If it was good enough for the Israelites, surely it’s good enough for me.
Be still, Faith. Be still, be still, be still.
The phrase “Hot Mess.” Especially when spoken by a girl with a thick southern drawl. Love it.
When Simon and I first met, he once said to me, “When my trouser leg brushes your trouser leg, I can’t breathe.” New love is so like that, isn’t it? The slightest touch takes your breath away, sends tingles down your spine.
In this photo, I see that. But I also see something else.
Nowadays, Simon’s finger on my arm, his hand on the small of my back, his toes touching mine under the table…they speak of something else. Something much deeper than spine-tingles.
They speak of safety and of security, and of knowing-ness.
And that’s what I get from this photograph. So much more than two arms.