{memories}

I don't remember a whole lot about last November--partly because I don't want to and partly because there are so many other good things to remember.
I do recall, however, one of the last conversations I had with my Papa. It was early November of last year. He was pretty sick but still sitting out in the living room and not just in his bedroom. I was recovering from an eye injury and I was tired of laying on our couch at home. So, I decided to go lay on his couch. He was sleeping when I got there so I just snuggled up on the couch and closed my eyes. After about ten minutes, my mom had wandered into the other room and he quietly asked how I was feeling. I smiled and told him I was doing good. He smiled back. Then we both resumed our naps.
At the time I don't really remember anything unusual about this conversation--probably because thats just the man my Grandpa was: others before himself. It was normal. But, looking back, I realize that there I was with an eye injury that wasn't all that serious in comparison to stage four lung cancer. But, yet, he wanted to know how I was doing.
He passed away the day before Thanksgiving and this year the date happens to fall on Thanksgiving. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm thankful that the very last thing he said to me was, "I love you, Aly" and I'm thankful for all the good, good memories. But, at the same time, I'm sad. Death is painful and messy and so, so real. I don't think there is anything more real than death. I'm a little mad still. Seventeen is way too young to lose anybody. Let alone your only grandparent. But, this year, I'm not going to conentrate on that. Or at least try not to. I'm going to concentrate on how blessed I was to have him in my life for those seventeen years.

"You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have truly lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love," -Henry Drummond
   

On Getting Home

Chattering teeth, chapped hands, wind swirling through my hair. Finally the bus rushes to the curb. I step on and the driver nods. I don't need to show my pass; he knows my red cheeks and blue lips by now. An older woman is eating chicken soup under the sign that says "No food or drink" in big block letters. She has creases in her head and mismatched socks. Nobody seems to mind. A genetleman with a cane is reading a crumpled paper and a mother tries to shush her crying baby. A couple holds hands in the back seat. It is busy today. Almost all the plastic seats are filled with people bundled in coats and scarves and backpacks and shopping bags. People with faces and names and stories. I would love to hear their stories sometime, but not now. I have homework to start. I jam an earbud inside my ear and take a seat by a young man in a plaid bowtie. I smile and he smiles back. I shove my backpack under the seat and start reading. The words rattle around in my head like the orphaned penny on the ground. The bus rushes through the streets, stopping every once and a while to invite other thankful passengers into its warm arms. Rain pelts the windows and everybody squeezes together to make room for a wheelchair passenger. We continue rushing through the dark streets lit by a soft orange glow."The normal?" the driver asks. I realize he is talking to me. I smile and nod. He stops the bus and I grap my backpack. A rush of waves and nods see me to the door. I smile. "See you all tomorrow," I say as I step into the rain and rush to my front door.   

 

{my recent life}

...has been full of pictures

...and hopefully a lot more to come.

love

"The kindness of a Christian toward others...should be a practical love, a love which entails on him self-sacrifice and self-denial, both in money, and time, and trouble. His charity should be seen not merely in his talking, but his acting-not merely in his profession, but in his practice," -J.C. Ryle

{hello}

I was born in the heart of a hurricane season
In the house where my mamma was raised
That old September wind feels just like a long lost friend

I want to run through those cottonwood trees
Fall asleep in a big bed of fresh fallen leaves
And in every wind that blows there's a song of letting go
It's not good-bye, it's hello

When we met underneath the blue skies of summer
And those summer skies turn into fall
That sweet September wind made us so much more than friends

And we ran through those cottonwood trees
We made love in a big bed of fresh fallen leaves
And in every wind that blows there's an innocence that knows
It's not good-bye, it's hello

In the moment that one thing ends
Is the same time that one begins
And return as we must
We are ashes to dust, amen.

When the days of my youth have all faded
And the memories are all that remain
Let that old September wind take me back to where I've been

I can run through those cottonwood trees
And remember the smell of those fresh fallen leaves
Now in every wind that blows there's a part of me that knows
It's not good-bye, it's hello

Autumn

For as long as I can remember Autumn has been my favorite season. It just seems like there is nothing not to like. The colours are gorgeous. The wet leaves stick to your boots. Its just chilly enough for sweaters and hats, but not quite gloves and coats. There are long phone calls with my siblings. There is always a warm glow coming from the house after a long day at school. A hot cup of tea and a chat with mom waits inside. There are candles, crisp apples and a fire.

Fall is bittersweet too. There is change everywhere. There is homework, tests and early mornings. There is failure. There are frosts. There are empty seats at the dinner table that will never be filled. There is harsh loss.

But, there is also peace. There is faith in a God who loves us more then we will ever know.

"Well sometimes my life/Just don't make sense at all/When the moutains look so big/And my faith just seems so small/So hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf/You have been King of my glory/Won't you be my Prince of Peace/And I wake up in the night and feel the dark/Its so hot inside my soul/I swear there must be blisters on my heart/Surrender don't come natural to me/I'd rather fight You for something/I don't really want/Than to take what You give that I need/And I've beat my head against so many walls/Now I'm falling down, I'm falling on my knees/And this Salvation Army band/Is playing this hymn/And Your grace rings out so deep/It makes my resistance seem so thin."

always realizing

Well, here I am sitting at school watching all these strange people go by and it just hit me:

Life is good.

I love it.