Today has been one of those days wrought with all kinds of longing.

Maybe it’s letting sad, indie music play all day or just drinking a cup of tea all curled up in a blanket and pajamas. But today is just one of those days where nostalgia starts to eat at your heart and won’t stop; by the end of the day, you are left with a pain at once blissful and terrifying.

Nos-tal-gia  noun  –  a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one’s life, to one’s home or homeland, or to one’s family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.

How come nostalgia eats at your soul the most? Taking strength from within you till you feel empty and alone and frightened…but not knowing why.

Like the ‘mean reds’ that Holly Golightly talks about. Where you get afraid all at once but don’t know what you’re afraid of; so instead of knowing how to fight your fear, you just pretend it’s not there and keep going about your day.

Why do we get nostalgia anyway? What purpose does it serve if not to make us more miserable?

Maybe we get nostalgia so we remember to call our moms every once in a while; or maybe it’s what makes good stories that we can tell our kids one day; maybe it just serves as a way to mark who we are as a person, to remind us where we came from and who we are.

Is there any good in nostalgia? Or does it just act as a way to pull us back into not living in the present by living in the past?

I don’t know. Sometimes I love slipping into a daydream of nostalgia….and then others it just fills me with a hurt that hurts so bad it starts to feel numb.


Maybe I’m just rambling, or maybe these confessions of the soul make sense to some of you.

Either way, I hope you get something out of this, because I sure didn’t….maybe in time.


On Loving People

One of the things my husband and I love doing is inviting people into our home.

For two and a half years we’ve been trying to seek people out to love and open our home to; to welcome others with open arms into our place and to offer them a sanctuary from the world. And in the process of doing so, we’ve become so close to some of these people, in particular, a group of young guys.

I call them my lost boys, (not to their face though….they’d hate me for it!) and I love them like they are my adopted boys (or brothers). Many of them are living away from their families and going to school at the university here, and I have such a burden in my heart to be a stand-in family for them! To make sure they eat good food, spend some good time with another guy near their age, to be an encouragement to them and a listening board when they need it. Drawing them out in good conversation, learning all about them and what makes them tick, and being goofballs together!

It’s been one of the most rewarding things in the world for us! These boys are a part of our family and over time we’ve all grown so close together; we have our inside jokes and little routines together. And those friendships are the things that make life so worth living!


So in conclusion, I love being Wendy and I love my lost boys!



It’s one of those late, restless, sick nights.

Where a whole day of taking cold medication, napping and binge watching netflix leads to a night of drugged tossing and turning and no sleep anywhere in your imminent future.

The time is currently 1:38am and I am exhausted. But my mind is wide awake; pouring over old memories, upcoming scenarios, decisions and plans; and no amount of ‘Say Yes To The Dress’ or playing games on my phone has given me any respite from all these distractions.

So, hello from me to you at this the witching hour. I hope you are all sleeping much more soundly than me.



“Jo! How could you? Your one beauty!” Amy exclaims in the movie ‘Little Women’ after brave Jo has chopped off her hair for money.

In the book, Louisa May Alcott touches on the fact that Jo is very conceited and proud of her hair because she feels as though it is the one beautiful thing about her. So when she does cut off her hair, she has to face that vanity square on.

I’m very much like Jo in this aspect. I, too, fancy my hair one of my best traits; and for most of my life, I let it grow long and left it down all the time. Over time, I got braver and braver and kept cutting it a little shorter and then even more short. Until finally, one day in the year of 2009, I got the guts to get a pixie cut. Without a second thought, I told the woman to do it and off went my hair.

That was a very scary time in my life. Unlike Jo, I cut my hair not for any reason at all, just for the fun of it. But all at once, that glory that crowned my head, that security blanket was gone and all that was left was my face: which I was very self conscious about.

I learned some very valuable lessons during that time though; I had to rest in the knowledge that the Lord found me beautiful, I felt very vulnerable all the time and it took a certain bravery to make it through those years.

My husband has since then, made me vow never to cut my hair that short ever again….and I gladly agreed.

I’ve been growing out my hair for at least four years now and it’s back to it’s long, glorious length where I feel like a princess all the time. And because I am a person of an extremely short attention span, I’m ready for change. But just to prove to myself that I can finish something, (in this case, growing out my hair), I decided to wait until the middle of 2014 to do the deed.

I was talking to my husband about my next hair cut and that I would donate my hair to locks of love; and not a week later, my friend called me to say she had breast cancer.

It became very clear to me that this was the time, there was no more appropriate time to cut my hair and donate it. My friend doesn’t have a choice but to lose her hair, but I do, and I want to be a shoulder that she can lean on. And I want to give some little girl who is sick a way to feel like the princess she is!

What girl hasn’t dreamed of being brave and chopping off their hair for a noble cause? It puffs up our vanity and makes us feel better about ourselves; like we are somehow a better person for doing something so ordinary.

And I confess, I’ve been so afraid of my own conceit and my own vanity at this decision that I’ve tried to be very selective about who I tell. I haven’t even told this friend yet, I don’t know how or if I should tell her!

I guess the conclusion to this is that, I’m afraid to cut my hair. I’m afraid of having nothing to hide behind, of having to be brave just to walk out the door. I’m afraid of not feeling feminine without long, flowing locks that frame my face. But, I want to do something for someone else and I don’t want to make myself out to be a martyr. I simply want to love someone selflessly, the way Jesus does.