Uncategorized, Writing

My middle name is Love. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately. I’ve been thinking about the moment my great grandmother decided to give my grandmother a name that would one day be passed down to a child she had never met. A child that would someday grow into a woman who would wander through life believing in the one true miracle of love.

I am that wandering child. My middle name is Love. I believe in magical moments. I believe that the opening chords of a song can touch a place deep within a person’s heart and touch memories that release their deepest feelings and hopes and dreams. I believe in nostalgia and wonder and magic. I believe that true love never fails and everyday, I am reminded of this by the love of My Saviour, Jesus Christ. Everyday I am amazed that His love can last forever. I am astounded that as a tiny spec in the galaxy, I am even noticed enough to be a recipient of His love. 

I have been a giver of love and I have been a receiver of love. I have been a recipient of heartbreak, and I have questioned the meaning of love with every fiber of my being. I have cried tears of happiness over being loved and I have also shed tears of heartbreak. I have doubted love and I have been afraid to open my heart to love again. I have lived and I have grown and I have come to realize that not all love will last forever. I count it a blessing to have been able to experience true love. And someday, I believe I will be equally as blessed to experience the magnificent joy of true love again. 

Love is a word that I have learned not to take for granted. 

I have loved many things in this short life I have lived, and I know I have so many more things and places and people to add to the list. 

I love a good swing set with an incredible view of the stars. I love the rush of wind that sweeps over my face and rushes in between my hair and makes the slight bubble of laughter involuntarily escape from my lips because with every ounce of my strength I am nearing the stars. I love the three bright stars that make up Orion’s Belt and how they are a constant reminder of many lovely memories past. 

I love the way a plane increases with such force until it finally breaks free from gravity and points it’s way into higher and more unexplored territories. I love the feeling of turbulence because it reminds me of roller coasters and butterflies in my stomach and the feeling of two hands intertwined for the first time. 

I love the feeling of opening up the door that leads me into a home filled with my favorite people on earth. I love the joyous shouts calling my name and the tangle of arms that surround me as the purest acts of affection are given. 

I love the overwhelming feeling and the tears that slide silently down my cheeks when I am surrounded by the presence of the Lord. 

I love roots. And the way they curl and tangle and grow together until one finds it almost impossible to separate them. I love the immense satisfaction that comes with watching a plant grow and knowing that your care is recognized with each new leaf that opens and each new bud that blooms. 

I love the day it first feels like summer and I love the day when it first feels like winter. I love sidewalks filled with leaves and boots crunching in the snow. I love sunshine and I love shadows and I love the ripples of light that play across my bedroom walls. 

I love taking old and broken things and bringing them back to life. With words, with strokes of a paintbrush over an old canvas, with kindness and with tender care. 

I love being able to share my love and I love the feeling of being loved. 

I know that my great grandmother wasn’t thinking of a somewhat quirky and awkward girl called Corina when she gave my grandmother her middle name. I know I was never able to meet her, but if I did, I would look in her eyes with as much gratitude as I could muster, and I would thank her for giving me something I could hang on to with all of my heart. I would thank her for the constant reminder to share love wherever I go. I feel like I know my great grandmother through my middle name. I can imagine the way her ballet slippers swept across the studio floor as she practiced her dance. I can imagine the graceful way she twirled and the look in her eyes as she practiced one of the many things that she loved. I can imagine the emotions colliding within her as she held my grandmother in her arms for the first time and could only think of naming her after the feeling bursting in her own heart. I am so grateful to my own mother for passing along the memory of two of the greatest women in my family line. 

As I sit in this parking lot, frantically writing down the words that seem to spill out of my heart, tears slide down my cheeks and I can’t help but feel content and nostalgic and overwhelmed. I look forward to finding new things, new people, and new memories to look back on with such violent waves of love as I am feeling now. 

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Japan, Travel, Uncategorized, Writing

Resfeber. 

Today I was looking through some older pages of my notebook and found this entry from before I left for Japan. It seems like just yesterday I was driving to the airport with my stomach in knots and my heart a mess of anxious anticipation because it was finally starting to sink in that I was about to see my best friend for the first time in almost a year. Travel seems to go in a particular cycle for me. By this I mean: 

Several months before trip: block trip out of my mind so I won’t go crazy with longing to pack my bags 93 days before actual trip. 

One month before trip: go psycho CRAZY with to-do lists, Pinterest travel tips, planning destination specific outfits (most likely 36 whole interchangeable outfits for a 7 day trip), and worrying that my bag will be too heavy but WHO CARES I’M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE! 

One week-One day before trip: have a major crisis. No really, last time I locked myself out of my apartment the night before a 5am flight with nothing packed and couldn’t get back in until 2 in the morning, (Helllllooo, Starbucks! Even though all my Pinterest lists say this is a no no for airplane travel…shhhh.) Well folks, the major crisis before this trip was…that’s right, a ROOT CANAL. Blech. Add to this the fact that our apartment lease happened to be up while I was going to be out of the country, so I had to pack up and move my entire house the weekend before the trip. So, root canal Thursday. Moving house, Friday-Sunday. Flying out, 7am Monday morning. 

Wee hours of the early morning on The Day of trip: wake up, or at least have my eyes open at the wee crack of dawn, because who wouldn’t schedule an extremely early morning flight? No sleep for the anxious traveller! Mum always drives me to the airport where I tell her about 19 times that I’ll miss everyone and please please please give all the kids and dad one more hug from me because let’s face it, even though I can’t imagine that I could love traveling any more than I actually do, I always always ALWAYS miss my family. 

And then I’m stumbling with my overly packed luggage and trying to decide why it was a good idea to wear my hat for a day of 30+ traveling hours (actually it did save me from my flight hair, fist pump!) Those cute little butterflies that are so adorable when you’re in love but not so much when you’re at the airline gate and your knees won’t stop bouncing up and down and you’re checking your ticket about 3 million more times than actually needed to make sure you’re in the right place because your months and months of anticipation for this trip will NOT be ruined by not being fully awake and functioning and missing your flight and then suddenly without really knowing how it happens, you’re sitting in seat 24A looking at the sparkling lights of the incredible view of the Dallas Fort Worth metroplex and saying Sayonara! See ya never! I’m off to a magical land with the grandest blue ocean you’ve ever laid eyes on, unfamiliar cultures, and a bag full of summer fresh outfits fit for walking the beach and strolling through the crowded streets talking about nothing and everything with my best friend ever. 

  
And then 23 hours later I am completely and utterly worn to the bone and the excitement is still there, but it’s just a tad hidden by the huge bags under my eyes, the way it feels like someone must have thrown ten bricks into my shoulder bag without my knowledge, and the unquenchable thirst for h2o that can only be brought about from an 11 hour flight. 

And finally I am waking up from the first 2 hours of sleep I’ve gotten in at least 25 hours after having the nicest conversation with the most adorable marine sitting next to me and then I’m saying goodbye and nice to meet you and suddenly I am trying to keep the wind from blowing my hat off my horribly atrocious plane hair while boarding the transit bus to the airport and waiting for my checked luggage with only the slightest amount of worry that it is still somewhere in the Mother Land, because let’s face it, I’m much too tired for actual panic to set in by this point. And finally I am walking out the doors and being greeted by my Best with an actual sign with my name on it (spot on, H!) and everything is perfectly right in the world because I’m about to spend 10 full days with my Kindred Spirit in this tropical paradise where I can communicate only by the phrases good afternoon and thank you, and that doesn’t even matter because I am happy and I am free and I am living out my dreams. 

  

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