that one time i went to kansas.

For Luke - Happy Birthday.

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I used to travel a lot more in my younger years. Even my fear of flying couldn’t prevent me from buying a ticket, boarding a plane and finding myself outside the geographical boundaries that usually outlined my life.

As I’ve gotten older, and as finances and schedules became tighter, travel has been put on the back burner. I am sometimes sad that Luke and I didn’t see more of the world together before we had kids. But I know that as our littles become less “little” we have many travel adventures ahead – and it gets me excited. Many of my daydreams involve seeing my kids at Disneyland or Luke in Ireland or all of us in India.

But I know that wherever I go or wherever I’ve been, there will always be a special trip that will always reside in my heart. It’s among the most magical, beautiful, meaningful trips I've ever taken. It was the time I went to Manhattan, Kansas.

No, not New York. Kansas.

In 2006, four months into our marriage, Luke found out he was being deployed to Iraq. My world was rocked. I went from being a blissful newlywed to a wife of a deployed solider (to forever be known as WOADS). I was nervous and scared and knew I would Miss. Him. So. Much. I couldn’t believe I was doing the first year of married life without him – and even worse – I couldn’t believe he’d be out there, alone, in what seemed to me at the time such a dangerous, threatening place.

Before heading to Iraq, Luke spent four months training in Fort Riley, Kansas. Toward the end of his time there, an opportunity arose for me to visit him. It would involve buying an overpriced plane ticket, enduring a long layover, arriving in Kansas City, Missouri, renting a car and driving two hours at night to Manhattan and only getting to spend less than 24 hours with Luke before he had to report back for training.

Of course I went.

So I boarded the plane, nerves in tow. I sat through my layover, restless as could be. I got my rental car, not believing I had two more hours ahead of me. I made the drive from Kansas City to Manhattan, reading my "Mapquest” directions through the dim rental car dome light, having to make u-turns, stop for directions and know no one would be able to come find me if I got lost. I checked into the LaQuinta hotel and waited for him to arrive. 

I cried like a baby when he walked through the door and realized he was worth all of it and more.

The next day we only had until 5 p.m. before he’d have to head back. We hit up the local Chili’s for lunch, ventured to the Walmart, and walked around town. There wasn’t much to do, but we didn’t need to do much. I was nowhere I knew and no place exciting, yet it was one somehow one of the most special, endearing days of my life. 

He left that evening and I slept in a puddle of tears in my little La Quinta bed, woke up with a brave face, drove the two hours back to the airport, then boarded the plane to make my way back to a home that didn’t feel like home without him. But somehow, when I think of this trip, I don’t remember those parts.

I remember how, for a little while, a LaQuinta hotel felt like the Four Seasons. A Chili’s restaurant felt like a café in Florence. A Walmart felt like a London boutique. A walk around a sleepy town felt like a waltz along the Seine. And seeing my husband after all we had been through and all we had to go through was better than the view from the Eiffel Tower.

It felt like the best place I’d ever been.

After weathering that storm and two kids later, he still has that effect on me. Whether we’re on a plane to Mexico, on a road trip to Vancouver, in a hotel in Seattle, at the beach in Edmonds or on the couch watching Veggie Tales with the kids.

Wherever we go or don’t go in the future – I will have no regrets. Because my journey gets to be forever with him, and that’s all that matters.  

three.

Photos Courtesy of Lisa Barton Photography

Miss Makenzie,

I kind of find these birthday posts a little daunting. Not because I don’t have enough to say, but because there is so much and it all seems so inadequate.

I want to tell you you’re the sweetest. But that doesn’t truly describe how you throw your arms around me and squeeze the hardest you can, and I can actually feel what love is. How you kiss my cheek and hand at random moments and it stops me in my tracks. How you can talk forever about how much you love us and it's like the most beautiful song my ears have ever heard.. How your young soul is so completely filled to the brim with a brightness and warmth that shines so magically through you. It’s visible. We are fuller and better people for getting to see it.

I want to tell you that you are funny. But that doesn’t quite paint the whole picture. You make us laugh by making up silly walks and crazy voices and funny faces. By telling a joke, then saying “just kidding, not funny.” By insisting you’re not bossy while still being bossy. By creating goofy rules for us to live by.  Your smile and laugh are two of the most rare and valuable gifts this world will ever know. We are so lucky to get to wear your joy every day, and you are so unknowingly generous to give it.

I want to tell you you’re strong-willed. But that may be too weak a word. If you are determined to do something by yourself, it will get done, even if it makes us 20 minutes late. And on those occasions when we don’t have 20 mins to spare, you can sure cry it out with the best of them. "I don’t want to. Let me do it. No, no, no." At times it makes us crazy, but realizing that you are still learning and growing, I know someday this will be one of my favorite qualities of yours. I’ll be able to focus less on the “willed” part and see it as what helps make you confident, determined, resilient and STRONG.

I want to tell you you’re beautiful. But that doesn't even begin to cut it. Because sometimes we just stare at you – and not for the reasons you may think. Being your parents, we will always think you are the most beautiful girl ever created. But what really makes you beautiful is that light, that generosity, that joy, that strength that is inside of you. It draws people in. That is the best kind of beauty, Kenzie girl. The kind that radiates from within and is so blindingly obvious that it brings beauty to everything and everyone around you. 

I want to tell you that I love you. But wow. That little four-letter word falls way, way too short. If you only knew that when I smile at you, every one of those smiles is a brand new one, reserved only for you because only you could produce it. And that I can literally feel my fingers and toes tingle and my heart swell when we are cuddled together, touching cheeks. That you exceed any dream or expectation I could’ve ever had about you, and ignite a pride and thankfulness in me that is simply too big for words.

As the page turns from two to three, I will store carefully the details and memories from these past wonderful, challenging, glorious years. And I wait with baited breath to see what this new chapter – THREE – will bring to us and our sweet, funny, strong-willed, beautiful girl.

Who is so, SO much more.

We love you, baby girl. Happy Birthday!

Love,
Mom

God bless you, I love you, Goodnight.

I remember the first time Caleb told me he had a bad dream.  My mind raced, my stomach sank, my heart broke. I wondered if it was that abominable snowman from Rudolph, which we let him watch countless times during the holidays. I wondered if it was something we inadvertently let him see or hear. I wondered if it was something he saw when he wasn’t with us. Guilt. Worry. Guilt. Worry. The tension I feel almost always between “you can’t always be in control” and “you are responsible for it all.”

I can remember having bad dreams, or even just being scared at night, when I was little. I remember one of my very first prayers - I was young enough to only know simple words, but just old enough to know who God was and what He could do. It went:

Dear God,

Thank you for this day. Please let us have a nice sleep and no dreams.

In Jesus’ Name I pray,

Amen

I would utter that prayer silently every night my head hit the pillow. I would repeat it in my head when a gust of wind or roar of thunder would jolt me into wakefulness. I would say it when a seemingly innocent dream sequence would take a turn for the worst and I’d wake up startled, hoping it wasn’t real. And every single time, I was always comforted, I always felt safe, I always knew my request was being heard – and more importantly –I knew that God cared and would do something about it.

The other night, Caleb stumbled into our room, half asleep, whimpering a little. We contemplated putting him back to bed, but instead let him crawl into bed with us. We recently got a king sized bed, meaning MORE ROOM and less of a chance that Caleb, in his crazy middle of the night ways, would be left sleeping on our faces.  We left a hole between Luke and I for Caleb to nestle into, yet I instinctively pulled him close to me and held him tight. He must’ve fallen asleep the moment I held him because he laid there completely peaceful and still, breathing steadily into my neck. As I stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, still groggy myself, I found myself praying in my head over and over and over again,

Dear Lord,

Please let him have a nice sleep and no dreams. Please let him have a nice sleep and no dreams. Please let him have a nice sleep and no dreams …

There is so much I don’t have control over and so much I am responsible for. That tension can make me worry like crazy. But in that tension is the truth of what I’ve known since I was old enough to know anything.

It’s the truth of who He is and what He can do.

I can rest in that. I pray Caleb can and will, too.