I am nearing the end of 23. I’ve loved being this age - I’m not sure if that’s the same as loving the past year, but there’s something precious about being this young. A richness. It’s been like gathering up sand in my hands; hot and gritty and refining.
Oh friends! I’ve just remembered. Last year someone asked me what I was most looking forward to about being 23, and I here is what I hoped for: that the Lord would be my shepherd, to make sushi at home, and to keep a sourdough starter and bake bread. Oh, I am so endeared. My kitchen has been a sweet, challenging, living place. My cup has been overwhelmed with love, heartbreak, delight, and the Lord has faithfully held my hand- held me up, really, through it all. Feeling emotional in the best way.
I have a few more reflections/ramblings on 23:
Reminder to honor your budget but leave room for joy. Keep a line item solely devoted to buying flowers at the farmer’s market every Saturday morning.
Something I am still learning - I read Pride & Prejudice for the first time this year, and could completely loose myself in wanting to be Jane. I want the ribbon of my dress to be chased around the party. I want to be found waiting for love in a sun soaked room. The part I’m still learning: I am more than a girl in a book. I get to be more than a girl in a book.
The sweetness of domesticity is something I have cherished so deeply. I hope I haven’t just set women back 50 years, but I’m so heartened by the growth in myself here. I used to want independence at the sake of community. I thought I wanted freedom but really I was just afraid of being home, of being known. This year I have loved the simplicity of being in my pajamas and baking bread on a Sunday morning. There’s something honest and good here. I’m grateful for the opportunity to witness and participate in it.
Saying yes to play: swimming before work, riding on shopping carts like they’re scooters, jumping on the trampoline with Lilly Mae.
When I look back at the photos from this year, I am proud and endeared by the moments of showing up. It’s looked like: five year old piano recitals and soccer games, waking up early to bid your sister adieu, mismatched cloth napkins/china because there are more seats at the table than a single set can accommodate for, crossing state lines and time zones to be the one to show up early and stay late. Community is gift I resist and don’t deserve. I’m glad it’s bestowed upon me anyway.
This was a year I let my heart grow tender with the hope of love. I pray against bitterness or hardness, and am learning all the more how to trust the Holy Spirit to go before and come behind and keep me here and gentle and excited in the now.
The metaphor of 23 for me might have been home. I spent a lot of this year homesick for heaven. I don’t think I’ll ever lose that feeling completely, and I don’t think I want to, either. I think there’s something beautiful about wanting to be with Jesus more than I did yesterday but less than I will tomorrow. It’s such a mystery to me; here I am between two gardens aching for eternity, but still feeling the blessing of delight and love. I’ve woken up at least once in the past year, alone in my bed with a peace-filled, joyful spirit. That, for now, is enough for me!
Thank for you loving me enough to read my ramblings. I’m grateful for your attention, your kindness, your consideration. Cheers to 23, I think I loved it here!
Xx, MT
