It’s been so long since I’ve really, truly written. I’ve jotted down a thousand ideas for articles and captions for photos and even plot lines for a book that’s been hovering in the back of my mind.
But here I am, coffee as my trusty companion, alone with my thoughts for just a moment.
Spring always arrives without me realizing it. One minute, I’m huddled under a blanket, wondering when the days will get longer and the next I’m wearing shorts, having been thrust into the madness of springtime on my family’s nursery for the third year in a row.
This time, I’m trying to remember it all. Doing my best to tuck away each moment, each new bloom and every crazy customer, the insanity and the employees and the way the light at closing time paints the whole farm gold. How the flowers dance in the breeze as I drive away.
I can’t be sure. I don’t really bet on timing anymore. Plans are something I’ve learned to write in pencil, not pen.
But I think this might be my last spring here.
Last year, I was just finding my footing again. Pulling myself back up and learning where it was I wanted to go. I had no idea what came next. The path that lay before me was unclear and frankly, a little terrifying.
But the small decisions came, topped off with perfect moments spent laughing with friends and family. I traveled and moved out and took some chances and kept on writing.
Before I knew it, things began to make sense again.
In the midst of it all–in a fantastic display of God’s promise–I met the man I want to marry. The man who wants to marry me. A man even my dad can’t talk about without smiling.
Sometimes I imagine God is watching me with a smug, I-told-ya-so grin on his face, having waited so long for me to simply trust Him. And just when I did, He let me in on the real plan. The most beautiful secret He’d been keeping all along.
Even now, so many months later, I can’t type that without warm tears pricking my eyes.
The path is still unclear and yes, always a little terrifying.
But I’m running down it, barefoot, arms wide open.