I find these days so magical.
The ones that now feel like a blur in my own story.
The ones where my eyes were always sleepy and my coffee never warm and my ankles still swollen as little feet ran around them faster than I could waddle with my body still ravaged from months carrying the little one who was bringing us such wonder.
And their father and I, hunkered down in the home, trying to find our way through the survival mode of growing our family and navigating all the joys and trials of our love being wider than what we knew our capacity to be.
And because these days are written in a chapter we've turned the pages from, I believe somehow it softens my heart more tenderly to see them differently for others. To take me back there again where they are, to make with my images words to their story, a song of thanksgiving for the gift of life.
"Dan clung to her in speechless gratitude, feeling the blessedness of mother love, — that divine gift which comforts, purifies, and strengthens all who seek it."―Louisa May Alcott, Jo's BoysRead More
“Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything as beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting.”Reflecting just as I did last year to pause for gratitude and let it all rush back in. To let the light seep into the quiet places of the heart, let the salt settle again, the tears of hope anchored promises and new worked for new beginnings, to let the breeze of wonder and celebrations refresh the soul once again, to let the color of rich moments where soft flesh pressed up against the heart that has always known and fingers grazed against each other as they found home within each other. To remember the treasure of the now that was and in it held everything and still to believe that the best is yet to come.Read More
I'm not one of those who tells the little ones not to grow up. Because when I see the wrinkles of skin folded around knobby, wobbly newborn knees, flakes of heaven's kisses peeling off furrowed brows of slumber, watch them held in wonder by their siblings guarded ever so closely by parents serenading them with reminders to "please be gentle", my heart swells with the knowledge that this is only the beginning.Because like handcrafted tapestry, their tender hearts have been woven together. The texture is deep with nuances of exuberance and introspection, the color rich with innocence and affection.Read More
Though the melodies are different,some serenaded by exhausted whispers, some punctuated by anticipation and celebration, these songs are each made precious, even sacred by the tenderness, vulnerability, and the intimacy. And it is my joy to make them into art.Read More