I would really like to take a breath of new air. Not fresh air, but new air. After an especially emotionally taxing weekend away from home, full of mourning and unexpected/unwanted appearances, I came back home and just want to get away. The first night home, I broke down in front of Life Partner and Mister Man. And they, thankfully, let me sob and speak through all the ugliness of my time away. And I felt better, because I was home and safe again. But I know there will be more to address in due time and there is the now that requires me to not rely on my own strength or wisdom.

Oh, I am just tired.

New air would be beautiful. I begged Mister Man to take me away to another country so we could finally take care of all the children our hearts are ready to love on. He just held me instead. And that’s what I needed. And I know I need to reach up and hold hands with Abba right now. But I am so ever thankful that He also cradles me when I feel like I just can’t make the first move.

But up we go. Up I go. Because the world doesn’t stop just because I want a time out. I can’t collapse and refuse to keep going because of fears, heartache, doubts and insecurities. I’m going to follow Bob’s lead and take the baby steps needed to get me out of this room, down the hallway and onto that bus.

I have always been looking to the next phase. In elementary school, I wanted to be in middle school. But then I got there and thought to myself Gawd, I need to get away from these insecure kids. And then I almost breathed a sigh of relief when I got into high school until it dawned on me that Holy crap, these are the same insecure kids except there’s more hormones and more angst. You can guess how college turned out after a couple of years. Insecure, hormonal, angst-ridden kids who were now confused about the future. Except this time I was right there with the rest of them.

For appearance sake, I probably looked relatively calm and fine in my surroundings, whooping it up and making connections with other people. But I just couldn’t see myself settling down. Even now, as I muse about a maybe someday with Mister Man, I can’t picture myself in any particular place. Want to know why? Because there is something else…out there. Where is out there? I’ve no clue! But I’m excited to find out. I figure I’m a grown up now. I just celebrated my birthday and got kitchenware as a gift.

New pots and pans? Hello! My excitement for the kitchenware heralded the realization that I am now officially old enough to see what’s out there and where that will take me. Life in my twenties has shown itself to be beautifully ugly, one harsh reality after another of never having enough money, hating jobs, and real life scary and sad things happening that never make sense.

But does it have to make sense? Do I have to know why? Nope.

And that bites. It really does. I like knowing why. I like digging around for the why. I like asking things that will give me the answer to why. I like not being insecure, angst-ridden and confused. I am now 27 years old, and after rushing every pivotal time in my life forward, I am willing myself to stop and enjoy the now. To stop and realize that the out there may actually be here. Because that longing for whatever else is out there? That? That is Abba telling me so gently, so sweetly, so assuredly that I was made for so much more.

I flew out last weekend to see my beloved Gramma Alice: the woman who raised the man who chose to be my father, the woman who chose to be my grandmother.

And it may be the last time I’ll see her on this side of heaven. And I find myself not wanting to move on to the next phase. I want to linger. I want the world to stop. I want to have more hours. I want Michigan to be a whole lot closer to Washington. More, more, more…

But the reality is that I will never have that visit again. It’s sad, isn’t it, Mr. Smith? But I do have this moment. I do have the memories. I do have those conversations. I do have these pictures. I do have the choice to live in the now. And make the time I have now be worth all the beautifully ugly that this world offers and fully understand and embrace the wonderfully beautiful that my Abba gives every single day. Having that dream job, traveling to different places, rescuing children? All things adult like that will come in due time, but I will never have this moment again. So I need to be in the here and now.

Because this is what I was made for.

This past Saturday we all gathered for the memorial service of Adam Jose Aguilar. We remembered him through stories, missed him with our tears, honored him in our laughter and celebrated him over toasts…with a room full of family and friends and acquaintances.

Adam was so full of love, life, hope and dreams…but it just wasn’t strong enough to keep him with us on this earth. He simply didn’t know how to live without giving his all to everything. And so he used up 80+ years worth of his heart well before he turned 33 years old, and it was time for him to finally rest and not be tired anymore.

Adam brought energy, smiles and life into everything he did – whether it was trekking through the woods or bombing down a ski slope, playing and loving on his nephew and nieces, or sharing a joke with a group of friends. I met people as close as childhood friends who were his groomsmen to as new as Safeco Field employees he met at the last Yankees-Mariners game…sharing tear-stained smiles and choked moments of laughter was fitting for a man who brought lives together with his charm and genuine spirit, who wanted every moment to be a great story to share to the next person he met.

I miss him, Mr. Smith. I’ve heard about Adam for years now and only started exchanging emails and messages with him since last fall. I remember meeting him for the first time, getting to cook and enjoy dinner with him and Dan. I remember the easy rapport we had and how he brought an oddly soothing energy with him – inviting enough to get comfortable quickly but with an edginess that promised adventures. My heart aches for Adam’s parents and siblings and family; my gut wrenched at the hurt I saw in the faces of so many of his friends. I wept knowing that the “see you again soon” from the spring never happened for so many of us.

This past Saturday we all gathered in promise to each other that everything would be alright and that healing could begin. The tears shed anywhere and everywhere were cleansing, washing out the confusion and sadness and anger. The hugs to anyone and everyone were mollifying, quenching fears and loneliness. Numbers were exchanged. Emails were written down. Promises were made. Love was given. Love was felt. And love was accepted.

There has been much heartache this past month. Too much to thoroughly share and, yet, not enough words to properly share. I heard news of the saddest of sads and ugliest of uglies that this marred world has to offer in a matter of days, back to back. And there is nothing I can do or say to make things better for anyone who is feeling the stings of these earthly hurts.

We’ve had to say goodbye to a friend when we were expecting to welcome him home. Life is never guaranteed.

We’ve had to pray against illness only to pray for acceptance of a Stage 4 diagnosis. Health is never guaranteed.

We’ve had to see family and friends wrestle with the pain and ache of betrayals. Happiness is never guaranteed.

I so greatly crave being cradled in the arms of Abba. Of being held for hours on end. Of being tenderly cared for. None of this makes sense to my heart but all of it makes sense to my spirit. None of this should be true but all of it cannot be denied. And yet love wins. Over and over and over again. Love wins because though the wrong seems oft so strong God is ruler yet.

And that is enough. It has to be enough.

Many many moons ago, I stumbled upon a Groupon deal for a kayaking trip in Redmond. I quickly sent out messages to my lady loves about this opportunity and promptly bought a ticket for myself, knowing that at least one of them would take the bait. Thankfully, they all were on board and we were set for another girls-only outing. We are such elitists. After laying out our planners, manipulating schedules and working over calendars…we set a date for our guided kayaking trip on the Sammamish River and that was last Saturday!

One of the guides took this quick shot of us before we hopped into our kayaks. We ended up having a total of 14 folks in the group, which meant that 8 unfortunate souls had to listen to us heckle each other, wail Disney songs, laugh ourselves to snorts and act like 13-yr old boys. “Friendship,” said Christopher Robin, “is a very comforting thing to have.”

Indeed, having a deep friendship with another soul is truly a selfless and willful act of vulnerability. I am so thankful and ridiculously blessed to have experienced and to continue forging such beautiful displays of love and camaraderie in my life so far. The pictured ladies are so very dear to me and are unabashedly the ones I seek out in the midst of my lowest of lows and highest of highs. Sigh…my God is so good to me.

When we were done kayaking, we made our way out of the water and walked the tiniest of treks to Redhook to meet up with two of our male counterparts for dinner. I’m sure they were bemoaning our absence every minute they spent together tasting the delicious brews while they waited for our return. And despite barely breaking a sweat from the trip (the river was excruciatingly slow and low…hahaha), we were famished and ready to EAT.

With that many people in our group, there was bound to be a lot of personality around the table. And when we’re all together, we like to let our inner characters out to run amok and play together. What can I say? I’ve got hilarious friends, Mr. Smith. And, oh, how I love them so.

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Two weekends ago, I got to hike Mount Pilchuck for the first time. For the good majority of my life I’ve heard of how the hike isn’t too bad and of how most people went when they were younger but haven’t been for ages. So with rose-tinted references and basic information gleaned from hiking sites, my companions and I set off from the trail head at 8am.

Nestled in the Northern Cascades, Mount Pilchuck is a moderate climbing destination. The trail starts out in an old growth forest and switches back to the top of an old abandoned ski slope and eventually ends up at the summit…where you scramble on rocks and boulders to glimpse a view of the surrounding area. Apparently, we came on a day when the view was fog. Yep, fog. The wind whipped my hair into a frenzy as Mister Man and I bouldered our way up to the lookout tower, which was originally built in 1918 by the forest service. Catie opted to stay below the metal rung ladder and catch a breather before we dove into our lunch.

We got halfway through our sandwiches – well, I had finished mine by the time they were halfway done with theirs – when the slight drizzle of rain demanded that we get a move on down the trail before we got caught in a downpour. And wouldn’t you know it, Mr. Smith, we got a quarter of the way down when the skies opened up to spit on us. We were drenched but still determined to get the heck out of the cold.

By the time we made it back to parking lot, the rain had let up and that sneaky sun was starting to peek its lazy head from behind the clouds. The hike was only 6 miles, roundtrip, but good lawd the elevation gain of 2,200 feet did quite a number to my sturdy thighs. But it felt good. Plus my companions were delightful and funny and made the day wonderful.

Today is my dad’s birthday. My dad is especially awesome because he chose to be a loving, supportive husband to my mom and a loving, caring father to my sister and me. Are we genetically related? Nope. But what does that matter?

This man chose to take on the responsibility and honor (hello! we are neat ladies) of being the main man in our lives when I was 13 years old. Yep, thirteen. You’ve got to be either awesome or insane to undertake the task of being a father to a hormonal, angst-ridden teenage know-it-all. And lest ye forget…my sister was a confused and needy 19 year old when he proposed to us to be a part of our family.

The man has been doing a mighty fine job at loving and teasing and encouraging and lecturing and supporting the three crazy Asian ladies in his life for over 10 years now, thank you very much. A damn fine job.

And today is his official birthday! He’s been old enough to be an AARP member for a number of years now, but I’m not allowed to bring that up even though the color of his hair and mustache already give it away. He’s old. Or, rather, older. Hahaha. But we love celebrating him, even if he tells us to just give him a pair of black socks and leave well enough alone. So, of course, we don’t listen to him and make him suffer through cards and gifts and dinners and messages and phone calls every year. As punishment for not being high maintenance.

Last night, Mister Man and I took Dad and Mom out for dinner as a pre-birthday celebration. It was good times of catching up on life, laughing over plates of seafood and just being together. On the way to dinner, Mister Man had teased me about the birthday card I was writing to Dad, “You know he only looks at it and pretends to read everything, right? So you don’t have to write an essay.” After rolling my eyes at him since he clearly didn’t understand the father-daughter relationship, I declared it couldn’t possibly be true and my dad proved me right when I relayed our conversation. In fact, he reassured me, he has kept every card that we have given, every note or letter we have written and every trinket or drawing we have ever made for him.

I love him. I love my dad. He’s just so swell! Plus, aren’t my parents terribly adorable in that picture? Love it. In three more days, we get to celebrate Dad and give him his black socks as usual. And he gets to be surrounded by his family and be loved. Yay!

I was going through photos taken during our last 3-day weekend and found a very special one that takes me back to the exact moment it was snapped. I’ve got quite the handsome fellow who holds my hand and my heart.

The wonderful sly
Little trick with your eye
That’s for me
—————–
The tilt of your chin
When you chuckle or grin
That’s for me

After a long but good Friday night of talking and laughing and remembering and praying through tears, we had a fresh Saturday start with a delightful breakfast on a sun speckled deck with a view of the Salish Sea. The prayers of many were known and the grace of Abba was relished. Now that is the way to celebrate life.

I have some good things to post about conversations and fun times that happened over this past Labor Day weekend, while I was away on Orcas Island. BUT, I first wanted to share with you these pictures of my very grown up niece who just started kindergarten yesterday. Yes, kindergarten.

My sister and brother-in-law hosted a Labor Day dinner at their place Monday evening, grilling ribs and oysters! Mister Man was able to get the niece to not only take a taste of the oyster (No way! It looks like snail slime, Daaaaan.) but she also gobbled up two of them! And for the family’s pickiest eater we all call this progress. Looks like the tyke is growing up and more than ready for bus rides around Lake Stevens.

Ignore the little man’s random foot-in-the-air display. We did. He just does stuff like that and we know that it’ll go away one day. Right? Right…but do take notice of Leslie already throwing up the bunny ears. How is she already old enough to know that’s funny? Be still my shmoopy heart! My namesake is growing up, but I do hope she continues to be slightly oblivious to what’s going on around her still and joins her mother and me in our world of sunshine and rainbows.

I love Mister Man. And I still long to have known his mom. She would have celebrated her 53^rd birthday today. I think what strikes me most about today and tempts me to let tears run wild is that my own is turning 53 in one month.

“Mom never wanted to celebrate her birthday, but didn’t believe in birthdays without balloons.”

Death is ugly. But the life she had was beautiful. And the kind of living she must be doing now is downright enviably. I bet it’s blindingly gorgeous with all the balloons she must have around her today in heaven. You know heaven…where she is laughing and singing and loving freely and fully, with Jesus.

And even with that knowledge and that comforting truth, it still hurts. Have you ever lost a loved one, Mr. Smith? Have you ever experienced the helplessness of watching someone experience the tolls of sickness and finally lose their fight against death? Have you had to silently cry beside other grieving hearts? Man, it sucks. It sucks a lot. There’s such a tug-and-pull for wanting to mourn the dead but celebrate life, for feeling guilty for feeling guilty for living.

Cindy was a warrior against cancer. And loved her family and friends with a ferocity that I can’t even begin to understand. Cancer and the treatment for that cancer beleaguered her body, no doubt, but I’ve been told countless times that they could not quell her boisterous laughter and teasing smiles.

Away, Despair! My gracious Lord doth hear:
Though winds and waves assault my keel,
He doth preserve it: He doth steer,
Ev’n when the boat seems most to reel:
Storms are the triumph of His art:
Well may He close His eyes, but not His heart.
-George Herbert

Fortunately – or is it unfortunately? – I’ve many a loved one who has had to cry out like so. To cry out with conviction for God to calm the angry and frightening waves in their own hearts. He, alone, can quickly calm the sea. And, yet, His greatest, most precious, loveliest, and most enduring works are often done during the storms of our lives. It’s in the storms where our hearts are revealed, and our most loving Abba knows that our sin of callousness is far more dangerous and deadly to His children than any trial or affliction could ever be.

So pray. Please, pray, Daddy Long-Legs. Pray with me and with my lovely ones. Pray for grace and dignity, for hope and love, for peace and comfort. This is a long and hard trial, I know, for my Mister Man. His heart sweetly aches in remembrance for his mom, but tenderly weeps for his family to know Abba and be comforted by His eternal and faithful love.

Our trials will then seem light and momentary afflictions. Let us go on boldly; if the night be never so dark, the morning cometh, which is more than they can say who are shut up in the darkness of hell. Do you know what it is thus to live on the future–to live on expectation–to antedate heaven? Happy believer, to have so sure, so comforting a hope. It may be all dark now, but it will soon be light; it may be all trial now, but it will soon be all happiness. What matters it though weeping may endure for a night, when joy cometh in the morning? – Charles Spurgeon

Happy birthday, Cindy. I bet your dad is skipping beside you right now, with your balloons bopping in the air behind you guys. I’ll meet you one of these days…I’m sure of it.