A lesson in celebrating- no matter the season or holiday.

Things I (am learning to) love: 

Weeks that grow me- even if through tired tears.

Limbo- you know those seasons stocked full of intention and faith (yes, LOTS of faith, y’all).

Saturday mornings- often spent watching my giggling boys chase one another while they insist I rest, regather, and just observe it all- filling my heart and body back to full.

My husband- a man of few words, true, but gifted nonetheless with endless listening, immense compassion, and a content way of walking to his own beat in this life. He’s both insanely observant and thoughtful. Someone who listens well enough to hear me say that I want to freeze my little’s current tiny hands as they are, one who knows that I do so cherish B’s current signature (albeit a love/hate relationship when signed multiple times over), and the person who tucks away little tokens that his love picks up and nonchalantly remarks about seeing her Father’s heart written upon them. This man, who says so little verbally (which truly is a perfect balance for his two other endless gabbers) always says so much through his heartfelt actions. I use to get so frustrated that he didn’t communicate like me, true (selfish) story, but now… four years into marriage, I am SO grateful he doesn’t, so grateful. His “listening” approach to life, (one where his heart does the talking and not his mouth or pride, like me) well… it has grown me in ways I never even saw coming. He’s rare and he’s mine- totally undeserving but totally grateful that his whole heart took on this “hot mess of redemption” and has never.looked.back. Together, we literally made walking, talking, illuminating “ADORABLE” and we named it Brent, Michael Brent.




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