secrets, confessions, and coping mechanisms.

A Secret Rendezvous
The communication beforehand was cryptic.
There were various methods of contact.
He proposed the meeting.
She agreed.
She sent a text, "t-minus 5 minutes. the spot"
They came from opposite directions.
She rode the bus.
He walked.
He wore black.
She wore white.
She leaned against the building, in the middle of the noon rush.
He called for her exact position.
She lifted her hood,
Spoke into her cell.
He walked towards her through the crowd, nonchalant.
He was handsome.
A quick exchange and they disappeared together into a river of people.
They went to a place they'd never been.
A place out of the way.
They ordered food.
He picked a table upstairs, near the window.
She looked outside.
It was cloudy.
Conversation ensued.
The purpose of the meeting, to plan.
They spoke in hushed tones.
Ate rapidly, discussed the options.
She checked her watch, tossed a crumpled napkin into the bowl.
He spoke. "its decided, then?"
She smiled. winked.
They left together, parted ways.

It may or may not have been us. Planning a get-away. To our silly dream place. We fantasize about going here. When the going gets tough. And the weather gets cold.
...Who said anything about coming back?

A Confession
I should be studying right now. For a midterm. Its tomorrow. But whats a girl to do when there is a saw going downstairs and a hammer going upstairs, the house is so cold I can barely move my fingers, I can't leave because I'm paranoid about 'handymen' stealing our valuables (what valuables?) and I can't focus because I have to go #1 but I can't because there is a man breaking my toilet into pieces at the moment. What's a girl to do? Blog.
Another confession. . .
I LOVE little coffee shops. This morning at 7am, I walked through the blustery fall weather- scarf blowing in the wind, dry leaves swirling around me, hands tucked into pockets. I was early for class, a rare occurrence. The thought of 40 extra minutes in the sterile classroom of Neuroanatomy was not appealing. So I ducked into the "Espresso Royale" across the street, to get a hot chocolate, of course. (with whipped cream!)
I don't frequent coffee shops often:
1. I don't drink coffee.
2. I'm cheap. I bring my own waterbottle.
But I do like them. They have such an inexplicable allure. I love how they are always warm. I love the slow indie music playing, I love the rich aromas. I love the fresh-baked assortment. I love the little chairs, the funky decor. I love the lacquer-covered painted tabletops. I love the dim lighting. I love the eclectic people behind the counter. I love the soft couch in the corner, the torn concert flyers pinned up near the door.
Its a place I could spend some time. It is bad to like coffee shops, but not coffee? Is that like, hate the sin, not the sinner? Please...your thoughts?

Coping Mechanisms
It's been rough. Life is like that... it throws you for a loop every once in a while. And things get crazy, and stressful, and emotional. But somehow, eventually, it always settles down, things always work out, and Heavenly Father continues to bless us.

In the meantime...we bake. We made chocolate crinkles on Sunday. Some ooey-gooey fresh out of the oven and still-warm cookies...and a mug of cold milk for dipping...now THAT does a body good. (maybe not. but please let us dream.)


But really, when the last of the powdered sugar has been licked off of the last finger...and my heart is still in a dither, I turn to prayer. Because it is the one constant in this world of change. I gain strength from the support of my husband and my family. I find hope in reading the scriptures, in pouring my heart out to my Savior, and feeling the arms of His love encircle me. If only for an instant. It is real. He is here.
I would be nothing without the gospel of Jesus Christ. I wouldn't know how to get through the daily decisions, frustrations, and small trials I endure. I wouldn't have access to a powerful, infinite, eternal atonement...which allows me to repent, to progress, to change.
I'm thankful for daily miracles. I'm thankful for simple, tender mercies.
I'm thankful I can find hope.