Little sticks and pieces of wood have been washed and sanded by the tumultuous waters of the river. However they started in the water they've ended smooth and shaped and perfect. Then they've washed up on the shore to wait for the waters to rise once more so they can travel the winding water ways again until they reach the ocean. I decided to take a breath again and go to the river specifically looking for these smoothly shaped bleached little sticks. I brought three girls and a dog with me so that we could look for the ones that were shaped just right by the water. See I have a plan. I want to create these little sailboats with these girls. These boats that remind us this year that there will be rough waters and smooth calm seas but in every instance we are being shaped and sanded smooth by both the times that are tumultuous and the quiet. I want to paint some scripture upon these boats that will remind us that God loves us as we are and he will shape and smooth our rough edges. Our time at the river was full of goofing off, watching the dog splash through that cold water, and teasing each other. It was a little breath, watching the girls connect. Then we were on to the farm, to look at the animals and even though they are young women the playground still holds it's appeal to them. Watching them play, I was reminded how fleeting childhood actually is and I want them to hold on to it for as long as possible. Again the sailboats will teach as they remind.
I sat against a sunbleach log with my feet in the sand as I looked out towards the Sound. The kids were turning over rocks looking for treasures such as crab, sand dollars and the occasional sea glass. The dog ran all over the rocky beach with his nose in over drive exploring, excited and full of life. I sat there with my magazines, books, camera, and my knitting and I took a deep breath. I sat there thinking that this was what I needed. I needed to breathe, I needed to feel the rhythm of the ocean as the waves lapped the shore. In Oregon, the waves crash and roar even on calm days but here in the sound, the waves are gentle and quiet on calm days. The kids explored the coast line and carved their names in a clay cliff, I soaked up the sun, quiet and content. The kids climbed boulders that were previously underwater as the tide went out. I prayed for my family, my friends, my year. The kids talked and laughed and I thought and I breathed. This school year I want to take more time to breathe deep, enjoy the small simple things, to be grateful for each gift whether that gift is a couple hours at the shore or a morning of coffee with a friend or a clean empty sink. I thought about being more purposeful in my daily life to enjoy the little things and to breathe. It was a good day and I came home refreshed.
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It seems like more and more as the kids are getting older we have more opportunities to be together. I love it. I mean I love the kids and miss them too. Actually because they are still at home, I don't miss them when we have an afternoon or evening or both together. A few weeks ago John hurt his knee tubing on the lake so we haven't been able to hike or run together but we could go bike riding. We started at Arroyo Park, south Bellingham/Fairhaven and rode out to Larabee Park on the Interurban Trail. I can kind of be a weenie on the bike and there is one hill that I've always walked the bike down and up it but for some reason this time I was able to conquer my fear of totally wiping out on gravel and I rode the whole thing including the scary hill. John just shakes his head and laughs at me but is so patient. He took Lona here a while back and they were the only ones at the look out spot. This day we were not alone like we had wanted to be. There were people everywhere wandering up and down the coast line. Still beautiful though. It's amazing to think that we've shared 19+ years together. I met John 24 years ago this September, almost a quarter of a century ago. I'm looking forward to the adventures still yet to come.