That's Love...

I want to tell him.
That’s love right? He’s the first person I want to tell. I want to burst into his room, my face smiling, trying to hide the giggle I feel blossoming just beneath the surface. I want him to look up and see me and watch the slow smile spread across his face. I want him to ask me what’s wrong and I want to laugh and tell him the news, talking so fast I trip over my words.
That’s love right? It’s the butterflies in my stomach and just wanting to be next to him. I don’t care what we do, and maybe I should, but I would be content to sit in a Wal-Mart parking lot with that boy. I would go anywhere with him. And that scares me.
But maybe that’s love. I can feel these nervous giggles and I want him to tell me to relax, that everything will be ok, that I just need to breathe. I want him to wrap me up in his dusty gray sweater like he did before and let the warmth radiate around me until I’m calm again.
That’s love, right? I want him to be here, to laugh at me while I bite my tongue and twirl my hair and dance around my bedroom.  I want him to indulge me in all my girlish fantasies and to sit next to me, not making any effort to hold my hand but just sitting close enough that our elbows touch and our knees knock together when he’s laughing.
That’s love, right? Because before I knew it, before I knew anything, I chose him. And then I got overwhelmed and ran away and got scared and left and I shouldn’t have. When I say I’m sorry that’s what it means, it means I shouldn’t have walked away. And I’m only now remembering that choice. I would choose him. If you asked me to, or even if you didn’t, I would choose him.
I want to be there, curled up in his chair, listening to his music as he surfs the Internet. I can imagine being happy, imagine what it would be like to breathe it all in and have him surrounding me and just watch him. Somehow I don’t think I would need to say a word then.
 But I do feel the need to say something now. He’s the one I want to tell now. I close my eyes and imagine the sounds of his house. I pretend to know if his parents are still up, if he’s wearing that dusty grey sweat shirt, and if he is if it still smells like me. I imagine the music he’s listening to, and wonder what his favorite song is and which ones he skips past. I like to think he thinks about me. Maybe it’s just in passing, as he sees my name on his Facebook news feed. Or maybe it’s there all the time, like butterflies in his stomach.
I think that’s love. The fact that I’m wondering these things, the fact that he’s the one person I want to tell, the fact that I would follow him anywhere, I think they mean I love him. I think I love him. And I’m still trying to decide if I should be scared or not.


"Because when something happens, he’s the person I want to tell. The most basic indicator of love"

The Best of Times

I'm going to take a minute to brag about my amazing friends...
This weekend, I have watched my friends take some pretty big steps, including graduation and baptisms. I watch them and I am so proud of the people they are, and I know they're headed for amazing things.
A few years ago I didn't think I would find friends like this. I remember telling my mom once that I didn't need friends, I was just fine on my own. And I did like isolation, because there wasn't this chance of being hurt. I was guarded and while it was lonely I thought it would hurt less.
I didn't believe in anyone, or anything. I was a mess (I'm still kind of a mess. I think I'll always be somewhat of a mess).
And then I came here. And I met people who proved to me that not all people are going to hurt me. I met people who loved me without knowing anything about me, who looked at me and didn't see all those things that had happened or all the labels I had had before.
And for the first time in a really long time, I started to let people in. I started to trust people again.
After I met these people, I had people that I knew would stand by me and love me (and weren't obligated to!)
I'm not going to say I made it easy. I spent years battling the monsters that lurked inside my own head. I'm still fighting those monsters. But my friends never gave up on me, and that means more to me than they'll ever know. From texts that said Get ready, we're going out to a group of them showing up on my doorstep and making me come out of the basement and actually do something and youth group events where I didn't want to go but ended up being so glad I did.
And when I started to isolate myself, I got the comments, "Hey, we missed you at youth group, you should come this Friday!" Most of the time I wouldn't listen, but sometimes I would.
My friends loved me back to life when I wanted to curl up in the corner and sleep my life away. They encourage me and support me and, I may be just a little biased when I say I think they are the best group of friends a person could ask for.
And now I'm watching as we all grow up; some graduating this year, some getting ready to enter our final year of high school, some just getting another year older. We're all getting ready to move on, spread our wings and learn how to fly.
When someone told me high school would be the best time of my life, I laughed. I didn't believe him.
And, in all honesty, high school has been hard. But the relationships I've made during these high school years have been priceless. These friends have become my family, and I know that wherever I go I'll always have them.
The best of times is always changing and while I wish I could freeze time and stay here forever, with these people I never thought I'd find, in this place I didn't know if I would ever be lucky enough to be at, life doesn't stop for anyone and this weekend has been proof of that. We just have to be ready, for a new best time.
I watched my friends graduate and get baptized and I can't help but be so so proud of them, of all of us, of the people we are becoming and where we are headed.
So, my friends, thank you. You all mean more to me than you'll ever know and I am so proud of each one of you. You guys are pretty awesome.
The future is coming, life isn't slowing down for anyone, and the best of times is now.

Note to Self

This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go, I’m wonderstruck, dancing all the way home, I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you.

Its days like this where everything seems just a breath away from perfect. It’s this sigh, this sudden release of air when everything feels so beautiful and complete and it’s all you can not to say, “I think I just want to stay here forever.”
You kept whispering the words over and over again in your head, “If this isn’t happy, I don’t know what is.” Because it was beautiful, and magical, and everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Every minute of it took your breath away and you just sat there, repeating over and over, “Remember this moment, remember how you feel right now.”
Breathless. And Fearless. Loved, and oh so very blessed. Like the luckiest girl in the entire world.
And on the ride home, you look in the rearview mirror and you see it, that sparkle in your eyes, the one that’s been missing for a while. You are here, you are alive, you are beautiful in this moment and you are happy. You are loved and blessed and this is what it feels like. This is what it feels like when something this perfect and this beautiful happens before your very eyes.
You almost forgot what it felt like, didn’t you? The magical beauty of laughing until your face hurts and being so close to people that love you that it feels like nothing bad can ever happen to you.
Remember that moment. Remember today, remember how you felt and how everyone looked and how full your heart was of love and hope and beautiful things.
This was your moment. Don’t you let it go.

Do You Believe in Magic?

I always was writing stories.
I remember writing this one story when I was younger inspired by my Grandma. It was about a wishing well.
There was this little girl who was staying at her Grandma's house for the summer and at night, her Grandma would sit beside her on the bed and they would name all the teddy bears lined up on the shelf for the tenth time that night and Grandma would sing.
Right behind the house there was this well, and one day the Grandma gave the little girl a special coin to throw into the well, something she'd gotten as a girl. And so the little girl threw this coin into the well and made a wish. She wished for her family to be together. And, ending as all good fairytales do, the story ended with the little girl's parents coming home and her family getting to be together.
I remember writing this story, with all my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, and thinking about my Grandma. I thought about the nights I would sleep over at their house and fall asleep on her pale pink sheets after naming her teddy bears for the tenth time that night as she would sing softly to me.
This was back when life was magical, when fairytales came true and little girls could grow wings and fly. In fairytales, anything could happen. Ordinary girls could become princesses and mice could sew dresses and dancing around the living room with Grandma was like being at a ball.
There was this one day back when I was in fifth grade and I was doing my math and I was so frustrated and mad. And then Grandma would come and she would tell me that I needed to do my best and keep a positive attitude and maybe one day I wouldn't hate math so much. That didn't really happen, but she did tell me something else. She told me that even if there was this one thing I hated, there would be more things I loved, and I needed to hold onto those things. Love always wins.
My Grandma taught me about fairytales. She taught me about playing jokes and dancing around the living room and love.
And then somewhere along the way I lost that belief in fairytales. Stories didn't always have happy endings and life wasn't all magical mice and dancing in the living room at the ball.
There was no one there to remind me to believe in love and a little magic. And so I just forgot.
But before she died, my Grandma gave me this snow globe. Inside is 2 little birds and when you wind it up it plays His eye is on the Sparrow. I keep it on my bookshelf and on those days when I'm feeling less than magical, I shake it up and turn it on and let it play. Sometimes I'll twirl around my room, pretending I'm 6 again. Sometimes I'll just watch the snowflakes fall.
But by the time the song ends I'm reminded of a world where things are much more magical than they first seem. Where I'm never too old to believe in Once Upon A Time.
I never told her how the story ends. But here's a little hint:
Dear Grandma: Once upon a time your little girl learned to fly.