Wishing

School has started.

And I'm already wishing I was back on the beach.

(Good thing we're leaving for Lake Powell on Thursday).

Settled

We're officially moved in. There are still a few things on our "wish list" (like a night stand might be nice) but aside from those few things I'm pleased with how we pulled it together.

It feels good to have our own space. And a kitchen sink. And a couch. And dishes that aren't made of paper. And sheets that fit our bed. And ... (you get the point).

Tonight we rode our bikes to a park and played a bit of Bocce before dropping of some film to get developed and then coming back to cook together. With real pots and pans. That are our very own. Perfect date night.

The rice just boiled over. Maybe it's personifying our hearts full of gratitude.

Or maybe I'm just new at this house-wife thing.

Packing

Here I am once again, packing. I don't think I've packed and unpacked a suitcase as many times in one month as I have this August.

First it was packing up our "apartment" in DC, then unpacking once we got to Mikey's parent's house where we spent the night packing for Havasu. We unpacked our bags down at the campsite and then packed back up three days later. We unpacked once we got home and then four days after that packed for our trip with Mikey's family. We unpacked for our few days in Las Vegas before packing up to go to California. We unpacked last Saturday and now I'm here, taking a break from packing, before heading home tomorrow. Then we'll unpack to do some laundry and go to church before packing up again to move into our new place.

I'm hoping we'll get to put the suitcases away for a few weeks after that.

I remember leaving Hawaii last March and my Gramma pointing out how organized and meticulous my packing is. The comparison with my sister's suitcase was almost comical. I like Tetris. I find myself playing it in real life all of the time. Especially when I'm packing a bag. I like right angles and the way that rolled and stacked clothes fit so tightly.

But mostly I'm just excited to Tetris all my things into their drawers and shelves in our new place.

Silence

We took a walk along the beach at sunset. After finding a spot to sit and talk, I became enveloped by the sounds of crashing, receding, coming, roaring . . . There was one moment when it became completely silent. And not a small moment, like a hiccup of stillness, but a sustained suspension of sound. I was awed. I was struck by how the waves, though the beat and beat and beat upon the beach, how they roll back on each other and crash with towering power, can suddenly stop.

And leave your ears full of ringing.

Havasu

It's been non-stop since we got home. But that's typical for us. We're a back-to-back sort of couple; one thing after the next--bang! bang! bang! bang! bang!--and then we take a long nap.

We got in from the airport after 10 pm and less than 12 hours later we were on the road headed to Havasupai for a backpacking trip with my family.

We slept in the parking lot that night and then rose at 3:30am to begin our descent into the canyon. The morning was beautiful.


Mikey and I were stunned by how different the landscape was. I remember being equally as impressed by the thick trees and lush wetlands that surround the DC area. The landscape that I used to take for granted became new again. And I was caught up, breathless at times, in its beauty. There is something magical in watching the sun rise above the canyon walls and feeling your smallness as the imposing rocks around you protect from the heat. It's a different sort of smallness than you get by being surrounded by buildings that are 80-stories high.

I feel like this is how God wants us to feel sometimes. Small, so we remember how much we need him, and how much he does for us.



The few days we spent camping were filled with games, conversation, naps, hikes and laughter. There were moments of pure bliss, of realizing God's majesty, of relishing in the fact that I have family all around me. It's been so long since I could hold them close. And I realized how much I've missed it.

Last

Our last few days in DC we nearly perfect. While Mikey finished up at the office, I was busy at home packing our things and trying to figure out how much we'd have to pay to get our bags home. I met him at the office on Monday afternoon and we went to Georgetown for dinner and cupcakes.

I'll miss that place.

I'll miss the canal and the bricks; the smell of damp wood and dirt and people crowding down the narrow sidewalks on M Street. I'll miss the variety of faces, the diversity of sound. I'll miss the rush. The pace. The pulse.

After dinner we walked to the Lincoln and spent time there looking over the city and watching the sun set over the Potomac. I'll miss that vein that runs through the city. Second only to the underground veins that keep everything connected, in motion, commotion. The Metro ride home felt good, good that it was the last time. What used to be exciting and like the gift of time while you got from one place to another has become cramped and dirty. It's not as magical as it was when we first arrived. But I think I'll miss it sooner than I think.

We read on the porch and waited for our neighbors to get home. We talked for over and hour--about war, about society, about God--and then crawled into our little bed downstairs for the last time.

The next morning I had nothing left to do but wait for the hour when I was to pick up Mikey and we were to ride to the airport. And fly home. To pass the time I wrote a few more thank you notes and mailed a Book of Mormon to a woman I met out her. I have no idea how she'll take it or what she'll do with it, but I kept fighting the nagging feeling to send her one and finally had to give in.

This past summer has been an invaluable experience. Invaluable for our marriage, for our ability to cope, for our emotional strength, for our testimonies, for our . . . So many days were completely irreplaceable. So many days were so completely hard. Most days were full, and not just because I had work for 14 hours and then had to stop by the grocery store on the way home right before starting a load of laundry and picking up the mound of shoes that always accumulated by the front door, but because I felt myself expanding to the edges of my skin.

My heart never knew so much in so short a time.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, for making it possible. All of you. And especially my Mikey.