I want to remember the sense of calm that came with our first season here. After-dinner walks around the neighborhood at dusk, exploring parks and cities. Late night chats on our porch, sipping chai and watching thunderstorms roll in.
I want to remember afternoons in my yellow writing room. Forcing myself to the desk, staring at the page in defeat or soaring with unexpected inspiration, all of it teaching me something. Occasionally pausing to watch the little single engine planes come to a descent at the airport just past the trees. Making me miss my dad, the pilot-farmer, who always encouraged me to write.
I want to remember this as a new season of our marriage, one free of the stress of moving, the anxiety of wondering and waiting. Just relaxing in the absolution of finally being here, pictures on the walls, that place we dreamed of for so long.
I want to remember being so excited to not only live near a Starbucks, but near one that it is only two minutes up the road. Spending rainy Sunday nights there in the velvety chairs by the window, talking about books and what we're learning and what's next. Trevor letting me take endless pictures of him, his embarrassed grin as he tried to ignore the camera.
I want to remember the hard things, the crappy jobs and the sense of desperation. The "what am I doing with my life?" questions. I want to remember the ways God showed up as well as the ways I'm still waiting for Him to show up. I want to remember the little gems of new friendships and new ideas and dreams that kept pushing me forward.
I want to remember the seemingly insignificant details. Watching Cheers reruns every night and singing the theme song as we settle into the couch with popcorn, Trevor always pointing out with his musical laugh that I am way off-key. Living in my grey V-neck. The whir of our first dishwasher. Lemon-scened soap. Avocados. Devouring The Prince of Tides. Late night swims under clouded moonlight.
Mostly I want to remember this as a season of unapologetic rest and peace. All from Him.