Warmth + Gratitude

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A candle flickers in my peripherals, with its fragrance filling the air. Lavender. The same scent steams from my—laced with peppermint leaves. The warmth swirls within my mouth as I relax in to my chair. My eyes are met with a polaroid photo that I pinned to the wall. It’s of my mother and I at my brother’s summer wedding. Even the polaroid photo catches the radiance in her smile. 

I’ve always wanted to emulate my mother, and at a young age defined success as being a mother with many children. But I’ve grown to recognize that it’s her bright spirit I long to mirror, how she illuminates every scene. 

I step into deeper, digressing thought. My features are a fifty-fifty blend of her’s and my father’s. I love that. So perplexing how genes can mix and fuse and swap and join together. God never misses a moment to showcase His artistry.

I see my mother’s strength, and recognize that it’s fortified. It originates in her intimate encounters with The Creator. She’s an incredible showcase of her strength, for it’s in her nature. Her strength is her speaking openly, sharing words, hurt, her testimony–all to help and relate to others–meeting them where they are at, only to bring them to a higher place, bringing heaven down for us to dwell within. I’m so thankful for her golden heart.

During the trip for my brother’s wedding, we visited the California sand dunes. I stole this time to be still within the present, hiding away in the divots between the dunes. Here, I wrote this poem. 

My Mother

Eyes lining each petal, 
the soft and vulnerable centers, 
taking notice of every bundle of hydrangeas, 
black eyed susans and hummingbird sage. 

Your mind sketches them in charcoal, 
paints them with acrylics, 
writes them into a book, 
with a matching movie,
while treasuring this time. 

Your eyes
brighten by the ocean, 
by the mountains, 
by the coming-of-age of the brother of mine. 

Your heart is always heavy for others, 
but forever increases in capacity, 
unbroken by burdens, 
free like the swallows skimming over sand. 

My face is beginning to resemble yours 
with the passing years–
cheekbones prominent,
my almond-shaped eyes.

I pray that my spirit’s maturation, 
does the same.

• • •

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I retreated from the warmth beneath the bedtime covers and was greeted by the morning. Its light gently descended out across our home—spilling across the carpet and cabinets. My body was bathed in peppermint as the cool air brought a refreshing bite to my skin.

It’s Thanksgiving morning. Ricky is in the bathroom—water-on, water-off—brushing his teeth in preparation for his work day.

I read a while, and take Rollie (our little min-pin mix) outside. The frost has melted away, but the air is still pure. I think that’s my favorite trait of the end of year months, that morning’s renewal bleeds into later within the day. It’s free from the scorching, harsh heat, not weighed heavy from humidity. 

I brew some tea and refill the vase that holds goldenrods and peach roses. They were waiting for me in cellophane wrapping when I arrived home from work earlier this week and have since expanded out their petals to full-bloom. 

I fold laundry, the little load of white shirts, towels, socks. I dwell on the day’s purpose–the day of giving thanks. I name all things I’m thankful for, regardless of size: 

The overflow and outpour of Love, and how it spills and splashes about. 
The husband who kisses me before leaving our home for the day. 
My family who generously shares in conversation, despite our coast-to-coast distance. 
These quiet mornings, gifted with the intent for my mind to rest. 
These warm and freshly folded linens.

My heart is full, soul soothed, and my mind is in a posture of gratitude. 

• • •

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The moment I began writing affirmations, the sun debuted for the day. My skin, my shirt soaked up its warmth. After a few seconds, it withdraws, idling back behind the clouds. This cool, autumn afternoon, is to be spent sipping on a muggy coffee drink. 

I move onto the second string of affirmations, and the sun peeks out again. It’s an honest moment, and my hand and pen become a dancing shadow on these bright white, lined sheets.

This simple gesture has shed light on the significance that saunters about. Fullness.

Beaming

The front door shuts,  
with a bit of a struggle, 
and as plastic wrapping chatters,  
I can hear that his hands are full. 

A sweet smile, 
with a gentle grasp, 
unveiling a secret surprise—
holding a tidy bouquet bursting with tiny white flowers. 

My eyes arch and dimples appear; 
I rush to embrace my husband—
throwing my arms around his shoulders. 

The occasion of introspection, 
translating emotion embodied through the pure white petals,
and the crisp chrysanthemum buds. 
They collect together in unison, 
bundled into the vibrant stalk with the outstretched leaves. 

I shed the plastic wrapping, 
and grab a mason jar from the cabinet,
filling it with a rush of clear water for the stems to soak within.

As I awaken this morning, 
I’m met with the delicate floral fragrance.  
I cherish these moments—
blooming and beaming,
and swell with admiration for my honey-sweet husband.

Paradise

Those that I have a personal relationship with or who have been following my life through Instagram or Twitter know that I recently traveled to Hawaii with my husband (Ricky) for a recess. I will forever be an open-book, and wanted to briefly share a few encounters of being away with an emphasis on returning home. 

It was an amazing happening to be able to visit a land in which I have never witnessed, alongside my love, growing our experiences together. We were able to escape the everyday duties, chores and obligations, with opportunity to explore multiple Hawaiian islands.

There is something special in surpassing the tourist regions—a rawness and authenticity that comes with each mile driven past the last blinking traffic light. These are the ventures that we sought out, even if it meant walking by foot or learning the island’s public bus system. We perched ourselves among the Eucalyptus trees, popping macadamia nuts purchased from a local marketplace store. We were able to plan our own adventures each morning.

We experienced a rush of water, from the word’s rainiest peak, down our backs as we drifted down its runoff. 

We went snorkeling by a crater, with water so clear the depth from the surface to ocean floor made me anxious. This forced me to command my body to be calm, which was an empowering revelation. We found the other’s hand beneath the water’s surface and pointed out exotic fish, laughing underwater and ultimately getting saltwater in our nose; these were salty-sweet moments. 

We climbed across a rocky edge of a cliff, grasping the volcanic rocks for balance as the ocean crashed behind us. Little crabs scurried around the soggy moss beneath our feet. This adrenaline-inducing climb brought us to an uninhabited piece of land that quietly overlooked the ocean, interrupted by the waves smacking against a small canyon. In this moment, I felt small amidst the massive mountains and deep blue waters. I felt close to my accomplice that endured this crazy exhibition with me. 

We flew to 13,000 feet within the air and jumped off the airplane to experience a true birds-eye view of Oahu—falling towards the mountains and ocean—catching a glimpse of the whales coming up for air, splashing with their babies submerged by the vast Pacific. We saw the island of Maui within the distance as we sank through clouds. The feeling I encountered is what I would imagine rainbows to feel. 

My mind experienced magic with each encounter. These are the lands, and the moments that I will daydream of. After about a week and a half, we were set to return home. 

Aside from the jet lag and 13 hour flight, I was looking forward to coming home. With past cruises that Ricky and I have taken, I had felt an ache with their end. It was a feeling of physical resistance in rebellion of going back to regular life, the mundane. 

As I sat within the turbulent air train, I analyzed what had inspired the switch in emotion. Apart from coming home to Nashville, rather than Ohio, I started to account the acknowledgment of awareness within my routine. I noticed that over time I have learned to scatter gratitude throughout each concurrence of living and task—creating a positive perception on every aspect within the everyday.

Where I reside now, is the home where I feel safe with space to create. This little loft has been allotted to art—here I write, paint, letter and upload tiny works like these to you, reader. Surrounded by the fragrance of sweet honey and citrus, I am able to expound upon these works while developing and translating them to multiple mediums. I share them with my handsome husband as he sits on the love-seat, leaning his weight onto its shoulder with interest.

This is home to a few of my closest friends, with the roads leading up to their homes memorized by habit. Their souls are lined with gold accents and natural light. With the aroma of freshly ground coffee and vegan-baked goods, we dig deep into conversation. It is where the bulb lights hang within the church I love, along with its community. 

Here, is where inspiration can be found through a blanket laid out within the backyard, carpeted by green grass with an open novel or notebook. The act of refreshing the mind with a quiet getaway within the forest, surrounded by Sugar Maple and Bur Oak trees.

This is where I have been challenged to grow further than what meets the eye. Truly recognizing the subconscious and altering its automatic release, confronting myself to recognize and live in-line with the letters my creator wrote. 

This is where my husband and I have drawn closer to one another—for the love we have has been cultivated through the the day-to-day. The struggles contain the conversations that evoke greater unity, and deeper understanding of ourselves and one another. The gentle pauses and soft smiles, inspired by nothing except love for the other.

I loved breathing in the Hawaiian air, but I love coming back. For where I live is my own, personal paradise.