A night under the twinkle lights

Sometimes, we still feel new here, although the police officer who pulled over my husband didn’t seem to agree when he saw his still out of state license.  Oops. Moving somewhere new when you are grown up is tricky, it takes time to get to know people and time isn’t always something that you have sitting around in excess.  Time or energy, basically the same thing. 

My friend and I have talked about starting all kinds of groups, book clubs, creativity nights, Bible studies, even morning coffee dates.  We long for community and a place to encourage, where real conversation happens, not mindless small talk or ridiculous mommy judgment nonsense.  A place to breathe softly and refresh.  Where ladies with different opinions, parenting styles, hobbies, denominations can just be and enjoy a few hours together. 

Last night this happened, in my backyard.  White lights hung in the trees and a heart garland danced in the wind.  A charade of quilts and blankets were spread on the grass, where we would sit as the sun sank beneath the trees, and then be a feast for the swarms of mosquitos.  The table was filled with pretty plates, iced coffee, tea, cookies, and wild mushroom brie, Thank God for brie. Always.

Admittedly, I was nervous of how it everyone would mesh, as the invitation read,, invite friends.  Yet at one point, when the all natural bug spray failed us, we sat in a circle wrapped in blankets laughing, not because we were cold, but to baracade the pesky buzzers who wanted to destroy us. It all seemed very slumber party-ish and that is one thing we all know, because no matter who we are or what we do, we were all thirteen at a slumber party once.

 

We are hoping to have nights like this on a regular basis, because sometimes the very thing we are searching for, we must create ourselves. 

As I was preparing for the evening, I was searching for the perfect quote or reading to share.  Nothing spoke to me until I read through my collection of highlighted passages on my Kindle.  Instantly, I knew.

“Let us not lose our laughter girls,” said Mrs. Blythe.

“Sometimes a laugh is a good as a prayer.”

Rilla of Ingleside, LM Montgomery