Revealing Grace

 Sometimes this blog feels foreign and far away. It feels like a relic of a past life and I have no idea how to connect my typing fingers with my current reality. In many ways, I am simply happy and no one really wants a story of a happy girl on a farm without any drama. But I am content in this little life, expect for the summer flies. I do despise the summer flies. But the flies are nothing compared to the thrill of putting seeds in the ground and watching them grow. There is something grounding to the right here and now of pulling up potatoes and checking on tomatoes, as if when I am in the garden, time stops. It is in many ways, the life I always dreamed of- the pioneer life without the diphtheria and snake bites. I have chickens and vegetables, unconditional love from a hunk of a husband, and a growing field of alfalfa right outside my door. Now I just need a bonnet and a milk cow (milk cows not allowed at our house unfortunately).  At the same time though, I am watching ...

 We had underestimated the interstate, that much was clear. After a long day snowmobiling in Yellowstone, we had driven to Bozeman with no problem, but now we had an hour drive to our lodging in Paradise Valley and the sun had set. Being from the south, I figured that the interstate would be no problem- they get snow all the time, of course it will be clear!  But we had not considered the dreaded ground blizzards- a flurry of dry snow whipped across the road by wind. And we had underestimated the snow that was falling. And we had not expected the 18-wheelers to be so intimidating. I almost threw up. Jeff drove like a pro, but I could tell he was nervous.  We both were worried we were in trouble, but we didn't see a way out. You can't pull to the side on a busy highway in the dark in the snow as that can be dangerous too. We were stuck.  As I was clutching the armrest and prayed more than I've prayed in years, I looked down at the directions on the screen- ironically ...

 I was recently speaking to a friend of mine who has cancer. We talked about all of the things that only us cancer patients know, our affinity for bagels, and our lives.  If you know the man, you know he is a force. He is joyous, gregarious, and quite a presence. I've known him almost my whole life and we talked about some of those memories and what he had taught me through them.  What he had taught me and my siblings was that we were stronger and braver than we believed. He always made us do things we were scared to do like hold the giant slimy ocean fish we had just caught or ride the four-wheeler. As little kids this was challenging, but afterwards we were always grateful that he had pushed us beyond what we thought possible. In the end, we always left proud of what we had accomplished. And it didn't hurt that he kept a drawer of full-size candy bars as well.   I have been rolling this lesson and sentiment over in my mind the last few days. It will pop into m...

When I feel unsettled, I move furniture. I seem to believe that if I can just get my furniture in the right place, then my heart will be at peace. It is also, perhaps, a need to believe that I can control something in a life that feels out of my control. I may not know what the future holds, but I sure as heck know a better place for this bookcase.  I remember when I was staying in my parents' basement after my divorce, shoving an antique roll-top desk across the floor with the full force of my body in the middle of the night.  I think I moved the furniture in my 600 square foot apartment in Dallas at least 12 times in two years. I would be trying to scoot my impossibly weighty king size mattress, inch by inch, just because I became certain that my bed should be on the other wall. Every time my mom arrived in town for my cancer treatment, something would be different.  And not all of my furniture is light Ikea pieces, mind you. My furniture is solid wood. It is heavy and ...

I woke up this morning and turned on the lights, took a shower, brushed my teeth, and filled my water bottle for work.  For me, it is routine.  For others, it is the dream.  I knew that the Navajo reservation had poverty and I knew that some people didn't have running water or electricity, but what I did not know was how prevalent it was.  Last weekend in the town of Silver Lake, New Mexico, 90% of the people I met did not have at least one of the following: running water, indoor plumbing, and/or electricity. Many people did not have any of those things.  You would not guess it if you saw them and sat down to lunch together. The Navajo are a proud and beautiful people group. They care for themselves and others and make little to no mention of the hardships they face.  But when you take the time to get to know people, stories emerge. Stories of using the canyon as a bathroom or walking to the outhouse in the dead of winter. Stories of hauling barrels of wat...

I haven’t written anything in a while. Perhaps you noticed. It isn’t just with you. I haven’t written anything in my personal life either. I think perhaps I needed time to simply dwell within my own new existence. I needed to live my life without reporting on it or shaping it for the ears of others. Perhaps I did not yet have the words for this life I now live, one that feels in some ways like a completely different life from the one I had before. But this morning I woke up with joy and gratitude and decided it was time for an update. It was time to let you know about this little life on the farm. Perhaps the most jarring change in my life is that my body has started to adjust to farmer time, which I despise. I wake up at 6:30am thinking I have slept in, while the spirit of my 20s groans with frustration that I can no longer seem to sleep until 9am.  We have just planted alfalfa on the field next to our house, so I am greatly anticipating a true change of scenery from my windows! I...

My apartment in Dallas was the home that signified my new beginning. It was my oasis in the trees after a long trek through the desert. There was the porch I sat on with Amanda, who had flown in on a moment's notice and of her own accord, because I had just called to tell her I had cancer. For a while she was the only person in the world who knew. It was the place where I recovered from an unexpected mastectomy, just two months after moving in. It was where my friends, from all over the country, came to stay, to cook, to laugh, and to care for my dog while I endured chemotherapy treatments. It was where I fell in love with my husband. It was from that back window that I looked down and saw him for the first time when he pulled up for our first date. It was at those stairs that I nervously waited and those walls that I gave him an unnecessary tour of when he first arrived. That apartment was where my cousin came to take care of me when I was randomly sick and scared of ...