This is Summer: Season Six {Episode 27}


The suburban life

Landlord’s dog, passing mansions

little league game, too




Scenes from Spring Break {Season Two}




Monday morning, 6am, the sun’s not up yet.

Sunday afternoon, 6pm, chasing turtles around the yard, hard shells and little claws.

Monday morning, 8am, miniature desks begin to fill.

Sunday evening, 8pm, table on the Aunt’s patio, laughing with the cousins over steak.

Monday night, 10pm, working, writing, resting; preparing for another day tomorrow.




There’s a petting zoo,
off the highway
in Michigan.

We stumbled upon it,
on the way to Mancelona
last month.
Followed the signs,
paid for wrist bands
and a bag of food to feed the animals
and spent a wonderful afternoon
at Lewis Farm.


This is Summer: Season Two {#5}





The Lincoln Park Zoo:
our destination today.
The kiddos loved it!



The Roommate exclaimed to me this evening rather excitedly about something having to do with goats yelling. I had been spending my precious and highly sought-after free time in watching a youtube video featuring a miniature frog squeak, but the goats sounded intriguing. So I looked them up.

My mother has implied, and will probably deny ever saying, that I have so shrunk my attention span that my deep love of youtube is only fitting because I can’t attend for much longer than three minutes, anyway. I believe this to be a false statement, and I have proof to defend myself as well: my attention span for scrolling through Facebook is unending, and I can while away quite a time on Pinterest, when given the opportunity. So you see.

But goats.

So I watched this video. And sure enough, these goats yell like humans, which was highly entertaining, but this youtube clip is more than three minutes long and goats aren’t Facebook, I lasted 47 seconds before moving on with my life.

But we’re learning about short-term memory and long-term memory and how events pass from one to the other, and I must have encoded goats properly because I got into bed to write this post and thoughts of Paris lead to pictures of Paris and look what I remembered! The closest I have ever come to kissing a goat. And I really was thinking about it, too.

In other news which has nothing to do with goats, Paris, or The Roommate, which I suppose fits neatly under the category of Evidence for The Mother’s Argument Against My Attention Span and For My Literary ADD, our dear friends of many, many years are in China at this moment, finalizing the adoption of their baby girl. I have subjected too many people to my exclamations of excitement over this whole event, because:

1) I like babies.

2) I like adoption.

3) This particular child is remarkably cute, and I’ve pored over every picture the family has posted on any social media I can get my hands on. Truly. I’ve never checked Instagram so frequently in my life. But heaven forbid a new picture of Madeleine or her sister Miranda appear on Instagram and I not become immediately aware of it.

Also, such social media stalking fits well into my schedule because I only ever do anything in increments of 2.7 minutes. So I’ve got time.

But adoption. Oh man, I tell ya. I found myself mildly in trouble for my bold statement last week that I was going to marry a Spanish-speaking man. Indeed I was rather assertive in that claim, especially since the ins and outs of my (utterly nonexistent) romantic life hardly ever appear here. But I figured at the very least, when I marry a completely non-Spanish man, you can return to that post and laugh and shake your head at my folly, and then my boldness will have served at least to entertain you. So that’s a plus.

I wrote about this hypothetical man once, and I’m writing about him again, right here, right now, to say that the man I marry must by necessity have an open mind and heart towards adoption because Hello! There are children out there without families! Children without what they need to survive! Adoption is a huge deal people- just ask my sisters.

It would appear that we’ve moved from goats to adoption to future husbands, and I’ve really no good way to end this post, other than presenting you with this, our very own Awkward Family Photo, taken during the same Not-Goat-Kissing trip to Paris in 2011.


Because, Because, Because

Because I’ve stumbling unknowingly across the threshold of my most stressful week of the semester.

Because there’s a pit of worry in my stomach, and I might as well get used to it being there.

Because I made a to-do spreadsheet for the week and put it next to my desk, where it grows a little bit every day.

Because, because, because. Because of all of that, it’s a short writing time and I’m tempted to drag down, to drag discouraging with my words.

Because I got a spam comment that read “I was addicted to gambling” and I can’t for the life of me figure out the connection between what I write here and a gambling addiction.

Because I returned to the room this afternoon and The Roommate announced, “Don’t come over here; I’m watching a whale video!” before the door had even clicked behind me, and I first screamed (it’s a short list of things that are more terrifying than whales) and then watched the rest of the video.

Because we had Thanksgiving lunch in the SDR today and Mary Queen proposed a toast to America and freedom from British rule, and we all clinked glasses of water and giggled while our resident Brit rolled her eyes and grinned.

Because, at their request, the little sisters and I watched the Baby Panda Sneezing youtube video.

Because studying is a privilege, even more so studying God’s word, and I’m learning such valuable lessons, and I just don’t want to complain.

Because, because, because, I’m here right now because deadlines fall hard and assignments loom large, but God won’t let me lose it, and I’m clinging to His joy with all my might.


Look Back {Part One}

Every one has a story; an account of how I arrived, how you arrived, at where we are right now. Look back at your story, rehearse your story, remember your story. See God’s faithfulness then, God’s faithfulness looking back, and find peace and comfort, joy and courage, to turn around and follow Him into the now. Into the future.

Fuzziness and half memory blur the edges of what I know to be real, what I know happened. A snapshot of a moment that I didn’t even recognize to have significance until years afterwards.

THe play table at the public library is just my size. It can’t be very big because neither am I. There are trains, I know, and cars, too. This I remember. But my hands, little hands, are not engaged with the cars and trains, trucks and airplanes.

It’s plastic animals; large toys with realistic features, the heaviness of them settling into my palms as I play. There are people, too. There must be, there are in my memory. Rhinoceros, giraffe, tiger. Man, woman; toys.

Children’s toys on a library play table.

It’s the Garden of Eden. I’ve heard the story of creation, and I know the names and the sequence of events. God then world, animals then Adam, Adam then Eve. I’m playing and pretending, acting out a story that I’m so familiar with.

Toys play and my imagination swirls and this play table is just my size.

Memory softens and fades and it was so very long ago, but this I do remember. Standing where I am, standing in the middle of the public library, I’m suddenly completely convinced. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

Clutching the man and woman figurines, I know in the deepest part of my soul that Adam and Eve are not just a story; they are real. God did create a man and a woman; the very first account in the Bible is not a happy legend; it’s absolutely real. The realization dawns on me in a second, and I’m instantaneously absolutely positive.

I know the story, the story that starts with creation and flows through the fall, Abraham, Jacob, Moses, all the way through Jesus Christ and the Apostles. I know the story and I know it’s true. It’s true and the truth of the story of the Bible affects every aspect of my life.

Plastic animals still gripped in my little hands, the sounds of a library’s play place all around me, I’m heart and soul convinced that the stories of the Bible are real, and in that moment, I’ve committed to live my life based on that truth.

Children’s toys on a library play table. Plastic toys and a soul-deep turning point in my faith, in my life.


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