This Is How You Build A Life

Notes on being here.

Hello from bakeries, the gym, and a lovely birthday night back in August.

This past summer, my husband’s grandmother turned 99. She walks around her house with the patience that honors her aging body, and loves eating pound cake. I always feel a sense of peace when sitting next to her, a sense of gratitude for getting to hear the stories of a woman who’s navigated the world in so many seasons.

The same world I get to live in and be a part of, the one that feels heavy right now. We all feel it; it’s a collective sense of grief.

I didn’t plan to take a break from the newsletter, but sending something out into the world felt like a responsibility. There’s so much out there, and I want my words to be light. And in all honesty, for the past few months, I wasn’t sure how to be light.

A week ago, we visited my husband’s grandmother, and as we settled into the guest room, I noticed the family picture wall made up of mismatched frames. I’ve seen this wall for ten years, but this time, it felt different. I felt God was pointing out, “This is how you build a life.”

It was an answered prayer.

For the better part of this year, my prayers have revolved around the same question. How do I do this? How do I keep going? Why even bother?

I stand in silence, and my husband walks in and points out to generations of his relatives, some of whom he doesn’t know their name.

This is how you build a life.

It’s a slow rhythm, it requires faith and community, it requires patience. It looks like a wall of mismatched frames that are added one by one.

Eventually, we come back home, and I settle into my routine: groceries, laundry, work, writing on the sidelines. But I notice that I slow down, I don’t plan every second, and I crave silence. I look for ways to put compassion into practice.

I have a quiet realization that I’m older, it feels beautiful and holy, and I’m grateful. I decide to hand grief a paintbrush and tell it to add strokes to my story. I’m surprised by the hues of color I notice, just like the leaves honoring the fall season.

I pray that you see it, too. That you slow down enough to notice the moments that are meant to go into the gallery of your beautiful life.

This is how you build a life. Here is where you begin.

Talk soon,

Stella