Short

I am here in my new little home, sitting next to my plant while La Traviata plays on my ipod, surrounded by piles of cream colored stationary and envelopes, and drinking my morning tea choice—chai with a dash of cream and sweetened with sugar.
These days I feel like I am in a story I wrote. Just a small woman with a few white dishes, shooing feral siamese kittens out of her yard, and sewing stuffed whales on her front room floor. Watching Downton Abbey with the hour of internet she has, sobbing over James Bond novels, and mopping her floor constantly because she always has free time. Drinking coffee and coffee and coffee. Lighting hundreds of tea lights and vanilla candles.
I finished the book of Jonah this morning.
The best thing about living alone, is all the time I have to be with Jesus. I talk with my carpenter more now than ever. I sing too. Every hymn and worship song I can remember. They echo in the empty rooms of this house. And that's something very gorgeous.
I love the light in these days. The time I devote to feeding my relationship with the loveliest Savior is something I'll never regret or forget.

I think it is when we are alone and become afraid that we learn the truest parts of our bones.

I am forever grateful that God is written in the sinews of my muscles.