Poetry & Words, Travel/Moving

POETRY & WORDS :: our love story: how long distance became i do

Some of you will recognize the following story — I penned it just months after 26PM and i were married in 2008, and published it on my old blog (Remember Xanga? That’s how we all rolled back in the day, ha ha!)

Anyway, I rediscovered these words again today, and realized that I never shared our love story on this blog.

So, here it is. The story of a love that spanned the distance between the Atlantic and Pacific. The story of two people who could not remain apart. The story of our lives.

once upon a time, he saw her. after church, playing football in the grass. she was barefoot. this is his first memory, but she did not notice.

she does not remember, except for the time he could not understand something she said and then she refused to speak.

[we were both sixteen. –yellowcard, ocean avenue]

well, seventeen, actually.

[they had lots of common friends. –dennison witmer, 24 turned 25]

the same church. the same ski slopes. the same junior college.

but they did not notice.

[you never even see me. you look right through me. –coldplay, shiver]

she remembers how he flew before he could drive, and how he drew color and life bursting from grey rubble. she told her mother he thought about things, deeply.

he did not know he was present in her mind.

she did not know she thought of him, even when she did.

Continue reading “POETRY & WORDS :: our love story: how long distance became i do”

Poetry & Words

stacks of boxes, a new iPod, and trust

it’s late. i’m too fatigued to have many thoughts. my fingers tap softly across the screen of this brand new iPod. my eyes, tired and scratchy, narrow to read these words. i sit on the black leather couch, surrounded by towering stacks of brown boxes. each is taped and labeled, and each holds a little piece of the personality that made these four walls our own.

i sigh.

aveline lays across my lap, peaceful and trusting, calm in the face of looming change. she is not fretting about where she will live next or how she will manage the next few weeks. she does not wonder if my arms will hold her up. she just IS.

and you know? i want to trust like that.

pure, peaceful, natural trust.

Poetry & Words

we’re moving again

the whole United States, it seems, is being swallowed up by ever-falling snow. but here in my favourite comfortable corner of the world–NorCal–it’s warm, sunny, and bright. i could stay here forever, you know. i love it here. the high skies, the dry air, the perfectly majestic california live oaks, the way the sunsets dance purple and yellow, casting long shadows across the white Sierra Nevada peaks…

i could stay here forever.

but i can’t.

you know that pillar of fire? it’s moving now, and we have to follow. it’s been parked here for almost a year and a half (a veritable record, as far as the last 11 years of my life are concerned), but now it’s time to move on.

as hard as this is, i am at peace about it.

Josiah and i have been praying–for the past year and a half–for full-time work. hundreds of resumes later, it was starting to feel like a drought. there was still daily bread and there were still new mercies, but there were no open doors.

and then suddenly, this.

not even two weeks after Aveline was born, Josiah received a job offer from a company he used to work for. it was sudden job offer, with an even more sudden start date.

Aveline Alenka - 2 weeks old - handmade crochet hat - cotton gauze baby swaddling cloth by Living Textiles

and that, my friends, is how this grand adventure called 2011 begins. we’re packing up the house now…wrapping up the insane amount of loose ends…trying to get sleep in between stacking boxes and waking up in the middle of the night with our tiny little daughter.

and in less than two weeks, we’ll be on the road to Orlando with a wee baby and a dog in tow.

as with countless other life events, i’m once again singing along with rich mullins. his music is the soundtrack to my soul. “sometimes i think of Abraham, and how one star he saw was lit for me. he was a stranger in this land, and i am that no less than he.” -rich mullins

so call us crazy. sojourners. gypsies. we wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Life in Photos

welcome baby aveline alenka!


Oaxacaborn welcomes Aveline Alenka

if we’re not connected on facebook or twitter, then you may have missed the big news. baby munsey is finally here! aveline alenka made her debut on wednesday, january 19th at 2:13am, weighing 6 pounds, 12 ounces, and measuring 20 inches long. i can’t stop thinking about what one of the nurses said when she looked down at aveline —

well, hello, little one! and what have you come to teach us?

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Handmade, Little Style

vintage rickrack, eyelet fabric, and my due date

i’m keeping myself busy today, my due date, by carefully pinning vintage rickrack to an eyelet fabric baby dress cut from an old skirt of mine. the dog is freshly bathed and smells of essential oils and sunshine (yes, sunshine has a scent). the blue light pouring in through the windows doesn’t hide the fact that it was a mere shivering 28 degrees this morning, or that overnight, the sleeping world was covered in icy frost.

cutting a pattern for a little girl dress out of an old skirt

homemade baby girl dress pattern laid out on old skirt fabric

macro photo of vintage black rickrack trim being pinned to hem of tan eyelet fabric

inside, i’m warm, with my decaf mocha and my quiet music. and i know you’re wondering — am i feeling patient? well, not so much, but i’m working on it. =)

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Handmade, Little Style, Poetry & Words

thoughts on a cloudy and tired january morning [& a whimsical embroidered onesie]

it’s cloudy this morning. a touch of grey fog, quiet and calm. the dampness clings to the long slender shoots of grass and wraps around the tired oak fingers. the earth seems to sigh, and the clouds heavily roll along, lumbering, as if even they are too tired to take another celestial step. the occasional hum of a passing vehicle sounds far away and distant, the sound too weary to cut through the morning grey. inside, the dog rests his furry head between his paws, his eyes half open and lifted, watching me as a he fights a losing battle to stay awake.

me? in keepin’ with the situation, i try to eat my cereal with a fork. i feel clumsy, sleepy, already ready for a nap.

i wonder how much longer it will be before baby girl makes her debut. today we’re just three days away from 40 weeks.

closeup of embroidered girl design on white baby shirt - with vintage rikrak/rickrack

closeup macro shot of turquoise and pink vintage rickrack pinned to a green and white background

macro photograph of embroidered whimsical little girl - taken with canon 58mm 250D

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Poetry & Words

how do you answer the question, ‘are you ready for the baby?’

it’s a quiet day here. it’s been gray outside all day, but gray in a lovely, sleepy, peaceful way. lisa hannigan and damien rice softly sing in the background while the dog sleeps, the Christmas tree lights twinkle, and the votive candles silently flicker.

silver metal votive holder with diecut snoflake design - lit with tea light on black background

at the request of generous friends who’ve offered to make me meals after baby is born, i’ve been working for hours on an exhaustive list of allergy-safe foods. you know, those strange ingredients which are free of corn, dairy, and wheat/gluten. they DO exist. they’re just elusive. i’ll post the list here, in PDF form, after i’ve finished compiling it.

beginnings of an embroidered flower on a baby shirt

speaking of baby, she’s due four-and-a-half weeks from now. eeee! obviously, i know she could be earlier or later than that, but it was quite a reality check when my doctor informed me this week that baby has already dropped.  and how do you answer the question, “are you ready for the baby?” i mean, the crib is set up. the changing table is stocked with diapers. the clothes are washed and folded. my tummy is more than ready to stop stretching. the freezer meals…ok, the freezer meals aren’t made.  and the hospital bag is not packed.

hanging white paper stars from the ceiling of the dining room

but how do you answer that question? are we ready for the baby? everything, and nothing, prepares us for this moment. we are altogether entirely ready and entirely unprepared. we are entering the unknown for which we’ve longed and prayed. we do not know what faces us, and yet, we run madly into this moment. we run madly, with eyes open and with eyes closed, with open arms and with overflowing joyful hearts.

beginnings of a 3D cardboard giant letters project - hope - lowercase century gothic

and hope shines on, every brightly.

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Poetry & Words

reading kierkegaard in a coffee shop

for some reason, this weather makes me feel like i should be reading kierkegaard in a coffee shop. (and doesn’t that sound like the most perfect title for a novel?)

that’s just what i was doing in this photo, which i took four years ago this week. i am flooded with pensive nostalgia looking at this picture again, remembering what was tumbling around in my head as i alternated between staring out that window and scribbling pencil notes in the margins of my copy of fear and trembling. those privately scribbled pencil notes said everything i was thinking, and yet were lacking at the same time; and it was this lacking that kept me reading, kept me underlining, kept me scribbling, kept me yearning.

great Shakespeare!, you who can say everything, everything, everything exactly as it is – and yet why was this torment one you never gave voice to? was it perhaps that you kept it to yourself, like the beloved whose name one still cannot bear the world to mention? for a poet buys this power of words to utter all the grim secrets of others at the cost of a little secret he himself cannot utter. –søren kierkegaard