Goodbyes are stupid.

Whoever said there's no such thing as goodbye was either a liar or a dirty hippie.
Watching someone you love leave is really, really hard.
It's really, really dumb.
Goodbyes are just new hellos? Hogwash.
Parting is such sweet sorrow? Ridiculous.
Endings are just new beginnings? Bah.

Except that, of course, they are.

Tomorrow - just a few short hours from now, actually - my baby sister starts a new adventure. And contrary to the horrifyingly pained look on my face right now, I could not be happier for her.

Elizabeth. Sweet thing. Good soul. This is what I wish for you.

I wish for you a California full of sunshine and happiness and relatively little quaking earth.
I pray you'll have a million new experiences with your husband and your kids, see things you never dreamed of, and add chapter after kick ass chapter to the beautiful story of your life.
I want you to feel independence, and confidence, and your own strength. The rest of us feel it all the time, and it is awe-inspiring. You are awesome.
I hope you discover a deep, soul-binding love for your home (your real home. your true home.) and that your eyes light up with connection every time you see an Ohio State sweatshirt on someone in your New State.
I need you to know that every moment you're gone you'll be desperately missed, fervently prayed for, and lovingly thought about.
I know you know you'll be fine. Better than fine. So much better than fine. And I know you know we know you'll be fine. And hell, we'll be fine ourselves.

All we ask is this. Keep being a phenomenal mother, so those towheaded children who have looked the part of SoCal since the day they were born remember us. Keep being an exceptional wife, and don't let Dave make fun of my pants anymore. (That has very little to do with the rest of this, but any way you can give me a hand I'd appreciate.) And please, for the love of all good things, become a better texter. Seriously, you suck at it. Like, S.U.C.K. at it. And we'll need to hear from you.

Whatever you need, ask. I know it's not always the easiest thing for you. Ask anyway. A few measly little miles isn't going to keep any of us from you. Not really.

I love you, kid. I am so thankful for three and a half years here, getting to know grown-up you. I'm so appreciative of every time Dave let us loose for some girl time. And I'm so grateful to know your children. I know without a doubt it's why God brought me home. I'm honestly a little irked that He's now sending you as far away as possible, but we're working through it. We're cool.

Yep. I love you, kid. Go get em. And then come back.

     

Circling the Wagons.

It's been a pretty blah few weeks. Made blahier by the fact that they've been the first few weeks of a whole shiny new year, which feels a little wasteful. And even blahier by something called a "polar vortex" which is just weather code for the universe is trying to kill you.
There's been a lot of whining. A lot of moping. 
And there's been a lot of praying. Actually, there's been a little bit of praying mixed in with a lot of bugging the crap out of God, trying to convince Him I know better than He does and He should just listen to me and give. me. what. I. want.
A lot of talking about myself. To anyone who will listen.
And tonight, in the shower, where all the world's problems get talked over, He'd had enough. Yep, I've talked about myself so much for 19 straight days that I bored God. So He gave me a suggestion, that sounded in my head a little something like this: Seriously, Stone, I cannot take it anymore. Please. Stop. Talking. About. This. I  know it's been tough. I know it's confusing. I know it's not what you want (because you won't stop telling Me). But surely you don't need Me to point out to you, in the midst of all this alone you're feeling... how surrounded you are. Right?
I felt humbled. Like that bow-your-head, drop-to-your-knees kind of humbled. Because I realized just how many people have listened.
I got scared, and people held my hand. I got hurt, and the world took notice. I got sad, and the wagons circled.
It is an exceptional feeling, to feel loved. To feel protected and cared for. To see concern in the eyes of people who simply want you to smile and be happy. 
I have been shrouded in friendship.
And I'm grateful.
For every little note, every huge hug, every reminder that, if women this wonderful can love me, I must be at least a little loveable. If girls this funny are determined to make me laugh, I must be capable of humor.
I'm grateful for my friends who are doing everything in their power to make sure I don't succumb to the stereotype. One even gave me this gentle reminder:

And that, readers, is what friends are for.
So here's hoping I have something funny to write about soon. It's time, no? But in the meantime, my dear friends, thank you. This is my love note to you.