Dan and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary in one of the cabins of the historic Weasku Inn near the Rogue River. We can now say that we’ve been married for years.
(2 years … but still.)
“Do you want to go to dinner with some friends of mine?” Dan asked back when we were hiking and snowshoeing and building a friendship, back when we were ‘non-dating.’
My quarantine gave me time to reflect on how I arrived at this abundant place—belonging to this new husband, enjoying this lovely, peace-filled home, this graced season.
I arrived via woundedness.
What if you got exactly the wound you needed in order to become the person you have become, to fulfill the destiny you are called to create, that ‘sacred wound’ in which you were hurt in exactly the way life needed you to be? – Joie Foster
It would be so much easier, so much more comfortable, to set aside my goal of a published book and simply write blog posts and magazine articles. From the couch.
Honestly, I like our couch. It’s super comfortable. The view out the large picture windows is green and woodsy. There’s no stress or anxiety on this couch.
When we added on to our home, I had originally hoped for a covered front porch that would say, “Welcome … stay a while.” The contractor pointed out our low-hanging eaves and that our entry was already dark. “A covered porch would make it even darker,” he said.
So he and his crew got creative, and the result is an entry with pergola and pavers that give the impression of a front porch while still letting in the light.
The weather report called for intermittent rain over Memorial Day weekend. Of course. It’s Oregon.
But rain has never deterred this Johnson bunch. They’ve been camping together for the past fifty-some years (minus COVID 2020).
About a month before I met Dan, I came across a quote from Susan Statham:
Your life is a story. Write well. Edit often.
This quote gave me pause. How does the editing process work?
I smiled to myself as Dan went about the business of making his morning coffee. We were camped at La Pine State Park in our new (pre-owned) adventure van and had just awakened from a good night’s sleep.
This past weekend, I attended a men’s retreat in the Ochoco Mountains. Well, I didn’t actually attend the event. I helped with meal prep, serving, and clean-up.
This past weekend, I strapped on a helmet and—putting my life in Dan’s hands—hopped on the back of his motorcycle.
He didn’t share his flight plan, but I knew our destination: a tiny country store east of town. So why was he heading in the wrong direction?
