, the smell of garlic and Christmas tree pine. Our bellies are full from food and laughter, and ribbons and wrapping paper lay crumpled on the floor. T-daddy and T-mama open their gifts to one another; a special Christmas moment and tradition. The attention is diverted, but my eyes can not leave your grandparents - an irresistible pull that grabs me and I can not help but see our future lives, sitting around a room full of our children and their children - arrows in the hand of a warrior our children will be; a heritage from the Lord. And I see your eyes perhaps in the newest way, knowing full and well a heart created for the other. You squeeze my hand and I swear I can feel it years from now, resting on the threshold of one life leading into another and I see your grandparents look around the room and hear the words so beautiful and clear I think they were meant for me and mine. "Look what we made," says T-mama, her hand resting on your grandfather's hand. They look into the other's eyes and I know that what they see is more precious than they ever imagined. 

It has been one year since we entered into this covenant of marriage. We have laughed and cried -  pushed the other and we have tried earnestly to seek God's face even when we fail. The joy that abounds because of what the Lord has given me in a husband has made me understand thankfulness and grace in a way I never thought possible. I love you immensely, in overwhelming amounts. Thank you for being my best friend, and for continuing to love me without ceasing on this adventure. I pray one day, if in His plan, the Lord will allow us to look around a room full of his people and say, "look what we made." 

Happy one year anniversary, sweetheart, and many more to come.

<3M

Marriage Letters: If ever two were one, then surely we

Dear Aaron,

I tried to mow the lawn with that push mower and I think I broke it. Is it really possible that two loose screws can stop that hunk of plastic to move? Those weeds near the back patio just keep rising; they twist and shoot out of this dry Texas earth like jutted limbs - alive and ready to devour - reminding me of their purpose to kill anything that is growing.

I promise myself that I will let walks become therapeutic... so it must mean something that I'm becoming a part-time dog walker. You would laugh if you saw me - skinny arms extended, white knuckles grasping after a leash and a hefty dog pulling me along like it's his job. Even still, when those pink tongues flail like fish out of water and the leash loosens because we are both tired of fighting, I look up at the cave of trees above me - folded hands granting me shade and clarity. We picked the prettiest street on the block.

I am learning to trust more: Our sovereign God, the spider in the bathroom that I can't muster up the confidence to kill, Zoey with our mail when I go to the grocery store. She still runs to the window - tail wagging - whenever she hears a motorcycle drive by... not when it's whizzing down our street, but when the engine makes a slow, low roar and comes to a stop. She keeps me going when it's time for bed and I'm satisfied to fall asleep on the couch because our bed is too big without you.

I am missing you something fierce and I promise I am fighting to be the kind of wife I want to be to the kind of husband that is away and working hard for our family. It is harder in quiet moments, when I feel empty here. I had to throw away bananas again, and I won't buy them again until you come back.

But sweet love, there is always a silver lining. I was listening to this song in the middle of the day when I noticed that our window has the best view and the deafening sound of rain can drown out everything else. I was overcome with a sense of comfort, safety. How He draws me in! His irresistible love pierces me, and I pine after you, because "if ever two were one, then surely we."

The easiest way to kill weeds is to keep them from gaining a foothold. If I can't stop them in my yard, I intend to rid them in my heart. 

loving and missing you, 

<3M





The Weed

I dreamed that dead, and meditating,
I lay upon a grave, or bed,
(at least, some cold and close-built bower).
In the cold heart, its final thought
stood frozen, drawn immense and clear,
stiff and idle as I was there;
and we remained unchanged together
for a year, a minute, an hour.
Suddenly there was a motion,
as startling, there, to every sense
as an explosion. Then it dropped
to insistent, cautious creeping
in the region of the heart,
prodding me from desperate sleep.
I raised my head. A slight young weed
had pushed up through the heart and its
green head was nodding on the breast.
(All this was in the dark.)
It grew an inch like a blade of grass;
next, one leaf shot out of its side
a twisting, waving flag, and then
two leaves moved like a semaphore.
The stem grew thick. The nervous roots
reached to each side; the graceful head
changed its position mysteriously,
since there was neither sun nor moon
to catch its young attention.
The rooted heart began to change
(not beat) and then it split apart
and from it broke a flood of water.
Two rivers glanced off from the sides,
one to the right, one to the left,
two rushing, half-clear streams,
(the ribs made of them two cascades)
which assuredly, smooth as glass,
went off through the fine black grains of earth.
The weed was almost swept away;
it struggled with its leaves,
lifting them fringed with heavy drops.
A few drops fell upon my face
and in my eyes, so I could see
(or, in that black place, thought I saw)
that each drop contained a light,
a small, illuminated scene;
the weed-deflected stream was made
itself of racing images.
(As if a river should carry all
the scenes that it had once reflected
shut in its waters, and not floating
on momentary surfaces.)
The weed stood in the severed heart.
"What are you doing there?" I asked.
It lifted its head all dripping wet
(with my own thoughts?)
and answered then: "I grow," it said,
"but to divide your heart again." 

Elizabeth Bishop

to the barefoot boy

To my husband, 

who decided to go without shoes this week, 

who can fly a kite higher than anyone else, 

who walks the puppy in the rain, 

and who will always bring me chocolate in exchange for kisses... 

I love you, and I am so proud of your accomplishments. 

congratulations, my engineer. 

"Nothing moves a woman so deeply as the boyhood of the man she loves."

- Annie Dillard

breakfast at the Farmer's Market...

Magic

                                                 Early Morning at Camp Greystone

                                             the rain is spilling out over this tin roof

                                             and we are underneath blankets and

                                             wooden beams that stretch wide and low

                                             you walk across ancient floors to start that fire

                                             we've been waiting for

                                             and when I see you - 

                                             hound by your side as you crinkle paper, 

                                             I know that you don't keep anything from me.

                                             the flame rises with pockets of blue - 

                                             crackles and smooths out, 

                                             leaping to life with the echo of thunder.

                                             the light grows with the watercolor egg sky, 

                                             and we remember just how many secrets of God

                                             lay bare beyond this submarine window.

** Just Write **

Marriage Letters: Opposites Attract

Aaron,

I don't tuck the sheets into the corners of the mattress the way you do, but I am tucking away those moments we want to preserve, smooth out, and grow from. I am continually surprised by how you draw me in. Sometimes when you are asleep and the black room takes on shapes that make me blink in the dark, I turn to you and put my hand on your heart. How is it that you are always warm? 

From the beginning of this You and Me Story, you have always been warm. We are different in every sense of the word. You see the world in puzzles and you figure out how things work. You desire to know the intricate processes and works of His fingers and you let your mind dive into that mess of wonder. You are order, I am chaos. I see this world in deep pools of unknowns that I don't dare to explore. I don't know how the television works and I will never understand why we have two remotes. I will always resort to hitting technology instead of figuring out a solution. 

From day 1, I have been captured by your adventure seeking heart. You know me, and you know that I hate to get in the ocean until I am shoulder deep, lips purple, feet pumping and I am smiling in gulps of salt water, pitifully floating toward you, my anchor. You hear me on my dark days when I cannot move from the couch; you come home, do the dishes, and put me to bed. You remind me that tomorrow is new. You remind me of His faithfulness and that He rejoices and delights in those little feats, those little celebrations and obstacles overcome that bring Him glory in the every day. 

Thinking about our move to Houston in June is hard. I am reminded of your coming absence during those long training months, especially when I can't open jars or motivate myself to be diligent and efficient with my time, to be joyful. But you know better. You know it will be good for us, that it will be good for me. 

I love our secret world meetings, our cold walks, and that you prepare food fit for kings when I would be happy eating hard rice. I'm glad you bought that Bon Iver record and that you make me eat at the table like a big girl. I will always love that you don't settle for living a life wasted, that you have a reverence for the Holy One that humbles me on all sides. When my words are harsh and emotionally splattered every where, you pick up the pieces of my rattled mind and you are voice of reason. You are level headed, gentle in heart, and strong enough to sling me over your shoulder when I am silly. I love that we play, and that I can be stupid and make you laugh when you're serious. 

I don't know what it is that makes your eyes soften, but you are the best at making me feel lovely, desired, and capable of doing and being whatever it is I am called to do and be. Please know, sweet love, that I am falling more in love with you every day, even as we become new individuals, different than who we were. 

If you like it freezing cold in the apartment, I will wear socks to sleep every night for the rest of my life. 

Happy six monthiversary, my sweet Husband. 

Love, 

Mollie

** Linking up with Amber Haines: Marriage Letters | The Run a Muck **