Posts filed under fluttering pulses

six years.

our anniversary came and went last weekend. it was good and quiet and peaceful - a lot unlike this past year.

and the whole time i couldn't help but look at you and smile, i'm so glad you hold me. 

i'm so glad you hold me because this year i couldn't hold it together on my own. when everything seemed to be falling apart, you stepped in and held my head {and heart} above the raging waters. you held me through nights filled with tears and grabbed my hand when we laughed so hard it hurt.

and through it all i found out just how well you know me.

you know my expressions in the dark - those silent pauses meaning nothing to you because you read me anyway. i won't ever forget the moment i realized you knew me better than anyone in the world and i finally rested in your love because in your love i feel at home.

i'm not perfect. you know this. but i'm stumbling through and learning you - and there's no better place i'd rather be than you holding me. how many times last year did i whisper scared about being a mom? you just tightened your grip on my heart, leaning in to whisper your belief in me - quietly pushing away doubts of my abilities. it's in those moments i can't wait to see you father our children - tenderly whispering in their ears, quietly pushing away the fears of monsters and storms and creatures in the night.

you believe in me.

you believe in me. 

this means everything. you've gotten me to hold the microphone again and put pen to paper. you've pushed me when i needed help in believing in my story. you've held me close when i'm overwhelmed with responsibility.

you believe in me.

and as we start this seventh year i hold on tightly to your hand because it's the only thing i know.

because i'm so glad you hold me in your own.

Posted on July 8, 2011 and filed under fluttering pulses.

finding treasure.

as a little girl, every time my mom would find me crying over another boy she would tell me to find a man who treated me like a pearl. you know...your dad treats me like a pearl, like a treasure...she would say and i would question if such a man even existed for me. freshman year of college i met russ and my blood turned electric. i remember turning away from his glances and breathing deep against the thoughts swirling in my head. there was someone else - someone a state away who just made sense and who had my attention at the time - i couldn't be distracted.

it would take three years for me to escape from that cloud of verbal and emotional abuse, and coming out i was gun-shy and held my shattered heart close to my chest. i never mentioned or thought about the pearl story because i simply didn't believe it. even when russ & i started dating, even after my confidence grew and his belief put me back behind a microphone, i still waited for the harsh words. i still waited for the ignored phone calls and the snide remarks - for the comparisons and the control.

the day we got back from our honeymoon, he found me in our room unpacking. the day before our wedding was less than ideal for him with last minute schedule changes, a broken car and a fender-bender in holiday traffic. in the chaos and excitement, he left my present at the apartment. with trembling fingers and a small smile, he handed it to me.

i looked at the box expectantly. i still remember the way my heart skipped a half-beat, the way my pulse still caught fire when our fingers touched. i opened this gift from my husband - i still get giddy calling him that - and pulled out a necklace.

it was simple. soft black leather chain with a dangling diamond-clasped pearl.

a black pearl.

the tears found their way to my eyes quickly as memories of conversations rushed to the surface. i heard russ clear his throat and i looked back at him, a smile playing on my lips.

"i wanted to get you something special. the black pearl was perfect: worth more than any other pearl and significant of my feelings for you. our marriage may not be all diamonds and pretty white pearls, but i will treasure you. always."

i walked into his embrace, clinging to my home - this man who just spoke into me and my fears like no one else. i found him mama, i thought as i looked into his eyes and saw all the love in the world reserved just for me.

i'm writing with emily's imperfect prose - join us?


Posted on June 1, 2011 and filed under fluttering pulses.

what dreams are made of

i got to see him live his dream this weekend. whites pressed, face intent, he cut and chopped and created and didn't stop to breathe until we walked into our own little date-night respite at the end of the evening.

you guys absolutely killed it they said.

but i know who really did all the work.

it makes me all glowy inside watching him work and live out what makes him alive - makes me want to  go all crazy myself and chase after the one thing that quickens my breath.

i think about two years ago this week. fresh on the banks of a new adventure, he threw caution to the wind and quit his job to travel the country with complete strangers in the name of love. i drove down the highway and slept on government lawns while he shook hands with senators and laughed at dirty musicians taking the time to speak on behalf of children who've never known peace. every night, i'd talk to him and get the latest scoop - which sidewalk he slept on, which church opened their doors or which twitter friend came through in a pinch.

and then i think about him flying home after breaking bread with strangers-turned-friends on the streets of chicago and us packing our lives to move once more. i think of night-classes and opposite schedules and waiting until the weekend when i could see him and lots of tears and hard roads and misunderstandings.

as i watched him this weekend do what he's made to do, i thought to myself just how lucky i am that he's my husband and the father of our future children. i got giddy thinking of him looking them in the eye and sharing with them stories that'll seem crazy and i'll just have to sit and laugh and agree because goodness i was there and i promise he's not making this up and he'll look at them all and tell them what dreams are made of and will remind them of that spark inside that tells you to do crazy things.

because most times? that spark is the one thing that keeps us sane.


oh and - congratulations, katy! you won the copy of half the church. e-mail me your address?

Posted on April 11, 2011 and filed under fluttering pulses.

behind the fear.

sometimes, i wish we could just get away - just you and me and the pounding of waves against sand. in the day to day hustle of love, i sometimes forget to look in your eyes long enough to remind you of the butterflies and how they still rush and beat wings on ribs.

instead, i run and plan and cower from your touch. you see through my busy-ness - you know my quiet brooding stems from somewhere deep and altogether separate from you. you pull me home.

what are you thinking about, you say.

i shrug and look out the window. i respond with a non-committtal grunt and something about my mind not really focusing on much. you don't buy it.

you just seem somewhere else...

and i know i am. i feel it, too. but where are the words? i nod and agree and grab for your hand. if anything, i can be present with this.

and now, twelve hours later and processing fully folded under, i know. the quiet came from somewhere deep, yes. the words were not there to voice because the overwhelming nature would have escaped unheard.

the bottom line, the thought that grabs me and pulls me under is simple but suffocating: at the end of the day, i fear i don't love you well. even more, i know you can't argue against this because i know the lies i've believed. and i know we're relearning and i know we're laughing in the face of pain because we know this cannot be quenched, but i wonder if you ever question my silence.

yet you stay. and oh - this is mind boggling for someone who fears abandonment.

because honestly? even though i turn away and even though most days i feel like gomer, my love for you is strong and steady and flows deeper than any haunting memory. i'm still figuring out how to show you this. i'm still finding ways to pull the words when i need them most. and for the life of me i'm trying to rest long enough to show you the love behind the fear.

Posted on April 5, 2011 and filed under fluttering pulses.

beloved list.

i etched it into lines on paper, the black ink seeping through the other side. someone who keeps this dreaming heart grounded it said. i smiled when i wrote it, thinking of days where one would hold my face in his hands and keep me grounded by saying things like "i believe in you" or "stop worrying."

and he says these things. constantly.

but earlier this week, he said something that brought me rushing back to the present and into his arms.

on tuesday, i walked into the therapist's office for the first time. i sat there, my heart tripping over itself, and told her things i've never spoken out loud. bringing them to light brought tears and heaviness. a weighty glory settled deep in my bones and i knew what happened was good and part of His plan to heal me. this didn't change the hurt, though. it didn't change the horror of experiencing again the moment you first saw the dark deep.

on wednesday, i fought the urge. i fought running and i fought numbing and i fought everything i've ever done to get the memories away. we sat in the car that night, my hands shaking with cold and tears thawing lines down the frozen parts of my cheeks. "i just don't feel courageous" i said. "i don't know how to do this. i don't know how to ask you what i need. i don't know how to handle the chaos." i glanced at him furtively and whispered my next plea. "i just need you to say you won't go anywhere."

his chest expanded with purpose. the lines on his face set firm and he held my gaze. squeezing my hand, he nodded. "you know i'm not going anywhere."

the dam broke. heart exploding, i sat there with my head bent low - the tears of hope and relief spilling over on my jacket, my jeans. and my words fell like a leaky faucet. "it just hurts so. much." he breathes deep and exhales slow. "i know, love."

and i'm thrust into a completely different element of knowing. earlier, i ached to be known but feared the touch. now, laid bare before my love, i drank deep of his strength keeping me here - anchoring me.

oh how i love this one who keeps me grounded i thought. and then a small smile played at the corner of my lips. isn't love like that? isn't His love like that? everything we hoped for and nothing we expected - He holds us gently and whispers solid.

later that night, my home will pull me tight against his chest and bury his head in my neck whispering i love you in a way only i can decipher. i'll walk away blushing from the knowing - from the realization of his fighting for my heart. and even though my heart is still tattered, even though i wake with a start in the early morning with the deep bone ache of memory's kiss, in that moment i feel treasured by my beloved and silently thank the One who gave him to me.

Posted on February 11, 2011 and filed under fluttering pulses.