Twenty-six, Twenty-seven


It's over; because today my days measure twenty-seven years.

Oh twenty-seven, I have no expectations for you.  Nothing but breathing because I think that is most wise and the best tracks to lay, for the possibility of joy, anyway.

On my twenty-sixth birthday, my tender husband threw a little surprise dinner gathering at a sweet friend's home.  We'd been married just 7 days shy of three months.  Just 9 days later I found out of the absolute blue I'd be expecting a little babe come April.  Or March.  But that's another story.

Our friends came together to share a meal, my most favorite thing to do.  We shared many desserts, which is my most, most favorite thing to do and we headed home that eve talking about all the things that fall held for us.  Talking about the places we wanted to go and Luke's upcoming assignments that made travel likely.

And then we were out of town.  And then we were weeping, out of town, still in our little secret.  Still in the secret we'd keep for many weeks that tore down all the walls of expectation for twenty-six.  All the walls of newlywedness.  All the walls of flourishing business.  All the walls.  All of them.  And they were replaced by mile-high, night-dark walls of depression and despair.  I'm not sure that I wish I'd been able to function joyfully through a pregnancy.  I'm not sure that's what the Lord willed for that year of life.  It was the hardest, but it makes the joys we have now that much more vivid.  It was the hardest to be numb for so long, but God is good and there is Truman.  And God is good and there are memories.  And God is good and joy now, is magnified.  And God is good and twenty-seven has no framework aside from a simpler life, more time together, more feeling and less of everything that doesn't make my blood pump.  Being numb will do that to you.  Make you aware of what makes your blood move and what absolutely coagulates it.

For now, I know that that tender man I lay my head next to makes my blood move.  The sweet babe whose chest rises and falls thanks to the creator who made him does, too.  The little white fluff that laid with me as I completed college, built a business, bought a home, married a dear man, made a family and got her a yard does, too.  Open spaces.  African accents.  Fresh air.  Ponies of all sorts.  Watching seeds grow into food.  Images.  Creating and making.  My prayer for twenty-seven is that I continue to become more alive.  To the things I loved before twenty-six and all the things I have yet to discover.  And that I would be able to discover new next to the tender man and the sweet babe and the white fluff.  To credit all that new and all that joy to the creator who made us.  That's all.

_12A4104 copy

_12A4104 copy