I’ve associated this sort of romanticism with books ever since I was a little girl.  There was something about sitting and learning, or getting lost in another world that made me think the experience should be perfect.  No.  I didn’t just sit and read a book.  I had to have my whole little set-up.  And it needed to spell P.E.R.F.E.C.T.

When we lived “in town” I would grab my current book and snuggle up on the twin bed in our little dormer window nook.   I shared that upstairs bedroom with my 2 sisters and peace and quiet was rare to come by…but I found it.  I needed it.  And books were my lifeline.

When I was around 12 my parents built their dream home in the country, and I took my book reading the nature route.  I would pack up some sort of treats for myself, a blanket, and find the perfect spot in the woods to make camp.  {I’m pretty sure I thought I was Laura Ingalls from the ages of 8 – 13.} I read fiction, biographies, and any home or fashion magazines I could grab from the mail before my dad threw them away. :)

As a mom, quiet moments are still hard to come by.  But I still need them.  I still look for them.  I still think they are romantic.  I’ve learned they may look different than my expectations. And I’m still coming to terms with that I guess.  The fact that life doesn’t happen like a storybook or the way you had it planned or the way you expected things to go.

Sometimes I accept that realization graciously and I’m able to smile at dimpled hands in toothe paste, cars broken down, batches of cookies I burned, and places I didn’t expect to live.

And sometimes I resent it and bitterness creeps into my soul.

“Why can’t I write my own story?”  I want to ask God.  “I would create perfect, romantic moments.  You know I would.”

And He whispers back…“Because mine is better.  

Mine is more romantic.  

More perfect.”

And I guess I’m still coming to terms with that too.

My desire to create perfect moments and experiences is still there and I’m pretty sure it always will be.  I’ve wrestled with whether that is wrong or not.  “A curse or a blessing,” I ask myself?

I still don’t know.

What I do know is this: God hands us a life to live.  He’s the captain and I’m the schooner.  I can dress up my sails in blue and white.  I can host parties at sea with crab cakes and wine.  I can wear a cocktail dress and heels, snapping pretty photographs of it all.

He gives me that liberty.  To create.  To enjoy this life.  To make things perfect…for me.

But when the storm inevitably rolls in.  Ruins my party and rips my sails.  How do I do?  Despair.  Rejoice.  Cry.  Laugh.

I look at my Captain.  I rest. I trust.  I put up my dress and pull out my overalls.  Brace myself in truth.  For God’s sent a storm.  To weather me and change me.  To create a story full of adventure and romance.  Much better written, than I ever could tell.

And truthfully, I’d rather be apart of that kind of story any day of the week.

All photographs in this post are of my current books I’m reading.  The Anthropologie q&a a day.  The devotional by Sarah Young.  And the portrait photography book by Michael Grecco.  {Celebrity and editorial photography…my dream.  Dream big, right?}

Linking up to Jones Design’s Book series here.

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