I Said "Yes"

It was a year ago today that Ian changed my life forever. I was sitting on the couch, exhausted from the prior 5 days in Texas, saying goodbye to my Grams and also so not ready to face the fact that Ian’s crew was available for fires the next day which meant he could potentially be heading to any place burning in a few short hours. I had already said one incredibly difficult goodbye to one of the core people in my life, and although I knew Ian wasn't going to die and that our goodbye wasn't for forever, I just didn't want him to leave. I couldn't bear the thought of him lacing up his boots, throwing his pack over his shoulder, jumping into The Stranger (his beloved pickup), and heading straight into two weeks of fire blazing hell. So I put on one of his Sawtooth Hotshot t-shirts,  sat on the couch and fought back the tears while I prayed that it would all get easier.

I distinctly remember thinking that I was brave like my Gram. She was far more fun than I've ever been, a ferocious pool player and always the one to take us on the big rides at Disneyland. Gram was a joker, her blue eyes twinkling as she came after you with a squirt gun. And she was ever so brave. She met my Grandpa before WW II, married him in a courthouse and they had great love. He died way too earlier but that didn't stop her from living her life to great extents, always brave. I always remember her as fun and brave. She was the perfect combination of the two. After saying “Goodbye” to her the day before, I felt so empty because I didn't want to know life without her. But as I sat on that couch, preparing to send the one I loved to some fire somewhere, knowing we wouldn't talk and I’d be checking the reports compulsively until the two weeks was up, I felt a bit of my Gram’s fierceness in me. She did this with my Grandpa but she sent him to a war. Her blood is my blood and if she could do something far more difficult than sending a man to a blazing wildfire, so could I.

Ian interrupted my thoughts by fiddling around with a camera in the kitchen, and I thought nothing of it because I knew he was planning to take it with him to document his adventures on the fire lines across our incredible country. Then he came and stood in front of me telling me he needed to talk to me and to please stand up. I refused telling him we could converse just fine with me sitting on the couch. He insisted and finally I gave in. The thought had not at all crossed my mind that this was it, the moment I was convinced was never going to come from this bearded man who had captured my heart despite all my best efforts to not let that happen. 

And so as I stood in the living room of what would be the first house we bought, hair in a mess, blue eyes swollen from great sadness, wearing an old sweat stained Sawtooth Hotshot t-shirt, I watched Ian drop to a knee, grab my right hand and simply say “Will you marry me?”.

Most girls I know of shrieked in joy, shed a few tears and beautifully answered “Yes”. Not me. I looked at him and reciprocated with “ARE YOU SURE????” Ian patiently just looked at me while I repeated that same question a few times, and then I realized he was putting the ring on the wrong hand and so in between the “Are you sure?” was a few “LEFT HAND, LEFT HAND!!”   

And then I said yes.

 

No one tells you the great capacity of saying yes. It’s obvious that you’ll soon be showered with questions that you will be answering like a robot for months to come. It’s obvious that suddenly you are obsessed with all things wedding and in my case on a fast track to being the worst bride in the history of wedding planning. Saying yes meant joint checking accounts, name changes and double the laundry. But it goes so much deeper than a wedding. I'm still learning what that "Yes" means a year later. 

What I didn't realize at the time was the saying yes would be one of the greatest decisions I ever would make. I know that people say that getting married was the best day of their life, or maybe the day when they welcome their children.  To me getting married was great, but getting engaged was better. There would be no wedding, no babies, no name changes without the initial question. A question Ian asked me just like he does everything, no fuss, no details, just open, honest and to the point.

That day changed me. Saying yes has made me better. I choose now to be less selfish (well at least try to). I choose to participate in Ian’s victories, even if they have nothing to do with me because a win for him is a win for our family, our team.  I now am a part of something far greater than myself. I’m stronger now because I've been added to.

Ian is my safe place. I need him. I don’t want to go back to the days before him and I’m anxious with excitement and a little nervousness for the days ahead. There’s a world out there that we need to put our mark on. It doesn't matter if we are frustrating, passionate and stubborn. We are each other’s. He chose me and I chose him. He chooses me and I choose him. It’s a daily thing, our love. And it’s thanks to May 17, 2012 that we are where we are.

He was brave enough to ask and I was smart enough to say yes. I plan on saying yes to that man until my dying breath. Yes to camping trips, yes to passport stamps that have a selfish motive of hunting or fishing. Yes to pizza and beer dates. Yes to babies. Yes to loving him when he’s not lovable and simply because he chose me. Yes, yes, yes to all that our life will hold because I get to do it with the most intelligent, manly, handsome, brave man I know.

Attitude Adjustment

Things have been a little gloomy lately. Cloudy with a chance of excessive tears is the current weather in our house.  I’m feeling slightly hurricane-ish. One second I’m swirling around like crazy, my life being thrown about, unable to stand against the winds of change. The next I’m calm, tucked into the crook of husband’s arm, indulging in Cookies ‘n Cream ice cream, watching and wishing I had a voice like Sarah Simmons on The Voice. Either side of the hurricane though can make me teary, one because I’m scared and one because I love Husband so damn much and am ever so thankful for him.

My incredible friend Janelle (check out her hilarious and brave way of attacking life and then sharing it with the world by clicking on the link. Do it. Right now.) encouraged me to write out my ABC’s of Gratitude . She always knows how to encourage and uplift me or show me how to do it myself. 

Some are so good I justified them. Others stand alone. 

Katie’s ABC’s of Gratefulness

AKA: Much Needed Attitude Check

A: Avacado Toast from Java.

B: Bibles. Mine and the one I have from my Grandmother.  Necessity.

C: Cooking Light, my fave recipe go to when meal planning  

D: Dear Friends (these people just aren’t friends, they’re DEAR friends. I need them.)

E: Emma (My sister is one of my greatest gifts)

F: Fisherman (particularly mine who is ruggedly handsome and brings home

 delicious dinners)

G: Girls Nights

H: Husband. Life is lackluster at best without him.

I: Ice Cream

J: Jamaica- Honeymoon spot with my great love. Irreplaceable.

K: Kin – I come from an incredible heritage of brave people who blazed a great trail for me.

L: Lip Balm –it’s a toss-up between Burt’s Bee’s and GAP

M: Mascara

N: Notes, cards and written words.

O: Online Shopping. (Husband is not so thankful for this.)

P: Passport. This heart is meant to see the world.

Q: Quiet nights spent with wine and a good book

R: Rainstorms

S: Sweaters and boots.

T: Tacos with lots of cheese, tomatoes and margaritas. I need Mexican food regularly.

U: United Kingdom- that place changed me.

V: Vacations. As previously mentioned, I am meant to see this world.

W:  Water & Wine- I know it’s silly but water is a huge necessity during my day, wine is almost as necessary (although not usually a daily thing) .

X: “X”- I really do just like this letter. It’s frustrating and fun all at the same time.

Y: “Yes” – The positive option, the affirming response. I’m not always good at it, but it’s nice knowing it’s there.

Z: Zara – Shoes and tops like none other, Europe can be here within a few clicks and a VISA charge.

----------------------------------------------------

I’m feeling better already. Yes and Amen.

Patience is a Virtue

I can so easily hear the voice of my mom and my grandma firmly saying to me,

"Patience is a virtue

Virtue is grace

All put together make a very pretty face."

To this day, my instinct is to roll my eyes and defiantly declare that I will then never have a pretty face. Oh, how I struggle with patience. Struggle may even be putting it mildly. More like I am at war with patience...

 all the time. 

It seems that every day, my patience is tested. It's funny to me that at the end of my last post, I mentioned that I was as a kite, rising. Well, that's how I felt at the time of writing. In real life though, I feel like a kite that is plummeting, loop de looping, taped together and barely hanging on by the string. April was windy and patience was low. I had aspirations that May would be less windy and patience would, in turn, be higher. My proverbial kite would just dance through the breeze, awing everyone by the grace in which it danced through the breeze. 

This season of life is intense. Maybe all seasons really are but you just notice it differently. We recently bought our first house (yard makeover pictures coming in June when the budget allows for hanging plants and what not). House buying really tests ones patience and ones marriage. Husband saw sides of me that should, and did, petrify him at the thought of being homeowners together. Work is always crazy. It seems like more I try to accomplish the more behind I get. And yes, I still lack patience. 

Today, I'm waiting to hear back about some blood work I had done to see if my thyroid is behaving as God intended it to. And I jump every time the phone rings. I spend too much time googling how a hypo-thyroid is going to change my life. A brief phone call to my ever incredible and level headed sister gave me a quick smack back to the land of the patient. She gently reminded me that the more I worry and am impatient about my life, the more I let it go by without living it. I only get this life, one time. Just once. What's the point in being so impatient that I lack grace, a pretty face and just the general goodness that comes from living purposed (and patient)?! 

It's funny how the thing that you struggle with most can cause the huge amounts of growth. Anytime I'm patient I feel like giving myself a medal (don't worry, there is nowhere near enough of those moments to have a trophy shelf, let alone wall or room).  But it's not a medal I've earned. It's one more minute, one more hour, one more time of swallowing a snarky response, one more positive way to show myself patience can be sought after and I'm a little stronger than I was last time. The smallest battle is sometimes the key to the greatest victory. 

So this is me, impatient. Trying to get a grasp on one thing at a time. Seeking ways to encourage patience in myself. Maybe I should drink more wine. Maybe I should count to 48,920 by one's as opposed to counting to ten. Or maybe I should stop blogging about being impatient and go and practice being patient outside of the internet. 

Wish me luck. And if you find me with wine, you'll know I'm failing. 

Simply Katie

I can't even look at this picture without smiling just a tad and letting a small sigh escape my lips. I'm quite confident I really would do just about anything for my feet to walk on English soil again. To sit in Chambers coffee shop, drinking hot chocolate that is so good it is sinful. Or maybe I would go sit in the little band shell of sorts above the English Channel with the blanket my Beppe made me and watch the clouds roll across the water from France, listen to the rain pour and soak it all in. Perhaps I would embark on a spontaneous dinner in an English pub with men who had been there all day and I would probably challenge them to a game of Uno (and one of them may be so intoxicated he may fall of his chair mid game.). I would certainly be forcing my enchilada dinners and love of Keith Urban upon my ever so patient friend Helen,insisting she dance on the couch and love all Mexican food.  I could continue to list memories and what if's but what I really want is to find out how to make England Katie and American Katie be friends rather than always longing for something different, something more.

When in England, I was just different. I don't necessarily know how or why other than both times that I lived there, I knew to the core of my being that I was where I was supposed to be. From the second I boarded the plane to London, I changed. I was calm and confident. 

England Take One was about Bible School. It was about the most incredible friendships I'd ever made (Cherry Brown- how can you not love a 5 foot nothing beauty with an powerhouse singing voice and looks all sweet but really is a fierce one...and then there's Luis. He's Cuban, from California and spoke with a fake British accent the first time I met him. He has an incredible laugh, is now a celebrity hair stylist and also rode his bike everywhere in England. I love him.) That Katie was bold. Courageous. So unaware of how American I was. I remember knowing God so deeply that year. I loved where my life was going and I loved that I chose to follow my heart rather than go the traditional route of pursuing a degree at a 4 year school. I feel like there's so much more to this but essentially I was just happy. 

That year of school ended and as I got on the plane coming back to America, I just felt tired. It was as if I hadn't stopped living from 10 months and somewhere between London and San Francisco I suddenly was so overwhelmed I just slept. I remember customs at the airport, how a pleasant 60 something year old man calmly looked at my passport, asked no questions and simply said, "Welcome Back". I remember looking up behind the desk, seeing the American flag and feeling this mixture of pride with a dash of trepidition for what England Katie was going to do in America again. I had changed. I was in the place I had spent my entire life and yet I felt so awkward. I said words like "petrol" and "trash bin". And for the next 5 or so years, I embarked on this journey back in Idaho, unable to shake the feeling that I wasn't me. I dated the wrong guy, worked a lot of the wrong jobs, and was, for lack of a better word, lost. 

And so I went back. I went back to find if England Katie still existed. This time, when I got there, I was so cold. I literally told this sweet girl "Im not here to make friends." Who says that? (For the record, she's a dear friend now. Thankfully, she didn't take me seriously and pursued this mess of an American anyway.) It didn't take much time for my to find England Katie again. All I needed was to remember the girl who at 18 followed her heart, her God and moved across the world. It took months of walking away the pounds of emotions I had gained, laughing and making efforts for friendships with people who embraced all that I am/was/want to be. I salsa danced at The View. I did cartwheels on the beach. I soaked in wisdom of women who valued me and gave me tea while I cried.  

And then I realized that England Katie and American Katie really aren't that different. We are the same girl. Feisty, kind, bold. The only thing that changed is how I was choosing to see myself. American Katie was the one brave enough to go, but English Katie was the one brave enough to change. So really, all I had to do was stay brave no matter the soil I walked. 

As Winston Churchill once said, "Kites rise highest against the wind. Not with it." I became like a kite. And I'm still rising.