Rain on Sunday

After two total blog posts, I have found myself in a quiet dim-lit home. Dusty window has been unlatched and rain is right now trickling onto my window seal. Sounds of blushing leaves being kissed repetitively flood my ears. Have you ever narrated your situation? I know you probably think I’m a completle wack-a-doodle. But in all seriousness, stop what you are doing. Go into the kitchen and grab some tea from the cupboard. Sit infront of your favorite window. Now for the most important part… stare. Find something random out of the blue and stare. Maybe it’s your neighbor cutting grass. Does he have a distinct manner as to which he cuts the grass or is he just trying to get the job done as quickly as possible?

As completely bonkers as this might seem, try it. Go on. I’ll wait…

I feel like such a creature of habit. It is literally driving me insane. I have even googled ‘how to not be a creature of habit’. Sad really.

Recently I have found that the best way to stop being an old hag who sits at home awaiting a suitor to come knocking on her door and sweep her off to Neverland, is to have quiet moments like this one.

Accidental happenings that spark inspirational rest. Moments that make me lie back and sigh. Memories. Years from now when I am all grown up and sophisticated, I will look back on my life and remember the greatness and simplicity of being still. Not a mouse stirring in the house and rain dripping onto my window seal.

I have heard it said that life is short and you should get out there and live! I agree totally. However, living has a different definition to every one person doesn’t it.

I want to have grand adventures, make mistakes and fall in love. That is all awaiting me and I can not contain my excitement for real! But I am also learning that moments like this, of quiet and stillness, are just as if not more important.

~ A.E.House


An Oak tree


Properly, she presumed her childhood to be everything. Twas completely and utterly the best time of her life. She remembers tall oak trees with branches sprawling towards the sky begging her to climb them. “Come to the tippy top and see as we see.” The trees, you see, only talked to Amelia B. On any lazy afternoon one could find Amelia latching onto the lowest branch. Being camoflauged by wide leaves, all you could see was one, two shoes thud to the ground.

The father was a dreamer himself. Watching his precious treasure nestle her tiny frame snug against the tree trunk. She always closed her eyes and sighed. Wind braiding her hair into impossible tangles the father would, unfortunately, reverse later. She was able to be, just Amelia B. No unnecessary chatter and clanking of tea cups. No shuffling of clippety-clop shoes. Her feet kicked to and fro as she saw as the trees. Amelia and her oak trees.

“One day you will not want to climb trees, Amelia B.” Her grandmother would say.

The freckled child wrinkled her nose and snorted. How impossible! To live without seeing as the trees see? What an awful thought indeed. Surely everyone knew of the incredible girl who could talk to trees.

Seasons came and went, Amelia B stayed the same. Forever talking to her trees and forever listening to their ways. How curious, a girl without an interest in people. She hiked up her dress then one, two shoes thud to the ground. Hair longer, but ever the same amber braided by the wind. Eyes shut and a sigh.

Amelia B. the fairest and frailest of all. Her bones brittle. Her tree. She touched her oak tree. Could it be? Could she still see what they see? “Being without trees is an awful idea indeed.” The corners of her mouth twitched.

A knock on the door startled the poor child. What for? Her dream of being in the trees taken. Let her be! Would you not allow a dreamer to dream? To be elsewhere? To actually remember a day when she had legs to dangle from the tippy top of oak trees? A glimpse at being as she once was? To see as the trees see?

For to this day, Amelia B was just that, a tree.



My story…

Growing up in a divorced home, where week days were spent on the farm with Mom and weekends automatically shifted to subdivision neighbor friends playing basket ball with Dad, was normal. It was also difficult. Now, don’t get me wrong, having divorced parents definitely had its advantages; two Christmas’, two birthday parties, if one parent said no you could finagle your other parent to say yes. Life was trucking right along as it should. Until that one momentous happening happened. Have you ever had that? Everything is great and you catch yourself looking around your life scenery smiling because your world is special to you. Your parents are your protectors and the world is only as big as your front yard and imagination. And then the plates of the planet shift, and your innocence turns into defeat. The impenetrable force field that once surrounded you is chipped and then crash! down falls the wall of Jericho and in trumps the terrorists!

My momentous happening happened when I was sixteen. I had just started high school and as a girl, I was in desperate need of a mothers assistance! However, mine had moved away to Timbuctoo. Granted, I was invited to “tag” along, but I didn’t. So, as I entered into the misty jungle that is high school, I also entered the spare bedroom of my Dad’s house with packed bags in hand. Life changed. I easily became an angry person. I put up a new fence around my heart. No one entered and no one left. There for, I was okay. I only cared for me and the opinion of others. Paradise? Not even close, my friend. Twas a dark and lonely pit that only sucked away happy memories of childhood giggles. My days consisted of soggy-eyed phone conversations with Mom on the way to school and night-time rants with Dad and Step-Mom.

On one particular morning commute to school, my mom and I hung up on each other. We were both ferociously consumed with rage, as if our brains were merely and anthill of fire ants. As I pulled into my usual parking space at school, I decided, very rashly, that I was not going to school that day. In fact the only time I was ever going to see that place again was in my rear view mirror as I drove away. I went home, packed a bag, ten dollars, a road map (before GPS), and my dog. I hit the interstate and made it about 100 miles South before running out of gas literally and emotionally. I was exhausted and speechless.

After an hour of drenching my dog in tears, I called my dad and he came racing to the rescue. He wasn’t angry or upset. He was terrified. I had never seen him like that. Dad was supposed to be a strong statue of hard-work and perfection. But now he was a tangible fleshy human completely mortified that his baby girl had run away from her safe place, home. I think, that was the true turning point for me. I knew I had to do so something different. I couldn’t keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect a different outcome. I didn’t have the tools to upkeep the fence I had built around my heart. I couldn’t keep pushing away the people who were strategically placed along my journey. I had to change. I had to give up the fight that wasn’t even mine to fight in the first place!

Over the course of the years, I started each day passionately pursuing my God and finding Him throughout even the busiest days. I fell In love with the way He did life with me. I fell in love with His people. And most of all I fell in love with how wholly and fully God gave His heart to me. He is teaching me what love is. It’s not this random spark between two star-crossed lovers destined to bump into eachother. It’s so much more than a worship song that sets one on a mountain called Sunday. Jesus is constant and consistant; the same yesterday, today and forever. He makes things different. He has changed me. And He forever will be.

My story continues, except this time the pen isn’t in my hand. Oddly enough, I’m completely okay with not knowing what tomorrow holds. I do know one thing is for sure. I know that this is not my home, and tomorrow I have a purpose. To love God and His people.