Bits: Slow Shift

Nine years long. Tall. Wide.

Together.

Thanksgiving this year not only marked a wonderful holiday of gratitude and food and company.  It marked nine years of love.  A little blood, sweat, and tears.  Grace, forgiveness.  Hard core laughter.  Immeasurable joy.

Nine years since we said, "I do." Nine years of getting up every day and breathing that same message in and out, again and again.

On November twenty-second, we opened our little rental spot once more to Joe's students who couldn't make it to their respective homes.  It grew this year and about twenty-four of us stuffed inside where Joe and I had tetris-like crammed three long folding tables, dressed those babies up, lit candles, brewed pumpkin spice coffee and cinnamon orange cider, and ultimately hoped they'd understand, "Welcome! We get what it's like to be in your shoes, so grab a seat and eat too much and laugh real hard and- above all- may this feel like home."

Plus we rocked out a herb rubbed turkey and brown sugar maple ham between us.  Fancy adjectives, no?  With matching burn marks to prove it!  Might even call 'em our anniversary tatoos.  All I know is that bumping into my husband, googling cooking directions, laughing at ourselves, and realzing the dream that has finally happened-- serving students together-- was really good.

The happy mess of dirty, upturned napkins

The next day, well, I guess Leesie summed that one up quite nicely right here:

Usually I'm ready the day after to get our tree and begin to deck the halls.  But, this year.  I don't know; I just don't feel the hurry.  It feels right to sit in this space of gratitude a bit longer, let the sunflowers steal the show until they simply must take their droopy bow.  Enjoy the last of our fat pumpkins and funky gourds, leaves gone crunchy at last.

For the Christ Child is in all of that, to be sure.  I cannot wait for the slow shift this week to celebrating His coming in full.

Until then, I think we'll munch on the rest of the pumpkin pie slivers tucked into the back of the fridge.  To the tune of Christmas music, of course.

I've not completely lost it.
~Katrina