Friday, April 15, 2016

The Tulips Will Grow

Ordinary. That’s how I describe my day, today. Just, plain, old ordinary. I woke ten minutes before my alarm and heard the coffee maker timer ding. I smelled the coffee, then peeled my body from the bed, and headed out to snuggle Belle for a minute. So, very ordinary. I let her outside, made a cup of coffee, and poured a huge glass of water. I let Belle inside. I sat in silence and read and meditated. Just so ordinary.

My day continued to be simple. I worked at my desk, which is a luxury some days. I planned an herb garden, window boxes, and potted porch plants. I washed and folded several loads of laundry, I ran errands. Belle and I walked miles at the river and because it was so stunning outside, we just couldn’t stop. I ended the day, with the sun peering through my white, wood blinds, as I sat at my table, and ate a salmon and cucumber relish salad. Belle slept at my feet and I turned on music and just ate alone and felt so ordinary and so excruciatingly happy and peaceful and full of hope.

Hope rises. For as long as I can remember, my only hope or dream for my life, is a simple life. A house filled with love, healthy food, soft-landings in every room, and peace. I hope for a garden and hot summer days on the porch with iced tea and good friends. I hope for over-flowing window boxes and a yard covered in crunchy, orange and red and yellow leaves. I hope for twinkly lights and wreaths and snowmen. I hope for tulips and thunderstorms. I stopped hoping for the big stuff a long time ago because those moments are fleeting. Yes, the big moments are magical and unforgettable, but they pass. The small moments, the little hopes, they happen constantly. Every day, every week, every season, every year. The faith that the tulip bulbs will flower come Spring is simple and eternally hopeful. The tulips will grow and I will notice on an ordinary day.

Hope rises and, some days, we actually get to live in the middle of that hope. We notice seeds, turned flowers, and we eat our dinner, quietly, as the sun peers through the white, wood blinds and our hearts overflow with gratitude for this life. This simple life, that if only for today, is so beautifully ordinary. 


  1. This makes me feel so happy. xoxo

  2. I love your post.
    Susan B

  3. You're a beautiful writer. Thank you for sharing. I agree with you about the small moments.

  4. OK, getting worried. Are you doing OK, Sarah?

    1. Thank you for checking in on me. Doing much better now. Thank you so much...this came on a very hard day. Thank you.

    2. Sending you a great big mom-hug. xoxo


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