#8810 Home for the Holidays


Being at home is a craving of mine, its at the top of the list of ways to fill up my cup.

Home is where I worship, home is where I live in sweatpants and dirty hair, home is the place I always return to. My constant, my starting ground, where I invite my closest friends and family to walk with me, talk with me and to eat in my home.

Moving to Lubbock was a huge jump for us, we have spent the last six months two hundred miles apart for work and obligations we made before we even considered that moving was in the cards. This opportunity was one we couldn’t pass up and it has come with so many challenges but even more blessings.

Just a few short weeks ago after seven long months of searching, picking builder – then a lot, building, and finally signing on the dotted line we closed on our second home and moved in TOGETHER to our brand new home, 8810.

The process though frustrating became quickly rewarding as it rounded out and became a solid foundation, walls, a roof then finally all the little details.

I love this home it is a culmination of all our hopes and dreams for this post college move, and it holds so many dreams yet to unfold and so much to share along the way!

We aren’t quite settled yet, my garage still holds many many boxes and unpacking a life that was stored in a red dirt filled garage means we vacuums and dust every day as we uncover more pieces of our life.

But of course moving in the first week of December means that Christmas decorations were first priority on the list of things to unpack. Nothing feels more like home then our cozy Christmas tree, our stockings hung on the bookshelf with care, and some new decor commemorating our first Christmas in LBK.


It’s good to be home for the holidays.

Stay Merry!



Little Pink Houses For You and Me 

img_5212-1Just like the John Mellencamp song, we moved into a little pink house in an old part of town, this however is nothing like my American dream….

The neighborhood is not in a “bad” part of town per say but it’s old and unkept, everything here just feels a little dirtier, there are stray animals prowling the streets, trash lining every fence line, and the people although nice enough sit on their porches smoking endlessly.

It’s like taking a step back a decade or two, to a land where junk is collected like treasure and it clutters porches and garages.

4923 — The Pink House on the Corner

This was the house my husband lived in till he was 4, when his family moved to Denver. Since then it has been a rent house and as the town grew and the neighborhood aged the sweet dreamy newlywed, family of three dreams have been erased from these walls, buried under three different non-cohesive paint jobs. Paralleled by broken tiles, carpet that has held two decades of hard life lived on borrowed time, and a hot water heater that hums and pops a tune we have learned to fall asleep to.

Although living here has been just short of a nightmare, it seems so idealistic and ironic to be living in the house that held the homecoming of dreams and the culmination of love for my sweet in-laws as we anxiously await our new construction build to wrap up. The home we will bring our babies home to.

As the deadlines and closing dates get pushed back once more, I’ve prayed for purpose to be found in this little pink house.

Instinct and prayer led me to bake cookies and write a card and walk over and introduce ourselves.

We met Pat at 4322 and her husband waves to us from the porch as we pull up the drive.

And Sharon at 4324, who came out from behind large signs proclaiming BEWARE DOG and NO SOLICITORS, with the kindest smile full of warmth.

4325 has a toddler who rides her tricycle in the yard. But it seems they moved out last weekend while we were traveling. It took me three days before breaking in to the cookies we had set aside for them.

It is unclear how long we will be living in the little pink house, but for now I guess it’s home, and we will keep dreaming.


Matthew 1-4

In the still moments, deafening silence, sitting, waiting…. I feel the need to chatter. i crave  silence, then its torture. I’ve forgotten that when I’m silent others speak.

I’m learning to listen.

He asks us to listen, He certainly listens….

an angel of the Lord appeared to him saying, Joseph take Mary as your wife, that which is in her is of the Holy Spirit, she will bear a son, you will name him Jesus. 

He did as the angel of the Lord commanded him, he took Mary for his wife, and they called the son, Jesus. 1:20-25

the angel of the Lord appeared to him again saying, Joseph take the child and his mother and flee to Egypt and remain there until the death of Herod. 2:13-15

He had every reason for fear, they were martyrs, outcast, people looked at them like trash, and Joseph knew it would be this way. He was kind, but he was human and he cared deeply for Mary, but his life was no longer his own, and he couldn’t even be certain. And then again his life is uprooted and he is told to flee his roots, his family, his home, to outrun a government, to outlive a Kings vendetta…things had just settled down.

Joseph listened….

the wisemen fell down and worshiped Him with gifts, then after being warned in a dream not to return to the King,they departed to their country by another way. 2:12

Denying the orders of government officials, men of loyalty to the cloth, men on a mission from the royal guard. A ruler they never had reason to doubt, they betrayed to honor a new kingdom.

The Wisemen listened…

When Herod died and angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph ….again…. rise and take the child and his mother to the land of Israel, those who seek him are dead. and he went, but upon finding that Archelaus– son of Herod– was reigning in his place, he was scared. and after being warned in yet another dream he withdrew to the district of Galilee in the city of Nazareth. This fulfilled the profits, Jesus would be called a Nazarene. 2:19-23

Another move, into the territory of the one whose family vehemently sought to kill his only son, whose wrath murdered every baby boy in Bethlehem in hopes that one would be the son of man.

Joseph admitted fear, but showed valiant faith.

Joseph listened…

and the prophets were fulfilled.

In those days John the Baptist was preaching in the wilderness of Judea — his message; prepare the way of the Lord. 3:1-3

John in an actual jungle, in a underdeveloped country, full of unknowing people, One Voice, crying out into a void, following the direction of the prophets, preparing a city that would soon hold the market on biblical landmarks.

This guy ate locust and honey, walked into their world of ignorance and proclaimed that they were wrong, that they were full of hate, deceit, greed… that they needed a savior…. these people weren’t even sure what other people did much less were aware that all of the above were wrong… this was their lifestyle untouched, naturally adapted. Naturally fallen children of God reacting to a man who came in and made proclamations while he snacked on bugs.

Jerusalem and all of Judea listened…

Jesus was led by the spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil, he fasted for forty days and then his tempter came to him. 

if you are Son of God turn these stones into loaves of bread

if you are Son of God, throw yourself down, for your Father will bear you up

worship me above all else and all this earth I will give to you 4:1-11

In the wilderness, someplace foreign to himself, a forty day fast and temptation stronger and more directed than any other man to walk the earth will or has ever received. He responded in faith,  with incredible humility.

Jesus did not listen to temptation, He listened to God.

The two voices so distinguishable even in great trial that parodies over this encounter have spanned the centuries.

the devil left him, and behold the angels came and ministered to him…. 4:11

You are not alone in temptation.

You are not alone in the trials you are called to.

His ministry speaks.





written: January 17, ’15

the funny thing about apartment living is that your home automatically becomes 15-20 other Peoples home…

and that just unit twelve.

As I lay in the middle of our living room floor (post yoga), I hear a man pass by my door, walk up thirty-seven steps and knock on apartment 1216. the man who lives above us comes to the door unlocks 2 of 3 locks and welcomes his guest. I can hear their muddled hello as the two settle into whatever afore-mentioned plans had been agreed upon.

The man upstairs…. lives alone but keeps company, concerns himself with safety but isn’t overtly precautious, He likes music with a lot of base and video games… I know when he showers, flushes and cooks. Seems so intimate yet I don’t know his name or what he looks like or even definitively that he is in fact a man. 

Isn’t that the way with most humans, you think you know who they are, but you don’t know where they’ve been, how far they’ve come, or where they are going.

I wonder if the man upstairs wonders about his own man upstairs or about the us downstairs…

polycystic ovarian syndrome


written: July 11 ’17

5 days ago I got the news though today I am still unsure what exactly the news is. 

the genetic aspects of PCOS have haunted me deeply since my sister was diagnosed seven years ago. I have been checked, processed… they said I didn’t have it but the fear of infertility I have carried with me well before I even longed for children, these days the ache is piercing and consuming.

here I was at an obstetrics appointment, one of what quickly became 6 lab draws of the month. one-hundred and twenty days since my last period.

— TSH: normal

— Ha1c: normal

— Hcg: negative (not pregnant)

— ________: elevated … WHAT!!!!! (i won’t write the word, i won’t say it… gender may be fluid in twenty seventeen but to me I refuse to claim a surge of hormones meant for someone else)

I know what this means, this paired with all other hormones whacked out and far from anything that resembles normal. I don’t have a chance, she actually looked at me and said those words. With a diagnosis like this you won’t have children.

Today another doctor, more blood work and a series of trans-vaginal ultrasounds…

waiting, for official diagnosis… hoping for just kidding there was a huge mix up go make as many babies as you please. it should be noted here that I am not an optimist, but faced with great fear, i dug deep.

be fruitful and multiply…

love your husband and serve you’re family…

but what if I can’t…

I am less of a woman, I don’t even feel like a woman (my apologies to Shania Twain), I feel broken, worthless, numb, devastated.

A doctor I saw called it manageable… cool no dying got it but the infertility, weight struggles, risk for cancer and chronic diseases…. sure I’ll manage. thanks.

I am nothing if not action oriented…. Monday morning I research for hours… Monday afternoon I find a specialist… near by, covered by my insurance…the phone rings and rings….

February 1st ’18….. the planned date of my appointment with this fertility goddess who planted her home in LBK… thank you Jesus.

six months

— waiting, not truly knowing, wondering how my body will betray me in the mean time, desperately trying to figure out how to save myself, crying out to a savior who has made heavenly promise that now seem earthly impossible.

I’m sick, how sick, the lab work says one thing, my body does another… is any of this real… if not then what…

isolated finds a whole new meaning…. I moved to a new city, my husband to follow in four months… a heavy heart and no one knows.

no one hears my heart-beating, or sees the battle of will over my body, against my body.



Everybody has one, most don’t encounter the what till much later, I’m apart of most. I write because I must. I opt for publishing for simplicity, I stare at old journals, pen and paper scribbled in the middle of the night and I long for cleaner lines, for a prettier picture then the mess from which the words sprout.

The tangle of myself is what spurs the writing, the mess distracts the process and I stop… I stop writing, but I must write.

I don’t want platform, pomp or circumstance I want to write.

I believe in a documented humanity, the old stories that must be told, the truth that must be passed. I write to be known to myself, to be known to someone I may never know. I want to document my soul, it took me weeks to name it, to bring myself to buy into corporate sharing that seems so shallow. In the end I must write, to what end…stay tuned.

This wasn’t meant for you, but who am I to determine meaning of words on a page to you.