wallflower

I have a vivid memory of being at a school dance in grade 10. My friends and I were in the middle of the gym head banging to Billy Idol’s Mony Mony. We were laughing like crazy, having a great time. At the end of the song while we were still laughing hilariously at our antics, the music switched to a slow song. My friends all turned to the guys they were dating and started swaying back & forth, arms wrapped around each other as I slowly drifted to the side, wishing myself invisible. I remember standing awkwardly at the side of the gym watching all of the couples, wishing I was one of them. Much to my embarrassment, tears came and I found myself alone in a bathroom stall gulping down tears wishing for Patrick Swayze to come and pull me out by the hand saying, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner”. Pathetic but sadly, true!

In that moment, I felt broken, like there was something wrong with me. I wanted to be in a “relationship”. To have someone who pursued me. Who looked for me in a crowd. Who would hold my hand in the cafeteria, hang out with me on Friday night & send me a red carnation through our school Valentines day fundraiser. I wanted to be part of something and to not feel so alone. Crying in the bathroom stall, my teenage angst took over & I convinced myself that I wasn’t worth it. That no one would want to be with me.

Even though years have passed, I still have moments of similar angst where I feel like I’m the only one who is missing out. At church a few weeks ago, I was taking pictures during worship for a project we’re working on. Through my lens, I noticed people worshipping in a different way that I usually do. I saw how absorbed they were. How connected they seemed to be. So many people were engaged in a level of worship that I’ve never experienced. Maybe it’s because I usually have three children hanging on me, needing to go to the bathroom, wanting a flag, asking for a snack, for another marker and so on. Maybe it’s because I’m constantly distracted but that day, I felt like I was the only person not getting it. I left church that morning with all too familiar feelings of brokenness and a sense that there was something wrong with me. I want to connect with God. To feel his love in a real way. To experience intimacy and not feel so alone in the middle of a crowd. I want it but I don’t know how to get there. That frustrates me and saddens me. I wonder what is it going to take for me to get it?

Is there anyone else out there who feels the same way or am I the only wallflower, wishing I was part of the dance?

him

This is the man I love.

His name is Tim. He said I could tell you that.

When I was a teenager, lying on the floor of my friend’s bedrooms, starting wistfully at NKOTB posters, dreaming of my future husband, he is not the man I imagined. He has the dark hair, piercing eyes and flirty way that always charmed me but in most other respects, he is different than I expected.

All of those midnight’s spent conjuring up a fictional future were dreams of a white dress, of grand gestures and perfect moments. I imagined poems & songs written for me, a life of ease and near constant bliss. In my youth, I couldn’t conceive of what 15 years of life together would look like. I had no idea how beautiful and sometimes, how desperately ugly our life would be. There was a white dress, a few grand gestures and many perfect moments. But even those moments, most cherished in my heart look differently than I imagined. I treasure my mental images of our heads thrown back, laughing until we cried (or I peed my pants!), tender words whispered in the dark & dreams, long imagined coming to be. But they also include tears, slippery babies still wet from my womb (and then nights, long nights holding those babies), laughter at things only we could understand, raw, vulnerable moments when I bared my soul and he looked into my eyes and kept right on loving me. Moments where we raged and ranted until we were bleary eyed and hoarse but chose to keep on. Days we didn’t know how we were going to do tomorrow but still said yes to our future and to the promises of the past. Those are the moments I hold most closely in my heart and the times I am most proud of us. Those are the things I could not image when I was fifteen.

I had no idea how he would become my rock. How the flirty guy with the bluest eyes would become a man of great strength and character. How leaning into him, breathing in the scent of him and listening to his heart beat would steady me. How I would long for his presence. How completely entwined the threads of our lives would become as years passed and babies were born, homes bought and sold, jobs lost and businesses started. How he would love me and hurt me and change me and more than anything, make me proud to be his wife and share his name.

Not every day is perfect. In fact, very few are. He’s never written me a song and our life is more chaotic than blissful but I am thankful for it. Grateful to the core of my being. I have a love that has become a rarity.

I love you Tim- then, now, always.

twenty-eighth

I love this amazing little guy. Serious or silly, I’m thankful that he’s mine.

twenty-seventh

My little man was pretty cranky this week- sick, whiny & overtired. It was hard to catch any smiles. Some weeks are like that.

twenty-sixth

twenty-fifth

Feeling a little sick. I think it was a man cold!

twenty-fourth

Crackers & cucumber riding in style.

twenty-three

Talkin’ a Oma.

twenty-two