The bags are packed. Correction–the bags are more or less packed.
The half-cursive lettering just flows off of the page, like a quickly moving story through time. This was indeed a basic and beautiful time for me; a period of vital self-discovery while I focused solely on my humble home and young child. But what was also revealed to me is how truly lonely and ill-prepared in life I felt at the time. Financial woes, weight insecurities and constantly feeling upset with my husband and annoyed with my friends and sister. Persistent struggles with insomnia. And always the longing for a second child.
It was here that they molded together, with no age or pecking order, just a group of kids, in comfortable space, creating memories. They laughed in sync, leaned on each other and for a moment, were like one entity.
Over our crafting we talked about life, holiday plans, beloved family and friends, desires and struggles. Our words and laughter drifted out and fell upon our working hands like the drizzling rain outside the tent. And when we would go home to hang the wreath, all the love and fun would be there, hanging up with against the fragrant branches and decorative bows.
There’s an electric excitement around here today. The family is elated and all moods are elevated. We have something to celebrate. Today our youngest, wildest, and most vivacious in the bunch turns five years old.
Soap got everywhere, the kids got soaked. It ended up being a great memory out of an otherwise frustrating day.
We gather around in prayer before we eat and in a circle of 100 people you see that together we have taught these kids more than just strategy and endurance, we have shown them how to be a part of something bigger than themselves.