day 2

(thoughts from my kitchen sink)

she.
from my kitchen sink i hold her. hands fixed under her arms for fear she will slip. she laughs. i laugh and  i hear the boys laughing in the other room. she is so tiny. so slim. so absorbed in the newest of her porcelain crib. everything to her is so big yet, she can hardly see over the side of the sink. my little she is small. so small in such a big world. and i look around at the world set on display just outside my window and i wonder at the bigness of it all. how does such a big God see me, one so small in a sea of so many. and my fingers run along side the small of her back down to her toes, i squeeze them, each one. every delicate detail of her delights me.  i am drawn to her  and i take her in deeply. and there, at my sink, i realize that my big God delights in the little.  in all of me, He finds delight.

day 1

i sink

     from the kitchen sink a massive amount of overwhelming thoughts all collide in a 2x2 space. feet planted, hip twisting and body bending. suds foaming, water running, fingers wiping, i'm rinsing, i'm re-loading. always repeating morning, noon, and evening. everything is moving. my mental to-do list rising with the sun as i meet my sink at first light. still in my pj's, hair flipped into a bushy bun, the list grows ... dishes, sweep, scrub, pick up, pack, dress, change, throw away, gather, replace, shoes, keys, snacks, car, call, return, remember, reflect, don’t neglect, text, check locks, get checks, lip gloss, count children, close door. from my farmhouse kitchen sink i think about so much. i gather so much of me there.  so much of me that i want to run from. i feel the frustration of not having accomplished enough, i see the endless counters to wipe down and desk overflowing with stuff. all my issues seem to rise with the water filling our cast iron pot now crusted with last nights meal, thoughts and fears bubbling over. and the mess never seems to settle... clean back splash, take out trash, did i say too much, did i say too little, i shouldn’t have sent that email, why am i so annoyed, what if she never replies, kill the ants, why do i still care, shake out the rug, did they even notice i wasn’t there?  from my kitchen sink i am forced to stay, forced to feel, and find myself in all my messiness. and recently the stirring of my inadequacies have chased me and i am taunted by all the things i am not.  i chase down my faults trying to fix them, my mind dizzy with so many places that need mending.
     and at my sink when i so often fantasize about achieving, i suddenly stop, shaking hands free of suds, i look out to see what always makes my soul stop spinning, mountains. massive mountains stories high above the city they stand secure in complete strength with their splendid curves. and my soul hears, “i lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from? my help comes from you, maker of heaven, creator of the earth.” exhale. and i can stop fighting my insecurities and neurotic need to fix myself and everything fractured around me, everything in me. i stand behind my sink and stare into my surroundings, mountains whispering reminders of salvation. i sink, not to be swallowed, but saved.

to read all 31 days of my kitchen sink thoughts: click here

hello.

i miss it here... this blog, this tiny space. this place is a secret. i don't post it on facebook or twitter or any other form of social media. it remains a space for me and maybe 2 followers in the world, which are probably my mom and sam. i grew into myself here. i grew into an artist here. and i grew into a mom here. i created here, cried here, and struggled here. i fell in love with photography here. i guess i lived here for the first year of my son's life. i remember spending hours (not an exaggeration) on blogs... falling in love with color, design, and do-it-yourself projects. i'd spend every moment of manoah's nap scouring blogs and becoming inspired. i miss it here now. i miss who i was. i see my frailty as a young mom and striving artist. i like who i was (which is ironic because most of these entries are about how i didn't like myself!) i kind of wish i could go back to my 26 year old self and whisper in her ear,
"it is going to be alright. you will be alright." and i'd give her a hug.

hello again.

12

there may just be a few who remember that day. the one with the orange juice, and the avocados, and the unwanted babies breath. and how our tears fell like the rain that showered us on that day. he adored her. she met him at the alter. and before God and others and me, they said they would love each other forever and ever. they promised they would. the promises of a lifetime of devotion and compassion and passion all bound in the hands of each other and their loving Savior. we sang, and they sang, and i could hear my mom singing. and we ran out to meet them... laughing. how we would laugh. and when no one was watching them danced, but i was watching.

my how beautiful she looked on that day. my how deeply he looked into her eyes. oh my, and how they loved each other on that day. and they promised they always would. and on that day 12 years ago they promised. how was it that they forgot. and many now may not remember, but i do. i remember.

460 east 6th ave.

what this home has been for me.
a place that in the most discouraging times of life, God rolled out the red carpet and said, "welcome to the home of your dreams. i see you. i know you. i love you"

a place that in the most devastating of times, God created a kingdom to absorb all of the rage, all of the tears, and all of brokenness.

a place that in the most joyous of times, God gave us a home where the candles would shine brightly from the crawford ceilings and the music would resound from the hardwood floors.

a place that after a long night up with my boys i could find rest on my porch swing and watch the neighbors pass by, with my cup of tea in hand.

a place that was given to us for a time. a place that will never be forgotten. a place that is etched into our journey.

sunday.

i sat alone at church on sunday. watching. looking. wondering if there was a soul in this place that my soul could connect to. i sat and i sank deeper into my chair. and then a familiar face invited me in. she looked at me and said, "it is so good to see you." i smiled, i turned back to re-engage in the worship. and i felt warm tears welling in my eyes. and i thought to myself...

it feels so good to be seen.

to love another is to see the face of God.

5

my center. our center. his center in me. i am an expert at avoiding the true restlessness that i so often feel. i run and push myself, i turn, i cover, i hide from all the very things that are me. and then in these rare and still moments i am called home again. i am drawn in. i am reminded of who i am and who he is. there is no fear. there is no shame. and i am left in awe. there is a stillness that comforts my anxiety and a familiarity of a place that i have been so often before. i am seen. i am known. and i am loved.