September Goals

Well friends, since I skipped/forgot/omitted/ignored my August goal planning, I feel that this month we should begin with the most important goal: make goals!

August was filled to the brim with soaking in the tail end of summer. Our sweet Paul is growing like a weed and loves showing off his gummy smile and belly laughs as he turned four months old. Matt and I spent a weekend in Orange Beach (sans baby) to celebrate our third wedding anniversary and it was pure (and needed) bliss. We wrapped up the month with a week with family at a beach house on Perdido Key Beach and have been sneaking back on the weekends for extra sunshine and family time. Hop on over to Instagram to recap our August fun.

I don't know if it is life as a new mama with a babe in hand (well, on the hip) or the feeling of summer coming to an end that makes life feel like it is passing by at lightening speed. My goal this fall is to slow down, be intentional with my moments, soak in these fleeting days with my son and truly be present where I am in this season. Here's to setting goals that both put a smile on my face and squirm in my seat.

September Goals

Step out of my comfort zone + visit three local MOPS groups.

Kick off the school year with our church's annual youth canoe trip.

Plan one activity each week for Paul + mama time out of the house.

Block out more "white space" in my schedule.

Go for a walk/run 3x a week.

Implement social media free days on the Sabbath.

Prioritize blogging + nail my niche.

The Day I {Really} Became A Mother

"He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it." 1 Thessalonians 5:24

Three months (three is my favorite number, so you know this is going somewhere good) prior to beginning a relationship with my husband, I answered an altar call where I was given a prophetic prayer that, well, confused me. The pastor spoke "wife" and "mother" over me, saying that God was going to use me in those roles to fulfill His kingdom work. For those who didn't know me then, you should know that not only was I not in a relationship with anyone at that point to help me become a "wife" or "mother," I had never dated anyone. Ever. I remember leaving the service joking with my sister, "Well, I guess I'm getting married soon!"

Fast forward three months, and I began dating the man that I now call my husband. The journey to becoming Matt's wife is one filled with God's handprint marked all over it (including hearing from God that I would marry a man named "Matthew" when I was 10 years old!), but that is a story I will save for another time.

On our very first date, we opened up to each other about everything. All the little messy, fun and hidden details of our lives (looking back - who does that on the first date?!). When he asked me the question, "What do you want to do after college?" I rambled on about pursuing a career in public relations or education, due to my degrees. After doing so, I felt a little tug in my heart to open up to him even more, and told him what I really want to be was a wife and mom - one who is dedicated to making little disciples for Christ and leading her home in that which builds His kingdom. This desire in my heart to be a wife and mother stemmed from even my childhood longings to serve God in that manner, and the previous prophecy spoken over me was no where near the forefront of my mind. I knew sharing this with him would either scare him away with the idea that he would be the sole provider for a family, or, he would react how he did: promise that he would make that happen.

Fast forward one year, and he made me a wife.

Fast forward two years, and I began to doubt again. While I mocked God the day that I received that prophecy, I witnessed His word coming true through the creation of our marriage. I immediately knew that God was going to not only answer His promise of making me a wife and mother, but that He would do it fully. I began to doubt when we felt called to start a family...and it didn't happen. It didn't happen for three months, then three months turned into six months, then six months turned into nine months. Nine months that I longed to carry a baby turned into nine months of infertility. I was struggling deep in my soul to trust that God was going to do more than fulfill only 50% of the desires of my heart, of His heart. I should have known better.

Fast forward three years, and he made me a mother.

Three years from that very first moment that I shared with my husband that I wanted to be a mother, God fulfilled it in its entirety with our firstborn son. (Read 'A Birth Story: Paul Harrison Roberts' Part I and Part II)

Fast forward to last month, when I left not only my job, but my corporate career, to become a full time and stay at home wife and mama.

My eight to five days donning fresh Starbucks, stilettos, working with the local media and managing communications for an organization now look like 'round the clock mornings, afternoons and nights warming the same cup of coffee five times, spit up covered pajamas, reruns of my favorite shows and the best, warmest and most important snuggles and kisses with my sweet son.

Standing on my current mountaintop, I am able to see the words spoken years ago come to life. I am so thankful for the calling that Christ has placed on our family and that He has made the way for our new, little family to walk into that calling. From a new job for my husband to miracle situations, we are living out the dreams that we shared with each other four years ago in that small diner over lunch. I can't wait to see where this beautiful path leads and what will be fulfilled through us to further advance His glorious kingdom.

Moral of the story: don't ignore the little voice inside of you calling you to something greater, something that scares you. Trust Him to bring you through it and to it.

July Goals

This month marks a lot of big events for our little family. One major milestone has already happened as of this week: I am officially a stay at home mom (will be writing more about this soon)! This is a big leap of faith into a long-time calling on my life and I am so excited to fully step into this role as the full time homemaker and caregiver of our home.

In addition to soaking in all of the blessings that come from being a wife and mama, we are going to enjoy a lot of extra family time this month with holidays, seasonal events and family traditions filling us to the brim. This all is jump-started by just returning from a refreshing time in Georgia with my mom and sisters this past weekend. Our little family is loving this big summer of fun and family that we are having!

July Goals

Celebrate the Fourth of July with our family and friends.

Compile a bucket list for the last few weeks of summer.

Spend a week helping put on Vacation Bible School at our church.

Spend a week with Matt's family in Georgia at Indian Springs Holiness Campground (our absolute favorite summer family tradition!).

Establish a postpartum fitness plan and actually do it.
Organize my kitchen pantry.

May Goals

Seeing as it is nearly the end of May, I am going to give myself a big spoonful of grace in goal setting this month. I've been soaking in baby smells, snuggles, God's provision and lots of newness as this chapter of motherhood fully unfolds.

I feel as if April should have had one goal: have a baby! That in itself was quite the accomplishment, with very surprising outcomes and recovery. If you haven't already read Paul's birth story, catch up on it here and here. While it was a busy month, I was able to accomplish everything on my list!

April Goals

Go on maternity leave at work Can proudly say I worked until the day he was born - only one day shy of my planned leave date!

Enjoy a mani/pedi date with my sister-in-loves and our three year old niece (who is finally moving back to this side of the country and made this request - so precious!) Paul made his appearance when they went, but I had a fabulous time with out of town friends getting this special treat post-baby!

Host an early birthday dinner for Matt (since his birthday is Paul's induction day!) Many called me crazy, but with the help of family, I was able to successfully throw Matt a birthday dinner post-baby!

Finish reading Baby Wise and The Happiest Baby on the Block 

I am finding that reading what is relevant from week to week, or situation to situation, is better than trying to absorb everything at once.

Get induced on April 23 (that's right - in ten days!) We'll just say I accomplished this in a roundabout way!

Fully relish in coming home with Paul and enjoying our new life as a family of three Yes and yes!

With a mere four days left in the month, I am still going to stay optimistic with a good list of goals. We've been taking it easy since Paul's arrival, resting when possible, watching my postpartum recovery, watching Paul's recovery from his first cold, savoring lots of family time and finding our new "normal." Today I was cleared by my doctor on every note and as of last week, my friend and I have reestablished our weekly dates, so I'm already checking three items off my list. Summer is in the air, and we're ready to enter into these new seasons of growth, change, fun and family time!

May Goals

Reestablish weekly coffee dates with my dearest friend, Brittany. (check out her blog here!)

Host one of my long time, out of town friends for a week

Receive doctor's permission to start working out

Receive doctor's permission to begin tapering off my postpartum medications

Work on establishing Paul's schedule, prepping for his two month schedule change

Work on establishing a new schedule for myself as a mom

Fill out Paul's baby book while I can still remember things (just received the beautiful EL's Baby Book!)

A Birth Story: Paul Harrison Roberts (Part I)

I always dreamt about the birth of our very first child. Wondering what day it would happen, where I would be, what pain levels I could bear (because physical pain and I are not friends), what my husband's face would look like when he saw our son for the first time, what our son's first cry would sound like and what feelings and memories I would capture and remember from that day.

Wednesday, April 15, I started noticing symptoms that I hadn't had during my pregnancy. Blurred vision, nausea, stomach pains, dizziness and extremely swollen ankles (minus ankles, because you literally couldn't find them with a magnifying glass). I had a couple of these symptoms for about a week, but that night they were intensified and happening all at the same time. I had the idea to check my blood pressure and found it in the extreme ranges. I didn't know what was going on, but decided to go to bed and call my doctor in the morning.

Thursday, April 16, I woke up feeling even worse than the night before. I checked my blood pressure again, and it was worse than the previous night's reading. While I was just one day away from beginning maternity leave at work, I decided to go in and wrap up a few more things, "just in case." About an hour after arriving at work, I called my doctor and left a message, letting her know what was going on. Soon after, she returned my call and let me know what I was experiencing was not normal and I needed to see her immediately. My boss and coworkers helped me quickly pack up my office and load up my car. Somehow, we just knew this was it. I waddled to my car, hugged necks goodbye and that was officially the last day that I worked.

My mom met me at the doctor's office and a nurse took my blood pressure, which read the highest it had been yet. My doctor was casually walking by and said, "Did we decide what time we're going to induce you next week?" The nurse responded, "Um, she might not make it to then." My doctor peeked at my blood pressure reading and immediately sent me to the hospital with a, "We might have this baby today!"

My mom and I snuck over to my house to gather a few things that I left out of my car and packed a bag for Matt (you know, because I wasn't supposed to get induced for another week) and headed off to the hospital. We arrived around 11:30 a.m. My doctor called to let them know I was coming, so they took me back right away and started hooking me up to monitors. My husband arrived shortly after we did and was my rock. They only let one person in triage at a time, so my mom left and slowly more family arrived and took turns coming back to see me. My sister gave me a pedicure while we waited, because what new mother can have chipped polish, and I put on fresh make up.

Around 2 p.m., after having my blood pressure monitored for a couple of hours, I received a call from my doctor. She let me know that due to my lab work and blood pressure readings, she was diagnosing me with preeclampsia and gave me the choice to get induced or have a c-section that night. Talk about a plot twist! After much prayer and debate, my doctor, Matt and I decided the safest and healthiest choice would be to move forward with a c-section. The OR was booked for two back to back twin c-sections, so they let me know to expect the operation to begin at 10 p.m.

Over the next couple of hours, the anesthesiologist and several nurses came back to explain to me what would happen, sign forms and prep me for surgery. Shortly after letting us know about the 10 p.m. surgery time, they let us know that we were getting bumped up to a 5 p.m. surgery time. I don't think I have ever been so freaked out and excited in the same moment. I was going to meet my son in a couple of hours! My doctor arrived soon after and came back to let me know she had to deliver a vaginal birth and then twins in the OR and then I was up next on the list. I can't even imagine her life - delivering four babies in one night!

Due to the line of up births that night, we watched the hour hand move from 5 p.m. to 6 p.m. to 7 p.m. We were able to sneak my sister in law back in triage with us to take photos and distract me from the slowly moving hour hand. I hadn't eaten anything since 9 a.m. that morning and wasn't allowed even ice chips. Talk about an angry mama bear - this woman was still pregnant with a pregnant appetite! It was so interesting to know I was about to having a baby, but wasn't actually in labor or any pains. Not saying I am complaining at all. It was perfect for this woman, who can withstand emotional pain to the nth degree, but cries when her dog steps on her toe. No lie. I did that. About a month ago. It was pathetic.

Around 7:45 p.m., what looked like a SWAT team of nurses came back to let me know it was time. In this moment, I found out that Matt wasn't allowed to come back with me while I got the spinal. Let me tell you right now - this is what I feared the most. I knew too much about this to know that this was not going to be fun and could only imagine the needle in my spine a thousand times over. I walked down the hallway with my nurses after kissing Matt goodbye and walked into the most silver and shiny and white and blue OR I have ever seen. They had me sit on the edge of the bed and wrapped me in warm towels. I immediately had a panic attack as the anesthesiologist slowly talked me through what she was doing. In case you haven't noticed, I am my own worst enemy in these situations. I don't even remember the nurses name who held my hands with my nails in her arms and my tears on her chest, but as our foreheads were touching, I felt pressure. No pain, only pressure. I remember this because they kept asking me if I was in pain, obviously due to my dramatic display, but I assured them that I am a baby with any pain and I was fine. In a second, I felt my hips and legs and toes begin to tingle. In the next second, I was laid on my back and from my ribs down, was numb. It was the worst feeling I have ever felt, and it wasn't even pain or pressure. It was just numbness. As if two of the world's largest elephants decided they wanted to sit on my legs and take naps. I couldn't feel them, move them, nothing. The only feeling was heaviness. I remember crying out to the nurses saying, "I need to straighten my legs! I need to straighten my legs!" and they responded with, "Honey, your legs are straight."

Thankfully, that is when they let Matt in. He took a seat right next to my head as the curtain went up so I couldn't see anything and an oxygen mask was put on my face. I pulled Matt close and just asked him to pray out loud. Poor thing - he told me later he just kept praying the same thing over and over because anytime he would stop I would respond with, "Keep praying!" After what felt like only a couple of minutes since he walked in, the nurses said, "Dad, do you want to see your son?" He stood up, pulled out his phone, clicked on the camera app and I started to feel some pressure and pulling. I thought this part would be horrid to experience, but it was nothing to me. I mean, I had two elephants sitting on my legs, what was some pulling and pressure!? The nurses and Matt started to exclaim that the baby had hair - dark hair! In those moments, I forgot about all of the pressure and elephants and finally started to focus on the baby. I will never forget Matt looking down at me half a second before Paul cried for the first time. I couldn't see anything but his eyes due to his mask, but I knew he was smiling so big. I heard Paul Harrison Roberts' first cry at 8:04 p.m. and Matt took a seat next to me, letting me know he's perfect. Everything felt like seconds, going by so fast. Immediately after Matt sat down, my son was carried around the curtain just for a moment, screaming at the top of his lungs, white and bloody and perfect, so that I could see him. Talk about the most surreal moment of your life.

As I said, everything felt like seconds, going by so quickly. As soon as they started working on clearing Paul's lungs and cleaning him up, Matt looked and me, changing our biggest smiles to serious sterns and said, "I'm going to step out for a moment. I'm ok. I'm just going to pass out." He turned sheet white and with my paralyzed body and arms stretched out to my sides, I started saying, "He's going to pass out! He's going to pass out!" Another half dozen nurses from who knows where (seriously, there had to be three dozen people in that OR), wheeled Matt out of the OR in the chair he was in. The nurses assisting my doctor made a comment on how the last dad in the OR also passed out and they were two for two that night. I let them know that my husband had passed out before and would be fine. I knew that he hadn't had anything to eat or drink since he was so nice as to not do it in front of me while I was starving in triage, he had to watch his wife have a panic attack (which does not happen often), watch his wife get cut up (which does not happen ever) and watch his son get pulled out of his wife's body by his head through gushes of blood and amniotic fluid. I was the "wife" part of this, and it even makes me feel light headed to imagine what he had to watch and experience. Shortly after he left the OR, a nurse came up to me (you know, who's still laying on the table with arms out, elephants on legs and getting sewn back up) to let me know that my husband did pass out and started to seize and were sending him with his parents to the ER to get checked out. My doctor, who I could only identify by her voice on the other side of the curtain, assured me he didn't have a seizure and convulsions are normal after what he went through. Long story short here, he didn't have a seizure, saw all aspects of the birth and was/is perfectly fine.

After that nurse left my side, I laid there hearing my son screaming, choking and gasping for air as they worked on him. I was quite ignorant to what happens to babies when they are delivered c-section, but apparently during a vaginal birth, all of that fluid and blood that they inhale while in the womb is pushed out of their lungs as they make their way down the birth canal. C-section babies don't have a way to getting the fluid out while in the womb, and essentially take a secondary inhale of it all as they are pulled out. Needless to say, Paul had a lot of fluid in his lungs. The nurse brought him up to my face, still screaming, and I placed my hand on his cheek and said hello for the first time. I will never forget what happened - he stopped crying. The more I spoke to him, the calmer he got. Ya'll, motherhood is amazing. Even in that first moment, wow. I was this baby's mother and he knew it. The same nurse who just told me that must husband was headed to the ER let me know that Paul needed to go to the NICU to get his lungs cleaned out and monitored.

So, after getting sewn back together and cleaned up, I was whisked away to a post-op recovery room, by myself. No husband. No baby. I knew they were both going to be well taken care of, but that is not what I thought would happen. I thought I'd have my baby in my arms. I thought I'd have my husband by my side. I thought a lot of things would be different. Only a couple of people could come and see me at a time, so over the course of about an hour, my parents, siblings and doctor came back to say hello and let me know that Matt was able to stop by the waiting room to see our anxious family on his way to the ER and was smiling and beaming, showing off the pictures he took of his new son. Apparently after he passed out, and while Paul was making his way to the NICU, they stopped to let Matt take a look at his new son and snap some photos. Hearing that made me so happy that my husband was able to meet his son and my son was able to meet his dad.

I was wheeled into a labor and delivery room after about an hour in the post-op room, with my mom by my side. They immediately put me on IV fluids and medications to make sure that I didn't have seizures due to the preeclampsia. After the longest four hours of waiting, my husband was finally finished in the ER and able to join me in recovery around 2 a.m.. He and my mom were able to go to the NICU to check on Paul, but due to the medication I was hooked up to and the darn elephants on my legs still, I wasn't able to join them. I received a dozen photos texted to me while I patiently waited in my room and studied my son's face on my phone for hours. And hours. And hours. I must have slept only minutes that early morning because I was so anxious to meet this son of mine that I had somewhere in this hospital.

April Goals

I have to begin this post by thanking God for the man that he allows me to call my husband. Matt has been positively amazing this entire pregnancy, and this whole experience has done nothing but strengthen our marriage, deepen our love and confirm for me that he is the man I can't wait to enter into parenthood with.

My first trimester, I was falling asleep on the couch as early as 6 p.m. some nights, and he would make himself dinner, take care of the dogs, clean up the house and carry me to our bed so I wouldn't have to wake up. My second trimester, we both enjoyed my boost of energy and nested together, vacationed together and enjoyed endless holidays events together. My third trimester, I am enjoying the glamorous onset of an enormous belly, sleepless nights and random hormones, and he is still showing me amazing support in the most selfless ways. From prepping lunches on Sunday night, grocery shopping with me, rubbing my feet and back, binge watch my picks on Netflix to putting together all of the final details in Paul's nursery, cooking me extravagant and delicious dinners, buying me a new car, cleaning our house (I think he's competing with me to see who can nest harder), giving our pups attention when I lose patience with them, just giving me a solid ten minutes (or, last night, three hours) to cry for no reason and the best icing on the cake - today - when he brought me a bag of carrots half an hour before I left work, because it is my constant nine month craving and he isn't already amazing enough. He is already my dream husband and I can't wait to see him be the best Dad to our kids.

My goal setting for April will look quite different than usual as we welcome Paul into this world, but I feel it is still important to set some pre- and post-delivery goals.

April Goals

Go on maternity leave at work

Enjoy a mani/pedi date with my sister-in-loves and our three year old niece (who is finally moving back to this side of the country and made this request - so precious!)

Host an early birthday dinner for Matt (since his birthday is Paul's induction day!)

Finish reading Baby Wise and The Happiest Baby on the Block

Get induced on April 23 (that's right - in ten days!)

Fully relish in coming home with Paul and enjoying our new life as a family of three

This month is going to mark some of the biggest milestones of our life (becoming parents!) and I can't wait to enter into this season of excitement, exhaustion, surprises and total bliss. Until we get to kiss Paul's chunky cheeks and see what he really looks like, I will leave this 37 week sneak peek here. I have a feeling he's going to be 100% his Daddy - and I am perfectly fine with that.

Holy Week & Motherhood

I've thought about sharing my thoughts and heart about this topic for some time now. About nine months to be exact. Fear of what others will think, what I will say or how I will be perceived have kept me quiet. Until now. Until Holy Week.

"And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, 'Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.'" 1 Corinthians 11:24

Palm Sunday, Passover, Good Friday, Easter - these days often bring to mind sermon titles, certain hymns, special services or new outfits to wear. This year, it means something different in my soul.

Do you see where Jesus says, "which is broken for you?" As a child, young adult, wife and woman, I always understood that He meant that His body, His fleshly, earthly body was broken, destroyed and demolished for us. That as part of this, we remember it in the act of communion. But, what if we could remember it in the physical, beyond a slice of bread, beyond a sip of a drink.

As a mother-to-be, this resonates so deeply within me. I'm going to put it out there - I never wanted to be pregnant. Of course, I wanted children. I wanted a baby in my arms. I wanted to raise up little disciples for Christ. I wanted to see my husband's face in that of his son. God put those desires in the depths of me for as long as I can remember, and I knew he would make it happen. But pregnancy? The breaking of my body? I didn't want that. I saw it as a means to an end. A journey to endure. A time frame that needed to be counted down. So, here I am, in my ninth month of pregnancy, with the biggest revelation I've had on this entire journey: I am willing to accept the broken body of Christ, without willingly giving up my body to be broken for His will and His new creations.

You might be confused by that statement. Perhaps thinking, "Margaret, you are doing it! You're pregnant right now!" Let me tell you, unless my heart is wholly surrendered to Him and His will, throwing away my selfish and fleshly desires, it is all in vain. My biggest fear in life is to live outside of God's will - and here I am - in the middle of walking out what He has called me to do, to be a mother, and I am kicking and screaming like a little girl who can't have that extra cookie (because we know I love me some cookies right now). To have never suffered from body image issues to having the worst body image complex I could have imagined in a span of three months (when the lovely physical "breaking of my body" we can call it) appeared on my flesh. Flesh! Do I even hear myself? Flesh - the thing that is not eternal. The thing that Jesus himself broke on a cross, covered in blood and thorns and sword wounds and lashes and beatings.

I was pregnant during Christmas, enjoying the wondrous ideas of what Mary was thinking when she was pregnant. Wondering what she went through, how she felt and what a miraculous experience it must have been (because, of course, the mother of Jesus had a perfect pregnancy and delivering in a stable doesn't sound that bad in the stories). Sometimes we start there. With the birth of Jesus. Let's start with Easter. The death of Jesus. His body was completely broken and shattered for us. His mother's body was broken to bring Him into this world so that He could be broken for us. This wasn't an accident. This was God showing us how much he cares for us. How far He will go to make sure that we understand the unending, undying and forgiving love that He wants us to soak and relish in.

So, where does that leave me and my fleshly self? In awe. In tears. In admiration. My Jesus died to give me life. To give my son, who's kicking away inside of my body, life. So, my "broken body?" I would do this everyday, all day, forever, if it means that I get a daily reminder when I look in the mirror at my fleshly scars covering my body and extra skin in new places that there are hollow scars in the hands of a Savior who died to let me become a mother, for His glory.

While I am excited about the arrival of this new creation God is making within my body, something better has happened. A broken body is alive. And we are all new creations.

"A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, 'Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.'” John 20:26

An (Official) Introduction

I'm sitting in my living room with a giant bowl of fresh strawberries with cream dolloped on top and the pups at my feet, sprawled across the couches snoozing the afternoon away. My 35 week old son is fist bumping me from inside my belly over the choice to turn on Shane & Shane Pandora. The only lights in the house are streaming in through the windows from the sun setting and flickering down the hall from a newly trimmed and lit candle (Woodwick, of course).

If you've already scrolled down and bypassed this post, you'll notice that this isn't my first one. It isn't my first time writing, either. I can recall afternoons, just like this one (minus the pups, the candles, the strawberries, the baby in my belly and being in my own house...so, maybe not just like this one), where my heart and mind race as one to form words to remember the thoughts and feelings I have in this very hour. As a young girl, I would lock myself away in my room writing personal thoughts in a secret journal or stealing all of the time on our family computer typing up what I envision to be the next best-selling book. Afternoons filled with the desire to share the story of blessings, of hope and of love.

As I did as a child, I kept these words all to myself. All of those best-selling stories (you never know!), all of the hand-written journals, all of the letters I would write to my future self - I kept them stored away between me, myself and I. When I met my husband twenty something years later from being that girl, he recognized my passion for writing, inspiring and dreaming early on. He knew that I would keep these writings to myself and would encourage me to share them - with him, and you. Night after night, he would be my constant encouragement to do something more with my gifts than keep them filed or hidden away. One night in particular, I slowly made the first step in sharing our story.

Years from taking that step, I am finally taking the next one - sharing it with you. So, welcome dear friends! I'm Margaret Roberts - a young wife, soon-to-be mom (as in, less than four weeks!), writer by day and dreamer by night. I am thrilled to share my family's story with you and yours - one richly infused with the hope, grace and thumbprint of our Savior. I hope you'll find humor, lessons and inspiration squeezed in between words and photographs that share our journey as the Roberts. Let's do this, shall we?

Sunday Roads

"Do not let sunday be taken from you. if your soul has no sunday, it becomes an orphan." Albert Schweitzer

Sunday, bringing in a new sunrise, a new home. Awaking to the warmth of the sun through the tall windows. Awaking to the sounds of chirping from the coop under the tree. Awaking to the softness of the skin next to her.

With a checkered collar and soft blonde peaks for him and a flowing dress and wispy black bangs for her, they rode down the long narrow road to the steeple they loved most often. Through words, through songs, through hugs and fellowship, they loved and were loved.

The next road, they ate and drank the overflowing cup of the deepest fellowship and family they knew. Through more songs, through more words, they cherished it as the next generation loving the ones before.

The next road, they were baptized in love, in fellowship, in Him, in babes, in newness, in life.

The next road, they slept, they dreamed, they heard the silence. They were met with babes, and drools, and smiles, and laughs, and cries and love.

The next road, they met home. A home. Their home and their home. They met the soft white sheets, the soft white fur, the soft sesame fur, the gentle love and perfect sleep.

That Day

That day, when everything they knew was stolen from them. That day, when the familiar comforters were no longer comforts. That day, when everything changed.

That day, when they moved their life into a box. That day, when they were greeted with arms of friends and family. That day, when rough cardboard and soft blankets and hard wood moved them.

That day, when she laid on soft leather and dreamt her fears away. That day, when soft white fur and soft sesame fur slept at her feet, in more innocence than she could conquer in her own being. That day, when he came home and held her close.

That day, when they moved, on.

The Times

“Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.” Benjamin Franklin

The night, when she changed out her black textured stilettos for her perfectly contoured sandals, for a trip to the market. Freshly sliced meats, blocks of infused cheese, tossed edamame salad, soft pears, warm indian bread and sparkling sips. Arriving home, placing all of her delicious finds on smooth white plates and bowls, arranged on the warm wooden tray. Hustling to clean her home of packed boxes, newly arrived furniture, and the mundane of the day, into a glimpse of the home it was once, before it became a house. Always, greeting him with the most eager kiss and longing heart. They ate with an agape love.

The morning, when they woke up slowly. Again, and again. The sunrise peaking through the window, pairing with a morning grey. A glimpse of him, slowly smiling at the pup resting at her feet. Pulling the pups close, they played and they played. Their small family, loving each and every one, over and over. Talks of plans for the day, possibilities for the days, promises for the day. They met the morning grey with a freshly pressed collar, slim denim & pearls for her, gingham, dark wash & sandals for him. They awakened their morning with warm lattes and afternoon salads at the local coffee shop. Talks of politics, of news, and then of love. They frolicked the town, picking out their favorites to take home. Finding a local bakery, hidden in a familiar place, they pointed to their favorites and exchanged coins for a paper bag, filled with the most desirable sweets, that couldn’t wait until they arrived home. They played together, hours and hours, of new games that entertained them, until the sun said good day. They threw the whitest of powder on the warm brown stone, rolling out the fresh dough. Meats, fruits, sauces, they placed them on the oven stained stones, and watched as they baked. Sipping and devouring, they finished the night in his arms, watching endless movies.

The afternoon, when they arrived in the quaintest and familiar town to celebrate his mother. Family, friends, new and old. southern comforts and sweet iced tea. Gathering the babes by the hands, walking down stone streets, holding a small pup that needed a home, smiling at the train depot…thinking of all of the loves that kissed hello & farewell….finding small wooden toys at the festival, picking out his favorite to take home. Saying goodbye to his family, and hello to the hum of the engine and to sweet sleep, until they could celebrate her mother. Warm, buttery fish, cool slaw & honey biscuits. She set the table, with old familiar patterns and clothes, for the loves that could pair and celebrate together. Sweets, cards & settlements, ended the night. Oh so late, and oh so satisfying. Falling sleep, again & again, each time his arm touched her.

The morning, when she awoke, as if on clouds.

“This is life,” she thought. “To love those, and to be loved. To know who gives love, in this very hour.”

The House & The Home

“My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.” Psalm 84:2

She must have dreamt it. it was such familiar feeling; such a familiar voice. This desire to be…home. this desire to be near. This desire to be made whole……

They searched for months. They prayed for months. Hand-in-hand, fingers intertwined, lifting their only praise and only hope to the One who holds it all in His hands. They wanted their home.

The first look; when the smooth key unlocked the clean-white door into babes crying, dinners warming on the new stovetop, love in the bedroom, pups circling in the yard. This, this was the home…their home.

The promise was made. the cord of three was going to enter into a new home; a home of promises and of futures.

But, the wait. Oh, the wait. The wait of 27 days, now. The wait for a home, the wait for life, the wait for future. She put put her trust in Him and in him; the only one that could hold all her heart and the one that could all of her.

The One who promised her a year of peace & of hope. And she was reminded…like a dream. This desire for her earthly home, turning oh so quickly into a heavenly desire for her eternal home. Oh, how she longed for it. like a breath that finds itself captured in the midst of your small throat, she found this desire, for His home. No longer her home, but His home. And the irony, her home, is actually His home. If she can desire something so earthly and small in comparison to eternity, should she not desire His streets of gold and angelic homes so much more? Oh, her stubborn soul. Humility, grace & hope found themselves in that moment…not for the first time, but for the longest time.

So now, she lives in promises. With eternal promises, not earthly wanders. And while the smooth white keys that she presses even now, can deceive even herself, she has…will…and will always…wait on Him. Because He is the faithful One.

“The one who calls you is faithful, and He will do it.” 1 Thessalonians 5:24

And while she waits, she waits with a smile on her face and in her soul. Because the wait is not a lack of promise, but of a promise that is growing and exceeding her wildest dreams. Because while she waits, and wonders, she will not have to wander.

“But why did you need to search for me? Didn’t you know that I must be in my Father’s house?” Luke 2:29

So, there she is. Waiting. With Him. And with him.

“Home is the nicest word there is.” Laura Ingalls Wilder

The Story

“Storytelling is the conveying of events; in words, in images, in sounds, in embellishment.”

They laid in bed, the thick cream cover and chocolate sheets covering them. The fan blowing above whispered gently. A pup’s heavy breathing and warm fur beside her. The light from his tablet reflecting on his face. His small smile broke the silence.

“You should write,” he whispered to her.
“I have before,” she whispered back.
“No, you should write again,” he urged her.
“But no one would read it,” she softly wondered.
“I would,” he smiled back.

And now, she is here. Declaring her story; his story. Their life, in all of the beauty, mess, love and lessons. Like parables, like storytelling, like a child’s game, she is throwing her words, memories and thoughts into something. Something more, something lasting, something perfectly imperfect. The story of him & her.

“It was rather beautiful: the way he put her insecurities to sleep. The way he dove into her eyes and starved all the fears and tasted all the dreams she kept coiled beneath her bones.” Christopher Poindexter