Memories.

It’s a cold windy evening, clouds blowing overhead giving slight glimpses of the stars. I can smell wood smoke in the air. And the moisture from last night’s rain (which later turned to snow) still lingers in the air.

This is exactly the kind of night that recalls to mind the time when I lived at the little white house with some of the dearest girls in the world. Love them.

I’m there again. On the slate blue porch, curled up in a cozy blanket on the white wicker porch swing–steaming tea in hand. Street lights come on as the bustle of day wanes into quietness–even on our busy street.

A subdued, yet beautiful sunset–streaks of pink across a baby blue sky, wispy clouds, black trees etched into the background. A cold breeze rustles the newly forming leaves on the trees. I curl further into the blanket. Night settles in and patches of clouds drift across the inky sky. I crane my neck looking for my favorite star amidst the misty clouds.

I can almost pretend I’m there again. I can almost still taste the pancakes (Abby’s famous ones!) we had for dinner that night, the scent and sticky-ness of syrup still lingering on my hands. I can still hear the muffled music coming from Bex’s laptop. And I still smile when I think about Rissa curled up in a corner with an adorable look in her eyes–it was Tuesday evening, and we all knew what that meant.

I still remember the exact workings that were going on in me that night–God was touching parts of my heart that I had never allowed to be vulnerable to Him before. I was learning what it meant to uncurl my sweaty little fingers from the paltry, pitiful prize they so fiercely clung to–I was learning what it meant to exchange my life for His. And I was struggling. I had not yet entirely accepted the fact that God is good. The fact that He knows me better than I know myself; that He has promised and He cannot lie; that He has my very best in mind; that He is worth it all.

But that night, for what I realize now was one of the very first times, I was truly tasting and seeing that the Lord is good! And from that moment on, I knew. My head couldn’t deny what my heart had experienced. On that white wicker porch swing that night, enveloped in a large blanket, with random people walking by on the sidewalk, tears began to slip down my cheek. I whispered to the Lord–and I meant it:

“I love You, Jesus.”

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4 thoughts on “Memories.

  1. You did not just go home and write this last night.

    Love this. Love you. Not sure you’ll appreciate being compared to a blog entry, but…you’re both beautiful.

    1. Yes, I did go home and write this last night. It was just coming out and I couldn’t stop it! ;)

      Thanks, dear. I love you, and you are beautiful.

  2. Oh Gracie… this is so beautiful, this is so precious. My heart swells with deep affection for Jesus… I know, I know what it’s like… when you can say it and truly mean it. Mmmhhh… He is SO good <3

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