three little babies that we’ve watched grow and have loved. three little babies that love their uncle ian without expectation. three little babies that ask why uncle ian isn’t with aunt rara when she stops by after work. three little babies that don’t see a tbi but see an uncle who tells them stories about a boy named paladin who drives a green chevy on route 66.
three little babies that teach me how to love.
I’m trying to pray more, make it more of a pattern. I pray small prayers but I don’t fully enter in to time talking with God.
today, a sick day spent at home, was a good chance. It was a chance to spend waking thoughts in bed on gratefulnesses for a comfortable home and that god knew this is how we would spend our date week and requests for mercy and healing for others.
I don’t want to be hyper spiritual, but I also don’t want to waste my life.
praying tonight for god to protect Ian from this bug and to rest our souls well
Thank you, always
Larissa
Keep watching for more standing up and hopefully walking
-Ian
we’re stuck on eric metaxas, now reading his bio on william wilberforce, after finishing bonhoeffer.
these biographies are perfectly timed with writing our book, because they inspire and spur on a fight through laziness or fear or doubt.
“wilberforce alone knew how constitutionally weak he was with regard to self-discipline. and he knew that his years at pocklington and cambridge had powerfully reinforced his worst tendencies, feeding them when they should have been starved. while his friend Pitt had been at the very elbow of his brilliant and accomplished father, who had taken it upon himself to train his son rigorously from earliest youth to be a great orator and politician, wilberforce had been fatherless and had been encouraged by his friends and his mother, and even by his tutors, to do exactly as he pleased. so where pitt was now reaping ample rewards of all those years of paternal sternness, wilberforce was an undisciplined mess who had gotten where he was precisely and only because of the raw talent that he possessed but had never cultivated one whit. for the rest of his life, he would pay a price for those idle years…all of this was shown to him now in these months; he saw, so to speak, the full horror of himself. God, in his mercy, had allowed wilberforce to see himself as he truly was, and it was crushing. but wilberforce knew God didn’t mean to end there. on the other side of the worst of who he was, if he dared face that worst, was a God who would help him overcome his faults and do great things, the very things for which he had created him. It was not too late.”
enjoying for the first time the theatre wheelchair-free.
in normal seats.
shoulders near.
I’m grateful, when gratefulness seemed too far away.
thank you, Mary, for the gift of a date.
She told him the last time she
had been in the city was on business, but because of the nature of it
she couldn’t tell him the details of her mission. From inside the raised
apartment flat he saw her through the sliding screen doors, standing,
facing the edge of the balcony. The moonlight cast a streak of light
across the top of her shoulders and dark hair. He stood with the two
glasses of wine in his hands and let her wait and hunt for shooting
stars. He didn’t want to interrupt her. She was filled to the brim with
secrets. The things she kept left a separation between the two of them.
From that distance he couldn’t think of a single thing he would change.
He didn’t want to move forward, she always looked so beautiful standing
aloof. A life she led previous to this one was something he would never
be able to know. Sometimes he would catch her in the right light and
would admire her for who she was at that moment in time. But, as he
approached, the closer he got, the more he became aware that she would
never be completely his. Questions he had that he was afraid to ask,
like, “Where were you the last time you saw the moon glow such an
amazing shade of orange?”. The chances were she would be able to answer,
but then she would most likely have to kill him.
