Elijah + Savannah | Oklahoma Engagement Photography

"I promise to sing to you
When all the music dies."
Train | Marry Me

They've lived a few miles from each other their whole lives -- and in a small town, especially, that's noteable. They weren't each other's first crushes, or high school sweetheart, or even long time best friend who is "just like a sibling." They never actually crossed paths until they were in their twenties. But even then, it was merely a crossing. She worked at the coffee shop he stopped into nearly every day. They went with a group from Guthrie on a Caribbean cruise, but hardly talked to each other all trip. There was no unrequited love or secret flicker one of them was harboring for years (though, admittedly, they both thought the other was a cutie). There was just nothing... until there was something. And all of a sudden "here you are, standing here, loving me."

A friendly hello at the gym (one of dozens throughout the years) turned into nice chit-chat and then into a few texts. Those texts turned into hanging out a couple of times which turned into... forever. They started dating in June and were engaged in October. We (the family) love to think about the fact that Elijah was completely single at Daniel and Erin's wedding last May and this coming May he'll already have been married a month. Lightning strikes fast, hard, and strong. 

It's awfully fun to watch each other be each other's answered prayers. This relationship is redemption, sweetness and joy come to life. And since they've both always lived in Guthrie, met in Guthrie, fell in love in Guthrie, got engaged in Guthrie, will marry in Guthrie, and share their first house in Guthrie... It was only fitting we do their engagement session on the orange-gold, historic, cobbled streets of Guthrie. 

Happy love, you two! We're so happy for you and can't wait to officially welcome another "Morris" to the gang! Hurry up, April!

Red Dirt Roof | Our House

free, nothing feels like free
though it sometimes means we don’t get along
cause same, no, we’re not the same
but that’s what makes us strong
home - dierks bentley 

I tell people that he's a country boy, not a farm boy.  He's a small town boy, not a ranch boy.  He doesn't hunt in his spare time.  He'll go with the boys and have fun.  But he'd probably have just as much fun shooting a Justin Beiber poster hanging on a tree.  He doesn't like to deal with, let alone breed or feed or clean or skin, animals.  He loves nature - the trees animate him, the dogs annoy him.  Sunsets bring him to tears, goats and chickens and cows are... tasty.  He can't sleep in, unless it's Saturday and there is nothing planned for the day.  He is very confused by computers and all their tomfoolery.  Especially when it comes to formatting.  Talk about stress ;)  He's actually far less self-concious in groups of people than I am, and he rarely feels awkward.  He's happy and people are his favorite.  He is entertained by watching people - he takes it in and processes.  We joke that he's the quiet social butterfly and I'm the loud homebody.  He loves to "go out and do!" He loves to get things done.  He loves to come up with things to get done.  But he just learned how to use Excel when we got engaged, and still doesn't "schedule."  He just lives hard and thoroughly without being frustrated by daily timelines of ALL HE MUST GET DO.  It's a country quality.  There is peace in these plains.

I've wrongly acquired the title "city girl" in our story.  I've never lived in "the city" and I can easily go months without visiting "the city."  I'm a suburban girl.  Who has the option of going into the District of Columbia, the Nation's Capital, the city whenever I'd like.  I was born 8 miles away from the White House, where 42 presidents have lived with their families and pets.  Mr. Obama still lives only 20 miles away.  But I don't live in the city, I live just outside it.  With access to bay-towns, like Annapolis and Alexandria, where boats are docked and water is blue, and historical towns, like Mount Vernon and Harper's Ferry, which sometimes seem untouched since their colonial and civil war days, to country-towns, big and small, like Frederick and Brunswick, and national skyline cities like Baltimore and Philadelphia... and even Times Square in New York City, New York is only four hours away.

I personally grew up Home Owner's Association neighborhoods - with community swimming pools, the best part of summer, especially when we had change for the ice cream truck, and spontaneous all-street Man Hunt and Capture the Flag games, comprised of children from about ten different families.  Sure, there wasn't much yard space, but there was plenty of room for creative rascals to make memories and get an adrenaline rush.  The beach is three hours away, but I've also been a suburban girl outside of San Diego City.  And the beach, then, was only twenty minutes away.  Glorious.  Both in California and Maryland mountains were severely close by, and so were plains and fields, and traffic jams.  We have every kind of restaurant nearby - chains and mom-and-pops and breakfast and lunch and dinner and every country imaginable is represented.  There is no such thing as "we don't have that."  We do.  Somewhere in the near vicinity, we do.  There is a buzz in these suburbs.

"Cause same, no, we’re not the same
But that’s what makes us strong."

Early in March we drove two full days in my determined white Corolla, filled with tools and coconut-oil popcorn and four grown people and one growing person.  Oklahoma was our stop.  And to build the roof was our goal.  Caleb shouldered the largest responsibility, obviously, but we were dependent on our brothers and a few good friends.  One month.  We had one month to get it done.  

This dream-house has been a part of a number of mind-makeovers the last few years.  As a single boy, Caleb envisioned a dark, cozy, log lodge.  As I've said before, Hollywood High Heels Sparkles Leigh over here, ah-ha, well, didn't.  So we've imagined together what this house could be.  Decorations aside, what's the point of it?  We both want it to function like a suburban home - with cars and friends and people over constantly.  We want it to be warm and welcoming.  We want space for people to come and stay the night or stay the week or stay the month.  As long as they don't fuss when it's time to watch the Thunder games.  We want this house to buzz with life and bodies in the peace of it's Solitude Forest.  What once was a home with two or three bedrooms has turned into a home with five or six, and plans for another two-four to be added on someday.  One bathroom became four bathrooms.  The kitchen moved from being tucked away under the stairs into the great room, siamese twins with the family room where couches, eating, TV, the fireplace and food all happily spill together into the same space.  But first.  We needed a roof.

Day One on the site was crucial.  We needed to hunt down two oak trees to hold the roof up.  We called them our Giving Trees, chopped down to keep us safe and dry.  I was surprised at how emotional I was when we decided on them.  They were - are - so beautiful.  And we have twenty acres full of them.  And I'm no "tree-hugger" but I found myself wishing I could say "Thank you, pretty tree."  Maybe what I was feeling was gratitude to God - He made these trees so lovely, and it really is an honor to use them in our home.















After chopping the trees down, they had to be hauled from their location on our property over to the house.  The next step was bracing them upright so the roof construction could begin on them.  They look so little "inside"!




Once the trees were quite secure, it was time for the gables to go up and the framing to begin.







The framing took a long, long time.  This house is not simple and the angles are sharp, steep and frequent.  It took tough patience and OCD-awareness to cut and arrange every single board in the perfect place.

Midway through the framing process, Caleb had the topped of his finger smashed off.  See the long boards on the right of the house? ^ He was straddling the middle board that those are leaning on, with a nail gun, while the guys pushed boards up to him.  He'd "catch" the board, place it on the beam, and nail it down.  One time his hand was to close to the beam and the guys pushed the board up harder than they had in the past.  His finger jammed between the beam and board and the top popped off, yet was held on by his finger nail.  We rushed to the Guthrie hospital for Lidocaine, stitches and hopefully positive news.  It was not this woman's favorite part of the trip :-/  But thankfully, six weeks later, it's healed up very nicely.  A little weird shaped and the nerves are shot, but his finger is all there!  After the finger incident, he developed a corneal ulcer.  So he went to work everyday with a giant bandage/wrap/cast on his hand and a pirate-patch on his eye.  So pitiful and cute ;)

Day after day, early morning into late dark night, over and over, he and the boys, and I would drive up and down this road.  From town to his parent's house to our house.  Bit by bit, again and again.  Until we were finally ROOFED IN.  The day shingles went up was a day of celebration.  The site was like an anthill and the energy was colored.  Hot donuts from Missy's sat in a nearly untouched white box.  Everyone was too excited to eat.

While the "shingles crew" worked away outside, another set of guys started the interior framing.   This part of the project was up in the air.  Not necessary to get done this trip, but would certainly be nice to have completed!  They ended up having enough time and man-power to go for it.  In this next picture you can see the two trees holding up the roof.  A staircase will eventually lead up inbetween these trees to the second floor loft.  The top floor has a number of bedrooms and bathrooms, as well as a staircase leading to the massively-cool third story tower bedroom.  Under the loft: aka the first floor, is the master bedroom and bathroom, powder room and laundry room... then in the "open" area under the trusses are the kitchen, dining room and living room.



I drew chalk on the concrete where I wanted all the walls to go... My lines are wicked straight ;)

This is the view into the living room - the fire place is on the right, the kitchen is on the left.





Before long there was a second floor!  Incredible.


This is looking down into the master bedroom and walk-in closet:



Our good friend Wild Bill brought by some freshly milled cedar wood.  He makes all kinds of brilliant chairs and swings and beds and frames and hope chests and... well... anything, really! out of that gorgeous, fragrant, red wood. We hope to make some doors and window sills out of our own cedars :)


Dave and Kate (and Little Lillian and Keith) have popped up a few times in this post.  They are our next door neighbors, jolly good friends and the owners/runners of Merrick Valley Family Farm (certified organic, woot woot!).  They have a fascinating homestead.  I love to listen to them talk about their beliefs and ideas, and how they practically make them happen.  They are dreamers and do-ers and just so friendly and dear.  We love them.


A good summary of my life ;)

Dear Man,
I loved that you bought this land, and planned for this house, before I even loved you.  Now that we're in love and committed to love and I know you a whole lot better than I did when I first visited this land, I see how much of you is hidden in these twenty acres, like it was hidden in your heart.  Obvious things, like the design and architecture of this house.  While friends, and even your twin brother, built and recommended you build a more classic, traditional, straight-foward home.  Time and cost efficient, solid and relatively easy.  It made all the logical and practical sense in the world.  But you just couldn't do it.  A layered, dimensional, 45-degreed, intricate home was in your soul, and you just had to go for it.  A home where every single room is shaped differently, each with it's own set of personality and potential.  It's you.  And subtle things, like your visions for the rounded driveway, and the view that any guest would first see when arriving at the house.  Your vision for a green yard with lots of room for sports and play - in the middle of the woods.  Your plans for new additions, more houses on the property, and a bandstand at the top of the hill, where all the redbuds bloom, so we can have summer concerts with friends - it's all you.

When I first met you, I assumed you were a simple, straight-forward, traditional guy.  I had no idea how many corridors and ideas and mysteries and angles you had hidden away in you.  I had no idea you were so full of creativity and energy and imagination.  I had no idea you were so picky and thorough and flexible and spontaneous.  I assumed you were predictable and you've proven to be wonderfully surprising.   Consistent, yes.  Dependable, yes.  Predictable, no.

I love you, and all the parts of you know and I'll the parts of you yet to know.  Thank you for giving us this beautiful part of yourself.  I can't wait to tell our kids all these stories, and to show them all these pictures, and for them to get to know you, too.  You have worked far too hard to make this thing in your head a real place for us to enjoy.  And I adore it.  Even though I still sometimes get nervous about living in Oklahoma, those 20 acres - and that house in particular - is my favorite place in the entire world.

I love you. And I'm proud of you and just want to brag about you for pages.  "You have a beautiful mind." ;)

Love,
Me




Someday a spiral staircase will lead up to this small and magical third story tower room... but for now a hole in the floor board will do ;)





Check out the progress! I'm obsessed.


I can see it so clearly: windows in, deck built, grass grown, grill smoking, music playing, watermelon sliced.  I get carried away thinking about evenings here, ten years from now.




Good bye, house.  This was the last time we saw you... we're planning on being back in the fall, with a squishy ol' baby.  We have some windows to put in -- let's see if we can save the money in time ;)  We love you, Red Dirt House and can't wait for all the stories yet to come.  It was such a happy, sweet month of our lives putting this roof on.  The best is yet to come...

Remember when we said when we turned gray When the children grow up and move away We won't be sad, we'll be glad For all the life we've had And we'll remember when 

Woods Family | Hoboken Coffee Roasters At Home | Family Portraits in Guthrie

i could be sweet
and i could be sweeter
i want to be where your heart is home
she & him - home

You met Trey and Mallory behind the bar at Hoboken Coffee Roasters.  You met their dream - their wooden, mechanical, brown, window-ed, handmade dream.   You met a part of them that isn't just their career or their work, but their hearts on display on Division Avenue.  Hoboken is more than a part, but it isn't the whole.

Today you'll at least get to meet more of the parts, that will help you know the whole far better.  The parts about an OSU cowgirl-student, paying the bills by working at a college town coffee house.  The parts about her meeting Gerald Woods, the Third (or "Trey," for three.  Get it?)  The parts about an engagement three months later.  And a wedding four months after the "Will you?" And the parts about their bike ride - on their bicycles, with pedals and wheels that runs on human muscle, determination and exhilaration - from Oklahoma to Oregon.  Yes.  The parts about their time in Eugene, working working working, playing playing playing, learning learning learning, dreaming dreaming dreaming.   They continued to pay the bills by being hired at, well, where else?  Coffee shops.  And they looked forward to big new parts.  Baby parts and a shop of their own parts and a house to make their home (at least for a good long while) parts.  

On a personal note, before I wow you with more heartwarming Woods tales, I have to recite, once again, why I love shooting people in their real life.  I'm not the biggest fan of styled shoots (I understand their fun and place), I'm never going to be a commercial "America's Next Top Model esque" photographer (but I sure am glad someone does it, because I adore the spreads in Vogue and Vanity Fair), I have no desire to learn camera and photoshop tricks and magicals to create Popular Page worthy Flickr creations (though I adore it when those are well done - they're dreamy.)  Honestly, I could take or leave photography.  And "art."  Not in the world, oh no.  But in my own life - I don't "need to take pictures!"  What I do "need," however, is to create (bedrooms or meals or outfits or blog posts) and to know people.  I'm far less bubbly and outgoing than I was a few years ago.  I may be less social and, heck, even less friendly!  But my heart is "on" and I'm addicted to knowing and discovering the stories of people.  I love shooting a birth story or a wedding or a friend of mine at the pool.  I just, oh, feel alive!  Like life is tasty and happening and dazzling!

And here, in a living room on Oak Street, in a town set aglow by the promise of "Munson and Sons" (or "Mummy Fords," depending on which old lady in town you speak with), is a wife and mamma and female who doesn't know how to pin something onto Pinterest.  And a husband and daddy and man who looks like American Storybook Jesus, according to my husband.  And a coffee-shop babe who takes her naps under a espresso machine, and who kind of looks like a munchable little coffee treat herself.  And this is where they wake up and come home and close their blinds and take their showers and park their jeep and rest.

And it makes me feel alive.

They moved into this home, less than two minutes from their store, last month.  They have hardy plans for it.  When we opened the blinds they fell off the window and Mallory tossed them into the kitchen.  Where the dish and clothes washer live.  And the plaster needs to be repaired in the walls, and the bathroom isn't "them" at all.  Just the night before this shoot Mallory went all "destroy the shower doors!" and hung up a curtain and rod in their place.  It's just on the cusp of all it will be, but it's undoubtably theirs and beautiful.

In my various conversations with the Woods family over the past eight months, I've watched a trusty thread stitch their thoughts together.  "It just wasn't us, ya know?"  "That was just SO 'me'!" "It was us!" "It really wasn't 'me.'" They have some of the most developed, unstuffy, natural, pleasant, makes-you-feel-comfortable-not-judged-happy-not-like-a-failure sense of personal taste and desire I've ever come across.  They aren't trendy or trying to be cool - they just dress and decorate and drink and do what they love!  It's so simple and good. 

Trey is the sort of person who you feel really proud-of-yourself when you've made him laugh.  He's easy to talk to, interesting and not-shy - but he also doesn't pity-laugh.  Mallory, on the other hand, is a feather of a speaker and, if she caught on that you were making a joke, would laugh no matter what - just to make sure you didn't feel bad.   But as a couple they make you feel like you're family.  It doesn't matter if you're at the shop or in their living room.   And their little offspring daughter is a holdable part of their love.  She is so easy to adore and want to be near.  She's (obviously) super used to being around people all day long.  She sucks her fists and is working on coordinating her back with her mind, and she looks at you like she's got you all figured out - and then usually smiles really big, which makes you confident that she assessed you well ;)

These three must be a little window light of heaven.  Everyone - from my own family to the church ladies to the Town Member of The Year to the instagram-and-tweeters to myself - have only experienced memorable, rich and addicting love from this crew.  It's honest and not something that can be faked or manufactured or posed.  

Trey, Mallory and young Autumn, er, Harmony (hahah just kidding. Harvest.) yes, you're beautiful.  "Inside and out," as they say.  Yes, you're inspiring.  But thank you, sincerely, for your hearts - especially towards people.  Thank you for not making people different than you (basically your whole town!) feel snubbed or looked down on.  Instead they feel a part of you.  Thank you for living out what you believe is best, but not talking about those things in a way that makes me-or-others feel like half-bakes.  You love differences and don't want everyone to be like you - you want them to be like them.  And you bring that out in people.  Thank you for talking about God like He's really your friend, and not like you're "good Christian folk who have to bring up prayer now."  It's obvious that your life in Him is so interweaved with your everyday life that they just simply can't be separated.  It doesn't feel hokey, ultra-spiritual or pushy.  It just feels right and helpful and delightful.  

Thank you for the start of a friendship - I hope our babies will be buds for a long long time, and I hope you'll get to eat at our bagel shop someday, and I hope for many nights and meals and BBQ's and holiday parties and coffee-breaks and conversations and knowings with our families.

It's been so nice to meet you.

Rachel Leigh + Allix B | Portraits

it seems like one of those nights,
we ditch the whole scene and end up dreaming
instead of sleeping.
22 - taylor swift

I connect with people by trying to figure them out.  In some ways this a neat and interesting quality, and in other ways it's problematic.  I can relatively quickly watch, process and conclude "what a person is like" but I can also turn people into a "project." Which is bad.   But.  I often have one specific moment where, in my mind, I finally "get" someone.

For Rachel Leigh, it happened while I was grilling hamburgers.  Rachel has been a longtime blog-friend.  I've always been fascinated with her crazy long hair (can your hair give my hair lessons?!), her simple and good reminders of happy and true things, and her celebratory happiness for her friends.  I guessed (deduced) that she was a fresh, kind, talented and smart girl.  Which, she is.

From what I could tell online, Rachel seemed demure and ballerina-like.  And almost as if she had been dropped into 2013 from a Green Gable somewhere a number of decades back.  Not because she looked old, but because she seemed charmed in a southern grace, bonnet and dress, walk in the fields and read sort of way.

Last week, Rachel and her best one, Allix (who you'll meet in just a second) came all the way up from Texas to be my guests and to "break the cyber barrier" and MEET. IN. PERSON.  Rachel instantly surprised me.  Though she was just as kind, graceful and intelligent as I imagined she would be, she was not nearly as quiet or reserved.  Rachel is full of conversation, question, thoughts, stories, facts and humor.  She is extremely well-spoken, quick on her feet and bright.  Her vocabulary is golden, her opinions are thoughtful and her confidence is strong.  I loved it.

And it all dawned on me while we were visiting Caleb and the boys at the house.  My tradition is to bring hamburger meat up to them for lunch.  Every day.  We charcoal grill.  Patty to grill, patty to bun, bun to mouth.  No utensils, plates, napkins, toppings.  They like it hot, well-done and fast.  They've cut the hamburger meet with their saws (which is gross) and use 2x4's as a serving platter.  But since I had some ladies with me, I tried to be a little more hospitable.  I brought some fruit, chips, paper plates and water bottles.  While our lady-lunch was grilling Rachel asked if I had plates.  "Yes!  They are in that bag on the ground." "Do you want me to get them for you?" "Eh, we have a little while before the burgers are done.  I'm good. Thanks though!"  A minute or two later I see her pawing through the bag. She stops.  Comes and stands by me.  I felt like she was on the verge of saying something, but she didn't.  I continue talking with Allix and her mother (who joined us for the day! So much fun.) and I catch Rachel eyeing the bags again.  She finally blurted out "Do you want me to get the plates out now so that when the burgers are ready, they'll be ready?"  And it clicked for me.

"Rachel!" I laughed "I figured it out!  You're a control freak!" Hahaha.  "Yes, go get the plates.  You're very concerned about them!"  She immediately started laughing too. "No, no! I just, well, I want to help and...!" I cut her off.  And I really was mostly teasing.  More than control-freak, this is what The Paper Plate Pleading showed me about her: she is an initiator.  I think I thought of her more as a sweet follower.  But no.  She is a bold, aware, gentle initiator.  Whether it's trips or stories or practical needs or match-making... she is taking action.  I think it's an incredibly beautiful and important quality, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that in her.  Though I teased her about the plates for the rest of the day, I was more impressed than anything.

Rachel, I loved meeting you and am justsoglad you made the trip up to visit with me.  See you again soon, yes? Oh.  And never forget that us "Leigh's" will always hold a special place in each other's hearts ;)

If you know who Rachel is, you definitely know who Allix B is.  And vice-versa.  They're often asked "Are you two sisters?!" And they seem to be with each other all day, every day.  Which, I know they aren't.  But it's rare to "find" one online without the other nearby.  They're the best kind of best friends. Different in nearly every way, yet too many similarities to count.  I would have been actually sad if I hadn't been able to meet them both together :)  Thanks for making me happy, guys.

Now, while I had "imagined" Rachel as more on the hushed side, I pictured Allix being a CRAZYGOOFBALLFIREWORKALLTHEDAYLONG.   I was certainly "closer" in my guess with her than I was with Rachel ;)

However!  For being only 17, I was, again, surprised and impressed with Allix's sense of calm and stability while maintaining giddy, dimple-y, instant happiness.  I decided that she writes much more exclaimated than she acts (at least during first impressions), but she is really as happy as she seems.  Her cute sense of style, her smart business sense, her love of words and writing well, and her obvious talent with a camera are just cherries on this sweet sundae.  

I'm sure she has her moments (who doesn't?) but Allix was much less "dumb blonde" and much more "Eva Gabor."  She isn't just funny quips, easy laughter and bright colors.  She has a processing, analyzing, deep brain - and it's not hidden.  It's obvious.  She knows what she likes and doesn't like, because she has thought about it.  She isn't "about the trends."  She is gracious and patient and really just so kind.

It was great getting to watch Allix enjoy, friend and even play with her mom all day long, too.  They have such a trusting, close relationship.  The kind where you finish each other's sentences and mutually care deeply about the other's opinions and preferences.  I'd be willing to bet that most of Allix's relationships are like that: she is all in, and she is all in because she cares.  It's impressive, and I hope never ever fades.  You must come visit again.  I won't stand for it otherwise :)



Girls!  You were such a lovely part of my week.  And I want the whole world to know: Rachel and Allix are so much wonderful.  Follow them and be their friend, and get ready for fun times. 

Red Dirt Home | Personal

Flashback: September 21, 2012

The Design of a House by Wendell Berry

"Love has conceived a house,
and out of its labor
brought forth its likeness
- the emblem of desire,
continuing though the flesh falls away.

Love foresees a jointure
composing a house, a marriage of contraries,
compendium of opposites in equilibrium.
Let severeness be as dividing
as budleaves around the flower!
- woman and child enfolded, chosen within.

This is a love poem for you -
among wars, among brutal forfeitures of time
in this house,
among latent fires and stillness,
among all that honesty must see,

I accept and love you.
And our Baby,
precious and periled in her happy mornings,
whose tears are mine.

Love has visualized a house,
and out of its expenditure
fleshed the design at this cross ways
of consciousness and time:

Its form is growth come to light in it;
croulants, gardens,
are of its architecture,
labor its realization,
cities we have gone to and come back
are the prospect of its doorways.
And there's a city it dreams of."

Red Dirt Life | Personal

"and drivin' down the road
i get a feeling that i should have
been home yesterday, yesterday"
country roads - john denver

On the border of Logan and Lincoln County, forming the third point of a triangle with Meridian and Shiloh, is the forgettable "town" of Merrick.  The roads here are all numbered, not named.  780.  3300. 800.  105.  As orderly as geometry graph paper, the lines of the red dirt go straight, in both directions, for more miles than you could drive in a day.  Likewise for the cross roads.   God help the soul who gets lost out here (and don't worry, God does, through His friendly and blessed people who call these paths "home.")   The only memorable town trophy is the old school house.  It's been closed for decades, but the former students who live nearby (all grannies and granddads now) have a monthly town dance in the empty, square building.   If you happened upon the right lumpy lane, and knew where to stop, you'd see these trees:

These trees look like the rest of the trees lining sunburned roads in Merrick (and Meridian and Shiloh and Frost and...).  But these trees our our trees.   Almost three years ago, long before he met me, my husband bought 25 acres of trees.  At one point the path through them had been cleared out, but spending almost two years in Maryland gave the grass and reeds ample time to reclaim their territory.  Behind these trees, about a quarter mile straight in, is the beginning of our house.   There is a concrete footing and foundation, as well as concrete exterior walls (I was there for that stage), with cut-outs for the windows and doors.  In a couple weeks, we're headed to Meridian, and we'll be passing the old school, and we'll pull up to these trees.  During our month long stay, we'll trample down most of that helpless but persistent greenery on the ground.   We've been saving for over a year - counting pennies, not taking trips we could have taken, waiting - and now it's time to put a roof on the house.   Caleb will spend 10-16 hours a day, nearly everyday, making this roof become real and not a drawing.  Early mornings, late nights, sweet rest, unexpected costs and satisfying progress are sure to be our story.

This was never how I imagined my first year of marriage.

No, I wasn't exactly a Red Dirt Bride in my mind.  Before I met Caleb, I imagined staying in my outskirts-of-DC-location for a few years, and then maybe moving somewhere quaint down south.  South Carolina was the location of choice.  Beach, class, lower cost, East Coast (near route 95 and all the beloved cities who live up and down it - from Boston, New York, Philadelphia, DC, Charlotte, Charleston and on).  Close enough to not drastically change my photography clientele, but far enough away to change my world.  Close enough to spend long weekends with my family, but far enough to miss my birth city.  I also dreamed of quick California fixes.  The California coast is my favorite and best place in the whole world (well, that I've had the honor of experiencing so far.)  My mother and her family is from and still near and around California.  I have friends - so many friends - out there.  When I was still younger than 10, we moved out to San Diego for a year and a half.  It was the longest vacation I've ever taken.  I'm a summer girl, who craves a beach and tacos and fashion and a dry heat world.  I imagined that.



But I met a red dirt man.

"... somebody with arms strong enough to rustle a calf and yet gentle enough to cradle his own grandchild... somebody to call hogs, tame cantankerous machinery, come home hungry, have to wait lunch until his wife’s done feeding visiting ladies and tell the ladies to 'be sure and come back real soon' — and mean it... Somebody who’d bale a family together with the soft strong bonds of sharing, who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply, with smiling eyes, when his son says he wants to spend his life ‘doing what dad does.'"

He dreams of carrying on the family business he and his father and brothers began years ago.  He bounces in his seat, and gets flushed when he explains to me the plans for his, er, our, home.  We often nestle into bed and begin using our hands to "draw" a new idea we have.  Usually this turns into lights popping back on, and someone googling or doodling to "see" the idea better.  I made a few changes to his original plans - a woman's touch.  The kitchen has been moved and there are far more bedrooms now.  He's talked me into some ideas I didn't love initially (*ahem* stone, turrets *ahem*) and I've gotten him quite excited about acrylic chairs, glass and crystal, and bright and white over dark and "cabin-y."  Dark wood floors, wood-beamed ceiling and a white-exterior with black accents have been our chocolate fondue melting pot. 

So we begin.  Living this life as "one," a Hollywood half-blood crossed with country wind and grit.  There is more preppy in him than he was aware of, and I've discovered there is more small-town in my heart than I had ever understood.  Our neighbor across the way, for example, plants two gardens every year: one inside his fence for he and his family, one on the outside of his fence, by the side of the road, for anyone nearby or passing-by who needs an onion or potato.   Every year.  Just to be kind.  Yes, there is room - much room - my heart for living life with people like him.  Caleb's favorite shoes are either his Cantor Low Ralph Lauren canvas sneakers, or his classic brown Sperry Top-Siders.

I love being changed, and watching someone else change, and yet somehow still retaining ourselves in the process.  I love being a Red Dirt Bride.  It's better than I imagined.

---

Our road-trip to build the roof starts the first weekend in March.  We'll be cruising through country in my little white Corolla, and we'll live in Guthrie (the latest stop for the Mumford&Sons tour! What what!  "The biggest thing to happen to Guthrie since The Land Run.")

I'd love to meet new friends in the surrounding area.  E-mail or get in touch somehow if you're available to chat and hang-out during the month of March.   We can mingle at Hoboken!  Or if you'd like a photoshoot of some sort - I'm available for a few sessions :)  

Hoboken Coffee Roasters | Guthrie Local Shop

"what city, what town
so many roads 
mothered in stone 
surrounded by bones 
it feels so alone 

the last waltz
don't mean the last dance is over."

the band - the last waltz

Priscilla Ahn music video style, Trey and Mallory had a dream.  A coffee shop, opened and run with heart and soul.  Made to meet, know and love people.  Napkin sketching and imagining.  Cue the harmonica.  Penny pinching and saving.  Waiting patiently.  Honing in on the details: a coffee shop where they not only ground and brewed the coffee, but even roasted it themselves.  Where every cup, every sip, every flavor was the reward of many hours of effort, not a simple online shipment order.  The coffee house would be for family, for strangers, for their kids, for us, for we, for love.  They dreamed.







And it's funny.  Amidst an ex-Oklahoma-state capitol-turned-Small-Town-USA, where there are too many antique shops, a "Cowboy Cafe" and Stables Diner, and a town centerpiece (the highschool football field), where grand-dads and toddlers wear Ariat's and Wranglers, where the choirs sing every Sunday in all four side-by-side churches, where 25 buildings are empty and for sale, where the parking outside looks like a Ford F350 commercial, where the entire, conservative, drawled town takes off work early to watch the homecoming parade at 2:00 pm, where not a single chain store is allowed to open (the city council wouldn't allow it), where the older ladies gossip at the hair salon, where the culture is a country-people who "grew up workin' on the land," where they "fell in love with a small town woman and... a few years later... seven people livin' all together in a house built with his own hands," where tornado shelter signs are plaqued to old brick, where cobblestone says a weary "hello." under the worn-down parts of asphalt, where all the fine folks, bless their heart, are meat-and-patate-a's folks, where mom's yell down the street "HEY! All ya'lls better getch yur-selves up that hee-ill! School's startin'! And you otta be busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kickin' contest!" - in this town - a young family who seems to fit the Portland, Greenwich Village, Kinfolk world, did the beautiful and opened up their dream.  And a little lady in her skinny jeans, head wrap and moccasins pours over a cup (made with love), while her forever-boy mans the french press in his hoodie - very skater-meets-hipster like.  And it's Guthrie, Oklahoma.  Not a trendy new chain in Chevy Chase, or a typical mountainside place in Vancouver.  In the land of fried chicken bucket bets, hunting, Carhart jackets, leather boots and Stetson cowboy hats this couple, and their new baby girl named Harvest, have successfully stayed true to their personal vision and personality and the entire town is simply smitten with them.   An Anthropologie in the middle of a rodeo.  This hasn't been done.  It's brave.  And it's working.  Watch out - this sleepy sweet town is on the rise, and because of people like Trey + Mallory, it's going to be a different place in five years.  Better.  Home-ier.  Lovelier.



"Oh, we wrote our blue-prints and design ideas on notebook paper!" They drive a very simple car, Trey actually bikes almost everywhere, they've saved and saved and saved so they can do it "right" and not get themselves into the crazy world of debt, they waited.  "And prayer, Kristen," Mallory told me with a gentle head-shake and tight-lips - if she could let herself, she probably could have cried - "God has taken this and made it so much more than we ever thought it could be.  You can do the numbers and the math, and then God just blows it all away.  He's blessed us.  Prayer.  We spent so much time in prayer.  He's been so good."

And now their people-oriented, town-focused, made-with-love, share-their-hearts coffee house is real.  It's hard.  And you can see it. And it's not an idea anymore.  Hoboken Coffee Roasters is open.




The unroasted beans below and the eye-catching roaster above //





Roasted beans!  About to be ground...



























































The stories in this small building could delight your soul for hours.  The $20 Chandeliers Story.  The Sweatshirt In The Guthrie Sports Museum Window Story.  The Crib in the Corner Story. The Home Made (nearly) Everything Story.  The Blue Print Story.  But, really, the story Mr. Woods and his Woodsy Wife and round Harvest Woods want you to know about is the one where Love came to earth, and did good and beautiful (and eternal) things, so we can spend our life (forever) enjoying good and beautiful things, and we don't have to fear the evil and ugly.  They want you to know the story about how Love changes everything - your soul and your cup of coffee.

||| follow hoboken coffee on twitter | instagram | facebook |||

and props to their designer, emma dime, for the remarkable logo!

Oklahoma Wedding Reception | Mr. + Mrs. Morris

"they never understand why their princess falls
for some camouflage britches 

and a southern boy drawl."

trace adkins
Our wedding was all kinds of dreamy, joyful and dear to our beating Morris hearts.  The *only* thing that seemed a sad touch of strange was that, aside from family and his new Maryland friends, Caleb really didn't have his "own" guests at the wedding.  The sweet church ladies who talk about his piano skills every time they see him (while pinching his cheek, or placing their hand on his.)  The Laura Ingalls Wilder children.  The families who are in the photo albums and home videos.  The first employers.  The next-door neighbors.  Dozens of friendly faces and lives were absent at our wedding.  In some ways it felt like "my" wedding without all of those "Caleb-people" there.  

On Saturday we were the bride and groom, for the very last time.  And this time, it was all about Caleb.  His hostess-with-the-mostess, creative bumblebee of a mother threw a "Cinderella pumpkin patch/Flea Market/Western" event of a lifetime on the family farm, Caleb's childhood stomping grounds.  I wore his favorite gold hoops and wore my hair down (he doesn't like pins and clips and bands.  Kind of like how most guys don't like lipstick.  Only gets in the way ;).  I told him to wear whatever he wanted: a tie-less suit with sneakers it was!  

We spent 4:00 pm to nearly midnight eating Mrs. Morris' BBQ, talking in the sunset, dancing, hearing stories from "way back when," and savoring all the sweetness of farm life and country friends.  My parents flew in to be here with us - which was so special to me.  I loved watching everyone 'ooo' and 'awww' over my mom, and laugh and tease with my dad.  I was madly happy.  Caleb comes from a little taste of heaven, and I'm honored to now be a part of this world.  

Enjoy the incredible detail and love put into this day!



Tulip bulb favors!





My favorite piece of advice was from a 15-year-old girl: "Take Kristen shopping every day."  That's the secret to a happy marriage, right?!






























There were little babies to couples who had celebrated their 50th wedding.  Friends from literally right next store, to friends who drove 12 hours to be with us.  We love all you folks - but mostly the kids.  They're so dang funny!  But my favorite quote of the night was from a lady who remembered one of her first conversations with the Morris boys, about seven or eight years ago:  "Well, Caleb told me he wanted to marry a city girl.  And Daniel, Daniel insisted he wanted a country girl."  I love how different Caleb is from his family, and how he really did want everything that I am... even way back then ;)  In the meantime, Daniel is waiting for that "country girl."  Unless I somehow convince him that city girls make for better wives!

















These "Magic Cookie Bars" are famous.


Alright.  This man right here is Matt.  Matt is a good friend of the family, and he  was one of Caleb's first employers.  We love Matt (even though this was my first time meeting him) because he helped Caleb be the worker and skilled-tradesman he is today!  When Matt got married, Caleb and his brothers decided to pull a little prank on Matt.  As he was running to the getaway car, the boys dumped baked beans, honey and snow down Matt's pants.  Matt drove away and apparently had to try to clean up a little in 10 degree weather out by a barn.  Terrible.  Matt's wife walked right into the reception and said "Caleb Morris, there is a verse in the Bible that talks about 'an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.'  Consider yourself warned!"
As the main part of the reception was winding down, Matt got his rightful revenge ;)  My only instructions were "Make sure his phone and wallet is not on him.  Please take his shoes off: they are brand new and he loves them with his whole heart.  And don't you dare ruin his $400 suit."  And with that, the fun began:



(Shoes coming off.  Thank you, guys!)

So happy... even when being attacked.





At this point, he still did not know what was going to happen to him...

... but then he say the water and started SCREAMING "NOOOO! NOOOOO!"  It was kind of heart-breaking!  But then I thought about honey-snow-freezing-beans pants on a wedding night, and I didn't feel too bad for Caleb ;)  The ice bath was frozen and ready:













When he got out he said he was so cold he couldn't even breathe.  His body went into a quick shock.  It's a good thing he's so healthy and that they DIDN'T CAUSE A HEART ATTACK! Heart Attack > Beans Pants.









We had a good laugh, made a chilly memory and learned a lesson... right, Honey Bunches of Oats? Riiiight?


Two of Caleb's siblings built this play house years ago.  It's one of my favorite things I've ever seen.






"The House That Built Me" is a song that can bring both Caleb and I to tears.  Partly because we have half a home built in Oklahoma, that we dream of living in with children someday.  Also in part because Caleb's home really is the house that built us.  I met him here (almost two years ago exactly!).  I discovered he liked me here.  I fell in love with him here.  He lights up when he tells stories about these 27 acres, and always-being-built home.  Now we've celebrated our marriage here.  

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom

Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitarAnd I bet you didn't know under that live oakMy favorite dog is buried in the yard

Plans were drawn, and concrete poured

Nail by nail, and board by board

Daddy gave life to mama's dreams

Out here it's like I'm someone else

To all the men, women, children, neighbors, and friends who built Caleb, thank you.  To Oklahoma, red dirt, big pastures, energetic small towns, and lots of barbeque, thank you.  To our future life, children, dreams and passions, thank you.  You've all built us, and we wouldn't be the same if it weren't for you.  God knew what he was doing when He made us a part of a small town outside of Guthrie, Oklahoma.

Happy "You" Reception, Cowboy.  I love every part of your life.  And I can't wait to spend our days loving it even more. Muah!

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 11

"every heart is a package 
tangled up in knots someone else tied."
josh ritter - kathleen

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

The loud silence after we hung-up sat on my heart.  The rest of the Las Vegas trip was emotional, discouraging and heart-thupping.  Besides the whole "the boy I like doesn't want to date me" thing, there were other family, friendship and even just business issues I felt like I was delicately holding in my hands, like thin wine glasses or intricate tea cups.  I couldn't hold them all at once, and the harder I clenched my fists, the faster they snapped in my hands, cutting flesh before they fell to the ground and broke even further.  With bloody hands, my numbness was frequently interrupted by shrieks of my pounding heart.

I felt guilty for actions I had done.  I felt like "the innocent victim" for things I hadn't done.  I felt helpless when other people were hurting and there was nothing I could do to take away their pain.  It was Caleb, it was everything.  It was a trip where it all crashes down on you - every flaw and hardship in your life seem to be competitively racing each other to win at beating you down.  "Little" things like a bad acne break-out.  Does that make sense?  It was all-encompassing.  Er, it felt all-encompassing.

I would escape to my hotel room anytime I could.  When I was up there I would either cry or read Alyssa Welch's Love Story.  I felt incapable of having a meaningful conversation with anyone, I felt like photography WAS STUPID SO GET OUT OF MY FACE, I felt like I was a failure everywhere I turned.  Crying soothed that like a good aloe vera to my life burn.  Alyssa related to that with her clear, vulnerable writing about her heart and life.  She used to have a music player at the bottom of her blog and I'd listen to one of the songs on repeat.

"I searched for love, but then the night came

And closed in.

I was alone, but you found me

Where I was hiding.

It was the sweetest voice that called my name, saying:

'You're not alone, for I am here.'"

I felt so hidden away in the middle of a ridiculous (and frankly awful) city in the desert.   Besides my roommate and two or three others, no one knew who I was for miles and miles.  You know that feeling of "if I disappear from here, no one will notice at all"?  But I sang my broken, messed-up little heart out.  

"You cry your self to sleep, cause the hurt is real

And the pain cuts deep.

All hope seems lost, with heartache your closest friend,

 And everyone else long gone, 

You've had to face the music on your own, 

But there is a sweeter song that calls you home."

Meredith Andrews isn't my favorite or preferred Christian artist, but man, that song spoke to my stitched up spirit and helped keep it kind-of together.  I don't know how many times I listened to, quoted and sang those lyrics.  

• 2/29/2011 "Again, here I am saying: 'Wow. I did not expect that.'  This time last week I was hugging a boy at the security gate, excited for when we'd talk next and anxious to be his 'official' girlfriend.  One week (and a few texts and one phone call) later I've 'walked away' from the relationship, as it was clear that Caleb was too fearful to move on... Another surprising aspect of that weekend was how much I like him now! Somewhere between making lunch at 1 am, doing mexican hat dances at 3 am, piggy-back and four-wheel rides and porch swing conversations (Oh.  And big hugs in those arms of his. Dang. Dang. Dang.)  I like him.  Watching him with his sisters, watching him with his mother, watching him with me... something flipped!  I like him!  Like, "like-him" like him.  And now I wish I didn't... Did he ever really like me? I sometimes feel like he was just a 23-year-old single guy with hormones, and I came along with straight blonde hair and enough personality to be entertaining and enough character to be 'an option'... but did he like me?  Did he enjoy and become friends with Kristen Snyder?  A real girl?  Or was I just something that met a desire, provided attention and kept him company.  Ugh.  I feel like all my girly insecurities are coming out:  you weren't pretty enough, you weren't good enough.  Number one: I need to remember that it's OK if I'm not right for him and that he wasn't feeling it.  That's really fine.  And number two:  my heart is what matters.  I do believe I treated him respectfully, carefully and kindly.  I prayed for him and grew to genuinely care for him more than myself.  He and his returned affections are not my hope... Part of me wants to hang on to Caleb, but the other part knows I need to move on, and not mope around and wait!... 'Because He is my right hand, I shall not be shaken.'  God. Is. Still. Good.  I'm dissapointed, surely.  But in God? No.  No, His power is made perfect in my weakness.  And He doesn't give me gifts because I need them; those things don't fill a need.  He satisfies me completely.  His gifts bless me - God through His gifts bless me. But they are not my right, nor my salvation.  'He gives and takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.' 'The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places, therefore my heart is glad!'

Before I knew it, I was home.  I couldn't help but poetically notice how the weather was so similar to my soul.  Empty, bleak, cold.  Too far into winter to have frosty, crispy, snowglobe, magical cheer.  Too far from spring to have sunshine, refreshment, color and hope.   Days ticked by dreadfully slowly. Nights were even slower.  I slept in until 11:30 am or later.  I cried every day.  If I went out to keep busy or distract myself, I still had to come home and be alone.  Being out made me want to be alone, being in made me want to be out.  I was actually shocked at how much I had been crying about life, about Caleb.  I'm the sort of a girl who stores up her tears in a big Drops Bucket and doesn't let them out until the whole thing tips over.  Tears don't come again for a long time - until the Drops Bucket is filled all the way back up again.  But I was crying daily.  Not misty-eyed or wet-eyed.  Crying.

I cried reading old texts from Caleb.  Then I deleted all my texts from Caleb so I couldn't read them anymore.  Then I cried that I deleted them.  I threw away a print I had of Caleb holding my yellow scarf.  I took out the trash, but it in the dumpster, did away with it!  But then I changed my mind and wanted it back, and the trash truck had already come.  I cried.   That whole week that only thing I could muster up the energy to do was prepare for my end-of-year team party.  I distinctly remember how much energy and effort it took to go to Michael's to get the supplies to make a little banner.  It felt so hard.

The day of the basketball party, I had a meeting with a pastors wife (Autumn's mama!) and small group of girls from church.  We had these get-togethers once or twice a month.  I had to leave early, but I had missed the last five or so meetings so I felt bad not at least appearing ;)  My plan was to come in, sit down, say nothing and leave.  But as Mrs. Pastor Wife Who Makes Beautiful Children started she said "Since you have to dip out early, lets start with you Kristen.  How has life been for you?"  My bucket tipped.  I don't know what was coming faster: my words or my tears.  It was the crazy, deep, kind of dump where I couldn't catch my breath, people knowingly handed me tissues, snot was all of my face and when I finally finished the room was silent, aside from confused blinks (which, when you are that emotional, you can hear.)  Courtney, my best friend and assistant coach, finally said "She's never like this.  If she's crying, it's serious."  Her comment actually made me laugh - and I used that light note to excuse myself and leave.  That evening was the first enjoyable evening I had had in what felt like months (though, really, I had been at Caleb's house less than ten days ago.)  It was the first night I felt connected with what I was doing, and not detached thinking about what could have been.  Thank you, God, for my basketball team!

getting dressed up ALWAYS helps. always.

With a spark of motivation, I came up with an idea as I was driving the next morning.  I had spent so.much.time. thinking about my life (ha. And by that I mean: Caleb) and it really wasn't producing anything.  It wasn't making Caleb come running back to me.  It wasn't making me happy or joyous.  It wasn't blessing or uplifting me.  All my thoughts (and phone calls to my parents where I would cycle back through the details over and over again) were halting me.  I needed to pray.  As I turned from 118 to Century Boulevard that actual, vocal thought came into my head "Stop thinking.  Start praying."

• 3/8/11 " 'He bowed the heavens and came down, He came swiftly on the wind.  He took me; He drew me out of many waters.  He rescued me... the Lord was my support.  He brought me into broad places, because He delighted in me.' (It's 12:15 am and I'm journaling and crying... who am I?!?)  I don't know exactly why Caleb is on my mind so much & why I've been so emotional and cry-ey about all of this.  Part PMS, I'm sure.  Part embarrassed at 'not being liked enough.' Part lonely.  Part missing the friendship.  Part fearful.  And part... girl?  Lord, I have no good apart from you.  And please help Caleb as he supervises the big Texas job [I had gotten that information from his mother's blog].  Spiritually work in his life through his physical work.  Amen."

From then on, I purposed that every time (every time... which was all the time) Caleb came into my head, I was going to pray for him.  Not for "us."  Or for his feelings.  Or for him to change his mind.  Just him.  Turn my anger/worries/upset-nesses/instant-replays/doldrums into something powerful and effective.  My dear friend Nadia reminded me of the classic truth: "The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  This was the first time I felt like I understood what "guard your heart" meant.  That phrase seems to mostly be used when talking to girls about emotional purity - it's a thing I do.  I often strove to "guard my heart!  Don't get too attached too soon!"  The phrase echoed off of Nadia's lips:  the peace of God will guard your heart and mind.  It's not something I do, it's something He does!  How do I access this protecting peace?  With a heart full of thanksgiving, present my requests to God.

   

In my journal I assigned 30 pages to prayer requests to pray over the next 30 days for Caleb.  At the top of each page I wrote "Day __" and the prayer of the day.  It went something like this:  D 1 / Know God's Love, D 2 / Trust God's Plans, D 3 / Be a Man of Worship, D 4 / Be a Man of Prayer, D 5 / Be a Man Who Loves Counsel, D 6 / Be a Man Who Studies Scripture, D 7 / Be a Servant, D 8 / Be a True Leader, and on for 30 days.

The plan was to immediately start praying for the "topic" of the day if I started thinking/wandering/worrying about Caleb.  I wrote out my prayers for him.  Each day had one full page.  The first day, on March 15, I wrote:  

• "D-1 / Know God's Love.  'I have called you by name, you are mine, you are precious in My eyes, and honored, and I love you.' Isaiah 43  'How deep the Father's love for us // How vast beyond all measure // That He should give His only Son // To make a wretch His treasure //'  Dear God, today I lift up Caleb and specifically ask that Your great love for him would effect his heart today, and would change his life altogether.  You love Caleb with a complete, final, perfect, sustaining love - in fact, You ARE love!  You've proven Your love, promised Your love, and given Your love.  And that can never, ever be taken away.  Please help him to drown under, run free in and delight in Your love.  Show him more!  Make it sweeter!  More precious!  More wonderful!  And let Your example and character of love rule his heart, dwell in his mind and drive his actions.  Thank you for giving us the greatest thing: You. Amen."

[Now, let me pause the story for a brief moment of "WAIT!"  If you are not a Christian, this all may seem odd, irrelevant, boring-and-the-part-to-skip-over, or dumb.   I know that.  I hope my sureness of what and who I believe is at the very least respectable to you, and at the very most intriguing.  If you ever would like to share with me your thoughts on God and life, or ask me about mine, I'd love to have a conversation (or seven!) with you.  And I'd love to know you.  You have the chance to get to know me (the very real - eek! sometimes scarily real! - me), and I'd be tickled to have a chance to get to know you.  I love people.  And new people.  And people who think differently than I do.   And if you are a Christian:  please don't look at this as a formula.  Please don't go make a prayer journal for the boy you like so someday you can write a story like Kristen and Caleb.  Instead, please know God and let Him work in your life differently than He worked in mine.  It's supposed to happen that way.  I'm not a journaler, I'm not a "disciplined pray-er," I'm not flaunting a new system. This was HUGE for me.  And something I haven't even done since.  I'm sharing with you this really, really cool thing God did in my heart while I worked through tears, questions and unrequited butterflies.  And God probably has a really, really cool way He wants to meet and help you wait, wonder and thrive through heartache seasons.  Alright.  That should do it.]






The brilliantly happy result of all these prayers was that I did indeed experience peace.  I felt happy and eager to see people.  I went to Varsity sports games as a fan, I went to Vancouver on a whirlwind trip to visit Jamie, I went to an FCA banquet (I even tried to look nice in case I met someone! Or whatever.)  Rock-climbing, volleyball, shooting and blogging weddings, engagement shoots, proposal shoots, decorating, cooking, shopping, planning Europe trips, and I even announced a FunShop Photography Workshop I'd be hosting.  But I'll also be honest, I did quite a bit of blogging with the not-so-secret hopes that Caleb might possibly be reading.  This post about "my weekend"?  Ha.  I just wanted Caleb to know I had bought a pair of white jeans - he always said those were his favorite.  Or how about this post where I cheerfully (and truthfully) and publicly dream about having a future as a wife and mom?  No, no, no, this one is even better: airplane thinking... not Caleb Morris thinking.  If I didn't make myself totally obvious with this post (titled:  The Heart of A Girl. Ouch), then this post where I posted a video of singing animals chanting "No Fear" on the quest to find true love.  Don't even worry about my "preach-y" commentary.  Of course, however, the post on my personal blog about "People of Faith" takes the cake and the gold.

But praying really was a fantastic part of my days and life.  I had never spent such focused, concentrated time praying for one person before.  And my concerns and insecurities really were fading. I felt bold.  I felt brave.  I felt not-pathetic. 

At the end of March I took a Fake Family Vacation to Florida with Dre and Becca.  We went to go see my family, to watch the Nationals pre-season training games, and go to the beach and Disneyworld.  We "accidentally" got stuck in Florida together the year before, so we always joked about going again - just the three of us.  Once my family moved to Florida, it was a no-brainer.  We had to go.  

Baby Behr was on this trip with us, and none of us knew!  She found out she was pregnant after she got home.  If you ever want to hear some funny stories, just ask me about lunch at Wolfgang Puck ;)

While we were at Disney Dre posted a picture of us in front of Cinderella's castle on his Facebook.  When we were driving home, I scrolled through all my notifications.  "Caleb Morris liked a photo that you were tagged in."  Heart stop. Gulp.  Aaaah.  This was the first "communication" we had had in weeks.  That little "like" of a photo was so much more than just a like.  Caleb hadn't liked, commented, texted or talked to me.  And he had barely posted anything (I think maybe just one Bible verse) in that one month span of "break-up."  That "like" meant that he had at least seen a picture of me today!  It meant he had to have thought about me today!  I wonder what he thought?  Why did he like it?  I know for a fact that he has liked lots of girls pictures "just because."  But, I know I'm not just another girl to him.  I'm the first girl he ever talked to on the phone.  Pray.  Prayer. Praying.  Pray.  Day 13 was pray that Caleb would "be a man who loves grace."  I prayed.  And stopped checking Facebook.

It's hard to summarize what those 30 days were like.  I feel like I could almost do a chapter of each day by itself.  But this story needs to press forward.  Those days included leaning on my entry-way wall after coming home at night.  In the darkness I zoned out by staring at the car lights outside my window while an Aaron Zigman classic played on repeat.  I thought about how badly I'd like to slow dance with Caleb and tell him how I forgive him for everything, if he'd just have me back.  Those days also were some of the most motivated, upbeat, sunny days I've ever experienced.  My feelings for Caleb were fading.  There wasn't much to hold onto and my grip was slipping.  I liked the idea of eventually meeting somebody else.  Or being single for a while.  I read and wrote a lot.  I felt like I was thinking smarter, deeper and better than I ever had before.  Caleb and his mysterious entrance and departure in my life was a chapter that was being closed.  I decided that after 30 days I wouldn't continue my planned prayers for him.  My mind was (mostly) elsewhere and I didn't need to keep that habit up.  

April 14 just so happened to be the last day of my journal entries and prayers for Caleb, and also the day I picked up his sister Anna at the airport.  She was interested in furthering her photography business, and we had texted frequently between the Christmas trip and that day.  She asked if it would be alright with me if she applied for the FunShop (or if that would be weird?).  I told her that it would be perfectly fine with me!  We were friends, after all, and I knew she'd love to see "the big city," do something new and share her country spunk with us East Coasters.  The moment I saw her I knew I had made a big mistake.  Not with her... she was wonderful.  But with myself.  "I shouldn't have said she could come.  What was I thinking?  This is going to be miserable."  Just by talking with a Morris family member all my "done-away-with" feelings came galloping back into the pasture of my heart and belly.  "Great.  Now I'm going to have to get over him all over again.  I thought I had taken care of this."  And, not only was I going to have to battle my little emotions again, I was going to have to completely hide this battle from his sister - and the other two girls.  

At our first dinner together Anna set her phone on the table.  While she was talking it buzzed and "Text Message: Caleb Morris" shone forth from the screen.  For a split second I thought that was my phone and that the text was for me.  Then reality harshly reminded me of truth. They continued texting throughout the meal.  Peeerfection.  I barely ate.  The next morning at breakfast, before the other girls arrived, I decided to have a conversation with Anna.  "Hey, so, I just want to let you know:  I'm your friend.  And you're here for photography.  And I don't want anything that happened with your brother to make that awkward or strange for us.  You haven't seemed weird to me, but I just want to get that out there.  I won't ask about him, nor will I talk about him.  And please don't go repeat anything back to him.  I want you to be free to just enjoy your trip and get your money's worth!  I'm really doing well, moved right along and am very happy.  So we're good, right?"  She wholeheartedly agreed with me.  But no sooner had I said that did Caleb "happen" to wish Anna a good morning via text.   That night I didn't fall asleep until after 4:00 am, and woke up an hour or two later.  He was on my mind completely.  During bathroom breaks I'd scroll through pictures of him on Facebook.  I was dying to know what he was saying to Anna.  Was it about me?  It had to be.  At least a little?  Did he wonder how I was doing? Did he wish he was here too?  Was he just an excellent brother who kept tabs on his sister and cared when she was away from the family?  And liked to keep in touch with her?

The FunShop was a success.  I think.  The girls said it was.  Right, girls?  Even though Rachel asked me seventy-bajillion times who that boy was in the pictures I had to scroll past daily when I imported my iPhone pictures to iPhoto.  "One of my friends."  "But... isn't that...?"  "Alright!  Ladies!  Open up your brand boards and we're going to talk about..."  And they may have wondered why we listened to "Little Bit Stronger" by Sara Evans so many times.  It's catchy, k?  It totally wasn't my anthem or anything.  Who has an anthem?  America?  Yeah.  Not meeeee.  Kind of.  I kind of didn't have an anthem.

We really had a wonderful time and enjoyed our mornings, days and nights together.  They were my little family for a few days, and made me feel more like a fellow sister than a "mentor" or "teacher."  It's rare to find a group of strangers than gels like that. But God knew.   And it worked magically.

The morning of April 19th I took Anna to the airport.  To send her away.  To Oklahoma.  To the man I missed more than ever.  The weather was rainy, but traffic was non-existent.  I gave her a good hug and sent her on her way.  The hour-long car ride back to my apartment went surprisingly quickly.  It would have been the perfect weather to sulk in.  Or to listen to sad country songs.  Little Bit Stronger, anyone?  But I think I listened to classical music most of the drive... maybe some good ol' family-friendly radio.  I didn't feel gloomy.  I thought about Caleb the entire time, but it didn't make me "sad" - it made me wonder and think, but not lose myself in that vicious downward spiral of old memories.

When I walked into my apartment I saw a pink gift sitting on the table.  I figured one of the girls had left it and I very casually went to the table to open it.  I was right: it was from Anna, and it was very sweet.  At the end of the note she she said: "Make sure you check your mail today!"  I wasn't quite sure if that was some inside joke I had forgotten or a real hint, but nonetheless, I hadn't gotten my mail the entire time the girls were in town, and the next morning I was leaving to go see my family in Florida again.  I should probably go get my physical inbox emptied out.

With keys in hand I walked down the concrete steps to the courtyard where our metal, on-the-wall mailboxes lived.  The groundskeeper said hello as he walked by.  "Hello!" The key got a little jammed. I could tell the box was filled.  Oops.  I finally opened the tiny metal door and saw a box crammed with magazines, letters and flyers. And then, there it was.  A worn, taped envelope.  Thick. Smudged.  And from Caleb Morris of Coyle, Oklahoma.  I turned into Lady Tremaine when she saw Cinderella pull out the other glass slipper.  Caleb Morris had sent me mail.  Oh my my my.

(to be continued...)

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Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 10

you act like you’re hip to their tricks 
and you’re strong
but a virgin-wurlitzer-heart never once
had a song
josh ritter | kathleen

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 -- His trip to Maryland had been wonderful, and the wonder hazed over me for a few days. My affection towards him remained positvely-fickle, but my respect only grew.  When I felt, I felt hard.  And when I didn't feel, I was wicked scared.  I really wanted to turn my brain off and stop.thinking.about.this.SO.MUCH.  I wanted to enjoy getting to know him!  I wanted to feel no pressure!  I wanted to be relaxed and calm!  I wanted to look forward to my future, and not dread it!  But I couldn't seem to sustain that desire for very long.  I was so emotional.  This wasn't a mess like "oh, I spilled the Cheerios and now I need to sweep them up."  This was a "someone dumped milk and maple syrup and bread crumbs on the carpet" situation.

Looking back, I really often wonder why I didn't just stop talking to him.  I try to think about what it was that kept me going.  And I can come up with some guesses, I suppose.  But after all my attempts, all I can say is that there was something.  I couldn't stop.  I couldn't walk away.  I couldn't give up just yet.  Maybe it was stubbornness, pride and a desire to avoid being embarrassed.  But that would be weird for me, because I had a history of ending "talking" with guys - guys I knew liked me - when I just didn't feel the same way in return.  I knew the difference between flattery and true interest.  I knew that attention always felt good, but that I wasn't a performer in a show.  I tried hard to treat men kindly and respectfully. I had made the hard decision, multiple times, to be honest and not continue something (even a casual something) when I knew where I stood.   My dad didn't have the conversations for me.  I had to uncomfortably squirm in my seat, and look in his face (or avoid his face), or dial his number and say some hard things. I knew I could do it.   I just didn't want to that this time!  I wanted to keep talking.  I wanted to figure out this blonde puzzle.  The best word I can use is: drawn.  I was drawn to him.  And his Maryland trip only reenforced that with steel and iron.

January came to a close, like our phone calls: eventually and after a long time.   He seemed more comfortable with me.  He laughed more.  Had more stories to tell.  Came to our phone calls with questions for me.  He was sweeter and sillier.  He was more candid.  The little pauses in-between topics slowly disappeared.  (You know how it is when you're first trying to know and impress a person.  Before you speak you gather up a brainful of conversations and questions in a little mental basket to divvy out as needed.  Then the moment comes!  The moment of silence!  And it seems that the basket must have been eaten by some hungry grizzly bears, or carried away by a swarm of bees, or at least dumped out in the grass and strewn all about.  And instead of listening to what the Person To Impress is saying, you're balmy over what to say next.  We were past that point... mostly.)

I liked our routine.  I liked that he'd never miss a call.  I liked when he'd slip up and tell me more than he meant to about how he felt about me.  It was just so nice.  I felt a little like a-Laura-Ingalls-Wilder-girl at the General Store talking to Henry or Benjamin while purchasing string and peanuts for a nickel.  It was the simple, good life!  And very curious, too.

"When is this boy going to ask me out?  I'm not going to sit around here, being 'taken' but not 'taken' forever.  And I'm never going to know how I really feel about him until we can spend some quality time together... and I'm sure not going to be chasing HIM around this country.  I've clearly already done my fair share."  But then an idea crossed my head.  I would be flying to Las Vegas for a photography convention the last week of February.  I already had my tickets bought, but SouthWest is a dear and lets you change your itinerary for free after you've paid for flights.   I casually mentioned to Caleb that I could maybe stop in Oklahoma for a few days "on my way." (Psh. On my way.  Hahah.)  His voiced glowed when he told me I had to come.  "It's not a choice!  You're coming."  Within a few hours his mother texted me that she was going to have her annual Valentines Party the weekend I was coming.

"Hm.  Valetines.  A little cheesy, but certainly the perfect time for him to ask me out."  Once I knew I was going to see him again - soon - my heart and belly got more and more excited.  Don't worry, I spent days working on my outfits.  Janet, Becca and Audrey even came over one afternoon to let me try on everything for them.  They helped me find a new shirt to go with the wide-leg trousers and three-quarter sleeve blazer, and new shoes to wear with my "ha-so-unpremeditated-and-easy" cardigan and jeans.  I lost a few pounds.  I highlighted and trimmed my hair.  I bought new make-up.  I used fake-tan-goodness.  I even made plans to cook lunch for over 30 people on Saturday (Caleb promised he'd help me...but come on, how impressive does it GET?!)  I had the recipes, the shopping list, the spices in little baggies all arranged in my suitcase.  And then the day before I was supposed to leave, I had a freak-out-blah day.  "I feel NOTHING.  What happened?  Where did everything go?!"  I actually even told Caleb that I didn't want to talk for the day... which I kind of can't believe I told him?... but he went with it!  I said that I needed to have some time alone, I needed to pray and it'd be a good "break" to help us anticipate seeing each other (at least I hoped.  And isn't that an awful thing to say to someone?!  He should have karate-chopped me through the phone.)

On February 17, 2011 I flew to Oklahoma, for the third time in five months (remember when I swore I'd never go to Oklahoma again? That was so cute).  I think I mostly remember being worried.  I don't remember ANY specifics of the day until I saw him.  I landed at night and Will Rogers Airport is usually deserted, but it especially was now.  All of the stores were closed.  I rounded the corner to the escalators and there was that cowboy, just as childlike as ever.  He was pacing in his jeans and grey OSU shirt.  He looked like a little boy telling a story to his mom while she's busy in the kitchen - in his own little world, moving all over the place, and sweet as the perfect strawberry.  The Feelings woke up from their nap.

He started to run to me, then slowed down, but then I had started to run to him, so now I was running and he was walking, so I slowed down too... and eventually we tumbled into a nice, efficient hello hug.  Man it was good to be with him.  We walked and talked and he was very proud of himself that he knew exactly how to get from the baggage claim, to the parking garage, to the highway, to home.  "I know my way around here.  These are my stomping grounds."  I could smell his cologne and fresh breath and dryer-sheet-clean shirt.

And he was staring, again.  The Caleb Stare was in Red Alert, even while he was driving.  We teased and flirted the whole drive.  I couldn't tell if he was staring at me just to egg me on ("AAAh! We're going to crash! STOP staring!  Look at the road!  I'm going to hide in the back if you don't focus on driving!") or if he really was so distracted that he couldn't help but look at me.   Within a few minutes of driving and almost-crashing, I assumed my favorite car-riding position:  rolled up with my feet flat on the airbag/glove compartment area.  "How can you do that?!  You're so tiny!"  Alright, mentally noted: I love when he calls me tiny.  "I can put my feet dow..." "Oh no!  Don't.  I like it when they're like that.  You seem comfortable.  And... you.  I've never seen a girl do that before... and you just jump right in and put your little feet up... haha, yeah."  He'd look over at me with those movie-moment eyes and I'd starting screaming that we were going to get in an accident, while my heart rear-ended my ribcage.   It was one of the happiest hours of my life.

Once on the farm, we hugged and hello-ed his wonderful family.  We stayed up way too late talking and staring and kind-of leaning on each other.  The kids asked oh-my-gosh-SUCH-awkward questions like "Cib, are you gunna date her?" or "Do you want her to be your wiiife?"  We'd laugh and say "Oh no, we're just friends... just friends."  And then he'd keep staring at me.  Oh boy, I was a-fluuuuuter as I fell asleep.

The next day was Friday, and the day of the Valentines party!  The boys had to go to work all day (but of course Caleb snuck into my room to say "good morning!" before he left) and I had some shopping to do!  The oldest Morris girls, one of their friends and I spent most of the day at the mall and grocery store.  By the time we arrived back on the farm, we had to get ready!  I helped blow-dry, curl, tease, pin and spray hair.  I kept watching the clock, knowing that Caleb, my un-Valentine, should be arriving home any minute.  I hurried to get dressed and look super-duper-cute.  It was a glowing hour of buzz in a tiny girls bedroom, lined with wooden bunkbeds.  I was beginning to fall in love with these people and their home.  I never wanted to leave.  I just loved being with them - animals and all.

By the time guests started arriving to the party, I was excitedly wearing my new red Calvin Klein dress and my favorite navy heels.  I felt like a little girl window shopping at an expensive doll store.  I came out from the room and everything was so beautiful.  Hearts and lights and candles were everywhere.  Pasta sauce tickled our noses and teased our stomachs.  Fresh, warm bread was being sliced.  The wait-staff (all Morris children) were filling up glasses with cold drinks.  Caleb stood up wearing a crisp white shirt and silver tie.  I wouldn't have known the difference between Bingley's White Ball and this party.  I was enthralled.


Caleb and I stayed glued to each other's sides all night.  We had fine conversation with the other couples at our table.  We played ridiculous games that we did horribly at.  Caleb would "run into" my shoulder every few minutes.  I began to crave those "bumps."  It was splendid.  But at one point in the evening, while Caleb was taking out the trash or in the restroom, one of his good friends pulled me to the side and asked me some blunt questions.  "So, what are you thinking?  You like Caleb, huh?"  Being a girl who "knows when to hold 'em, knows when to fold 'em, knows when to walk away, knows when to run" (at least that's how I tried be) I was not about to spill my carefully kept feelings to Caleb's friend.  "If Caleb wants to know, he can ask me...out."  "But if he asked you out, you'd say yes."  My smile was giving everything away, but I tried to hold my ground.  "He hasn't asked me out."  The friends eye glimmered knowingly.  "That ol' dog needs to step up!"  "I'm not waiting around for him," I reminded.  Even though I had no one else on my mind or in my heart.  I just had to say that... to sound... tough.  Besides, he was far more smitten than I was.  A big conversation had to be coming.


After the beautiful party came to a close, Caleb and I did dishes and bumped shoulders and flirted.  Then we began to prep for the big Saturday lunch.  Caleb cut the meat, while I cut the vegetables... we worked until almost 2:00 am.  And before I knew it we were doing The Mexican Hat Dance in the family room.  Dad Morris came out more than once to tell us we were going to regret not getting some sleep.  We promised him we'd go to bed soon.  And then we were talking about, oh, wild hogs or generations of children promised to Abraham, or something.   But we kept our promise and did, eventually, go to sleep.  The next morning I popped out of bed like a piece of done toast.  I took a shower, straightened my hair, put my make-up on, wore my new t-shirt my un-Valentine had given me the night before and waited for MisterMister to wake up.  We had some lunch to prepare!  Another large family had made plans to drop by the Morris' for the day.  With about 23 children and seven or eight adults, this meal couldn't afford to be a disaster.  We pulled out our  marinated meat and produce and spent nearly an hour just skewering them.  Caleb seemed a little quiet  but hey! he's a quiet guy and we didn't sleep much at all.  He was still staring, bumping and shaking up my insides like a pro.

bang beef kabobs, hawaiian chicken kabobs and rice + corn salad.   i just... really outdid myself ;)  (with too-tough beef and under-cooked chicken.  oops!)

Right on time, the talented Lindsey family arrived after a long day or two of travel.  All 13 of them spend significant time performing across the country.  These musicians were in the middle of one of their family tours and pit-stopped for the weekend.  I felt like I had just started to get my bearings with the 12 Morris kids, but all of a sudden the cute faces and noise level doubled.  Don't get me wrong, I'm very comfortable with large groups and big families!  But I was feeling the pressure of serving fully-cooked, tasty food.  And all I wanted to do was stick by Caleb's side.  Of course I was introduced as "our friend, Kristen."  It was starting to get a little annoying.  Maybe we just need to have some time alone?  Maybe he wants it to be special, and not in the middle of so many people?  But I didn't have long to dwell on my ideas, for boys and men and girls and babies and moms needed to eat!

After lunch the Morris family wanted to show the Lindsey's the twins' property and start of their homes.    As everyone started making their way to vehicles, I found a big, grumbling diesel pick-up with the keys in, engine antsy and no driver.  Ha, I'm not going to be this clingy "friend" that can't stand on her own two feet!  I'm adventurous and brave, not measly and timid!  I slid into the passenger seat, and, of course, Caleb was right behind.  "What do YOU think you are doing?"  I smiled flirtatiously as I buckled the seat belt.  Soon hoards of other children were coming to see "the city girl" drive a truck.  Guys, I learned how to drive on a Suburban!  I drive the school's bus for basketball!  This is nothing! Calm down!  I secretly loved how impressed and shocked everyone was that I was driving.  I loved that Caleb's cheeks were a little red over there in the passenger seat.  I loved that he leaned as far over to me as physically possible without actually touching.  I just loved this.  I loved the happiness, the together-ness, the kindness, the hospitality, the people - "Good heavens.  People!" - I loved the feeling of home that was beginning to wrap me in it's arms.  I couldn't have been further from my real "home" but I really felt like I belonged, in my un-farm-educated, "high maintenance," sarcastic, "city" kind of way.

osu, caleb's house and "the stare" - a good summary of our weekend.

The more myself I acted, the more Caleb hung around.  The more Caleb hung around, the more I liked him.  The more I liked him, the more I wondered what he was thinking about "us."  Or rather, how soon he was going to make "us" official.  This trip was more than I had hoped it would be. Anyone who has ever gotten to know someone long-distance knows how important those days together, in "real life" are, and I was blissfully surprised with how well it all was going.  I nearly started crying when we went to Caleb's land.  He took me for a tour of his property on the four-wheeler.  He knew every bump and hill and pathway of those 20 acres.  He took me to his favorite hill in the woods and he described in poetic detail how the red buds look when the sun sets there in the spring.  He told me that he almost built his house on this hill, that someday he'd like to put a gazebo here instead.  I'll be honest, I was very distracted and had a hard time listening.  I just wanted to tackle him or kiss his nose.  I didn't though.  I didn't even put my arms around him on the 4-wheeler.  I held on tight to the back handles.  But I felt tipsy and almost sleepy.  Maybe dreamy is the word.  This was the best.  Caleb would look over his shoulder after all the big bumps to check on me and smile.  I don't know which I loved more.



After a day full of teasing, talking and feeling, Caleb announced that he was taking me out!  Yes!  This is it!  Finally!  Then I found out that he was taking some of his brothers and sisters with him, with us.  When his mom said "You can just go alone...?" he refused.  He insisted that Josiah and Hosanna come along.  It confused me slightly, but I couldn't help but appreciate his gentlemanliness and his love of his brothers and sisters.  Because, after all, we were not going to a sweet old fashioned diner in Guthrie.  Oh no.  We were going to a Monster Truck Rally.  It was... hilarious.  Besides that fact that you have to wear earplugs the entire time, so we couldn't talk at all, it was THE most "red-neck," country-bumpkin, cowboy-central event I'd ever been to in my life.  I was thoroughly amused.  After the rally was done, it was getting close to 11:00 pm and Caleb asked if I wanted to go see a movie.  I saw the little sleepy eyes walking with us and felt bad keeping them out so late.  But when they heard "movie" they perked up too.  It's not often that a 6 and 8 year old get to have such a late Saturday night ;)  "Gnomeo & Juliet" was playing, so the four of us bought tickets.  Oh. And. Haha.  Caleb carried me on his back from the parking lot to the theater.  Don't ask how that happened.   Okay, I'll tell you how it happened.  WE LIKED EACH OTHER! A LOT!  Hosanna strikingly declared while we walked "Cib, you don't give piggybacks to 'frieeeeends.'  Just sisters or..."  Siah elbowed her to stop.  She looked back at us and shrugged, "Just say-eeng."

ohhhhhklahoma where more than just wind comes from the plains ;)

I hopped down off his back and knew she was right.  After the movie we arrived home late and had to wake up early to go to church.  After church I found Caleb out front on the phone.  I was pretty sure he was talking to my dad - just to get final "go-ahead" from him.  He's an honorable, humble guy.  He wouldn't have it any other way.  I pretended not to notice, and when he returned from the call he seemed a little jittery and aloof.  So cute, so obvious.   We enjoyed another large lunch at a friends home, and by 4:00 we were headed to the Morris farm.  I had to leave around 5:30 am the next morning, so my final 12 hours with Caleb were closing in on us.  We were exhausted and giddy, sweet and ready.

"photoshoot" in the back of the car on sunday afternoon.  look how cute and charming i was wearing his baseball cap.

After the drive home, the rest of the kids jumped out of the car.  Caleb and I stayed in the backseat and poked each other, or something.  It got quiet and Caleb stared right into my eyes.  Oh my gosh. He smiled at me.  Oh. My. Gosh.  "Well," he started, "I want to be in a relationship with you."  Little Disney-fireworks of "yeeeeee-hawwwww!" started in my middle section and left heel.  He was talking slow, and seemed nervous.  I was trying so hard to be quiet and not just BLURT out "YES! I DO! I WILL!"  Up until this point I hadn't even told him I liked him, and now I was just unbelievably ready to get it out.  This trip was an answer to prayer.  The peace from God, the confirmation that we were right, the feelings I was so worried about, the incredible character and love on display in a simple family home.  I wanted it, badly - and the fact that I did was an answer to prayer in and of itself!  "I never knew how incomplete I was as a man, until I met you."  If any other man said that to me, I would have rolled my eyes and replied with a sarcastic pick-up line and immediate walk-away with nnnooOoo looking back.  But when Caleb said it, he meant it.  He meant everything he said.  He didn't play games or even really know any pick-up lines.

"photoshoot" continues...

"But, I'm scared."  YE-... hmmm? What?  "I'm not sure if I'm ready to, you know.  I don't know if my feelings are where.  How do you know if you're supposed to, how do you hear from God and know His will?" WHAAAAT?  "I don't know if you're 'the one' for me.  I like you!  But I'm not in love with you."  Oh my word.  We started on a multiple hours long conversation about Caleb's statements.  How you don't have to be in love in order to start dating.  How you actually probably *shouldn't* know someone is 'the one' before you start dating.  How the point of dating is to see if someone is 'the one.'  How dating is fun, pressure-free, exciting and a chance to build friendship and romance, not engagement.   All of a sudden I found myself talking him into dating me.  I spilled out that, yes, I like you! And you like me!  And we love God.  That's enough!  We can date!  "But I don't know if my feelings have grown for you."  Hmmm. Come again?  "What do you mean your feelings haven't grown?  Like, during this trip?"  "Oh no, like, since I met you."  Oh.  That's so nice.  That's good.  Very good.  "But you said you wanted to be in a relationship with me?  Why did you say that?"  "Well, I want to want to date you.  I want to know if it's what I'm supposed to do."  I was shocked.  I was embarrassed.  I was completely blind-sided.   He told me he just needed more time.  He knew we had so many good things, but he wasn't ready yet.  Could we still be friends, though?

He went on and on about his fears and concerns about being in a relationship.  He used the phrase "not at peace" frequently.  He repeated over that he didn't want to hurt me or "take a piece of my heart."  He said he didn't know how to hear from God.  It was a vicious cycle of confusion.  But one thing it was not: sweet.  Or romantic.  Or at all ready to date me.

We talked until it was dark, and then eventually came inside.  I still couldn't resist being around him, so we obviously spent the rest of the evening together.  We awkwardly ignored our major DTR, and just talked about anything else.  Before we went to bed we gave each other a big hug - a hug I'll never forget as long as I shall live.  It was a hug that gives angels their wings, give children their laughs, gives stories their climax, and gives hearts their beat.  It wasn't particularly long, but it was powerful.

The following morning I packed up, said good-bye to everyone and was chauffeured by my friend to the airport.  I wasn't sure what to say, but I knew I was still crazy about him.  Even though I didn't understand his thinking, actions and words.  He stared at me the whole time he drove.  Road, me, road, me, road, me, road, me.  He parked and helped me with my suitcase.  He walked with me all the way until the security line.  Before I went through he hugged me again.  I looked up at him and said "You're going to figure all this out?"  His eyes got teary and he said "I'll try."  He stayed put until I made my way through security and walked toward my gate.  We did our traditional "click's" to each other and I left.

I called my parents and told them everything.  I was trying to be optimistic.  "Maybe when he comes in March he'll be ready."  "Oh, he's not coming in March," my dad didn't-joke.  "This is ridiculous.  You don't need to be persuading him to date you.  He needs to be a man.  Does he like you?  Enough to date you? Then do it. He has enough information about you.  He knows what you're like and how he feels.  And he's certainly led you to believe that he had strong and growing feelings for you.  No, you need to stop talking to him.  This is the opposite of being a man."  I knew Dad was right.  But I didn't want to stop talking to him.  What a difference four days makes!  At the beginning of the trip, I asked to take a break from talking, and now I was devastated to realize that we had to stop talking!

To use the princess and knight in shining armor analogy:  I felt like I was the dear, prized princess up in the tower, and the knight was coming to slay the dreaded dragon and prove his love and win my heart! But as the knight approached, he cowered his head and tried to hide from the fearsome beast.  The princess began to call from the castle, "Hey!  Young knight!  If you wait until the dragon is asleep, you can sneak through this passage way and get to me safely!"  And then the knight called back "But what if he wakes up while I'm trying to do that?  I don't know how I feel about all this!"  So there I was, coaxing my "brave" man to come whisk me away, and he was retreating and terrified.  No, I couldn't keep calling from the tower, hoping my pleas would change his mind.  I needed to leave the window, shut my mouth and walk away.  I wanted someone to fight for me.  To face the fears of dating and relationships and hearts with courage and conviction.  Ha, I certainly did NOT want a guy who was so unsure of his feelings for me.  But... I just don't understand?  Why did he call all the time?  Why did he stare?  Why did he buy my presents? And tell me he missed me?  And that he was incomplete until he met me?  Why did he do that if he didn't have feelings - at least strong ones?  I did not expect this from him. I thought I could trust him.  I did trust him.  And now I feel stupid, lonely and quite rejected. But I really, really like this DUMB boy.  

I knew I needed to call him... soon.  I needed to tell him I was done and that I wasn't in a place where I could wait for him to figure it out.  I knew I had to mean it when I said it.  I knew I had to be willing to move on and walk away from this... this hard-working, tall, handsome, family-oriented, loving, amused, sweet, listening, generous man.  I sat at my gate in despair.  Then I looked up and saw a Southwest sign,  "It's hard to move on if you're standing still."  I don't even know what that has to do with airlines or the Southwest company, but it's like it was made for me.

God speaks in mysterious ways...?

I slept the entire plane ride, dreaming of happier things than my current circumstances.  Thankfully I was busy when I arrived in Vegas, so I was forced to do something, and not just sit in my hotel room and cry.  Caleb texted me "Headed to volleyball.  Man, do I wish you were here too."  WHY DOES HE WISH I AM HERE TOO?  WHY IS HE TELLING ME THAT?  Little liar.  WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO DATE ME?! DON'T YOU KNOW I COMPLETE YOU?!  I waited a while to respond.  When I did I wrote a cold "Fun."  When he wrote later that night I kept my answers one-word or less if I could.  I ended the texting conversation and told him we needed to talk in the morning.

my depressed view from my vegas hotel room ;)

And the next morning, I did it.  I called him and told him what every part of my heart didn't want to say.  I told him I was so sorry, but that I didn't think things were working out.  I felt like he had led me to believe he was very interested, when he apparently wasn't.  I told him that I didn't think it would be a good idea to keep being "just friends" and to talk the way we'd be talking.  I worked hard to not be overly emotional.  I said that I wasn't angry, just a little confused and hurt.  I said that at this point I was not interested in seeing if we could be in a relationship or anything "more."  The more I talked, the more I realized that the idea of him may have been so much sweeter than the reality of him.  He really was so confused, so unable to initiate, so stuck.  He had God-issues he needed to work through and learn, and I was not going to be his teacher.  It wouldn't be right.  I was the first girl he'd ever called on the phone.  That sounds charming at first, but comes with some glaring side effects.  I said good-bye.  He cried.  He agreed.  He was mostly quiet.  And that was the end.  In a broken fog, hung up the phone.

And all of a sudden, I was officially single and not "talking" with Caleb Morris anymore.  

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 7

rough seas, 

they carry me wherever i go

josh ritter - change of time

a view from my christmas eve run in florida

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

After I coached a basketball game, my dad asked me about my trip.  As I sipped Wendy's chili from a spoon,  I raved.  He re-stated his prediction.  "Caleb will be in touch tonight." I cowered.  "If you had such a great time, why are you so upset that he'd want to talk to you?"  BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE A GREAT TIME WITH HIM DAD!  I had a great time with his family!  And friends!  And property! He was actually a little weird.  Dad laughed.  I wanted to smack him.  Or myself. Bzzzzt.  Bzzzzt. 

driving the team bus home after an away game.  i left oklahoma monday morning and went straight to school to coach.  that is the same sweatshirt i wore while i held a goat ;)

And there it was.  A Facebook message from Caleb on my iPhone notifications.  My dad shook his head at me and leaned back in his seat.  My starting forwards and point guard were going back for another frosty. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.  He's gone on and e-mailed me. Oh dear. I herded my little matching team to the bus.  I needed to get home. While we drove, my mind quivered. I hated that Caleb had Facebook messaged me.  Don't get me wrong, I was flattered.  Honored, even.  I knew how seriously "pursuing a girl" was for Caleb.  And, as silly as it might seem, I knew a Facebook message was indeed "pursuing" me.  Hitting on me.  Whatever.  He liked me.  And he was finished with warm-ups and ready to get moving.  

my team at wendy's - with no clue how emotional their coach was ;)

Monday and Tuesday were very strange, emotional days. "He's a great guy, it's okay to give him a chance.  Good Ness, Kristen, he's a great guy… and you could break his heart!  You don't even like him. You're a complete, utter, flabby-stomached jerk.  You're going to hurt everyone.  Probably even him.   But, that's between him and God.  God doesn't promise to keep us from broken hearts.  He promises to always be good to us.  Caleb is a really, really good guy.  There is NO way I can do this.  But why am I so torn?  If I don't want to talk to a guy, I just… don't talk to him.  Do I want to talk to Caleb?  Oh my gosh.  I think I do.  I can't.  Oh my gosh." 

Though many people would argue that having different guys romantically or emotionally involved in your life is "giving away pieces of your heart," my experience was that it built my heart into the joy of God like nothing else has ever done.  Obviously it would seem be ideal to never be hurt by a relationship and to have the first guy work out the first time (and for some people, that is exactly what God has planned!), but I'm so very grateful for my "boy history."  By that day in December 2010 I had only had a grand total of two boyfriends for 22 days, combined.  Yeah.  Impressive.  But those two relationships (and the other boys who came into my life but I didn't date) taught me some life-changing lessons.  Namely:  to find an genuine-not-game-playing, happy, family-oriented, fun, single, attractive man who was not only eager to be a husband, but also a father; who loved family and wanted his entire life, ministry, career and walk with the Lord to be walked out in and for family, for his wife and children.  I lost much sleep over "finding a man" who didn't see children as a hindrance to our married joy, but as something he wanted to pursue happily!  I lost much sleep over wondering how a girl can know when a guy who likes her isn't charming her with lies, one-liners and fake religion.  And all of a sudden, there was a Caleb Morris in my inbox. Hm.
By Wednesday he had gotten in touch with my dad (the obvious and only next step in "pursuing" a girl) to ask permission to talk with me.  My dad said something to the effect of "If you'd like to talk to my daughter, you'll have to ask her!"  It was almost 11:00 pm that night.  I could hear the siding of my apartment "crack" in the wind.  My Christmas tree lived in the windows, housing a city of lights.  Cars occasionally rolled by.  I lay my phone on the other side of the room and watched it. My neighbor turned off her light. My cell phone illuminated and shook.  There was a man, sitting on a bottom bunk-bed on a farm, with a pounding heart, calling a girl for his first time ever.  And there was a girl who was about to answer.

"Hello!"  "Um, Hi.  This is Caleb Morris." "Mmm, yes.  I know. Haha.  My dad told me you'd be calling."  "Well, yes… I just spoke with him and wanted to know if it'd be alright with him and mostly you but him too! Alright if I got to know you a little bit more.  And it's not official or like we're dating or anything like that.  Well, if that's what God has it might eventually be that… Just now we're talking.  If you want to.  Your dad said I should ask you.  And we'll pray and see what the Lord has for us.  But just build a friendship now.  If you want. It's okay if not.  But, I hope you do. Want. To talk."

I squeezed my eyes and bit my entire lip.  I thought he was the most adorable, nervous little beaver I'd ever heard.  Typically when a guy makes "this" call, I'd be a little reserved and wait for them (or rather, give them a chance) to start the conversation.  I'm a talker and have no trouble filling in the silences, so I'd really try to not bulldoze the guy by jumping right in.  But with Caleb I thought it was necessary.  I told him we could talk.  And get to know each other.  And I started right into a little re-cap of the weekend.  What fun it was!  He affirmed the sentiment, very politely and very accent-y.  Cute phone voice.  I like.  I hadn't noticed that voice this way in Oklahoma.  Then Caleb had a perfectly normal "get to know you" question. Not. "So, when you have children, you want to homeschool them, right?"  Ha! Oh boy.  This could get ugly real quick, I thought.  He's looking to get married in eight weeks and I ain't what he's looking for, honey pie.  I don't think he has any idea what he's getting into by crushing on me. 

I was sure that my scandalous answer about being willing and eager to consider many schooling options would send him running away.  But the truth was, I feel that the Bible leaves freedom for a parent to decide how to school his child, from homeschool, to private school, to christian school to public school!  I could never make a blanket statement that I would or would not do any of those four options, because I just don't know what life and God might hold.  He seemed a little taken aback, but he listened and asked questions.  He said "Yeah. Yeah. Hm. Yeah." a lot. We ended up talking for over an hour and a half.  Not bad! Not bad at all for a first phone call ever!  I wouldn't say the conversation was marvelous, or even particularly fun.  Caleb was jumping right into the serious questions, and we barely knew

the lovely view i had while i waited for caleb to call :D

The next night he asked if he could call again.  He'd ask before he'd call.  I decided that even if nothing happened with Caleb, I was going to have to find myself one of these gentlemanly country boys.  We talked on Thursday night for nearly three hours.  These conversations were fairly thick.  He talked the experience of watching his brother die.  I talked about my mother's cancer.  He asked me about my convictions regarding debt.  I asked him pointed questions about leadership and "male and female roles."  We were very different people, I came to find out.  At the same time, we actually got along well!  Our disagreements were notably fun to talk through and "debate."  I felt free to speak my mind, and I think he was a little overwhelmed but intrigued.  But I was skeptical.  And extremely fearful. 

Friday was the day that changed everything.  I couldn't talk to him anymore.  It was too much.  Too much was on the line.  He's so serious.  I don't want to hurt him, or anyone else.  We're not in too far, yet.  No one is attached.  Two phone calls?  That's nothing.  To be clear, I also really thought I felt a conviction that I needed to stop talking with him.  This might cause you to go "huh?"  But it's true.  And maybe silly.  But I was a mess.  I cried all day.  I talked with my parents.  I wasn't at peace.  I felt terrible.  I spent the entire day in fetal position going from bed to floor to couch to bed again.  My body felt like I had eaten cotton-batting (the fluff used to stuff pillows.) 

I called him that night to tell him I didn't want to talk anymore.  He was floored.  He was not expecting to hear those words.  Clearly.  Who would be?  If a guy did that to me I would have considered him quite the jerk.  I knew I was a jerk.  Caleb fought my decision.  He pressed in at every angle he could.  The more he pressed, the more sure of my decision I was, and the more it broke my heart.  Every sigh.  Every "Kristen.  Oh Kristen."  Every long silence.  Every "Well. I guess." followed by more silence.  It was like a hippopotamus doing jumping rope inside.  I pounded.  I'm so sorry.  I really am.  I tried to tell you that I was crazy.  We eventually hung up.  The good-bye rung in my ears.  How could this possibly feel so much like a break-up!  This is nothing, woman!  Get yourself together!  This was the right decision, right?  I felt terrible.  Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do.    

a heart-breaking text... when he texted to ask if we could talk that night, i answered "yes, we need to actually.  and it might not be the most fun conversation ever."  i screen-capped his response :(

 I listened to Taylor Swift.  A lot.  "So here I am in my new apartment, in a big city.  They just dropped me off.  It's so much colder than I thought it would be, so I tuck myself in and turn the nightlight off.  Oh, I don't wanna grow up. Wish I'd never grown up and could still be little.  Oh, darling, just stay little.  Don't you ever grow up, it could stay so simple."

I kept my word and didn't communicate with Caleb.  Not a single Facebook "like" or break-down text.  Shortly I flew to Florida to spend the holidays with my family.  I needed my mommy.  And my kiddos.  And some food that would make me fat and happy.  The first night home I constructed a gingerbread house, played games with the not-so-Littles and watched TV. 

The next day was Christmas Eve, so to give mom some time to finish her wrapping and prepare the holiday festivities, my dad and I took four of the kids out to Busch Gardens for the day.  They told me all kinds of stories, jokes and most-likely made up roller coaster statistics.  I was struggling to engage with them.  I had to work hard to not zone them out, wondering about Caleb.  I knew he was heading out of state for Christmas.  They are probably on the road now, I thought.  But! Yes! I'm here! And with them! Okay! Who wants to ride SheikRa?!  We spent the day collecting germs, riding machines, looking at tropical animals and eating trash.  It was bliss.  During our late lunch, my dad took a call.  The kids went to the bathroom to wash their hands.  I scrolled through pictures of Caleb. Ouch. 

my view from our lunch table in "the middle east" ;)

We left Busch Gardens "early" (we are "that" family that opens and closes theme parks) to get to Christmas Eve Service.  I decided to take a quick run through the neighborhood before church.  The night was cool and breezy, and the run really was quick, so I wash-cloth washed in the bathroom and got dressed for church.  The chili was simmering away (apparently this part of the story was brought to you by: Chili, the food of the crazed).  The darkness of night hid Florida's obvious un-Christmas scenery.  We all put on coats and scarves (it's CHRISTMAS, after all!) and went to the candlelight service.

most of our faces at busch gardens

these guys make my skin crawl

In the meantime, Caleb had completed his miserable 17-hour drive.  He wanted to call me and wish me a Merry Christmas!  He wanted to hear how it was to be with my family.  He just wanted to say hi.  He could barely sleep in the car.  He struggled to join in with the holiday merriment.  He was sad.  Plain and simple.  He was confused.  He was tired.  And he felt sparks. 

When we arrived home, mom scooped chili and bowls clanged while hungry hungry kiddos lined up for their serving.  "Dad! Dad! Can we pleaaaaase open a present tonight? Just ONE? Pleeeease dad?"  "Ask your mother."  "Mooom! Pleeaaase? Please?  Just ONE, one little tiny present? Please?"  "I already told you no.  You have to wait just ooooone more night, and then you can open everything."  Dad interjected.  "Okay, I've made a decision.  One kid can open one present.  Who do you think should open one?"  They kids all clamored and jumped up and down and nominated themselves.  Dad smirked.  I filled my chili bowl.  Oh dad.  He's always up to something.  I looked up and mom was staring at me.  Then dad started to walk towards me, smiling. Um. Yes?

Dad handed me his cell-phone.  "Merry Christmas."  I was confused.  "You're giving my your Blackberry?"  The kids were disappointed.  "Read it." 

I looked at his screen, which was opened to a string of texts. 

Caleb Morris: Great Mr. Snyder. Thank you so much.  My flight lands at 10:35 pm and is coming from Nashville to Tampa.  Hopefully you can track it if there are any delays.  Thank you again! I can't wait to meet you, and to see Kristen.

Alan Snyder: Yup.  See you later tonight. Fly safe.

To be continued...   

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 6

the black clouds i'm hanging
this anchor i'm dragging
the white caps of memory
confusing and violent
josh ritter - change of time

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 

After shouting for and whistling at all the fourteen Morris family members, we finally ventured outside to begin the shoot.  I had a brilliant plan to take all the pictures, and then release the oldest boys to carry on with their oh-so-important Saturday plans.  After they left I'd conduct my "interview" with the rest of the children and specifically the Mr. and Mrs.  I wanted to ask questions and pick their brains and hear their story in their owns words.  But the twins didn't need to stick around for that.  I happily leaped across the driveway out to a sunny fence and began positioning faces and checking exposure.  The kids were quiet and responsive.  After I was content with the number of group shots I had taken, I really wanted to spend some alone time with Terry and Cindy.  I took the two of them up near the barn and instructed them like it was an engagement shoot.  "Alright!  The closer and cuddlier you are, the better!  Feel free to touch and kiss and goof around as much as you want!"  Terry kicked his foot into the ground "Man, I like that sound of THAT!"  Cindy smiled with her whole face.  It didn't take long to discover that Terry was infatuated with his bride.  He was staring, caressing, squeezing, smooching and staring more at his girl.  I was fascinated.  Often I find older, long-married couples to have a comfort-level, a rhythm, a unity, a strength that newlyweds just don't have.  But it's marvelous to watch a man literally leaping and wooping with joy over his wife of 24 years.   "Wow.  Not many girls find a guy like that," I thought to myself.  I was taken aback.  For the next thirty minutes they twirled, laughed, sat on straw and smooched.  

When the shoot was finished the dew had melted off the pick-up trucks and wire fences.  The littlest children had play-dates with grasshoppers and chickens.  The mister and missus with whichever children wanted to participate planned on letting me interview them.  That sounds intense.  Planned on letting me talk with them. Ask them questions.  I wanted to hear from the parents about their story.  I wanted to hear from their children about their marriage.  The oldest boys were released to leave at this point.  They had houses waiting to be built.  "Thank you so much for taking pictures!  We're going to do a little interview thing now, so you boys are welcome to leave.  I know you have some work to do," I prompted as we funneled inside. Caleb interjected "Oh! No, it's fine.  We don't have to leave now.  We have plenty of time."  It was the second thing he'd ever said to me.  

The whole family gathered around for a time of sharing and speaking.  I studied Mr. Morris' body language. His hand was on his wife's knee.  His hand around her back.  He scooted as close as he could to her.  His body was turned her direction.  When she perhaps was a little weepy, his thumb rubbed her knuckles.  It was a beautiful time I will never forget.  Once the "interview" was done, and in keeping with all the midwest hospitality I'd heard about, there was an offer to stay for hamburgers.  That didn't work with the schedule, I apologized.  But before I headed to POPS and a day with Dre and Becca, I flew through the wind and red dirt roads on a 4-wheeler.  I almost killed a Morris daughter who rode with me.  No one told me the brakes on the vehicle were BROKEN.  We truly missed a dangerous crash by a hair.  But gracious, it was fun.  My smile was huge.  My heart was full.  I felt strangely close to this whole family.  After a few hours I really, really loved them.  But I had things to do, and it was time to leave.  After a few jokes about the phrase "y'all" and firm hugs, I left the Morris Farm.  The entire afternoon and evening was spent with my favorite funny little couple, eating burgers and wandering downtown Guthrie.  

See my snazzy thin, wide bangs?

Within 24 hours I was back in Maryland, but after my trip to Oklahoma I certainly found myself with sweet new friends - even Facebook said so. Mrs. Morris and I kept in touch frequently (she is quite the texter!). Mrs Morris had actually even invited me over for volleyball after church the day I left.  My flight prohibited that get-together from happening.  She insisted that I come back again.  I honestly wanted to.  Happy, large families are rare to come by, but they feel like home to me. 

As the weeks went on I was asked over and over to come visit.  I loved that the Morris' constantly had friends over.  Just a fast look at their blog showed friends (and strangers-turned-friends) at their house nearly weekly.  I didn't find it odd or suspicious; that's just how these people are.  The final hurrah-came when Mrs. Morris invited me to her annual Christmas party (as well as other friends in the area I knew).  This single, adventurous, scheming, spontaneous girl was convinced.  After all, many near-strangers (also known as: blog friends!) had invited me all over the country and I often went.  California, New York, Atlanta, Vancouver, Las Vegas - it was common for me to shell out the dollars and take whirlwind trips to visit people I barely knew.  Accepting this invitation was perfectly normal for me, but looking back it can be hard to believe that I didn't suspect anything.  Looking back, I'll fully admit: this trip was perhaps quite bizarre, ridiculous and schemed.  At the time? It only seemed natural.

Behind the scenes, there was a shy, smitten buckaroo.  Though we barely spoke five sentences to each other, meeting me during that photoshoot stirred something in Caleb.  Because, in fact, I was right.  The day I showed up on his property, he was interested in another girl. Somehow that short morning was enough for him to want the chance to see me again.  Little did I know that those five sentences were much, much more than he usually said to a girl he first met, let alone a girl he "felt" something with.  Whether this was by accident or by design, the strict courtship methods used in his homeschool program looked down on guys walking up to a cute girl and talking to her.  Caleb loves to joke (now) about the years of making eye-contact with girls for days on end, and never speaking a word to them, but thinking he "liked" the girl.  Poor boy.  He didn't know what to do.  Or what to say.  He'd like my Facebook statuses occasionally.  He'd stalk my page daily.  But he had no idea what else to do.  Hence my invitation to the Christmas party.  Mama Morris was going to do everything in her power to get me back to that farm!  

This trip was a few weeks before Christmas.  Friday afternoon I arrived at the same Baltimore airport I had flown out from in October.  I headed to security.  The officer who reviewed my ID and boarding pass signed off his name to prove that he had indeed reviewed my information.  His last name was "Morris."  Ha! Beneath my name, "Kristen Snyder," there was now scribbled in "Morris."  Eerie? Or just kind of funny.  Regardless, again I flew to flat nothing-ness and the land of cows.  

I landed in the late afternoon with just enough time to get to the Morris' and get ready for the party.  The boys and men were all still away at work, and the women had the house looking like Miracle on 34th Street.  Desserts were baking, music was singing and the sun was setting.  Eventually the men arrived.  I greeted everyone, but I don't remember seeing or even saying anything to Caleb.  He says he couldn't wait to see me, but when he did he didn't know what to say.  A gaggle of girls crowded into a small bedroom lined with bunkbeds.  We arranged our hairs and painted our faces and smoothed the cloth on our bodies.  Caleb was a few doors down picking out his horrid outfit for the evening.  A pair of light wash jeans with a black Under Armour cropped turtleneck tucked into his jeans with a belt.  He wanted to show off his muscles.

Before long guests were at the door and the party began.  Hello's, hugs, unveiling of treats, prayers and conversation followed.  We played holiday games, sang holiday songs and partook in holiday cheer.  It was a night where time flew and also stood still.  I forgot there was a whole world outside the decorated walls.  I fought in giggles during inappropriate times - I was so amused by it all.  I met some lovely, disgustingly sweet, and adorably accented people.  I won the free-for-all-Spoons-game at the end of the night by tackling one of the guys and grabbing the spoon out of his hands.  As Friday evening turned into Saturday morning I was sent outside to go "snipe hunting."  I knew it was a prank, but I couldn't resist.  That night the nickname "Snipe" was coined.  The Morris' love their nicknames.  I had received a badge of honor.  I thought one of the Morris' friends was cute.  When my dad asked how the trip was going I told him about the friend.  "I think he likes somebody else.  All the cute, good guys do."  Aside from thinking his shirt was just ridiculous, I don't remember much of Caleb at all that night.  Apparently we talked for a little bit, but I couldn't tell you what we said if it would save my grandmother's life.  Caleb felt sparks.

Some of the dudes with their White Elephant gifts.  Caleb has a lovely neck for a jewelry! ;)

The next morning is a bit of a blur.  By the afternoon we were out in the fields dirt-biking.  Let me elaborate: we were in the COW fields dirt-biking.  Where there were cows.  In the field. With us.  Were the cows.  There were probably ten of us kids out there and I was the first to ride a bike.  I strapped my helmet on and sailed away in clueless but prideful glory.  My heart was racing.  I should have asked more questions.  I'm going to die in a field.  Cows are going to stomp on me. Everyone is going to laugh when I crash.  I want to go faster.  I know I'm breaking this bike.  Turning is scary.  I was as stiff as startled baby while I rode.  Caleb thought it was adorable.  

When I finished my ride (accident free) Caleb wanted to get on and impress me.  I wanted to go inside and check my phone.  Signal wasn't great out there, but maybe a few texts slipped in.  I don't remember watching Caleb ride, but I do remember talking to his brothers while he was gone.  They were much more talkative and charming than he was.  All of a sudden everyone was screaming and running while mud flew and an engine roared! Caleb nearly smashed into us all.  It would have been hilarious if he'd been on roller skates.  But it made my heart tremble.  I am going to die in a field.  Caleb passed off the bike to another brother and tried to make small-talk with me.  He was getting a little desperate.  As we flitted through words and comments an alarming reality approached. 


The cows were all done with the field.  The wanted to kill us dirt-bike-riding-disruptive-hooligans!  They were charging.  All five or size or 12,000 of them.  Cows move quicker than you'd think.  I started yelling for everyone to take shelter behind the face.  The dust behind the cows was building.  Visions of the stampede in The Lion King galloped through my brain and beating heart.  No one was listening to me.  I ran like a banshee past the barn and clumsily crawled over the tall metal fence.  Most of the Morris' just stared back at me.  One of the sweet girls tried to assure me that it was alright.  I needn't worry.  They won't hurt us.  That's probably what everyone says before they're speared to death by cattle.  One of the brothers, Tig, laughed and laughed and laughed.  Lije jumped in.  "If you want to run away from a cow, you have to run in tight circles! Really, really, really tight circles." I practiced behind the fence.  I was spinning like Tara Lipinski's double axle.  "No, Snipe!  You're not moving!  You still have to run!  Just in circles!" They laughed and I decided to take a little break from the cows and machines inside.  It was glorious. And they all thought this worried "city girl" was a hoot.  Caleb thought I was hot.

The rest of the weekend was filled with meeting more friends, going to the movies with the whole gang, late night McDonald's trips, volleyball, seeing the land and beginnings of homes the twins were building, holding goats on the couch, four-wheeling through wild hog territory, touring a deserted Oklahoma City in the dead of night, Sunday School, Pizza Hut, and ice-skating.  

All the while Caleb was trying desperately to get to know me better.  Why is it that men just adore girls who have no interest in them?  It's quite silly.  The more I kept busy with other people and activities, the harder he tried to be around.  But when he did have me for a moment (say, next to me during a car ride) he couldn't think of one blessed question to ask.  I'd tease him and carry right along, thinking nothing of it. I teased everyone.  I loved everyone.  It was one of the best weekends of my life.

The night before I left (Sunday night) it finally dawned on me.  All weekend I had missed, chosen to ignore, or talked myself out of believing that Caleb had a little thing for me.  But as a caravan of three trucks with nearly a dozen boisterous young adults pulled into a closed McDonalds, everything changed.  We had planned to get one last ice cream for the weekend, but since the Golden Arches had shut down for the night, we decided to go buy some BlueBell and eat back on the farm.  Caleb and his friend were riding in a old-yet-perfect manual-shift pick-up truck.  I was in a different truck.  At McDonalds Caleb got out of the stick-shift truck and headed towards mine.  In a split-second I jumped out of my truck and ran into the stick-shift truck with Caleb's friend.  The friend and I sat there, waiting for everyone else to load up.  I promised the friend I could drive very very carefully and well.  He believed me.  I said something funny, and the friend laughed.  Then all of a sudden the friend was gone, and Caleb was in the passenger seat beside me.  Caleb looked at me with huge, shocked, silent eyes and jumped out of the truck.  I was alone in the driver side of the bench seat.  The friend pushed Caleb back into the truck.  Caleb popped up a second time and I heard multiple "No! No! Nooo!"s.  The friend fought back.  "Dude, GET in the TRUCK."  "I can't, stop it, I can't," Caleb waged.  "Yes you can! Get. In. The. Truck!" in a very Noah-telling-Allie-to-swing-on-the-rope-into-the-swimming-hole voice.  Caleb wasn't going down easy.  He pushed the friend (we'll call this nameless friend "Tyler") into the car next to me and sheepishly sliding in afterwards.  The three of us sat in a split-second of squished, stunned silence.  And then the rest of the trucks started pulling out, so I got into driving-mode.  Keep the brake down.  Turn the key. Put it in reverse. Release clutch. Gah.  Tyler's shoulders were overlapping mine.  His knees were touching the steering wheel.

"Hey Snipe!  I need to get some gas in this ol' thing.  Pull in here!" Tyler was making his move, he had Caleb's back.  As I pulled into the gas station, Tyler got his wallet out.  When I stopped, he made Caleb get out of the car to let himself out.  While Tyler pumped gas, Caleb got back in with me.  We sat in silence.  I knew what was happening.  I knew Tyler knew.  I knew everybody knew.  I knew Caleb knew I knew.  How could I not?  He followed me all weekend.  He somehow managed to hold my hand every time we did chains on the ice-skating rink.  He was never more than one seat away.  Of course, Kristen.  He crashed his dirt bike in front of you!  Tyler inched back into the truck.  A much slimmer, perfect-postured, blonde boy was next to me now.  I was confused on how this happened.  I wear jeans, doesn't he know?!  I watch America's Next Top Model! Because I have cable TV!  I believe in the gift of tongues today - and I argued with his father about it over dinner!  My bathroom is just a mess and I go spray-tanning and I've gone on a handful of dates with other guys!  And I hate live animals! Tyler - loud, funny, obvious Tyler - broke my stream of thoughts.  "Guys!  You have to listen to this song!  I get chills every time I hear it.  No joke, man.  It's good stuff. Good stuff."  

The song started to play.  It was a long live version, so it played for the remainder of the drive.  We all sat in the dark night, maneuvering through dirt roads.  "Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy."  "I didn't come here for this." "We are His portion and He is our prize!" "He thinks I'm a carnival show. This is nothing.  He thinks I'm literally like a merry-go-round."  "If grace is an ocean we're all sinking."  "I'm not what he's looking for."  "Whoa, how He loves us." "What is he doing? There is no way this is serious. No way."  "Yeah, He loves us! Oh! How He loves us!" "Mmm. Yes, He loves us." Kim Walker started speaking on the track: "Tonight, God wants you to feel His love, His amazing love.  Without it these are just songs, these are just words."  Tears singed my lids.  "Oh, how He loves us. Oh, how He loves. Yeah, He loves us!"  I breathed heavy and hung on every word.  I think I even sang along.  Actually, I know I did.  And I didn't care or even realize I wasn't in the car alone.  I can't really explain it other than to say that I knew God was near to me.  I all of a sudden felt very overwhelmed with fears and impending failure.  "God, please help him not be serious.  He's not serious.  I know he's not serious.  He thinks I'm a carnival show!  Like a sparkly, noisy attraction for children.  Not anything serious."  We made the turn onto their gravel driveway and I was thrilled.  I determined to shut off my mind and dream this little predicament away.  The kids and friends rallied inside, hollering about "Cookies and cream? Or chocolate?" I shuttle myself into the bedroom and texted my dad.  I stayed in bed the rest of the night.  I'd be leaving at 6:30 am in the morning.  I don't have to see Caleb again.  I didn't say good-night or good-bye or even eat any Bluebell Ice Cream.  I vanished from the promising evening, full of worry.

In Oklahoma City for the afternoon - before I realized Caleb liked me ;)

When I woke up the next morning and headed home to Maryland I drearily told my parents and friends the news.  "I think Caleb likes me."  I was frustrated with myself.  I really didn't want to hurt him - I didn't want to hurt anyone! Like I wrote before, my post-high-school years were almost strangely filled with relational hurt.  Me being hurt by people, and me hurting other people.  I was burnt out.  And I didn't want to even think about "the situation," or even the possibility of there being hurt because of me.  I'm the sort of girl that cries about turning guys down - and I don't cry about anything.  My stomach turns when I think about relationships being ruined.  I hate when relationships are ruined.  My heart aches.  I believe God "makes all things new."  That He "redeems and He restores."  But for the most part, the big friendship fall-outs I've witnessed or been a part of have never been "like the used to be."  That's probably okay, but it's still hard.  And my head, heart and smile had been so free, so full, so genuinely happy all weekend long, without a care in the world.  I was so happy.  And now I was afraid it was going to "all be ruined."

My dad told me that Caleb would get in touch with me within two days.  I lied to myself and said he'd never e-mail.  It was nothing.  Within two hours I had a Facebook message.


(to be continued...)

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 5

time, love. time, love.

time, love.

it's only a change of time.

josh ritter - change of time   

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4---The dryer hadn't buzzed yet.  It was time to leave.  I hadn't checked in online.  I hadn't printed my boarding pass.  I hadn't finished blogging like I planned.  My clothes were still damp.  Oh well, into the carry-on they go!  I stuffed, zipped and hobble-hobble-hobbled out the door and down to my car.  There probably won't be any traffic, it's the middle of the day.  I have no idea what is in my suitcase.  Do I have my license? Oh gosh. I paused in the parking lot of my own apartment complex - where I lived on my own.  The concept was still very new to me.  I hadn't even paid my third full month of rent yet.  Life was very happy and my house still felt a little bit like a hotel or vacation home.  I invited friends (ranging in age from one year-olds to my mom's friends in their 50's!) over constantly.  My heart was so full when people enjoyed my house.  Mornings were fun, but after that being alone was stinky.  I craved seeing familiar faces by dinnertime.  

With my damp, unplanned luggage in tow, I zipped over to the airport in Baltimore.  I'd already gone to visit my parents in Florida a few weeks prior.  Now it was time to go see that funny couple I loved so much.  We had waved good-bye to them in August and it was already nearly November.  I was slightly proud of myself for being the only friend who actually made plans to visit them.  Though not much of a hugger, I wanted to give Becca a hug.  And hear some Andree humor.  And to see ALL there is to see in Oklahoma (apparently I didn't need more than 72 hours to visit everything important in the state.)  The two best friends were not Oklahoma boasters.  I had heard from them that the memorial downtown, the farmers market and a cool place called Pops on Route 66 were the only fun things in all of the area.  Oh! And Big Truck Taco.  Whoooa. Sounds like SO much fun. Woooo-eee. Rah. Rah. Can. Not. Wait.  Ha.

This would be a good trip, I decided, to focus on people.  Not everywhere has to be beautiful or inspiring.  Sometimes it's just about who you are with and nothing more.  You see, this trip was not only going to include seeing a much-missed couple but also doing a family shoot for a project I was working on.  A project about real marriage and proven love.  I'm perfectly addicted to shooting weddings, and waving good-bye to lovers on day one of their marriage.  But who photographs day 132 when they get into their first sort-of big fight? And who photographs the triumph in her eyes on day 216 when he says the meal she made tastes better than his mothers version? And who photographs day 1,824 when the couple still isn't pregnant, after wanting a baby so badly?  Or perhaps day 1,824 is filled with tears from mama and tots, who all need daddy to come home.  Now.  Who takes pictures of the husband in line at the grocery store with a little bouquet of flowers for his woman, over 2,000 days from their wedding? Who photographs day 4,991 when work is just at a dead-halt, and with bags under their eyes and fears inside their hearts, two people discuss options.  They weren't expecting to still have money issues "this far" in.  Who is there to photograph daddy mowing the lawn with his little dude following behind with a plastic toy, while mom and her quite grown-up daughter talk about what they want to do for her birthday this year?  Who is there for those long, beautiful, days that become long, beautiful years, where they "come together, fall apart, break each other's heart"?  "When the sound of little feet, is the music, they dance to week to week?"  I was (and still am) hungry to study marriages, not just wedding days.  I wanted to do photoshoots where I not only took pictures of people, but heard the whole story.  Where I asked lots of questions.  Where I took my time becoming emotional and inspired by their life and marriage.

With this desire in my heart (among other things!) I was moved to tears as I read a blog called "Joel's Journey."  A friend had showed it to me, and I spent one humid afternoon laying on a mattress in an empty house reading the story of a marriage.  Terry and Cindy Morris had a wedding day.  The had the smiling, waving, cheerful day one.  Someone was there to take pictures.  It was beautiful and good.  By day 7,331 they had become parents to 13 children on their Oklahoma farm, and one of them was getting ready to say good-bye to his family for a little while.  No one knew that little Joel wasn't going to be in their arms for 90 more days.  No one knew that the funny, root-tootin', round-headed three year old had a tumor.  But they found out.  I read from the beginning, with no ability to stop my body's response to the story, and though I knew Joel had died, I found myself cheering for him and his family.  I read about their initial doctors visits, their car rides back and forth, Joel leaving his home and farm for the last time (which, of course, they didn't know would be when it happened).  I read about his brain failure, but his little heart beating away.  I read about holidays and birthdays celebrated in his hospital room. Hours of reading and music and cuddles from mom, dad and his twelve best friends.  I read about the kind nurses and the cold nurses.  I read about the gut-wrenching search for a doctor who would continue to treat Joel (the hospital he was in refused to since his brain was dead, even though his heart was still beating and the family wanted him to be treated.)  I read about the Morris family being sued and having to go to court in the middle of caring for their son.  I read about the medical staff ignoring Joel's room, and Terry learning how to take care of him by researching online.  I read about the day that they decided to let Joel go back to the farm to let him be comfortable in his own house.  I read about little Hosanna's birthday party in his hospital room while they waited for an ambulance to take Joel home.  I read about the ambulance not making it in time.  I read about the entire Morris family surrounding Joel as he left our wearisome world and was healed forever.  


Cindy held him and wept. Terry was by her side. The children propped each other up, heartbroken.  Joel walked in a world they've never seen, but believe is more real than this earth.  He was greeted in paradise with cheers and open arms.  Joel will never hurt again, and will never die again.  He went home.  Home home.  It is very good that Joel lives in Heaven.  It is sharply sad that Joel is so missed by his family.  I read on their blog their hope in the promise of their God:  they WILL be reunited with Joel someday.  They WILL touch him and see his precious round face.  He is alive, and he is with God.  

I cried. Oh, I cried.  I could hardly make it through the next few years of blog posts.  The posts of fight and fear and questions and belief.  I was cut to the quick.  It's not often you come across such a real, vulnerable story.  I almost felt like I knew this family after I read their blog.  I wanted to know more about their story, and hear about the marriage that made it through the storm.  The marriage that is still walking through the storm.  I contacted Cindy and a shoot was planned.  Yes.  This trip would be about people.  This trip to Oklahoma would be about hugging Becca, laughing with Andree, meeting Cindy and Terry, and learning about their life and family.  Who cares if the state is boring?  It's not like I'm staying there or anything.  

With visions of miles and miles of flat nothing, lots of cows, big trucks and more nothing, I flew.  After landing, I realized my visions weren't flat enough.  And didn't imagine enough cows, trucks and nothing.  But I didn't care, my evening was happily spent with friends, eating soup and, yes, hugging.  Friday night came to a close and I slept on the couch (like usual) in my travel clothes, with all my make-up on.  

The next morning I did not pop right off the couch.  I groaned.  Where is my phone? And are my teeth made out of cottontails? Blech.  My eyes felt like the saltine crackers I had crunched into the soup.  The rim of my hair was sweaty.  I could feel it.  Where is my phone? I thwacked and patted the couch.  I stood up and it slid down the blanket as I shook it out.  AH-ha!  I checked the time, hoping I had at least an hour to take a shower and freshen up before the shoot.  Besides, I still had airplane peanut salt in my nails. No such luck.  I had about 15 minutes to get myself out the door.  Maybe even less.  Darn it darn it darn it.  

This photoshoot needed to start on time.  Mrs. Morris made it abundantly clear to me that her oldest boys needed to get to work as soon as possible.  Our 9 am start time was already cramping their groove.  I had seen on her blog that her oldest boys (twins!) had bought 25 acres of land (with cash!) and that they spent their Saturdays and evenings building their houses.  On a normal Saturday they would be at Home Depot by 6:00 am getting supplies.  Getting to the job site at 10:00 am was down right disgraceful!  "As soon as you finish taking their pictures, they'll need to go!  I think they're a little frustrated with me, makin' em take family pictures! But you know what, they just need to deal with it!"  I laughed in agreement.  Yes, suck it up, put on a smile and deal with it.  

I was a flurry that morning.  I pulled out my favorite black skirt.  It was still damp.  At least it smelled like Lavender Fields.  But you know how damp clothes fit.  They hang "heavy" and don't quite flatter.  I had a soft red cardigan to wear with my favorite black skirt.  It too was a little damp.  The cuff of the sleeve was loose and wide.  And for some reason the cardigan was more rounded then straight.  Just bad.  I shook and snapped it, hoping to give my favorite sweater a little life in it's veins.  Nothing.  I had a tight little black tank-top to wear underneath my cardigan.  Except that I didn't.  I thought I had a slim-fitted black camisole, but I guess in my packing rush I grabbed the wrong top out of the dryer.  Instead I had a flowy, loose, butterfly-sleeved, long, semi-pleated black Gap shirt.  Darn it.  I tucked the too-big top into my skirt and tried to arrange it neatly so that it might look like a smooth tank.  Instead I looked like a breast-feeding mother smuggling hamburgers .  It bunched in the back and gave me love handles.  It bunched in the front and gave me a trapezoid shaped mid-section.  Whatever.    


At this point I still hadn't addressed my face. Oh lordy.  A few days before this trip I decided to give myself bangs.  Bangs that started at my ears.  They were bad bangs.  They weren't cute like Zooey or Carrie or Liv.  Besides the fact that they were too wide (I've since learned that bangs are supposed to start at the end of your eyebrows, not the end of your forehead), they were also too thin.  And thanks to my complete lack of self control and ability to get myself ready for bed, set an alarm, and wake up on time, I found my self arranging a greasy wheat shoot field along my scalp.  When in Rome…? The rest of my hair was no better.  Flat, half-wavy, half-straight and quite split-end-y.  I wedged two bobby-pins in the back of my head, creating one of the most unfortunate half-up half-down hair styles I've ever seen.  On to my skin.  I swirled and swirled my powder foundation, leaving puffs of the make-up all over the bathroom counter.  Make-up never goes on well without moisturizer.  The powder just perched on my face like birds on a telephone line.  Darn it.  I forgot deodorant.  And eye-liner.  And toothpaste.  With a quick mascara application, apple breakfast and squirt of Becca's perfume, I danced out the door in my boots (but not in my socks.  Because I forgot socks too.)

The drive was quiet and calm.  Maybe the country is a little pretty in the morning.  My feet itched in my shoes.  Oh my gosh, my nails.  I was going to take this chipping polish off.  Oh well.  Before long, I found myself bumping along a gravel road, which dead-ended at a long dirt road, which led to a gravel driveway and the Morris property.  

The big red barn in the background proved that this was a farm.  Not that the little cowboy boots all over the yard, bleeting goat sounds, red-dirt soaked pick-up trucks in the driveway, playful dogs, crunchy and rolling fields, the parked dirtbike, horseshoe decor in the garden and stillness in the air wasn't enough.  Rap rap rap on the door was followed by running foot-steps, "MOoOOOOm!", muffled shutting doors, a little face in the window (that disappeared after a fast smile), and eventually the door opened by a lovely woman, dressed in black, purple and denim. "HI! Welcome! Welcome!"  There is no awkward confusion over whether you shake hands or hug here.  Cindy grinned and collected toys off the ground while walking into the cozy, country-themed living room.  Terry appeared with open arms, too.  He has story-eyes.  Good man story eyes.  And both Terry and Cindy looked much younger than I was expecting.  "We're running a little behind, I'm so sorry!  Oh, and Bethany is sick.  She was almost too sick to even get out of bed this morning.  But! She's a trooper!  She's getting ready! I'm going to help everyone get themselves fixed.  Make yourself at home!"  


I stood in front of the giant wooden table, with enough benches and chairs to seat 20 people.  To my right was a kitchen in the middle of renovation, to my left was a small TV room and an open door.  An arm stretched out past the open door and I saw the back of a tall boy putting on a black button-up shirt.  I turned away and sat down on a wooden wagon-wheel love seat.  Kids and animals slowly made their way into the living room.  The older kids introduced themselves and shook my hand.  The younger kids came in packs and would avoid eye contact as they popped out from behind walls and furniture.  I couldn't keep all the names straight.  Including Joel, the Morris' have nine sons.  There were boots-wearing, jean-clad, trimmed-hair, tan, cute boys everywhere.  All dressed in black or purple.  Some changing outfits in between viewings.  I didn't even try to remember their names!

It seemed that everybody was just about ready.  There were probably ten people in the living-room-kitchen-great-room when Daniel came down the hall and said hello.  Following right behind was Caleb.  Apparently these two put up a good ol’ fashioned stink about having to miss precious weekend time to build.  For family pictures nonetheless! They're too respectful to argue, but I’m sure there was stomping around in the bedroom, watching the clock constantly.  Muttering disappointments to each other.  Though the 23-year-old twins were tall and toned with fantastic jawlines, I was hardly impressed.  They were much too thin for my taste, and they both had matching stiff-gel-shlacked  hair-do's.  Their faces looked like chiseled statues that didn't move.  I'm not kidding.  Their facial expression was just that: an expression.  One. Singular.  They stood perfectly straight, with crisp owl-like head movements, and serious, focused looks.  I wanted to shake them and say "CHillllLLLl oooouut!"  The reader must keep in mind that I felt about as attractive as a bag of frozen bagel bites.  I was kind of crushing on a guy back home, but was mostly burnt-out with guys and trying to meet them.  


Besides, from what I could tell from the little bit I saw on their mothers blog and Facebook, it seemed that both the twins had their sights set on other girls.  Not to mention that I knew they were a part of a famously conservative homeschool program (the same one that the Duggar's of 19 Kids and Counting are in), so I knew that I would NOT be the kind of girl ANYone in this household would take seriously.  That last sentence was very judgmental of me, but also came from fairly reliable information about families in this organization.  Many have told tales of being snapped at for wearing pants and "dressing like a harlot."  Let's not even talk about crazy music choices, like Taylor Swift and Beyonce'!  All that to say, I had no mixed motives when I entered that household.  No part of me even remotely thought "I wonder if I'll meet a cute dude here! Giddyup!"  


Caleb walked over and shook my hand.  I hardly remember it. I hardly cared. I promptly began counting children and asked to get this shoot going.  


Caleb, on the other hand, felt sparks. 

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 3

i had a dream last night

and rusting far below me

battered hulls and broken hard ships

leviathan and lonely

josh ritter - change of time

start by reading part 1 + part 2!

First we need to mosey on back to 1987, when a little boy was introduced to earth.  This child grew wild and free where the wind sweeps down the plains.  Except scratch the "wild" part.  He was a bit of a safe man.  Very proper, respectful, disciplined, intentional, and formal.  Though he loved adventuring outside, hog-hunting, fort-building, machine-driving, height-climbing, animal-shooting, rock-moving, he certainly was not wild.  He was young and male, but he was… tame.  This tall, quite slim, calloused, muscular, bronzed, high-cheek-boned, cut-jaw-lined, blue-eyed boy played by the rules.  

His mother and father raised he and his 12 brothers and sisters on over 20 acres of land.  His father and mother poured their hearts and souls into their family.  His father and mother are hard workers - hard and loving workers.  His father and mother are generous, kind, strong and faithful.  

This young man, Caleb, was raised to respect and desire a wife and to nurture and raise his own children.  He was brought up eager to be a husband.  From a young age he prayed for his future family and worked hard to be in a position to provide for them (as he also learned by word and action that a man is to be the provider for his home.)  This diligent and ambitious family took an incredible risk and started their own construction business when Caleb graduated high school.  Father and his three sons took on the daunting task of running their own company - something none of them had ever done.  

In the early years of the family-run company, Caleb and his twin brother also set out to buy their own land and start building homes for their families - completely debt-free.  After years of saving, and in the middle of running their first company, the boys bought 50 acres between the two of them on neighboring plots of land.  Their determined, focused spirits put the pedal to the metal.  They'd rise before the sun to head to work, and after work they'd drive over to their land and clear trees, prep their foundation, pour concrete, assemble walls and build those houses (which is utterly impressive for 22 year old guys, if you ask me.)  

Their devotion to their task also made itself known in the music world.  Caleb and Daniel both play the piano, violin and viola.  Let me rephrase that: they both received university scholarships for their musical skill.  Ha! Can you imagine?  I actually can not imagine being so good at something! These scholarships were turned down so they could start their family business and build their homes (which, again, is utterly impressive for 20 year old guys, if you ask me!)

Handsome: check! Honorable: check! Hard-working: check! Smart, talented, adventurous, romantic and over six feet tall: check, check, check, check and cheeeeeck.  Single and available? Yes'sir.  Single and looking? Oh, you bet… for years Caleb was looking.  But in 23 years this sweet, gentle, quiet, hunky man had never had a girlfriend.  In fact, he'd never asked a girl out! Actually, he'd never even spoken to a girl on the phone, or been "alone" with a girl anywhere. 

This brings us to a very crucial and careful portion of the story.  Crucial, because the belief system I am about to share almost defined Caleb singularly (much like my past stories and hurts "made" me).  Careful, because I would never want to offend, judge or blame anybody in his life for "what he believed."  I'm simply telling the story of a boy, not preaching a Christian course on relationships.  Trust me.  

Caleb was homeschooled and brought up in an organization with very honorable, virtuous and impressive principles.  The organization, however, was created and the material written by a man who has a flawed view of "grace." If one were to take the time to read his personal papers (NOT his homeschool material or books, but his personal writings) one would find an interesting definition of grace.  He claims "grace is the desire and the power God gives us to do His will."  Strictly "dictionary definition" as well as biblical definition, that is just not what grace.  Grace is unconditional forgiveness, undeserved mercy, unmerited favor from a generous, extravagant, loving Father.  The definition of grace includes "He did" not "us do."  Grace is not about our performance, obedience or discipline.  A completely different discussion would be how God's grace gives us power to obey and desire for HIs will, but that is not grace itself.

 This conviction automatically (albeit subtly) works its way into the writings, meetings, principle's and teachings of this man's organization.  His grace worldview touches everything.  And to be honest, I think it's incredibly hard to not get swept up into the mindset, particularly when everyone you know and love believes the same thing.  That last sentence would be true for any belief system or organization!  If you are born into it, and know it, and everyone around you believes it, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree (though it certainly happens!)

While this particular organization has a great mission statement ("to support parents in raising their children to love the Lord Jesus Christ, reason wisely based on the principles of Scripture, have world-changing purpose in life, and give Biblical answers to the needs of our day") it seems to fall short in the day-in day-out application of unearned grace.  By nature, a wrong view of grace (and freedom and forgiveness and salvation) means many people work to achieve or earn or keep something by their own goodness that is not according to the Bible.

Many of these families adhere to certain "rules" for godliness, rules to obey "God's will," that are just not in the Bible. Rules like: women must wear skirts, parents must homeschool their children, families must not own or watch cable television, modern music and "drum beats" are sinful as they worship the devil, drinking alcohol is always sin for anybody, and a rigid, confusing courtship system.  

The dictionary definition of "courtship" is simply: A period during which a couple develop a romantic relationship, especially with a view to marriage.  But the courtship-program adhered to by many, I believe, well-meaning families is much more deranged.  Parents strongly limit male-female interaction (unless at large group events or family get-togethers or church/school events.)  A young boy needs to essentially see and maybe speak with (a handful of times) a girl and "seek the Lord" to find out if she is "the one" for him.  If he receives the mystical go-ahead from God, he can then call the girls father and ask permission to court his daughter.  From what I hear, fathers have a variety of responses: some decline a man right there, others tell the nervous lad to wait while the father prays about it and that he'll get back to him (in no definite time frame) and still others request to meet in person for a dad-boy date.  The dad-boy dates are supposed to be a time for the father and hopeful knight to get to know each other, build a relationship and learn about each other's beliefs.  These dates could last for weeks or even months.  Which you may say "Wait, isn't that what a guy is supposed to do with a girl?I" You have yourself a point there, you have yourself a point.  If the boy boy passed the father's inspection, he would be granted permission to take the girl out on a date (with a chaperone, of course.)  

If the boy didn't gain daddy's approval, however, he was shot down.  And the fair maiden daughter at home was left protected, safe and un-hurt thanks to her father's fortress and shield.  Her heart was not divied out in pieces to the men of this world, but was left whole - still waiting - for her one and only husband.  

It's hard for me to not launch into a rant about how deeply I disagree with this "model" of finding a life partner.  How, first of all, the father's assessments by no stretch of the imagination could conclude if the boy was a "strong leader" - all the assessments could conclude would be if the boy was a strong obeyer.  Father's set the rules, if the boy obeys and says yes to the right questions, he's in.  If he doesn't, however, he's toast.  Or how about the natural, good, lovely building of a friendship?  A REAL friendship?  Even the boys that ended up hurting me were my friends.  Very good friends.  Every single one of them talked with me, laughed with me, shared with me, made memories with me and had fun with me.  The friendships weren't separate from "feelings" but the friendships were real.  Or maybe we could talk about the fact that a father believes he has a better grasp on what his adult daughter needs in a life partner than she does, that God isn't able to lead her.  That she is just too young, unwise, swayed by emotions, fragile and hormonal to know who would really be a good for her.  Maybe the biggest one for me: how is man supposed to "hear from God" about a girl before he even knows her?  And then once he does "hear" that she is the one, what happens when the father turns him down?  Did the boy hear wrong?  Or did the father make a mistake?  I do believe that God can and sometimes does literally speak to a person about future life decisions, including who to marry.  But to place that kind of pressure on a man as a requirement to possibily take a girl on a group date… well, that's just too much.

That kind of thinking and approach was one Caleb was set on.  To be honest, his parents really did not even teach him that rigid courtship system, or believe it themselves!  Caleb just subconsciously applied what he was seeing around him as final truth.  had never asked out a girl because he had never heard that "she was the one."  So he was stuck, unable to ever really pursue a girl he liked.  He could try to talk with a girl at family events, and obviously stalk her Facebook or blog… but that was it. He often wondered "What will this 'hearing from God' look like? How will I know?"  With an underlying belief that if he blew this, he just might be blowing his favor with God, he treaded extremely carefully.  

His respectful, masculine, genuine, good-guy self garnered a whole lot of attention from the ladies, and he always had a slew of girls circling in his head he was keeping tabs on, but all of "that" led to barely any friendship and zero romantic relationship. 

Enjoy People from Oklahoma | Gingela

One thing I genuinely appreciate is a person who can make me laugh with one line.  Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy funny story-telling, comedic build-up to the punch line, or a long streaming scene of humor that snowballs on itself (like The Office episode where Dwight sets the office on fire and Angela throws her cat into the ceiling "The fire is shooting at us!")  But those swiftly, smartly spoken one-liners have a different skill to them.  You must be sharp and engaged, quick and amused.  


Last year when I stumbled across Angela Sawyer (or "gingela5's") twitter via Pioneer Woman's twitter, I was hooked.  Every tweet made me laugh.  I love her focus on work blues, being a "fat girl" (aka: anyone not a size 0 who eats raisins on Thanksgiving?) and her dogs.  Short story: Her tweets make me laugh.  But they also make me say "YES. SO true! Happens to me all the time!"  Here are a few examples:

- Tip: when you're the passenger on a road trip, before distributing fries, eat some out of BOTH containers. That way you get a few extra.

- My hair never looks cuter than when I'm getting ready to hop into bed.

   

- Yes, I got this cut on my wrist digging through my car because I thought a mayo packet happened to be a fun size butterfinger. :(#fatgirl

I asked this fiercely loyal Oklahoman (all native Oklahoman's are fiercely loyal, I've learned) to tell us a bit about Oklahoma life and guest blog for me today. Enjoy! (And go follow her on twitter!)

--

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOklahoma…where the wind comes sweeping down the plains…


What is there to say about Oklahoma? Not much, so let’s talk about something more exciting. ME!


Kristen emailed me about a week ago and asked me to write a guest blog post for her. She simply told me to write about Oklahoma and told me to run with it and write whatever I wanted to write. Since my life is excruciatingly boring I told her I’d just lie and embellish like I do in real life.

By the way, my name is Angela—you can call me anything you want but never, ever call me Angie. Ever. I’ve lived in Oklahoma my whole life in a little town called Oklahoma City. Okay, maybe it’s not a small town but I’m sure there are still some people out there that think that we still ride horses everywhere and have to stop for cows when we’re driving down the road. People, we have a Wal Mart—we’re in the big leagues here! Actually, the suburb I live in, Edmond if you want to get technical, is a thriving city. We have not one, but two Targets and (be ready to be jealous) about four Chick-Fil-A’s within minutes of my house. I have a lovely husband and two dogs that make my life miserable, but I love them. While life may not be fast-paced and crazy, my husband and I take time to enjoy the laid-back environment of Oklahoma.


I’ll begin by telling you how I earned my first million dollars…Okay, okay, okay…that would have been a major lie and embellishment. I’ll be truthful and in turn bore the snot out of you from here on out!


We fill most evenings working out (aka kicking my husband’s butt in the gym) or relaxing with the dogs. Our favorite thing to do in the OKC is going to Oklahoma City Thunder games. As luck would have it, my dad got us season tickets this year so we get to go to every home game. Unfortunately, I always spend 90% of the game people watching or catching up on Twitter so I only catch about 10% of the game. I’m sure that’s exactly what my dad intended when he bought the tickets for us.

If you’re a wuss when it comes to weather, don’t come here. Especially in the springtime. While this is one of my favorite things about Oklahoma, many people don’t appreciate the beauty of a tornado. Which I think is crazy—who doesn’t love running to a shelter two or three times a storm season? It’s great exercise. In fact last year we spent three or four hours of my husband’s birthday huddled in a shelter with our dogs and about a hundred other people. It’s actually the exact way I’d want to spend my birthday but he wasn’t too thrilled with it. It got me out of giving him a gift—we came home to our house still standing and I just said, 'Happy Birthday!'


My husband and I are easily entertained, so that’s probably why we love Oklahoma so much. I’m using the word “we” loosely. He has to love Oklahoma whether he wants to or not. That’s just the kind of love I show him… 'LOVE OKLAHOMA or ELSE!!' At this point he’s probably wanting the “else” part of that threat. We love here and if I had it my way I’d never leave. Oklahoma is Okla-HOME-a to me! (If you didn’t roll your eyes, you should have. That was a lame joke.)


Thanks for taking a small, tiny peek at my life in the great state of Oklahoma!"

Thanks so much for the post Gingela5! You crack me up.  Keep on keeping on ;)