pajama party

Ever since this morning when I opened the front door to a yard full of glistening frost, stacks of leaves outlined in white ice, and Ben aggressively scraping my windshield, I knew it would be the perfect night to make a pot of extra spicy chili, wear flannel PJs, and cuddle up for a christmas movie.

So we did just that. And found ourselves smiling at each other and tickled by our little ability to somehow get our wardrobe choice to coincide with our movie choice.

Say a man and a woman both need something to sleep in and both go to the same men's pajama department. The man says to the salesman, "I just need bottoms," and the woman says, "I just need a top." They look at each other…  ~ The Holiday

rothwell revisions

A few nights ago, Ben announced he got a new album--and that I would love it (reason #98372 why I love him). It was a few hours later that I was reminded just how well he knows me when he loaded the car CD player and hit play. Instant love for track 2.

As Ben & I celebrate our FIRST CHRISTMAS as man & wife, I've figuratively grabbed this song to carry with me throughout the season. The soaring melody serves as my sweet reminder that new is okay. Revision is good. Christmas is magical. And our love wins always.

It's with happiness and a bit of heaviness that I welcome this truly "new Christmas" for Ben & myself. The reoccurring familiar is gone -- the comfort of my childhood home with the heat from the fireplace and the twinkling tree with 27 years of ornaments collected on its branches. The loud voices of children who make long lists of what they want and actually believe the man in red will see to every request. Dad's waffles and Mama's brunch egg casserole. The toy snowman that counts down the days until Christmas. All nighters where we sit on the hard wood floor and wrap gifts, always running out of tape because there are just so. many. presents. to. wrap.

But as newlyweds, it's such fun finding out our brand of Christmas and then capturing those ideals to make our very own rendition of the holidays: the Rothwell Rendition. Like spontaneously going to Walmart for sugar cookies and hot chocolate on the coldest day of the year. Forgoing redbox to instead dig through the $5 movie bin in search of a christmas movie on which we BOTH can agree. Perusing gingerbread houses, trying to decide if we want a village, or just a house. Spending too much on warm holiday drinks at Starbucks. Arguing in Hobby Lobby about colored lights vs. white lights. Rationalizing $60 being worth tickets for Christmas Town at Busch Gardens. Crafting garland bunting and gift tags with scrapbook paper from Target and paint swatches from Home Depot. Planning a fancy dinner date amidst the holiday parties where we can actually dress up for each other and spend a night celebrating together. Building our own meek ornament collection. 

This song says it all. It calms me. It makes me confident. I love my little life with my husband. And I love the holidays, the cold, the newness, and especially the moments that will repeat year after year in what will become known as….

our traditions.

"Snow" 

Sleeping At Last

The branches have traded their leaves for white sleeves

All warm-blooded creatures make ghosts as they breathe

Scarves are wrapped tightly like gifts under trees

Christmas lights tangle in knots annually

Our families huddle closely 

Betting warm against the cold

But our bruises seem to surface

Like mud beneath the snow

So we sing carols softly, as sweet as we know

A prayer that our burdens will lift as we go

Like young love still waiting under mistletoe

We'll welcome December with tireless hope

Let our bells keep on ringing

Making angels in the snow

May the melody disarm us

When the cracks begin to show

Like the petals in our pockets

May we remember who we are

Unconditionally cared for

By those who share our broken hearts

The table is set and our glasses are full

Though pieces go missing, may we still feel whole

We'll build new traditions in place of the old

'Cause life without revision will silence our souls

As gentle as feathers, the snow piles high

Our world gets rewritten and retraced every time

Like fresh plates and clean slates, our future is white

New year's resolutions will reset tonight

hello, charlotte!

Ben is the lucky one. I never win anything, but he always scores big...like winning a 2 night stay at a Marriott in Charlotte, North Carolina.

So why not? We marked our calendars, ducked out of work early, and headed south for a weekend.

We didn't have much on the agenda, in fact, we were pretty boring while there. Our fun consisted of long walks through Freedom Park, afternoon drives in old neighborhoods with southern mansions shaded by tall oaks, two hours spent in wide-eyed wonder as first-timers at IKEA, a Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives tour organized by Ben Rothwell himself, antique mall shopping, and a visit to Elevation Church. 

We slept in every morning only to lazily trudge down to the full breakfast buffet, still in our sweats, of course. We ate oversized omelets. We leisurely sipped on coffee. With nowhere to be & nothing to do, we let conversation run wild, refilling our mugs repeatedly before finally neglecting the little table for two by the window. 

It was a quiet weekend. A weekend where I looked at the man in the driver's seat next to me or across the table from me or whose hand was in mine, and thought, yes, yes, yes, YES. A weekend where we decided to take the scenic route whenever we punched our next destination into the GPS. A weekend where we ate double dinners due to restaurant hopping. A weekend where we craned our necks and peered out windows to see all we could of this new place full of new experiences. A weekend where we drank the brisk air and embraced all the shades of fall. A weekend where we stopped the pace and centered on the peace. 

 A weekend of gifts, grace, gratitude.

"this gift will never let you down; this gift is waiting to be found"

This week I made an effort to list 20 gifts that have been flooding my life. Daily gifts that are discovered when I stop. recognize. embrace. and name. They may seem small -- insignificant to some -- silent, or simple. But to me they are beautiful and remind me that I have a beautiful life.

Here is the beginning of my goal to name one thousand gifts:

1. an earnest compliment from a sister
2. healthful meals after a salted caramel mocha splurge
3. my husband's oversized thermal shirts that fit just right when pulled over a pair of knees that are hugged to the chest on chilly nights at The Treehouse
4. a pot of chili simmering on the stove, announcing itself with aromas that escape the kitchen and roam throughout the house
5. my grandmother never, ever forgetting my birthday
6. $1 breakfast burritos on the weekends
7. boutique shopping where they sell the most darling dresses and give you your purchases in chevron gift bags adorned with ribbon bows
8. virginia mountains in the fall -- always hues of blue despite the exploding fire colors
9. listening to a whole album from start to finish and finding you love every song
10. the fall foliage that covers my parents' yard, taking me back to all those childhood afternoons spent begrudgingly raking crunchy leaves
11. scooping extra apple butter onto a toasted English muffin
12. that gravel road that takes me home -- the slowing of pace, the pops of rocks under the tires, and the tips of hundreds of trees bending to meet like an arch
13. french pressed coffee with mama, hearing about her dreams, and sharing an omelet on the patio of one of our favorite restaurants downtown
14. unable to resist biting into the reddest of apples while plucking them from trees at the orchard
15. walking through the door after a long day to find my husband cooking dinner amidst a cloud of steam in the kitchen
16. movie nights where we ditch the couch and spread blankets out on the living room floor
17. peeking into the oven (even though I know better) to see if the sugar on top of my homemade pie is sparkling yet
18. Ben's car parked in the driveway every day...still in total dreamland that we live together
19. birthday letters & cards in the mail
20. my favorite pair of strong arms sneaking around my frame from behind; a sweet embrace of interruption

*My quest for gratitude was inspired by the God-fearing, fascinating, and fellow canadian Ann Voskamp.  She is the author of the New York Times bestselling book, One Thousand Gifts. And it's been changing my life...one quiet moment at a time. Click HERE to hear a little tid-bit from the lady herself, click HERE to read her daily blog, and click HERE to purchase her book! 

you are a collection

"For He will conceal me in His shelter in the day of adversity; He will hide me under the cover of His tent; He will set me high on a rock" -- Psalm 27:5

Recently, I learned (thanks to that powerhouse preacher, Beth Moore) that the Hebrew word used in this passage for "conceal" is tsaphan, meaning "to hide" or "treasure up." The substituted meaning totally changed my perspective:

"He will treasure me up in His shelter in the day of adversity"

He will treasure me up. Treasure me up! 

I instantly envisioned the Lord gathering up all parts of me -- the good & bad, the confidence & the insecurity, the greatness & the shame, the faithfulness & the discontentment -- and holding it ALL close to Him. He becomes the shelter over us, our true hiding place where he is more than sufficient in guarding, covering, and concealing. He treasures every detail of who we are and gathers it near to Him. 

The illustration that immediately came to mind - as I was nestled on the couch jotting down prayers - was an image of my mama's china set, carefully stored away from her everyday dishes. White. Shiny gold rims on the teacups. Whimsical pink roses swooping across the glass. A precious collection.   

He will treasure you up. Gather all parts of you. And hold you gently. 

YOU are a precious collection -- just like a china set -- that Jesus is seeking to complete. And he longs for all the pieces that together comprise YOU as YOU.  

But let's admit it...at times we're ashamed of the all the different pieces that make us who we are. And we just want to keep them  wrapped in newspaper and stored away under lock and key. We don't want them being seen or used. We convince ourselves they're not adequate enough to create that hostess-worthy, picture-perfect place setting that we all want to display for others...instead our pieces seem scattered, disassembled, and definitely not ready for company to sit down at our table of life and catch a glimpse.

We look at ourselves as fragile. Maybe we even have broken pieces and we're jagged and sharp. We feel incomplete, even disposable. If we're a collection, we feel like we should be sold, traded, replaced.

But the Lord doesn't see the brokenness -- only the beauty. In His eyes, we are hand painted, hand crafted, dazzling like gold, purposefully curved and molded, transparent like crystal in the eyes of our Maker.

Like my mother's tea set, or something similar that's displayed in the window of an antique shop...these collections each have a story. They have value. They are coveted, preserved. They represent a cherished heritage and are used for the best of guests. 

The same goes for you. THESE are the things His Word says you are:

Designed (Psalm 139:13)
Crafted (Isaiah 64:8)
Admired (Zephaniah 3:17)
Wanted (Luke 19:10)
Chosen (John 15:16)
Bought (1 Corinthians 7:23)
Displayed (Psalm 8:4-6)
Useful (Ephesians 2:10)

God seeks to collect every aspect of your character and your heart in order to fully KNOW YOU. He views you as a precious collection that is proudly acclaimed, sought-after, and rare, no -- better, ONE OF A KIND!

So don't dwell on those little cracks and smudge marks. The chips or fading paint. No, instead hold fast to this truth:

"My GRACE is sufficient for you, for my POWER is made PERFECT in WEAKNESS." -- 2 Corinthians 12:9

He is the maker of perfection. He has created you to be a beautiful collection. And he is gathering you, treasuring you, and hiding you under his mighty shelter.

"He tends his flock like a shepherd: He GATHERS the lambs IN HIS ARMS and CARRIES THEM CLOSE TO HIS HEART" -- Isaiah 40:11

rainy october

It's been raining for 6 days straight now. But I don't mind. 

Ben and I have been cutting our AC off, opening our door wide, pulling the screen shut, and listening to the drizzling rain as it starts and stops. Over and over again. The raindrops jump off the wood and occasionally, we'll watch leaves float to the wet ground. We get cozy on the couch with mugs of warm, spiced cider and then doze off to football games on TV. 

You are most loved at The Treehouse, sweet October. Thanks for the British weather as we ring in month 3 of marriage. 

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers" -- L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables 

a beautiful woman and her beloved men

Last week I had the privilege to have lunch with a new friend, Ann. It was my first time meeting her, but I feel already so connected to her. It was her 52nd birthday -- although she doesn't look a darn bit like it. Her skin is smooth and sun-kissed. And you'd never guess she carries all the cares of the world on her shoulders when you see her sweet smile.

She's from Chicago. She planned a trip to Virginia in a desperate attempt to just "get away and hide" as she said. Her two daughters back home are gluten-free, dairy free, and everything else-free, so we all decided to go get rich, creamy, carb-y italian food since she needed some people to indulge with her. The restaurant was small -- a local store-front place -- with natural lighting and tuscan decor. The 6 of us sat at a long table in the center of the room. We began with small talk and when conversation shifted to what she does for a living, she started. Stopped. Then said, "do you know my story?" We shook our heads, innocently, and she delivered the blow. The blow that left me in tears in the middle of Francesco's -- me, a mere stranger to this woman -- so moved that my eyes welled up and spilled over.

See, within 20 months, Ann lost a man in 3 generations of her immediate family: first her son, then her husband, then her father. She's planned 3 funerals, inherited a company she doesn't quite know how to run, and became void of every male figure in her life that mattered to her.

Last weekend was not only her birthday, but the 2 year anniversary of her 21-year-old son's death, who died in a plane crash while flying with friends on a college break. It was just a few months later, while grappling with unimaginable grief, that they learned her husband, Dan, needed a kidney transplant. What a miracle it was that Ann was the match and could sacrifice one of her own kidneys in hopes to save her husband. They both underwent surgery and everything was deemed successful. That is, until Dan collapsed after the procedure and to this day, the doctors couldn't tell you why. Seemingly left alone and forced to face the most ugliest faces of loss, Ann's father was there to console her. Although he was ailed with heart issues, he poured his life into his widow daughter. When she mentioned something needing to be done to her house or odd jobs that typically required a man, he readily volunteered. "you don't even know what it is yet!" Ann would say. But he would reply,  "it doesn't matter. I'll be there." It wasn't long before his heart couldn't keep up and he too went on to be with the Lord.

Beautiful Ann talks SO fondly of her men that still fill up every inch of her heart. She doesn't smile much, but when she does, it includes laughter when re-telling a sweet memory. Like when her son, Josh, spent the summer back home on their farm instead of doing a college internship. They employed him to pick and sell tomatoes and onions on their Illinois land. Josh and Ann spent hours together out in the fields. And she quickly learned that if she stayed quiet, he sure wouldn't. "He talked the day away," she says, "He would just talk, and talk, and talk. And I would just listen." She chuckles when recalling the way he hated working with crops and announced at the end of summer: "I am never doing that again." Her smile vanishes and is replaced with the hoarse words: "and two months later...he died."

Or the way she describes her and her husband's experience with the grief counselor after Josh's death: they would go in, sit down, and Dan would always talk first. He'd say a few words and then be done -- leaving the rest of the time for Ann to unload her sorrow and confusion and desperation. As she recollects, it's as if she forgets we're there and instead, she's in that counselor's office once again. She isn't making eye contact. She's looking away. She lets out the most heartbreaking combination of a contemplative sigh mixed with reflective laughter, and says, "he didn't even really need to go, but he went for me...he went for me every time."

So. Here is Ann. A woman who hasn't seemed to age one bit in spite of her turmoil, sitting beside me, tossing her pasta with her fork, choking out the horrors of her world and the vaulted pain she relives at night. And I am in stunned silence, trying to sift through my feelings; my compassion bubbling up until it about overflows. Sure, I knew what my heart needed: I clung to my Dad after lunch, sought out my husband to hold onto him just a little tighter than usual, hugged my 18-year-old brother who's also my best friend. But that was all for me. What about Ann? 

Your heart always aches when you hear a story about terrible loss, but I'm not sure it really BREAKS until it's right in front of you, and you hear her order her entree, and you see her sip on her coke, and...and you hug her and can actually feel her exhaustion. And when the person who survived it is good, and beautiful, and real, and strong. Oh...so, so strong. 

At the end of our lunch, as we were walking to the car, I asked her:

"Ann, have you ever considered writing your story down?"
And her response sunk down low into my gut and left me with goosebumps all over.
She stared at me, looked at her niece (who I later learned has been encouraging her to do the very thing), and responded with:

"God is still writing my story. But I don't want my loss to be wasted. And not used by God. So maybe one day I will."

Phewwww... THAT is what I call TRUST.

She faced the horror every parent dreads when she buried her only boy and the baby of the family. She survived life's tumultuous storms with her life partner -- including an accident leaving him with prosthetic legs -- only to have him suddenly gone when things finally seemed all right. Then she lost the only man she had left -- the one who mourned with her through all the agony, the one who was there from the very beginning -- her Dad. And yet she still trusts God? She still gives Him the credit for writing and crafting her story?

I can't say whether or not I could -- if I were in her shoes -- do the same thing.

At one point in the afternoon, amidst Ann's brave vulnerability and our wide-eyed stillness, she told us she has a life-song. It is a song she had sung at all of the funerals -- and then, without coordination, amazingly it was sung at Josh's friend's funeral (who died with him in the plane crash) AND also at the university's memorial service honoring the two boys' young lives. It's a song I know well -- although will never, ever, ever listen to the same way. The lyrics to the chorus are as follows:

"what if your blessing comes through rain drops? 

what if your healing comes through tears? 

what if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near? 

what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?"  

"Blessings" by Laura Story

So, even now, as I write this, I haven't yet answered the question that seems to repeat in my mind: "what about Ann?" But I know of someone who DOES have an answer, and who is confident in the part He plays in the continuing story of beautiful Ann and her beloved men...

"Father to the fatherless, defender of widows -- this is God, whose dwelling is holy" Psalms 68:5

*If you feel comfortable, please take a moment and pray for Ann -- that she would continue to experience Jesus as the Lover of her soul and the Knower of her heart. 

baby born blue

When Brianna entered the world on September 19, 1991, her head was a deep shade of blue. My dad has frequently described the horror he experienced as he witnessed the umbillical chord wrapped around her neck, completely cutting off her circulation. He also describes the relief he felt as he unwound the chord and saw her begin to breathe.

God gave us a miracle that day.

I call Brianna my soul sister. We just "get" each other underneath the surface, the same things get our hearts pumping. She's deep and delicate, detailed and expressive...a true dreamer. She's the sister who's always interested in what music I'm listening to lately. She's the sister who will without fail always ask how my day has been. She's the sister who will put off plans with others to get in that quality time (our shared love language). She's the sister who will ask about my writing...and will make me read it aloud. She's the sister who encourages, encourages, and encourages...yet still wants to just listen. She's the sister who does art for fun and tells us to try it...even though she knows we're not nearly as artistic. She's the sister who knows the power of music and its way of provoking action. She's the sister who journals with quotes and magazine clippings. She's the sister who has made creating her profession, and views her job as a way to make people happy: "people with good hair are happy."

Happiness is her life's ambition.

Brianna is anything BUT blue.

Happiest birthday, soul sista. Dance like you're twenty-two. (and I can say that without shame because you love t.swift right along with me). 

summer 2013: "it's delightful when your imaginations come true, isn't it?"

This summer, one of my very biggest dreams came true. The same dream that echos in the hearts of every girl from about five years old onward. 

The opening scene of The Wedding Planner comes to mind-- a little girl donning a white veil is sitting in a sunlit room, surrounded by toys, with a Barbie and Ken also dressed up and ready for marriage. My sisters and I acted out that very same scene many times in our own barbie days. Weddings were the very best story line to play...we'd always beg my mom to buy us more ken dolls so more of our barbies could get married! I smile now....even then we knew that Barbie was better with Ken. I guess we had school-girl intuition that everyone desires to find a person who is willing to change their whole world and tailor it to yours, that single person who will sleep beside you, live beside you, and love no one besides you. 

It's just like the little girl from the movie says as she holds up the plastic bride & groom:

"From now on, he'll take care of you...and you'll take care of him. He'll make you big bologna sandwiches...and you'll buy him new socks and a white briefcase. And you'll live happily ever after. You're the luckiest girl in the world, Barbie."

On July 13, 2013, barbie matrimonies were long gone. I was the one wearing white. I was saying "yes" to a man who is tall, dark, and much more handsome than any ken doll. I had my own precious promises written in a mini molskine notebook and I was ready to declare them to the world. My overall vision for the day that first originated in my mind had been flushed out, sketched out, mapped out, and planned out. Every detail had been crafted. Every chandelier had been hung. The 7 month wedding planning journey was over and there I was, sitting in a salon chair getting my hair done by my talented sister, totally freaking out. I knew it was the beginning of a long, long day (as I had been told), but I knew it was also the beginning of much more. No, of everything. That day was when it ALL began. 

I need help from one of my most favorite books to summarize my point:

“But Anne with her elbows on the window sill, her soft cheek laid against her clasped hands, and her eyes filled with visions, looked out unheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious dome of sunset sky and wove her dreams of a possible future from the golden tissue of youth's own optimism. All the Beyond was hers, with its possibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years — each year a rose of promise to be woven into an immortal chaplet.” -- L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

My wedding day was the beginning of all my hopes, all my imaginations, all my plans, and all that God has promised to fulfill in my life! It was as if my story leading up to that point no longer mattered, suddenly everything that came after was much more exciting and enticing. I realized I am no longer out to be the great Destiny Morrow, but rather WE are out to be the great Rothwell Family. And all our goals and dreams are now shared. His are mine and mine are his. How amazing it is to have TWO people pushing you to become who you want, to pray like you should, to love like Christ loved, to cling to your passions, and dream up new, crazy dreams. So, taking a cue from my red-headed kindred spirit, I'm sitting with my chin in my palms, peering out the window of life, confident that all the beyond is ours. 

“All in all, it was a never-to-be-forgotten summer — one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going — one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doing, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.” -- L.M. Montgomery, Anne's House of Dreams

the newest Morrow teenager!

In a family the size of the Morrows, getting information to every family member can be tough. Things often slip under the radar, if you will, and we end up a few kids short at social outings. My parents tend to independently decide on "family plans," "family announcements," or "family meetings" and the memo just doesn't get around to all their busy children. This is something I actually miss since moving out.

For instance,

"So and so's coming over for dinner. Everyone clean your rooms".....inevitably someone has no idea we're having company and there's at least 1 messy room where my mom closes the door and declares it is "off limits."

Or "we're having a family lunch at Olive Garden after church; see ya there!".....inevitably the table for 12 becomes a table of 9 or 10 because other plans were made by those never informed.

Or "Nicholas needs to get picked up from football practice!".....poor Nicholas sits until dark waiting for somebody, anybody to come rescue him from the Jamestown High School parking lot.

Or even "y'all have a new cousin! So and so was born last night!".....2 weeks later one of us exclaims, "she had the baby?!?!"

Yes, on occasion, our communication skills could use some work. But if there's one thing none of us EVER forget, one thing that NEVER gets overlooked or unplanned, it's birthdays. I've had my siblings' birthdays memorized since...well, I don't even remember having to memorize them. We just know them. And although we have a big family and therefore LOTS of birthdays to celebrate over the course of a year, we never get lazy with it. My parents very purposefully established little traditions that ensure every Morrow kid feels extra special on his or her special day. Today, as kid #8 turns 13, the daily events come as second nature:

1. birthday kid gets woken up by our entire family sneaking into the bedroom and then singing "Happy Birthday" at the top of our lungs
2. birthday kid gets to go out for breakfast with Mom...her sweet way of making the day start off just right
3. birthday kid gets a chore-free day and all the siblings have to chip in a little extra
4. birthday kid gets a one-on-one "Daddy Date" with my Dad to the restaurant of his/her choice
5. birthday kid gets to choose ANYTHING for the menu of the much-anticipated Family Dinner: Birthday Edition
6. birthday kid gets lavished with love -- after the meal, we go around the table, youngest to oldest, and each say our favorite thing(s) about the birthday kid
7. birthday kid gets chocolate -- dessert is my mom's special Black Forest Chocolate Cake, unless you're Anderson who is never afraid to inform you he hates cherries!
8. birthday kid gets presents!!!!

So this time around we're celebrating Ryland Osmond Morrow. Our sweet, flexible, responsible, big-hearted, raspy-voiced thirteen-year-old whose eyes are darker than dark brown and look like moon crescents when he laughs. He's just about as tall as me and has feet the size of my Dad's. He has my mother's maiden name and conveniently favors my grandfather. He is joyful and social...but has no time for girls, so boy-crazy-middle schoolers, BACK OFF.

Happiest 13th year, Ry-Ry! I love you! Your big day is never lost on your 6 brothers, 5 sisters, 2 nephews, 1 niece, and mom & dad!

"lately I've been losing sleep, dreaming about the things that we couldbe"

I'm a "little moments" person. I like to keep track of details that would otherwise be forgotten. Because they are the things that characterize a situation, a relationship, a place, an event, an encounter, even a lifetime. While on my honeymoon, I paused at these little moments and took mental snap shots. I wanted to remember the feelings, the soundtrack, the array of tastes, the minuscule adventures, the conversation exchanged, the moments when I thought: I cannot possibly love him any more than I do right now.

here are some little moments throughout my first week as a wife, the first week with my husband:

- ordering room service at the Williamsburg Inn, sprawled across the king size bed, eating the fanciest chicken ceasar salad ever made and talking about our favorite parts of our wedding day
- the congratulations greeting from all the hotel staff we encountered...it was as if management sent out a memo to every employee about Mr. and Mrs. Rothwell's wedding night stay
- our excitement upon discovering the heaters on the marble floors in the bathroom
- the cleaning lady who forgot to knock before entering (note to self: actually use that "do not disturb" sign)
- waking up to my brand new husband saying, "I'm going to draw you a bath" (I mean...come on...draw me a bath? Swoon)
- 40s music all the way to the Blue Ridge Mountains
- forgiving Ben even after the 5th time the seat warmers "magically" turned on and turned into a leather stove, practically cooking me
- pulling off for a quick restroom stop and instead getting distracted by a history book on the shelf about JFK's presidency; we're both standing there engrossed in our own copies...me reading about Jackie's fashion influence (she TURNED DOWN a Vogue internship in PARIS) and Ben reading about his politics and assassination...45 minutes later we're back on the road
- sleeping in the trees, under the stars, at our adorable Garden Cottage
- watching fireflies at dusk from the wrap around porch while munching on a pile of homemade chocolate chip cookies and sitting cross-legged in oversized rocking chairs
- my sweet husband saying, "I wish I could marry you every weekend"
- mouths watering as we perused the stash of provided menus, adamantly discussing where we would eat dinner each night
- cuddling during old romance movies and feeling Ben's body shake with laughter at Cary Grant's jokes
- antique shopping down Main St.
- several spontaneous Target trips for snacks & drinks to stock our mini-fridge
- devouring THE best wings ever from Bull & Bones restaurant, Ben completely unaware of the sauce smeared across his mouth as he hilariously announced his sudden yet undying love
- mischievously trading scrabble letters for every vowel I needed while Ben was transfixed by Friends episodes
- practically choking on popcorn as we laughed our way through the movie at the drive-in theater
- walking hand in hand through every city we visited, knowing we're husband and wife and wanting everyone else to know
- mid-day naps and afternoon tea
- killing time by sitting in the car and listening to our wedding music with our high tech headphones (which were a total splurge purchase)
- sharing the fruit & cheese board while fine dining....Ben automatically reaching for the Bleu Cheese (ew), me instinctively indulging in the Goat Cheese (mm), no questions asked
- pulling off at every overlook along the Blue Ridge Parkway...getting out, standing side by side, but silent in awe
- Ben's predictable eye-roll upon my insisting we start a habit early and make the bed every single morning
- leftovers night where we microwaved the remainders from all the local restaurants we visited, then plopped down on the couch -- in our robes and wet hair from the hot tub -- to eat an eclectic dinner at 10:30pm
- horseback riding at sunset through fields of wildflowers between vast hills outlined in blue
- taking a pit stop in the hippiest of towns, Floyd, and then leaving
- Ben playing with my hair while reading a novel on his ipad...me too much in dreamland to so much as even pick up a book
- balcony lunch overlooking the mountain silhouettes at Chateau Morissette Winery
- waking up every morning with this giddy feeling because: a) the man of my DREAMS was lying next to me (without a shirt) and b) we had a whole day of endless possibilities and beautiful moments to seize
- our private hot tub...ooo la la!!!

- the scent of Ben's deodorant, which is advertised as: wilderness, open air, and freedom

- the scent of Ben's spicy sweet cologne drifting up to the loft every time he used it

- okay, okay, the overall scent of MAN and knowing this was HIS smell and I would forever smell it
- eating dinner as early or as late as we wanted...having NO agenda...but aiming to at least arrive at restaurants before they closed (not always a success, oops)

- watching the food network (of course. I should have known) and chef Ben explaining the "dos" and "don'ts" of "Chopped"
- shopping at boutiques where my husband became my personal stylist who beamed and bragged whenever he found items he just knew I would love

- Ben's heaven-sent patience as I entered and exited dressing rooms numerous times

- his (sometimes comical) effort to give valuable insight on every outfit

- scouting for good coffee shops while on the go
- tasting all the sauces at every restaurant and guessing which one the other would like best

- climbing the ladder to the lofted bed and making Ben so nervous when I did it in the dark

- the charm of the slanted ceiling and floral wallpaper...noticeably more enchanting when the light of the morning beamed through the window
- the pink Hydrageas outside our front door that reminded me of our wedding every time we came and went
- Ben's steady hand there to help me at every steep part of the trail to the Cascade Falls

- sitting in front of the 66 ft waterfall, eating sandwiches with guacamole, feeling accomplished from our 4 mile hike, and relishing the freezing mist paired with the crashing sound of water

- rolling out of bed every morning, barely making it to 9am breakfast, but determined to do so because it was 3 courses, with candlelight, and savory recipes, and served on gorgeous china, and unlimited coffee
- deciding on the hot tub before our swim suits could dry from swimming at the Aquatic Center...nevertheless, we found ourselves squealing and shivering in our damp suits all the way to the hot tub
- mexican food date night where I cried and said between chips and guac: "you've just been the perfect husband...literally, the perfect husband." And you smiled at me tenderly, but I know you were actually just trying not to laugh at me

PS. Just realized how much of that mentioned food. Oh well...y'all know who I married...

showered

My bridal shower was exactly everything I wanted, but never expected: elegant, classy, dainty, delicate, refined, and definitely girly. We had summer florals, gorgeous tea sets, touches of lace everywhere, a fun photo booth, delicious treats, and savory sandwiches. My sisters and friends brought their best and I simply enjoyed every minute of it in complete amazement.

My sweet sister, Whitty Bit, was the witty MC who kept the party flowing. She was poised with confidence and had an abundance of jokes, which brought on rounds of laughter from all the ladies. With each new activity, Whit would ring her little bell before announcing what was next. She was so great. She kept saying "the bride to be" with the same excited emphasis every single time. I actually felt like the guest of honor! Brianna, the artistic one, put together a photo booth area with the props displayed in vintage suitcases or hung up on a burlap decorative mannequin. She also cut out bunting, tea dyed sheet music, and did various other crafty things to accentuate the overall look of the evening. My youngest sister, McKenzie, couldn't attend, but spent hours baking heart-shaped short bread cookies that were individually packaged with tea bags as a party favor. My oldest sister, Taylor, designed my STUNNING invitation that stayed on my fridge just for me to admire. She organized all the details and helped keep everything under wraps...they totally surprised me with EVERYTHING! 

All the tables were SO lovely. Each table hostess used her own china for place settings and her own creativity to decorate. My best friend Jordan borrowed her grandmother's tea set to adorn her table with hues of gold and pinks. My mom used her hand painted china, which she got as a wedding gift, and added blush roses inside a teapot for extra charm. The centerpieces were 3 tiered dishes that held the most delicious scones I've ever tasted: chocolate cinnamon and orange cranberry (made by a friend) as well as pimento cheese sandwiches (made by Morrow girls), chicken salad croissants (made by Morrow girls), and cucumber cream cheese sandwiches (made by my future SIL, Amber). I confess I couldn't stop eating. Then I visited the "sweet" table that was adorned with lemon pettifors and oreo cake balls. I was really in trouble.

My sisters prepared a game where I stood up to answer various questions about me and Ben. After each question, they compared my answers to ones Ben had previously given for the same prompts. This caused a lot of laughs since I am notorious for forgetting everything...including details about my own relationship and engagement! The hostesses also wrote a Destiny & Ben "fill in the blank" love story that was placed at every table for the women to complete over tea time. This addition was so special to me because it beautifully documented our story with humor and romance from the perspective of the people I love most. Hearing our history being read aloud by my mother, with her reading glasses and all, reminded me that I have a pretty spectacular God who works all things for GOOD to those who are called according to HIS purpose!

Here are some of the little details...

   

my bright details

bff and bridesmaid!!!

sweet friends

my MOH

 

holding onto it all

As an engaged-to-be-married (in 30 days) woman, I am coming to terms that my days at the Morrow residence are numbered. Although I'm beyond thrilled to share my life with the love of my life, the thought of leaving the Morrow madness makes my heart ache.

124 Ewell Place has been my home for over a decade; I walked through these hallways before the walls were built or the carpet laid. Every weekend, our family would pile in our big van and drive across town to check out the progress. We'd gawk at the unfinished frame, ask my parents questions about what this will be and what that will look like, and then carefully and cautiously creep up the bare wooden stairs to visit our future rooms.

My room was on the 3rd floor, or the built-out attic; it had slanted ceilings and a lot of heat that rose from the rest of the house. It was warm. It was secluded from the fleet of boys downstairs. It was girly. It was spacious. It heard a lot of boyband cds, survived a lot of messes my mom fought me to clean, and saw a lot of glitter nail polish, make-up, and Bath and Body Works product (that still haunt the carpets today). It was my adolescent bedroom. Not necessarily my childhood room — that one included bunk beds and "junk drawers" of elementary treasures — but it was the room where I spent my teenage years, which were arguably the years that I did the most growing, the most shaping, into who I am today.

After college graduation, my blessed parents wanted me home so badly that they sacrificed the beloved playroom and had it turned into a bedroom for me. So now I reside in the renovated garage. It's the room without windows, but has a lot of heart. In the wintertime, it's chilly, but cozy because I keep no less than 3 fleece blankets on hand at all times. In the summertime, I'm comforted by the clinking and swishing of the ceiling fan over my head. Half the room is covered from floor to ceiling with white, symmetrical built-in bookshelves. They hold all the books in the entire house, and they're the first thing I see when I wake up every morning -- rows and rows of books.

Home. This man-made structure of plaster and wood that we watched slowly be built up from the ground has transformed into the most lively and loving home. We've made it our home. My parents along with the contribution of all of us. In some ways, I'm afraid to lose my place here. To miss out on contributing to what we've created. To not belong here or be found here. I'm wary of missing the everyday interactions -- the impromptu dance parties while doing hours of dishes after dinner. Or the family meetings where my Dad lays down the law, divides chores, and predictably states, "your mother will not be faced with a dirty house." Or the quiet evenings when I unexpectedly find myself having a hot dog dinner and thrilling conversation with the 5-year-old -- a rare moment when it's just us in the house. Or coffee dates at the kitchen table where my parents listen to us girls discuss drama and dreams. Or the same. songs. every. day. being played on the piano. Or sleeping in my parents' bed when one or both of them are out of town. Or family movie nights where the older kids suffer through children comedies, but enjoy hearing the rounds of adolescent laughter. Or sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter for late night snacks, someone always opening and closing the fridge at least 10 times as if suddenly new options will appear. Or having a plethora of beautiful fashion consultants available whenever I need their outfit approval.

My new home. I see it as an opportunity to take my parents' cue and create the same environment I've always known and loved. It will be a safe place, a loud place. We'll sit on the counters just because. I'll make enough coffee for company. We'll dance away our dinner calories. The most exciting part? I get to do all this alongside a HUSBAND.

"people that marry can never part, but must go and keep house together." -- Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

"love is not a fight, but it's something worth fighting for"

This past weekend, Ben and I went to our first wedding of the season. This was also my first wedding to attend since my own wedding planning began. I noticed everything pre-engaged Destiny never would have. The names of all the flowers used in bouquets, how the folds in her dress flattered her waistline, whether or not she was wearing fake eyelashes, wondering where she got her brass cake stands, eyeing her creativity with every bride's best friend--mason jars.

But what really struck me was the couple. Their tenderness and sassy-ness toward each other. Their googly-eyed gazing one moment and then jubilant humor the next. Everything else could have been nonexistent and they'd still be glowing. Their love and sincerity was overwhelmingly beautiful. It was in their eyes -- in their voices as they said their vows. I always love witnessing that kind of love. The forever kind. The can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of stuff (to quote my favorite Mary-Kate and Ashley movie). I cried as Jason barely held it together when Rebekah came around the corner--her Carrie Underwood hair blowing in the gorgeous May breeze; I cried when she reached up to his face with her perfectly manicured hand to wipe his tears; I cried when one of her bridesmaids toasted, challenging them to fight through the hard moments, to remember the love they have now and the One who gave it; I even cried at Jason's "OH YEAH" in replace of "I do" during his vows.

It was a beautiful day. And served as a great reminder that love is truly the only ingredient needed as I continue planning my day. My and Ben's love will endure and sustain long past a mere date on a calendar that I am trying so very hard to perfect. Love is the only thing perfect.

wedding attire details

seriously --- how gorgeous is she?!?!

that blue sky; the Lord just straight SPOILED them

my fiance doing what he does as the bride and groom share their first dance

it's our turn in TWO MONTHS!!!

my beautiful friend...who let me gawk at her for minutes on end as she talked to me

aaaaaaand guess who caught the bouquet?!

HAPPIEST 18th BIRTHDAY, LANDY!

I'll never forget how happy -- or how skeptical -- I was when I found out I was going to have a brother.

My three sisters and I weren't sure we were ready for this guy to come in and cramp our style. See, before Landon, it was girl world. Full fledge barbie-lovin', 90s-fashion, tea-parties-every-birthday kinda world. Psh, who am I kidding, even after Landon arrived it was STILL girl world. But sweet, loving Landon jumped right in, ready to charm his sisters! He always wanted to be with us whether it was chatting on the floor in our bedrooms, or playing dress-up, or watching Lizzie Maguire, or crashing our sleepovers; if his girls were there, so was he. Sure, at times we thought him pesky, especially as we hit the teenage, hormonal years when everything, everywhere was absolutely embarrassing and a cute brother who followed you around was no exception, but his love for us was always from the heart. And the enjoyment he found in us was actually genuine.

At 18, Landon still loves chick-flicks (Downton Abbey is his life), and he'd rather sit on the couch, watch us drink coffee (he can't get himself to like it), and talk about our days into the night before he'd ever consider picking up a video game controller. He bakes us chocolate chip cookies for no special reason, compliments us even on our most rough days, and knows the measure of a good hug! He makes sure we're home at a decent hour of night, saying he can't sleep unless "all my chicks are in the nest." And when I wear a new outfit he always says the same thing just to make me smile: "oh, Dest, that outfit....it's so vintage!" But he emphasizes and elongates the word so it's more like: "vintaaaaage" (even though I know he has no idea what that means).

We love our Landon. He started out as "that baby boy" who interrupted our glamorous life of overnight hair rollers and matching outfits, but he became our "little big bro." We came to call him that because he towers over us with his 6"1 frame, but also because he leads and loves us with such wisdom, maturity, and confidence. I think it's very appropriate that Landon shares his birthday with George Washington -- our nation's first leader. I know the Lord is paving a path of greatness for Landon, and He couldn't find a more willing heart.

Us at Christmas Town, 2012

a great happiness

On December 19th, 2012, I journaled this quote:

She believed a great happiness awaited her somewhere, and for this reason she remained calm as the days flew by. -- Gyula Krudy

...and 5 days later, my awfully handsome man asked me to marry him.

A great happiness. All throughout my work day while I fax, and highlight, and get papercuts, I dream about "great happiness." It's different for everyone, of course. But for me, great happiness is a wood burning fireplace, coffee in the mornings with him, prayers before bed, 1 hotel room when we travel instead of 2, a chandelier in the dining room, hearing him sing songs throughout our home, cooking his favorite food, a new and improved alarm clock that kisses me good morning, a music room, a garden, books on the shelves, quilts on the beds, and love in our hearts.

Holy moly, I'm excited for great, abundant happiness.