One year married to my favorite person to ever exist. He’s only gotten kinder, more patient, wittier and entirely more charming. This year has been a lot to swallow, and you have been filled with nothing but grace and a wise childlike faith, bad jokes and hands always reaching to hold mine. No one makes me laugh harder. You are a safe place. And it is effortless to fall in love with you more and more everyday. Plz just stop stealing the comforter every. Single. Night. :) I love you forever.
I don’t know much, but I do think I know this - that it’s not the repair, not the ‘patched up, frame hung over the holes’-version of each other we’re longing for. It’s the ‘show up at my door entirely broken and come over here, sit down with me, let’s do this together’ version. It’s colossally more simple to show up and smile, to cover up the holes. But when you cover the holes, you lose the places where the light gets in. Those holes, and the magic the light creates within them, those are who you are. Even when the hole is so big and the light is really dim. Even when the reflection of the light looks as messy as the hole it’s shining through. Even on the days you can’t see any trace of its brightness - light is light, and we cannot show people ours without also showing them the holes it comes through.
For the first time in a long time, I posted on my blog. It felt timely to review with myself what words have meant to me all these years. // Fast forward to sometime like fourth grade. A little older, a little more awkward, not any taller (because I’ve always been 2 feet tall), and full of much more wonder. I’d learned cursive at this point so now instead of crooked misspelled words, they were twirly crooked misspelled words, that I had fallen even more in love with. This was the year of the poems. I had decided that I didn’t particularly think I was intelligent enough to form full, deep concepts and sentences. So poems it was. They made no sense. But they made everything else make sense.// link in my bio!
To know, from the first yawn in the morning, from the second my warm feet hit cold ground. To know, in the shuffling to the kitchen, the stirring of coffee. To know, that these moments, as small and human as they are, they are some of God's favorites. To know that in the hurry, and the try, and the unholy blur of opinion- that God knows me intimately, closely, He is so in tune with my heart, His hurts when mine does. To know, that here, in this messy, broken, seemingly insignificant morning moment, God is playing arts and crafts. He is delighting in all of my broken pieces, and one by one, He is picking them up off the ground. And slowly, He is making a crooked and quirky, beautiful and on purpose mosaic out of me, all for His light to shine through.
(Long post ahead 😂) The current season I’m in has been framed by stillness, by waiting, by foot tapping and wondering when the next season will miraculously arrive at my door and welcome me in with flashy lights and big applause. But here I’ve sat, in this same season, for what has seemed like an uncharacteristically long time to sit. You see, I’m not much of a sitter. I’m more of a feeler. I’m more of a “let’s feel this feeling as big as we possibly can and then let’s get on with it.” But that’s not how this has worked, and through it, I have come to realize, that I can’t feel it and get on with it. Rather, I just have to feel it. No knowledge of when I’ll be getting on with it. That has been both freeing and paralyzing - because in one sense, I am allowed the freedom to feel, with no timeline. But on the other hand, I have become stuck in the mentality that to feel means only the icky stuff, the down down down stuff. And so in the small yet big moments where I find myself in hysterical laughter or unparalleled thanks, my heart takes the position of guilt, instead of joy. “How could I feel good in this season of hurt?” “Is it bad that I’m happy in this moment?” I genuinely ask myself those things. But then, in the small and very important moments with God, I’m reminded that the ugly laughter is necessary, the joy is crucial- but that none of this, not the season, not the emotion, not the moment, none of it has anything to do with WHO I am. It only has to do with who I am becoming. And because of this, I have the most honest sigh of relief, because He’s the one controlling who I’m becoming, and I’m thrilled to play a part.
Being a writer tends to involve a lot of hours cooped up inside punching away on computer keys. As much as I love being able to work from my cozy apartment, some days it leaves me feeling uninspired and the writers block hits. The one thing that rejuvenates me and immediately inspires me is getting outside, grabbing a book and a journal, and sitting by the river to read and write with my hands instead of a computer for a little while. Thanks to @fossil for the perfect sidekicks for my writers block getaways. #ad
I think there are seasons for understanding your season while you’re in it, and I also think there are seasons for not understanding your season until 10 seasons later. But whichever season you’re in right now, whether you’re crooked and aching and split open or you’re light and warm and dancing - I hope you allow yourself to be brave enough to feel all of it. It takes guts to feel, to strip back the humanness of pretending, to imagine mirrors being held up to every angle of your heart, and to sit. To piece by piece pull off the gunk. To watch the magic of its pulse, the grace in its steadiness, its quiet and bold reminder that you’re still here. I’m glad you are.
The past year has been a lot. I’ve been sifting through human things that I don’t wish upon most, but it’s been a painful, beautiful, paralyzing, redeeming time. I have a tendency to want people to think everything is okay. But the honest part of human existence, is that none of us are okay all the time. Reality is, it’s easier for all of us to look at the happy stuff. Why? Because we all have struggles, we all have hard stuff - there’s no need to put hard on a scale. If it’s hard for you - it’s justified. All of that to say, it’s easier to put the happy stuff out there. There’s less question, less room for error. But here, in this space, I want room for question, I want room for error, and I am in a really hard place - one still certainly filled with hope and joy - but also filled with uncertainty and pain, and I am here to say that I am present for it all. I am here, as Kath as I can be. And, mostly, I hope this encourages you to show up as you, too.
I’ve always hoped for that,
To not think of a place when asked about home
But to wrap my arms around my fragile and important body
To say, here,
It has endured storms
But kept me safe
But never crumbled
It has withheld opinion
But never hardened
Amongst the honest, the odd
The poems and the grace
Here, in this body,