insomnia’s gift

I awoke to the sound of the bedroom door being eased open in early morning.

Actually, eased might be the wrong word. The door isn’t hung quite right on the hinges, so it sticks against the frame and requires a little bit of a firm-grasp-and-yank technique, which is why it woke me up.

I opened my eyes in time to glimpse my husband slipping through the door and trying to gently shut it again. With the dresser clock glowing a 4:03, I tried to fall back asleep, but five minutes later I and the dog padded out on sleepy feet to ask why he was awake so early on a Sunday morning — this would be a normal time for him during the week, but not today. “Couldn’t sleep,” he replied. I sunk back into bed, but found that his insomnia was contagious. After forty five minutes of my own lying awake in bed, I joined him on the porch.

There’s something sweet about the mornings. I’m grateful to be able to wake up quickly and shake off sleep, especially in the summer with nothing in the darkness but the sound of crickets. Even the birds don’t awake till daylight, but the crickets sing through the dark and the sticky humidity still present at 4:52 a.m.

Perhaps one of my favorite things about the morning is the lack of distractions. I don’t feel obligated to start a load of laundry or do last night’s dishes. Social media is dead because everyone is asleep. And after enjoying breakfast (the dog’s favorite part of the morning), even he doesn’t require much attention. It seems easier to create space with meet God in the mornings, crickets forming a soundtrack better than any I used to study to in college.

I wish I made more space in my life to sit with God like this, like a child contented to just sit in her parent’s lap, asking nothing but the gift of presence. Too often I deny God of giving me His presence because I am too busy with the presence of this world, and that’s something I need to change.

But this morning, this time — it’s a gift. I might need to ask for the gift of a nap later on today, but for now, I soak in the warm air and the stillness.

Posted on August 17, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 0

binge on metaphors

Sometimes I fear trying to start writing.

It’s easy to tell people what I am dreaming about when they ask. I don’t mind sharing why I chose a degree in creative writing and how I hope to use it. Those dreams — the desire to tell stories, to knit my soul to yours, to help you see Jesus in daily life — run deep. They’ve been there for a long time.

But something keeps me from taking action, whether that action is simply writing a blog post or whether it is reaching out to another writer. And it’s that “something” that I need to figure out.

I think I’m afraid of not quite getting it. Of knowing ways to compose letters and sounds yet not being able to quite tune it just right. I’m no musician, but I know that something off-key turns what could be a beautiful song into simply noise. I don’t want my words to just be noise in the midst of a world with more than enough already going on without my little screechy song. I want to arrange my thoughts together in a way that brings peace in the midst of the daily chaos, hope while one is in the dark, encouragement to fight against loneliness. I want to teach you the words so that you can sing the song yourself while you are walking through your own struggle.

I think I’m afraid of not being able to tie it all together. The balloon man’s art is always a mystery until you see the finished product, and I want an ending like that with everything I write – and everything I experience, honestly. I want “the moral of the story,” the pretty bow at the end, the balloon dog or giraffe or whatever to hold in my own hands.

But life doesn’t always work like that. And a writing piece might not always, either. It might not always make sense (like the direction this post is quickly headed), or it might not have a moral to the story. Because, honestly, my life sometimes seems to be missing a puzzle piece or two. Always the critical ones – isn’t that how it goes? I can’t quite tell what the picture is supposed to be, and I guess that’s where I come back to trusting in a God who can see the whole thing.

So my goal is to trust. And to push past fear and write, even if just for myself.

Posted on August 11, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 0

writing, rewriting, editing life.

My creative writing degree prepared me more for my 20s than I realized it would.

With so many of my sweet friends walking through the first months after college graduation, and even with my own continued journey through my 20s, my mind has been somersaulting over what makes this season of life seem so difficult for so many people. The post-college transition is hard. At least, it was for me. The conclusion that I have come to is that all other major transitions in my life had been baby steps, specifically through the previous four years of transitions encompassed in the high school to college realm.

My transition from high school to freshman year of college was one of the best things for me — I was removed from small school senior year drama and was put in a place where I had the chance to make a new “image” for myself. Thanks to going to small school (most of our 14-person class had been together since fifth grade), my identity seemed to fit in this little box that I couldn’t seem to break out of – it was who everyone assumed I was, and who even I assumed I was. I was always the brainy kid who competed in academic events such a spelling bees and math competitions. I played every sport. I enjoyed school. Despite my performance-based identity, though, I was insecure in my own skin. College was my chance to rediscover my interests, my passions, my personality, and I found freedom in not being expected to act a certain way or dress a certain way or be a part of a certain group.

Freshman year was an opportunity for discovering community – finding kindred-spirit friends and being loved for the “me” I had bravely begun to live out.

Sophomore year was about slightly stepping out of my freshman year comfort zone to live in a new dorm with a new roommate and to initiate with freshmen students who lived in my dorm. I started to learn to not find security in one single group of friends, but to instead become friends with a variety of people.

Junior year and living off campus found me learning to “become an adult,” per say. One who budgets and grocery shops and pays electric bills and loads a dishwasher, whether or not the dishes are hers. With a check coming each semester from the university (as a part of my scholarship), and roommates to share the load with, and parents who gave me gas money when I needed it.

Senior year allowed me to learn about priorities and decisions. Three roommates, plus leadership and commitments with a campus ministry, plus upper-level classes, plus an honors thesis, plus a boyfriend (which I was not planning on) all led to figuring out the best ways to manage my time (skip class to go out to lunch or attend class and reschedule lunch?) and how to make what were some early life-changing decisions (such as, do I even want to date this boy?). I felt the pressure of the real world right around the corner, and I feel moments of that weight, but overall the cushion of college and certainty in the next day’s activities was still there.

Then I graduated college, and it was no longer about baby steps.

I started working full-time the week before graduation while my roommates prepared for grad school by taking the summer off. Friends moved away, whether across the state or across the world. The university stopped sending me checks for housing and food; I had to figure out how to live on my salary and say “no” if I couldn’t afford to eat out again that week. The community I had built within the college ministry disappeared, and I had to start from scratch. No longer were we classified by our age, but by our stage of life: single, married, married with kids. Grad school, part-time job, full-time job, internship. Passionate about work or still trying to figure out what to be when we grew up. (I was in the latter category of that one, by the way.)

No longer was I pursued by older students or campus ministry staff. No longer was every conversation intentional and filled with questions from both parties. No longer was it convenient to “live life” together. Everything required planning in advance, managing time, and non-flexible work schedules. Overtime work wasn’t optional. Long-distance friendships weren’t as easy as we hoped they would be. I got kicked off my parents’ insurance and had to learn about co-pays and deductibles and HSA options. I had to find my own dentist and doctor and hairdresser instead of scheduling those back home in accordance with school breaks and weekend trips.

Sweet friend, do you feel the pressure to have it all figured out right away, that you should be able to quickly bounce back to “normal”?

Because this post-undergrad phase is not a pass-fail situation.
It’s not win/lose.
Like much of life, it’s a process.

Writing is something I would say I am passionate about. I love watching letters and words come together to tell stories and provoke emotion and provide experiential wisdom. I love playing with paragraphs breaking on a page the way a child enjoys building dams and watching creek water split against new rocks. Poetry is not my chosen profession or even my preferred written expression, but my honors thesis is one of the things I am most proud of in terms of my academic accomplishments.

I vividly remember evenings on my Park House front porch listening to the chirp of crickets, scanning the trees for glimpses of lightning bugs, and examining the delicate shape of helicopter seeds. I would hand-jot notes, phrases, synonyms, sounds transcribed into words. (Onomatopoeia was a favorite concept among our poetry workshop class.) My workstation would then move inside to my desk, fingers typing words in hope that rhythm and music came from letters and spoken sounds.

In workshop the next day though, that poem would be analyzed. Entire lines would be crossed out, sentence structure rearranged, and concepts deemed as cliche. I would not have to start from scratch, but it felt close enough, and I would leave deflated.

But that’s often what it means to be a writer. And as someone who loves writing and wants to cultivate it, I have to accept that fact. If you are an architect, or a social media marketer, or any other profession whose work does not involve set formulas to be followed, then you probably understand this, too. Write, rewrite, rearrange, edit, rewrite. You don’t write a final draft on a first try, and you can’t do it on your own.

What if life – the “real world” – is this same type of process?

Take risks. You never know what works until you try it.

Don’t be afraid of criticism. It helps you see weakness you can’t see on your own. In fact, ask for feedback from others.

Take notes. Whether it is an interview or a job or a new friendship, always have an attitude of learning and observing and question-asking.

Let go of the pressure (less likely others-originated and more than likely self-imposed) to succeed, to make all A’s, and to figure it out right away.

Three years in, I can’t say that I always know what I am doing, but I can look back and see growth. I am closer now than I have previously been to understanding myself and how I am wired and what God might have for me. I feel more daring now than I did the day after I walked across the stage in my cap and gown, and yet I feel more certain now that I don’t have it all figured out. That uncertainty keeps me running back to God with questions, and it keeps me leaning on Him.

Each day is a step in the journey, and each season brings with it a new workshop activity to help edit and revise this creative work being written as the story of my life.

I pray that if you are walking through this, as well, you will not be discouraged by the process, but allow yourself to learn and develop and seek God wholeheartedly, since He’s the author of this whole shebang anyway.

Posted on June 15, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 0

catching up

the past few months have been busy with getting adjusted to working on campus for cru, then school letting out for the summer and working from home again. rest mixed with house projects and runs with the dog has been our focus after a hectic and emotional 10 months of support raising. i have had a fear of trying to start blogging again because there is so much to catch up on, so instead I am going to document it in pictures so I can move the roadblock away and start writing again.

my sweet freshmen babies became seniors and graduated college

eric built this incredible porch swing #contenttorent

we gave our home a facelift with painted shutters (courtesy of a friend's hard work) and painted front door. #contenttorent — we gave our home a facelift with painted shutters (courtesy of a friend’s hard work) and painted front door. #contenttorent

ridley turned three - and celebrated being our dog for a whole year — ridley turned three – and celebrated being our dog for a whole year

eric planned a movie night on our porch to surprise me on evening

okay. I feel better about my absence and will hopefully be actually writing soon.

Posted on June 2, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 0

celebrating spring’s arrival

I know spring has come by the things it sweeps into my home –

dirt from muddy pup paws
dry yellow grass coating the soles of running shoes
bicycle tools and parts littering spare corners of tables and the guest room bed
the faint smell of motorcycle grease and jackets hanging in the entryway

Winter meant lots of coats and boots stacked by the doors, and blankets on the couches, but it did not change our home the way these things have. I am daily reminded of Spring’s arrival by the need to sweep and vacuum – and pull out the Furminator and lint roller to manage Ridley’s personal contributions of hair to our home.

Our home is well-lived in.

Stacks of books live on our Craig’s List-sourced dining table and on our dark-stained coffee table, the one Eric built with his own hands, remind me that I have once again tackled too many reading projects.

Our pup’s squeaky beaver toy always ends up in the exact spot where we want to walk, and the wheezing of 20 squeakers (a boasting point for the toy’s packaging) serenades us in the evenings when we pad barefoot around our home, not watching where we step. I suppose we will deal with this when we have kids, so we joke that we need to teach Ridley to clean up after himself and that a fluffy beaver is better than Legos.

One bicycle lives in our guest room, while the other two occupy the basement, sharing space with a motorcycle and a plethora of tools and camping gear and various-sized ice chests. We cram things in every available corner. It’s no surprise to find spare tubes or allen wrenches or bottles of cleaner and greasy rags next to our houseplants and tabletop coasters.

These pieces of our life speak blessing to me, remind me that we take advantage of the good, of the daily graces we have been given.

Sometimes I wish I could just clean and enjoy the results of my labor, but it’s a daily thing to pick up the shoes and restack the books and refill the soap dispenser and vacuum the rug for the upteenth time this week. It’s a daily thing to give thanks, to be on the lookout for the showers of confetti that leave a trail behind us as we live this gift we have been given.

Posted on March 19, 2014March 19, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 0

the hallowing

Ashamed and most likely in tears, what was she thinking? Did she regret the scandal she had allowed herself to be involved in, the love she had convinced herself might be real – or did she simply regret getting caught?

And then the Teacher. The One some were calling the Messiah. What was He going to say? She knew what the Law said just as any good Jewish adult would know. Yet all He did was bend down and start drawing in the sand. She could barely bring herself to look up at Him for fear of what He might say. If He was Who He said He was, she couldn’t deny that she deserved punishment. She knew, no matter the outcome, that her reputation was forever tainted.

Centuries later, I find myself in the story as this woman in the middle of the circle, the one with all fingers pointed at her and no hope for redemption. Fear and Doubt both take accusatory tones, proudly revealing my infidelity. They testify concerning my surrender to their propositions, my undeniably faithless and fickle heart.

And I cower in shame.

Because it’s true. I have no defense except my innate brokenness. I have entertained both accusers for longer than I can remember, and though it started out small – as nothing, really – it grew. And as my sin is exposed to the light, I hear the accusing voices fade, and One Voice speak.

“I do not condemn you. Choose to sin no more.”

The unexpected response draws my eyes from the dirt to the One Who speaks. The One with love in His expression and compassion for my aching heart. He offers hope from my failure and rest from the weight of sin I have been carrying around. His reaction of mercy causes me to regret even more the ways I failed, yet at the same time seems to offer freedom from that regret which I can’t refuse.

Who is a God like you, pardoning iniquity and passing over transgression for the remnant of his inheritance? He does not retain his anger forever, because he delights in steadfast love. He will again have compassion on us; he will treat our iniquities underfoot. You will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea. (Micah 7:18-19)

And just as the woman who was caught in adultery in John 8, I realize that my Savior sees me not as what I have done or where I have failed, but as who He has created me to be. My identity is not based in sin, but in Him, and this is what convinces me to stand up, brush the dirt off my knees and my tear-streaked face, and walk away with Him.

This place has become hallowed ground, no longer where I was incriminated but where I was redeemed.

Posted on March 8, 2014March 19, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 0

marriage letters: seeing you come alive

Dear Eric,

My dad is a man of many hobbies and talents. From restoring an old car to planting a garden to riding dirt bikes to building bunk beds, my child-self was fascinated with the projects he could accomplish.

It’s not surprising that I married a man who is the same way.

Whether it is building a coffee table or installing new shifters on your bicycle or planning out our next camping spot, you’ve always got something new on the radar. Something else you want to accomplish or learn or start.

You come alive when you know you are capable of something.

I watched you last weekend as you competed in your first Cat 5 cycling race. I watched the detail and attention you paid to your bike as you prepared for the event. I watched you talk to other riders, seeking advice and tips to set you up for success. I watched your eyes, hard and determined, after you passed me on that first lap, pushing through after the crash that slowed you down – but didn’t stop you. I watched you finish strong, already thinking about the next race, since you now knew you were capable of competing.

You had proved yourself.

As someone who played competitive sports throughout my life, I remember the thrill of the moments before the whistle blows and the rushing adrenaline and the attention to detail and the pre-game rituals. The thrill of your efforts and training finally about to pay off.

You came alive in experiencing that thrill.

I have always known you to be someone who persevered, someone who refused to give up. That determination still shines through, and I hope you see yourself as capable.

The best part about a husband who dares and tries and does not shy away from challenges is that you want to involve me. You let me help you sand and stain that coffee table, even if you had to go back over my work. You ask for my hand when you replace brake pads on our car. You encourage me as I try to pedal hard up hills, helping me feel capable to keep up with you on the bike.

You come alive when you see that you are needed in this marriage – when I need you as a shoulder to cry on or advice on spiritual issues or someone to open the pickle jar. You spring to action (usually going to prayer first) when things are wrong, ready to prove yourself once again. Ready to prove this marriage.

And that proving gives me a sense of security that I never dreamed of. Even when things are harder than expected, you have what it takes – for your hobbies and personal goals and, most importantly, for this marriage.

And I love watching you come alive as you realize at the end of each day what you are capable of. I know God has equipped you with what it takes, and I believe in you.

Love,
me.

_______________________________

On the first Monday of every month, I’ll be writing a letter to participate with Amber Haines in the “Marriage Letters” series on her blog. Though it’s only been two years for us, I want to develop this practice of blessing my husband and our marriage. You should also check out Amber’s most recent marriage letter and the others that are linked up to her post.

Posted on March 3, 2014March 3, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 5

it’s more than moldy cheese and janky SUVs

Marriage is hard. I could never deny this fact. There have been too many tears and silent car rides and earnest prayers to do so.

But that’s not the end of the story. And in talking to a dear unmarried friend today, who is looking ahead at the next year and the possibility of it including marriage, it came up that this is the central message given to those who are not married. The reference point of the conversation was, of course, a super spiritual discussion on a point in Mindy Kaling’s book, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?

“I don’t want to hear about the endless struggles to keep sex exciting, or the work it takes to plan a date night. I want to hear that you guys watch every episode of The Bachelorette together in secret shame, or that one got the other hooked on Breaking Bad and if either watches it without the other, they’re dead meat. I want to see you guys high-five each other like teammates on a recreational softball team you both do for fun.”

I’m never going to stop telling people that marriage is hard. It’s definitely one of the hardest things I have ever done. There are days that the unexplained tension won’t leave and seasons when sex is hard and times when prayer is the only thing left to cling to. Life doesn’t stop being hard when you get married. You not only experience your own storms but also someone else’s.

But at the same time, and to an even greater extent, marriage is the best. In fact, it is so good, that it makes all of the hard things so worth it. I would walk on hot coals to be with this man, and we are best friends. You have to be to get through – and laugh about – gray Februarys and janky SUVs (he just wants to drive it over a cliff most days) and overdrafted checking accounts and moldy cheese in the fridge because someone didn’t close the ziploc all the way.

It’s the daily things that keep that our friendship alive. This might all seem sappy, and it is not intended as bragging, but hopefully as an encouragement to single friends that marriage is fun, even with the frantic, and I would love to see my married friends ponder similar lists to appreciate this aspect of their own relationship with their spouses. Find the glue that holds you together when external things come crashing down.

Eric and I ride our road bikes through back country roads to chase the setting sun, and he is so good to encourage me to keep pedaling the whole way home.

We play Uno after dinner because he had some sort of deprived childhood where he never learned to play it, and I introduced him to it a couple of months ago. Last weekend, we played it with some friends, and he couldn’t believe the difference between a two-player game and a four-player game.

We don’t have cable, or any TV channels for that matter, so we watched through all of How I Met Your Mother on Netflix to catch up with the current season, and now we anticipate Tuesday nights, so that we can eat dinner on the couch and watch the most recent episode online.

We take long drives when we are bored on a Saturday afternoon or evening – or when one of us is upset and can’t figure out why. Some of our most important processing and decision-making has come through drives where the only option is to talk things out. And we bring the dog a lot of times, just to get him out of the house in case he is bored, too.

We find any and every excuse to drive through Shipley’s for donuts on a weekend morning. Woke up 10 minutes later than planned on a Sunday? Or out of cereal on a Saturday morning and too lazy to make eggs or oatmeal? Donuts are obviously the only option. Plus Shipley’s is like 0.2 miles from our house.

He laughs at the drawling way I pronounce oil and tomato and cities ending in -ville (“ohll” and “tomatah” and “-vuhl”), and I make fun of the way he says Colorado (“ra” as in “radish” instead of “ra” as in “rock”).

We play Wikipedia games, making the other person start on one topic and find a way to click through to another topic (i.e. start on Bill Clinton and find your way to fluorescent lamp).

He randomly pins pictures on my Pinterest boards of ideas for our bedroom or our front door color. We daydream a lot about house projects and “one day” ideas.

When I drank coffee one evening a couple of weeks ago and was too wired to go to bed, we built a pallet on the floor in the living room and I watched episodes of Gilmore Girls for three hours while he slept on my shoulder.

Any farts that may or may not be sourced by one of us are blamed on the dog.

We sing Taylor Swift while cleaning up after dinner, and he wears my floral apron to wash dishes.

We dream of new ways to destroy that janky 4Runner – his favorite and most-often suggested is to toss a grenade inside and run for the hills.

He gets frustrated at how often I am able to guess the surprise he has planned, and I tell him it’s just because I know him so well. He is my best friend, after all.

What are the daily glues that hold your relationships together, whether it is a spouse or a roommate or a sibling?

Posted on February 27, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 0

accepting the wilderness

Have you ever wished that, if God wasn’t planning to remove you from a trial anytime soon, that He would at least tell you how long it was going to last?

I used to ask that when I was single. Lord, I am okay with not having a boyfriend right now, but can you just give me a hint of when I will meet him so that I can be content now?

Or when I was miserable in my job but couldn’t find another job. Father, please just give me some sort of “finish line” so that I can make it through all of this.

Or even now, while raising support, I find myself making this request. I just need to know when we will make it to the other side.

Living in a time-bound world, we want to know how to plan and what to expect. We think that if we can just understand God’s time frame, we will be able to endure where we are now. You can convince yourself when running a marathon or riding in a bike race to “keep going – just x-number more miles!” and you get to see your progress as the miles fall behind you.

But as Eric and I were talking about desiring to know more of how much longer the road ahead is, I heard a still small voice prompt me to research the Israelites.

Side note: God knows how much the Old Testament speaks to my heart – especially the Genesis through Judges portion. I am a wandering Israelite, but for some reason I can’t see my own sin until I point it out in those fickle people, and the Holy Spirit convicts me to turn and point to myself just the same way Nathan the prophet told David a story then said, “You are the man!” (2 Samuel 12:7)

So as I am processing timing and wishing I at least knew what to expect for this season, I turned back and looked at Numbers 14, when the Israelites rebelled and refused to enter Canaan due to the report from the spies.

And the Lord said to Moses, “How long will this people despise me? And how long will they not believe in me, in spite of all the signs that I have done among them? … I have pardoned according to {Moses’ plea for forgiveness of the people}. But truly, as I live, and as all the earth shall be filled with the glory of the Lord, none of the men who have seen my glory and my signs that I did in Egypt and in the wilderness, and yet have put me to the test these ten times and have not obeyed my voice, shall see the land that I swore to give to their fathers. And none of those who despised me shall see it. (Numbers 14: 11, 20-23)

I can’t say that they didn’t deserve this. For the love.

Yet I can’t be quick to judge, since my heart fears and doubts with the best (or worst?) of them. And can you imagine being told that you were going to have travelled all this way only to die in the desert, just like you were dramatically complaining about a few verses earlier?

Then imagine being their children. Those under 20 years old were not held responsible and knew they would get to see the Promised Land. However, God also explained that their journey would continue until all of the older generation had passed – and He wasn’t going to send a plague or something to accomplish that. There would be a punishment for their disobedience.

But as for you, your dead bodies shall fall in this wilderness. And your children shall be shepherds in the wilderness forty years and shall suffer for your faithlessness, until the last of your dead bodies lies in the wilderness. According to the number of the days in which you spied out the land, forty days, a year for each day, you shall bear your iniquity forty years, and you shall know my displeasure. (Numbers 14:32-34)

The Israelites were told in the beginning how long they would wander. The adults had to walk through the wilderness daily, knowing that they really weren’t going anywhere. Knowing that they wouldn’t arrive at the destination, and knowing that it could take up to forty years of aimlessly traveling, depending on when they died. Forty years of kids probably asking, “Are we there yet?” and being reminded that you would never get there.

Then imagine being one of the children in the generation who was still going to get to experience the fulfillment of this age-old promise. They knew they would get there eventually. But they also knew that it wouldn’t be for a long time. Even the oldest – the nineteen year olds – would be almost sixty before they arrived at their destination.

We still see rebellions and complaining and doubts throughout their journey, even though they know how much longer it is going to be. They are unhappy with the day they are living, even with the ability to count down the days until things are different. That finish line doesn’t help because they are still unhappy with the present.

So maybe knowing God’s timing isn’t the solution to surviving a tough season. Knowing the details of God’s plan won’t provide contentment in your current situation. It might even make it harder to live in the present, knowing exactly what awaits you.

I want to change the desire of my heart. Instead of desiring what’s a few miles down the road, I want to rest in the walk the Lord has for me today. To not “wrestle, just nestle” (a la Corrie Ten Boom). To claim the name for myself “Acceptance-with-Joy” (reference this blog post I wrote sophomore year of college, then read Hinds’ Feet on High Places because it’s the best).

I’m not sure I know exactly what that looks like, though. It’s going to take some work on my heart, I think, and eyes to see the gift of today.

Do you have any advice for how to live with joy in the present? What are you seeking to “accept with joy”?

Posted on February 19, 2014 by Samantha Barnes 0

my guest post for the newlywifed life

my sweet friend jordan co-writes for the newlywifed life blog, and she asked me to write a post on the “10 things i have learned since i have gotten married.” it was such a fun process of thinking through the past two years or so, and i loved getting to share it with her readers.

hop on over to read my post, then take a look around at their photography and recipes and other fun things!

http://thenewlywifedlife.blogspot.com/2014/02/newlywednesday-sam-eric.html

Posted on February 5, 2014July 17, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 0

samantha c. barnes