meadowbrook farm

 

Maybe one of the prettiest places I’ve ever seen. Definitely one of the cutest houses. And I tried, VERY hard, not to drool over the big red barn.

This is Meadowbrook Farm of Montana. :)

dreams come slow, but they go so fast

 

I’ve always had a thing for milestones, dates—memorializing the things of the past. Forgetting is not my thing. I remember even when I was very young asking my mom questions about getting older, about remembering. “Do you remember very much from when you were little? Does it all seem fuzzy now? Will I forget everything about growing up?”

Maybe that’s why I love pictures. They help me remember.

A year ago tonight, I was sharing an upstairs guest room in Philadelphia with my bff Hannah and my little brother Caleb. A year ago tomorrow, I said goodbye to them both and to the beautiful Pennsylvania that was my home for a small but filled-to-bursting two months.

 

I have been blessed to see my adoptive PA family twice since then—for a two-week visit in October and then when they came out for my wedding in February. I even got to see my dear Hannah and Caleb again in April when I went to Florida. But oh how I miss them, and always will as long as 2,500 miles lay between us.

I just hope that in heaven we’ll be neighbors.

montana views

 

 

Sunshine and bear grass, craggy peaks and green lakes, steep sweaty hikes and thousands of mosquitoes waiting for us at 8,000 feet—yes, I had a memorable first trip to Montana. We fueled our ten-hour drive with drinks from Sonic and Starbucks, then filled our days with food, trails, Dominoes, and Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I took a dip in the coldest glacier water I’ve ever touched and felt it instantly immobilize my limbs in its vice-like grip, pressing the oxygen out of my lungs in short panicky gasps. I waded amid a cloud of minnows in Lake Como and felt them tickle my feet with their odd little lips. I ate the best sweet potato fries I’ve ever had, spent hours pond-watching on the dock, somehow survived the warping experience of watching What About Bob, and rather pitifully lost every single game of Mexican train. It was a blast. More photos to come. :)

safe

 

I sat in a circle with half a dozen other girls this week, with the windows wide open to a cool, navy-blue night. Our goal was simple and deceptively small: to lay our hearts out prone and vulnerable so that we could begin to develop real, loving, Christlike relationships with each other. As my heart broke story by story, I came away wondering how many other people I ask “How are you?” on a daily or weekly basis and remain satisfied when they answer “Fine.” Heaven knows I’m the biggest liar of us all when it comes to that question; to reveal struggle and imperfection seems both unsafe and unspiritual, and it’s so easy to forget that if Jesus gave His testimony it would be one filled with pain, grief, rejection, death—and yet faith that in spite of it all, God is good, always.

“Safe? Who said anything about safe? Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.” – Mr Beaver, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis

summertime days