September 30, 2011

3601

There really isn’t a season on God’s green earth that I do not love. His creation is so abundant with beauty and glory all around. Anyway, my point is that I love the autumn. Aside from snow, it really is my favorite season. The turning of leaves, the hot sunlight in the windows when it’s chilly outside. Tall boots and scarves and coffee watching football from the sidelines. Mmmm.

One morning this week when it was 44 degrees and me in my black cardigan sweater, I thought of our first home out here in Da Plains. Yes, we lived with Lulu for a while but we settled into our own place by October. The heart of autumn. I remember that time in our lives and I remember the warm strength of God’s great hand on my back, guiding me along. His Will was washing over us and all we could do was let the waves lap up over and over and wait to see what new blessings would arrive on top of them. And arrive they did by way of our very own home to live in.

With it, the sense of confidence that I could actually raise my three children alone (if by alone you mean me + JC).

It was my biggest ever walk-in closet with leftover air freshener from the previous owner.


The sunlight beat into my bedroom window and across my bed seemingly all the time, which I grew to ADORE.

The heat burned my feet in my very own bathroom when I got ready in the mornings with my short hair. My very own bathroom.

I wrote messages to myself on that bathroom mirror and letters to God in my notebook at bedtime.



My upstairs patio door was left uncovered 99% of the time – just to let the light in. The end table that our little Olive cut her new teeth on (which is now sanded, painted white and residing in our living room) was bathed in afternoon sunlight.


Trevor was a cute little punk.
Multiple vampire fiction novels were devoured, some for hours at a time in broad daylight, others into the wee hours of the morning.
Mabel had her own room there; for the first time since her first month, she did not sleep within arms’ reach from Mama. Oh the sunlight was spectacular through her window as well.


I opened my Frye boots and my Chucks on the dining room table in that house.

Mountain Baby Blankets was born there.

Lots and lots of homemade laundry detergent. Aldi with Mindy.


I made my mom’s quilt there, start to finish.


Mindy quilted on my floor. She ironed. She spent the night. Her kids spent the night; everyone all camped out in the family room downstairs on the pullout couch that I bought for like, $25 at a garage sale and brought home by myself in the Expedition. Sniffle.



The Favor poster on my living room wall was my first piece of actual artwork picked out by me, hung by me, and adored by me.


Oh my, the Golden Girls. The Grey’s Anatomy weekends that went hand-in-hand with the sewing.


Mabel walking her little fat self everywhere.


I made chicken pot pie and soup over and over and over for the kids – until it became that something that mommy makes that they love. They still ask for it. That will warm your soul right there.

I remember all of the arguments I’d have with Shoes, hiding in my closet because the boys tried to listen.

I remember having my last cigarette on the back deck a month after we moved in. To hell with that habit; it would never be worth it again.
I remember what it felt like to move out of that house. I knew I would miss it because it held such purpose. Do I wish I could go back? No, I wouldn’t trade one solitary second of our lives right now. But I do miss that feeling of sunshine in autumn.


Little Moo-Moo was just that. Little. And Monday she turned FOUR. My how live moves.

1 comment:

  1. I really like this post. Nostalgia--so painfully sweet. Thanks for sharing!

    ReplyDelete