Next week we travel back to Montana for our annual summer vacation. I can hardly wait until our plane touches down in the valley we love so much. I love these trips home for all of the obvious reasons -- family, friends, a refreshing pace, FRESH AIR, the lake, hiking in the mountains. But there's something else I'm excited for too. Every time we go home, God seems to teach me something. I don't know if I'm just listening more or if He uses times of transition to show me more of how He loves me. Either way, I'm ready to notice. I wrote an essay about something He taught me last summer when we were home, and I'm honored to share my words over at (in)Courage today.
The sky was emotional on that early July night last year. Like a mirror for my day.
The great expanse started calm and peaceful, content with its place. Visiting family back home in Montana, I started my day with a pedicure with my cousin and we caught up on life and love, teaching and moving.
Then the sky wanted to show off a bit. The sun turned more and more vibrant as it dipped over the mountains, leaving behind clouds tinged in pink against a purple-red sky. After getting my toes painted, I spent the rest of my day family hopping. My three-year-old daughter learned to play golf with her grandparents; she ran with bare feet through the grass with her cousins; we checked out the new brewery and listened to local music with our parents; and we made plans to go hiking the next day with my brother.
Inky blue replaced those colors as quickly as they came, bringing with it clouds as close to black as you can get rolling across the valley. By the end of the day, the bright emotions I felt at the beginning were tinged black with sadness that this life with these people we love can only be lived in 12-day increments when we travel back to Montana from New York City twice a year.
Sign up here to receive free daily notes from (in)courage, sent right to your inbox!