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altogether lovely

I'm having such an interesting psychological relationship with this trip. I never meet the East, the coast, Providence, Massachusetts, without a significant amount of reflection. Like an old boyfriend who I made a fool of myself once for. Only to find a genuine fondness had replaced chaotic desire.

Like I got the friends in the breakup and he only the leftover memories and old familiar places. I'll be seeing you. 47 blessings meet me where I am. How far I have lived beyond those moments. How far we all have. To be stuck in the old roller coaster, a brilliant and bummer of a thing. I see as I look back across the miles, years.

And now Will and Maggie stand at the ledge of their future choices and can't help but look fondly east. I don't blame them, I imagine I planted the seed. An irony, that.

I'll miss them if they take the running leap I once did, but they deserve their adventures. They deserve the Oz of it all--even as I know what they may find behind the curtain.

May.

I say "may" because their pages aren't yet written, a glorious expanse of untouched pages.

I say "may" because their lives are not mine. What I sought they have no need to seek. But I mark my distance, as I said in Slack Water, like a child measuring growth on a doorframe.

I mark my distance from those lessons and choices and memories. How could I not? I wonder now how annoying I must have been--forcing everyone to try to love what I loved. I hear it now in other people on their journeys, the desire to hear the echo of your own heart in others' responses--its a powerful thing. Sometimes, but not always, I hear desperation I didn't hear in myself at the time.

I once overheard someone remark that I mention Cape Cod every single time I get a chance.

"She talks about it every five seconds." That was how she said it. I smile now...I likely did! If I look back, I can see it, I can hear it. Still, it was a mean little remark made by a mean little person. Intended meanly--motivation, intent--these are the only things that matter.

But however strange the journey, my intent was to find peace, adventure, courage. And hope. Well, no. Not to *find* them, but to be able to give them. To Will. To Maggie. Maybe gifts they will open and use; maybe only to hold and to keep. That page in their books is not up to me.

As I sit at my dad's in Pennsylvania, walk the shores of Rhode Island, navigate the Massachusetts Turnpike--or sit in a hotel overlooking the Connecticut River--I am concious of a fullness peace over the coordinates of my travels.

These places-- I did not ultimately choose them, nor they me. But the people--I chose them. I get to keep them. People are our destinations, right? Not places, but relationships.

It isn't fun to lose pieces of your heart on any journey, old or new. But after the fall. After they fall to the ground, after they die to themselves and take root, after they blossom into something new and fresh and altogether lovely, it sure is a blessing. It is such a profound blessing to have pieces of your blooming heart all over the country, all along a well traveled road.

You're altogether lovely
altogether worthy
altogether wonderful to me.
~Hillsong

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