The Cape

We didn’t think that we would be able to take a vacation this past summer because every penny is being saved for the adoption.  However, we took a risk and tallied all of our frequent flyer miles and credit card points and chose to escape to a place we’d never been before.  I’ve always wanted to see New England, and Brad just needed to get out of the office for week.  These are some of my favorite pictures from the trip.  There’s also a story at the end about my favorite souvenir that we brought home.

DSC_0996Gingerbread houses.
DSC_0985Colorful Buoys.
DSC_0902Sunset at the oldest windmill at the Cape.

Lighthouse + cross.


Plymouth Rock


Whale watching.

DSC_0357 DSC_0175_2 DSC_0088 DSC_0104_2 DSC_0051_2DSC_0065 DSC_0030 DSC_0027_2 DSC_0006

My favorite souvenir from the trip was this book for our Baby Broccoli.


The title of the book caught my eye, because we’d had several conversations on our trip about waiting for our baby.  The night that we were in this quaint little shop was the eve of May 30 – exactly one year since we had been officially waiting to be matched with a birthmother. DSC_0011

As I started to read the book, my sighs turned into tears.


We have said for months that our “Someday” will come soon.  Someday when the Lord’s timing is right.


I could barely finish reading the book because I started the ugly cry.  My sweet husband, who always knows how to make me feel better, gently put his arm around my shoulder and purchased the book as a souvenir for our nursery.  When we got back to our room that night, we each wrote these letters to our Baby Broccoli.  DSC_0006


Our trip was such a blessing.  A much needed time to get away to celebrate, pray, and hope.  We came home refreshed and renewed in each other and in Spirit!  The Cape might not be a place that we ever go again, but it was a welcome surprise to our summer!


a beautiful correlation: part 1

I’ve been doing a little reminiscing lately.  A few days ago would have been our sweet Baby Brock’s third birthday.  It’s hard to comprehend that it has been that long, yet some moments feel like I just blinked and found myself where I am today.  Two years ago this week we were wandering the streets and beaches of Italy celebrating my twin brother’s wedding to his lovely bride.  To remind myself that it wasn’t a dream, I just happened to comb through a few of the thousands of pictures that we’d taken.

Somewhere in the middle of swimming in the rocky Mediterranean Sea and the fine dining of the Rehearsal Dinner, I began to see a beautiful correlation between our adoption journey and one of the hardest things I’ve ever made myself do.  As the analogy of these two grew stronger, the Lord whispered some comfort into my soul. And He gave me a glimpse of the Hope that is to come.  Please bare with me as I find the words to explain the revelation of my heart about this beautiful, challenging, and glorious journey of adoption that we are traveling.

One of the most difficult {physical} challenges that I have ever faced in my life took place while vacationing in Italy.  I am no athlete in any sense of the word.  The biggest joke of my life was that I was employed as an elementary school P.E. teacher for a solid year.  On our trip to Italy, I was not completely out of shape. It would be safer to say that I never purposely found leisurely entertainment (including physical activities) that would stretch the boundaries of my comfort bubble.

Nonetheless, I found myself all the way across the world getting ready to take a hike in a vineyard.  There were promises from multiple sources that it would be a casual hike, nothing too difficult for a former P.E. teacher like myself.  Our tour guide, in his rich Italian accent, did his best to explain that his grandmother made this hike twice a day, and she was in her upper 60’s.  The first part of the hike was enough to leave me winded and dreadfully pessimistic about the outcome of the next several hours.

If you notice in the first picture collage, at the top you will see a city on a hill.  Volastra: The City of Olives.  The name alone was enough inspiration to keep going.  I causally asked Mr. Accent if that was where we were going.  With a handsome Italian smile and broken English, he encouraged me that we would make it there eventually.  Had I known what I know now, I probably would have turned around and enjoyed a nap from my room with a ridiculously gorgeous view of the ocean.

After we’d made the tedious climb through the alleyways of Manarola, our chosen city in Cinque Terre, we found ourselves at a pathway made of stairs.  These stairs were hundreds of years old.  They seemed harmless enough, but the stretched for miles.  And miles, and miles.  Alongside these stairs was the occasional hut that was used by the vineyard workers.  Some were old tiny abodes.  We were completely surrounded by what seemed like ordinary brush and bushes.  If you looked closer at many of these tiny trees, you would see the olive trees beginning to bearing their fruit.  There was also the grape vines that were one week away from harvest!

These steps began to get the best of me.  I started to take longer breaks and my excuses to stop and take picture became more frequent.  I was reminded by my Italian friend that this was not meant to be a race.  He encouraged me to take my time, despite being embarrassed that I was slowly trailing far behind the others.

During one of these breaks in our hike among the olive trees, my tour guide and faithful cheerleader pulled me and my husband (who had wisely chosen to keep my pace instead of following the crowd) into a little cove off the path.  I’m sure the rest of our group had already passed this point because they were out of sight.  Oddly enough, I remember there being some construction tape.  We crept around the tape carefully; perhaps it was there as a warning but we dared to go on.  We pulled back a few branches that surprisingly revealed a glimpse of the blue-green ocean.  Despite having legs of jelly and gasping for air, that sight was a beautiful taste of hope.  Being on the long trail, I failed to realize how far we had come.  I think our tour guide knew the encouragement that the spectacular view would bring to me!  Little did I know, we had so much further to go.

Not long after that beautiful glimpse, we came into a city.  This city was full of more beautiful alleyways, better views of the ocean, but my favorite was the church.  Inside, the walls told stories of centuries long before my time.  It seemed to stand there as a haven of rest for so many who had taken that long journey before me.  As the entire group rallied together again, I was encouraged and even excited to keep following this path.  I was still very unsure of where it was taking us, but the promise of more magnificent views were enough to keep me going.

After we left the city, we began to take a more rugged path.  It was rocky, narrow, and a little dangerous.  We left the safety of the familiar steps, and began our excursion on the mountainside.  The views during this part of our journey were much more spectacular.  We could clearly see the city of Manarola behind us.  I was constantly astonished at how far we had come.  It literally took my breath away to know that I had already made it that far, and not only I had survived but I was wanting to go further!  The pictures truly do not do justice to the beauty of this city or the color of the ocean.  Before this experience, I thought places like this only existed on postcards.

At one point on our journey, the pathway became so narrow and dangerous that I found myself scared.  I was scared of the unknown; I was scared because I know myself so well, and I  do lack a certain amount of grace.  I was surrounded by friends and family, and the comfort of my husband was a mere arm’s length away.  But that did not completely erase my fears.  We were able to laugh when the hard part was over.  Even as we look back now, our memory erases so much of the apprehension.

Somewhere along that long journey we found ourselves stepping in line and keeping up with the pace.  We were traveling downhill. However, I soon realized that I wasn’t as discouraged, or winded, or near death as I thought that I would be by the end.  Each step brought something beautiful to look at and something glorious to appreciate.

Remember the City on the Hill?  I had long forgotten about it.  What I had hoped for so desperately at the beginning of this seemingly endless journey was indeed our final destination.  Here, we got to sit down and rest. And celebrate.  In true Italian fashion, we celebrated with a wine tasting!

The entire group seemed to savor the last few steps home.  I, more than anyone, took each humble step with thankfulness.  So thankful to have made it despite my fears and my inability to do it on my own.  I can definitely say that I have never had to do anything that physically challenging in my life before or since then.

The sun was beginning to set as we made our way back into Manarola.  On the horizon we could see the rain clouds rolling in.  Sweet relief after such a warm day.  We quickly showered to get ready for the rehearsal dinner, and spent the rest of evening talking about a journey that we will never forget.

Summing up Summer

I have to admit that I’m a little jealous of my teacher friends. I secretly get psyched when boxes of crayons can be purchased for pennies, the urge to buy paper in bulk becomes irresistible, and I legitimately crave the smell of freshly sharpened pencils. I would get sick with dread when I had to go to school, but there is a different kind of excitement that comes with being the teacher. That excitement must bring a little bit of bittersweetness too. The colorful sale-filled isles at the store signal the end of another summer.

Doesn’t it seem like the summer passes quicker with each year?

Now, I will not apologize for not blogging all summer because I promised myself I wouldn’t do that. There aren’t any high expectations, remember? But I will do a fast little recap, for my memory’s sake, which is already fading faster than the leaves are turing colors.

In early June, we were able to visit our beloved Seabrook Island. It’s our little hideaway from reality. When we visit we feel like we leading a different life, far from the worries of the everyday grind. Isn’t that what vacation is supposed to be about? This year, the Lord gave us a sign that we just needed to sit back, relax, and put our feet up. Literally.

Those pictures should speak for themselves, but the story begs for some clarification. My darling husband, who is a few mere months from 30 decided that he would try to skim board for the first time in his life. My best friend had her camera in hand at the perfect moment. If you could zoom in to his right foot, you would notice that it’s bending at a very unnatural angle. Clockwise from the money shot, you can see his sandy but cheerful face being wheeled back for an x-ray, and next he’s trying his hand at (some very expensive) crutches. Luckily, my man only sprained his ankle, but the doctor was shocked that nothing was broken. We spent the week learning to relax. We can laugh about it now, but the Lord really wanted us to just rest and not do too much. My parents were able to join us for a few days, and we got to spend some much needed time laughing, talking, and relaxing.

Because our best friends live so close to Seabrook, we were able to spend a few afternoons loving on their babies. These pictures were taken at the end of the week when Brad’s limits extended to the point of him hobbling around with only one crutch.

It was a wonderful trip that will forever be know as the vacation with the skim board incident. It was also the highlight of our summer. The problem with having your main vacation at the beginning of the summer is that the rest of it is a little anticlimactic.

Other than our trip to Seabrook, we’ve taken a few trips back “home” to visit family. This summer has been filled with a lot of sickness too. I’ve had my first serious encounter with food poisoning. I may have thought that I’ve had it in the past, even joking when food doesn’t agree with me. However, I wasn’t joking when I managed to land an adventurous trip to the Emergency Room, and I now know what true food poisoning looks like. It ain’t pretty, and the ER trip selfishly took a hefty chunk out of our adoption fund.

There isn’t much else that is noteworthy of our Summer ’12 other than the fact that we are still trying to prepare our home for a little baby.  We finally completed two projects for Baby Broccoli, but they deserve a post of their own.  So here’s a farewell to the daily afternoon thunderstorms, no excuses needed for ice cream treats, and to hoping that next year, we can introduce little chubby baby feet to the beaches of our beloved Seabrook.