Wholeness is lilies

My face was red, I could feel it. The pink, insistent blush creeping up my throat and onto my cheeks, deepening constantly. And I actually threw up my hands in desperation. I don't get it, I whispered to the carpenter under my breath and I pressed my forehead against the wooden table. Am I supposed to get it? Because I really don't, I told Him. I just really don't get it.
I was her. The small woman at her kitchen table two nights ago, reading. I was reading blog posts and magazine articles and listening to sermons about singleness late into the night when suddenly I felt tears pressing on the corners of my eyes and the blush blossoming across my face. They were wonderful. Truly, everything I read and listened to was wonderful.
But they were too much.

I am so tired of everyone telling me what I should or shouldn't feel.

Build me a fort out of carnations.

Dear Fleur.
I think I have 4 letters to write. But I was too busy re-reading Peter Pan and crying to look for stationary. And then I was skimming Jeremiah. And wondering if it would be weird if I wanted to name a boy "Atlas."

I want to go build a fort. And put carnations in it. And cut out fireworks. Is that even really possible? And you know what I really want to do? I want to make stuffed toys again. I miss doing that. I used to do it a lot.

I think I need to stop reading Peter Pan for a little bit.
I think J.M.Barrie makes me go mad.
Seriously.

I'm going to go do some algebra now. And draw. And probably skim more Jeremiah. And pretend to be sane.

Sometimes I just want to be a Mom. And sometimes I know why Wendy didn't go back to NeverLand with Peter.
Love Bell.

my mom.

(via)
dear mamie.

i looooooooooooooovvvvvvvvvvve you.

xo, bell.