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.

"do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires"

So, I don't know if I'll get through writing this post without crying. I have been such a weepy emotional basket-case. But I feel I am justified. My life will never, ever be the same again and has more promise, potential, excitement, and love than it ever has before.

Because...

I'M GETTING MARRIED.

I have to tell this to myself over and over again and I still haven't quite processed it. So what the heck:

I'M. GETTING. MAAAAARRIEEDDD!!!

I am engaged. A fiancee. Betrothed. Bride-to-be. Future wife. I have a ring on my finger!!!!!

One can imagine the state of my heart the past several hours. I've experienced every feeling from pure joy and elation, to sudden stress, to overwhelming happiness, to giddiness and anticipation, to peaceful satisfaction, to a zombie-like trance, to crocodile tears, to wedding dreaming, to staring in blessed bewilderment at my vintage ring (for minutes on end). UGH. But I have to say, despite the overload, one feeling has been a constant the past 47 hours.

I am humbly grateful.

I'm so utterly thankful that God prepared this too-good-to-be-true man for me. FOR ME! That he aligned everything in his timing, that he has done such a work in my and Ben's heart, that we are able to be together under God's favor, that the Lord is at the center of our relationship, and that HE will be glorified in our lives as a couple. WOW. Humbled. God fulfilled his promise to me -- the promise of creating and preparing and perfecting a human being meant solely for me and who loves me like I could never have imagined.

LOVE. That's another thing I'm feeling. So much love.

Song of Solomon says "Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires."

I waited, and waited. I never allowed myself to fall blindly in love, to love the wrong person, to make mistakes in the name of love. I wanted to save it all up in my heart so my husband could one-day experience every ounce of love that I never spent on anyone else. Every bit of it. I wanted to know what love is, without a shadow of a doubt, before I ever succumbed to it.

Well, I've learned what love is:

love is offering me his coat, in addition to mine, willing to suffer the cold of December
love is disarming me in an argument by lovingly saying my name or calling me "sweetheart"
love is staying by my side in a crowd, his hands always finding their way to touch me tenderly
love is involving my family in a proposal because he knew how much I wanted it
love is reassuring me when money is tight, saying he can take care of it all
love is wiping my tears...these days it's the happy kind
love is taking away my fears with kind words as we drive down the highway on Christmas night
love is when he sends me text messages from the back of the auditorium about how beautiful I am from his view
love is seeking out a jeweler for a vintage ring rather than a department store with mass production
love is him hugging four-year-old Anderson and calling him "brother"
love is surprising me with a salad at work because he knows I don't want to eat junk
love is turning around three hours later to pick me up from work
love is buying me a wedding planning book after I say I'm overwhelmed
love is being so agreeable, despite his opinionated self, and allowing me to plan the wedding of my dreams
love is him encouraging me to keep up my sister time
love is knowing exactly how I like my starbucks drink
love is refusing to let anyone try on my ring before the proposal
love is the smile in his voice when he answers my phone calls
love is what I saw in his eyes when he knelt before me, eyes misty, but voice strong and sure

Yes, love. I'm exploding with it. This man is everything I want. He shows me every inch of his heart, he gives to me generously, he is wise and faithful, kind and honest, respectful and passionate, assertive and caring. Things will never, ever be the same again because I have found the one my soul longs for. My heart is so full. I am so humbled by the Lord's provision and match-making. I have so much love to give, to share, to lavish.

The Lord is so worth trusting.
Love is so worth waiting for.

And I am so happy.

pardon me, the waterworks were aflowin' prior to this picture

birthdays and rainy days

It’s my 23rd birthday and Hurricane Sandy is my birthday companion. With all her wind, rain, and glory. But I’m not complaining. I like the steady sound of rain, and the autumn leaves twirling, and the branches squealing. I like it all. I wish all my birthdays could be welcomed with dreary, gray skies juxtaposed by bold, vibrant colors of the foliage. Sunny days are well and good, but there’s something mysterious and romantic about the fog and the pitter-patter and the gusty presence of a storm. I’m happy my birthday falls in Sandy’s path this year. Even though it’s a Monday.

retrospect.

Sometimes you don't realize you love something until you don't have it anymore.

Like losing sleep to write a paper in the library because you procrastinated and it's due the next day. Or knowing that every Tuesday you will eat a buffalo chicken wrap in The Commons on campus. Or having to sacrifice a few hours a week to cram into a practice room with 4 other altos and sing parts. Or being so tired, yet so wired, at 2 am that you grab a girlfriend and go to Wendy's for caffeine and french fries. Or getting up early to run the beautiful Noland Trail with a marathon runner who puts you to shame, but gives you the best conversation. Or being "required" to read Jane Austen novels and write a research paper on them. Or being at a football game when it starts pouring down rain, but you stay anyway and get a cold. Or spending a 50 minute class learning more than anyone would ever want to know about comma placement (well, almost anyone). Sometimes things become a routine, a habit, a convenience, an obligation. And you don't see how priveleged you are until you have moved on and see it in retrospect.

Retrospect is a funny thing because you'd like to believe that you live in the moment and take nothing for granted. But the truth is, even when you try, you can't absorb everything as it's happening. Especially the mundane, even irritating things, that you never thought were glorious or special in the first place -- just part of your daily life.

And then one day they're not.

And it's the saddest thing because you could have loved them and cherished them so much more.

As I turn 23, I have a lot of retrospect. 22 gave me so much that I know I'll never have again. It provided me with a youth that excused my stubborness and impulsiveness. It was my explanation for foolishness and liveliness. It placed me in a world with pretty brick buildings and pretty people. It afforded a routine that I was quite lucky to live, even if I complained or ached for bigger things. 22 let me spend my days learning and spend my nights living...even if those nights meant watching Shirley Temple movies for film class, or making playlists while wrapped in my quilt, or going to my friend's apartment to eat ramen and watch shows I don't even care about. I mean...that's boring stuff....but beautiful stuff. I know I'm a year older, but I don't want to lose that youth.

Now? I'm sitting in an office cubicle while CNU classes are canceled and campus is closed. I'm doing the adult thing -- spending my birthday working. My friends were sent home. To stay warm and dry and be with the people they love. I hope they aren't taking it for granted.

On a happier note, I am glad for a rainy birthday. I always hope for a rainy birthday. I am happy to be living, but more than that, to feel alive. And I know next year, I'll love this a lot more...with the help of a little bit of retrospect.

travel bucket-list: update #2

 

 

JULIET'S BALCONY

image credit

Where? Verona, Italy

Why? It is the designated site of the fictional scene between the most famous lovers of all time where Juliet profusely exclaims, "Romeo! Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?" I can only imagine the atmosphere surrounding Juliet's house that overlooks a small courtyard. Potent elements of magic, passion, and enchantment. For me, seeing this site would mean seeing my literary development come full-circle. I first read Romeo & Juliet in 9th grade English class. We had a student teacher from William & Mary named Ms. Hepp and her enthusiasm for literature was so contagious. It was while reading Romeo & Juliet that I first fell in love with English. I didn't necessarily know I wanted to pursue it at the time, but I loved the way tragedy and romance and jealousy and purity could all be expressed synonymously in one text. I remember our unit test had us write an argumentative essay about whether it was destined fate or merely immature obsession that drove the two protagonists of the play. Later, Ms. Hepp's comment on my graded assignment explained that her and I were the only true romantics of the class...apparently everyone else thought the lovers were crazy. I know visiting this place, this ancient balcony where starlight lit the scene of forbidden love, would stir my romantic beliefs of serendipity, and remind me of those first weeks when English became a part of me.

Romeo and Juliet, Royal Film Performance, 1968 (image credit)



crickets and rain

"I wish I could take pictures of sounds" Molly Hunter K. said with a sigh as she clutched her Nikon camera and followed me down the red brick path lined with lush greenery that stretched a few feet above our heads. We were on our way to our favorite spot in Colonial Williamsburg to enjoy the first moments of dawn. The drizzling rain provided the perfect morning mist while our feet splashed through shallow puddles that consisted of both rain and dew. Dancing raindrops bounced off the leaves of the trees before rhythmically falling and splashing onto our faces, and the crickets sang as if welcoming or maybe forbidding the rising sun. As light slowly and defiantly embraced the darkened sky, clicks from the shutter of Molly's camera seemed to echo among the vibrant hues of green -- forest, emerald, mint. The historic streets behind us were empty and quiet, allowing our soundtrack to occupy all space.

No, the pictures on Molly's camera definitely won't do this moment justice; they can't capture the melodies of the crickets or the drum of the rain.

As the rain came down harder, so did our laughter. Despite the dreary weather, which seemed to be straight out of an Austen novel (Marrianne, anyone?), or perhaps it was more Bronte-esque, we giggled with girlish bliss mixed with a bit of embarrassed shame...but just a fraction. Adolescents, still, no matter how hard life tried to make us grow up. "I wish our high school selves could see us," Molly said offhandedly with a touch of sarcasm. No doubt, our high school selves would never have anticipated we'd still be visiting the worn stairs covered in ivy five years later. I'm sure we thought we'd have much better things -- more sophicsticated things -- to do with our time. But here we were: hair soaked, umbrella ditched, black and white pictures galore, humming "Dawn" from the Pride & Prejudice motion picture soundtrack, and admiring cobwebs that shelved shimmering droplets of condensation. We really hadn't changed all that much, Molly and I. Sure, the topics of conversation shifted-- college, new relationships, missed opportunities, future dreams that suddenly (and dauntingly) seemed a lot closer. But us as girls? We were the same. Still as romantic as ever with a rather large flare for the dramatic.

Right now, I'm thankful that I'm 22. Young and free. Free to do these types of things -- by "things" I mean waiting for the sun to rise at 7am on a Monday -- and not being too caught up in apprehension or reputation.

all photos taken my Molly. Go visit her blog here. Go go go!

don't forget to listen for the crickets and rain in your own life....

"twenty-four oceans, twenty-four skies"

Because Ben doesn't particularly like surprises and because he particularly likes to have options, I gave him a choice between three different dates for his birthday -- and I wasn't the least bit surprised when he chose the most practical and laid-back of my ideas. This is Ben we're talking about.

So it was Yorktown Beach for some night time relaxation and conversation by the water.

I supplied the birthday mix cd that included "throwbacks, newbies, and pretty duets." Yes, we karaoke'd the duets the whole trip. And yes, I stole glances as his face softened and he let loose a small chuckle everytime he recognized a throwback song that had defined a moment or two, or three of our relationship.

the sky on our drive down the Parkway

When we arrived it was already dark and the beach was beautifully lit by the glaring lights from the bridge. We strolled down the small boardwalk, passing the crowded patios of seafood restaurants. Although my stomach seemed to be screaming at me and the occupants' food looked so good, I wasn't tempted. Ben and I frequently go out to dinner. But there was an unspoken purpose to this evening. This was a time for us to be still and soak in each other's company -- along with the company of the water that glistened yellow and orange a few yards from us.

We settled on a small alcove of the beach. Ben laid out the blanket and we plopped down. We were quiet at first as the night time wind began rustling the calm river. Then Ben began talking about the matters of his heart, which is not everyday conversation for us. I'm the one who talks about feelings, thrills, and sentiments. He's the levelheaded, logical, and steady one. So, as we're enjoying the hum of the cars racing across the bridge and the gentle rocking of the water, he just starts blurting it all out. Although he was telling me about good things, things we've been praying for, it was vulnerable nonetheless. I had to hide my pleasure as he talked, afraid he'd suspect I was laughing at him. I wasn't laughing at him! But I was excited because he was speaking my language. Over the next hour or so, we both did our share of talking and listening as we snacked on cheese and buried our toes in the sand.

Happy 24th birthday, Ben. I'm ready to spend 75 more with you wherein I'll listen to your most secret hopes and dreams that mark every single one.

Oh Canada

glimpses from my trip to my birth country:

downtown Toronto 

street side spider-man

Anderson's first time at Niagara Falls!

pretty niece

"play me,  I'm yours"

architecture inside the Parliament building

Poutine!!!!!

"No Canadian can stand at this cluster of buildings (...) without feeling that somewhere on this Hill, perhaps by a happy accident, architects, masons and stone carvers have managed to grasp and materialize the beauty of Canada, the vastness of its land, its lonliness, its youth and its hope" -- Bruce Hutchinson, The Unknown Country, 1944 

I am NOT a poet...but I AM a girl who adores her man

As Ben and I celebrate three years together (and a great three years at that!), I remind myself exactly what it is I love about him and exactly why I love it. Uncharacteristically, my thoughts took the form of a poem, but it's really just my way of saying:

THANK YOU, BENJAMIN AARON ROTHWELL!!!!

Thank you for offering an eager set of ears.

Relishing in my nonsensical words

Asking for more, and showing the world

Thank you for challenging me to become more than I am.

 Repainting my view ‘til it’s brilliant and better

Giving me light when I might want to be darker

Thank you for adopting my dreams as your own.

Lifting me up when I can’t get any higher

Saying, “I believe in you now and forever”

 Thank you for watching me with those almost-black eyes.

Disregarding all else to see me for me

Pretense all gone - just faith and belief

Thank you for loving my voice, small as it is.

Singing or speaking, you want to hear

You know it matters, that it’s something to share

Thank you for patience, thank you for grace.

I won’t find the same kind in any other place.

Thank you for silence, thank you for noise.

The harmony is perfect, simple, and poised.

Thank you for fighting, thank you for peace.

You conquered it all, all just for me.

Thank you for praying, thank you for leading.

I can’t say it enough; it’s just what I needed.

Thank you for honesty, thank you for heart.

That’s what I wished for from the very start.