Grace

“My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”

Jeremiah 2:13

“You cannot make me happy, not when I’m empty inside of me. Cause there’s a hole in the cup that holds love inside of me.”

David Wilcox – Hole in the Cup

A friend asked me last night what I wanted more than anything in this world. Hesitantly I shuffled the sleeping child on my chest and shifted nervously. “To be chosen… to be wanted, I suppose. I don’t know...” A strange answer coming from a married woman, I’m sure. The three of us sat in silence and mulled over what it is to be a woman, the ideas of continuity, seamlessness, and we tried our hardest to just listen.

I went home and as I lay in bed, Clint’s arms wrapped around me breathing softly at my side, I lay awake and fought a loneliness that even at my most loved and cherished, plagues me with its aching emptiness. The curse of man, I suppose: to work and never reap the merits of a hard day’s labor, to be born, only to spend each fleeting day every-swiftly moving towards our impending demise, to love and be loved, only to want more, need more, and feel every ache of disappointment when our lover fails us.

I am told that this is a beautiful longing that I have: to be chosen, to be wanted. I also see the destruction and the despair it wreaks. It’s times like this where I wish I had a store of grace, my own private stash to dole out as is needed. Instead I find in this heart of mine that there is only law. There is only vengeance, malice, and scorn. There is no forgiveness, and the weight of apologies falls as lightly as a feather, their meaning lost to the most hardened of hearts when it should come crashing down like a hammer.

Who can heal this heart of darkness? Who can bear its crushing weight?

I think I know, and yet my fear will not let me believe. And so the love seeps out, taking it with it the memories of all the times love did not fail, and my hope that one day, things will change.

Lord let me believe.

Lord help me remember.

Lord give me grace.

So....we bought a house.

After closing October 1st, the Wells family will be official homeowners and residents of Avondale.


















Ahh, dishwasher and backyard here I come!

Coulter Ray Morris has arrived!

Born September 15th at 10:02pm, weighing 8lbs 7oz.

I Love Being Fought For

I ran into my ex at Artwalk this weekend.

It was the first time I had seen him since Clint and I have been together. For a little background, this guy is a real asshole. But he's not one of those obvious assholes, no. See he's a a soul-sucker, a joy-taker, a thunder-stealer. He's the kind of guy that leaves you empty inside and makes you feel like it's your fault. He's a subtle abuser. He is the antithesis of Clint.

I was out with my old friends Nicole and Jesse and my cousin Michael. My ex passed us no less than four times, and each time I would duck out of whatever venue we were in to get away from him. So we go in the next place up and are talking to one of the artist's daughters about her mothers fantastic stained glass pieces and out of the corner of my eye I catch a shot of red hair coming my way. He reached out his arm to touch mine and a wonderful thing happened: Nicole reached out, slapped his arm down and put her finger in his face "Don't you touch her. Don't you EVER fucking touch her. Don't speak to her. What you're going to do right now is turn around and walk away."

I'll admit I couldn't even look at his face but I can imagine the surprise as he walked away. I let out a sigh of relief an put my arms around Nicole's neck. I look over and Jesse and Michael's eyes were wide and Jesse says, "Man, there was a chair right there. I totally could have broken it over his head" and we all had a good laugh. We decided that we'd had enough art for the night and headed up to Speakeasy to celebrate.

Cheers to balsy friends.

*Pictured: Jesse, Nicole, and me.