Sweet Like Honey
I love the way kids misspell items on their Christmas and birthday lists.
I love getting a fresh shellac manicure and how I notice every single newly-painted finger afterward.
I love ice-cold Limoncello La Croix, especially in a wine glass. I love Michigan summers and the Upper Peninsula in the fall. I love charcuterie boards. I love the shy awkward confidence of a sixth-grade girl ordering a frappucino at Starbucks.
I love birthdays. I love celebrating -- everything. I love remembering and reflecting. I love dreaming of what’s to come and planning things to look forward to. I love people who are so present they remind me to be here in this moment too.
I love teachers. (Everyone needs to love them well.)
I love people who wear slippers. I love people who read.
I love how string lights make a space look magical instantly.
I love having a puzzle on the living room coffee table that I can come work on for a few minutes in the morning while my coffee is brewing.
I love when a person I just met trusts me with something they don't share with many others.
I love when my 90-year-old neighbor Syliva tells me about her late husband. I love when she tells me she loves me and how she squeezes my hand as I leave.
I love the first shower after a haircut. I love the odd comfort of a Q-Tip in my ear. I love the sound of whistles and sportscasters and crowds cheering from a Saturday afternoon football game on TV somewhere in the house.
I love breakfast scenes in movies. I love how special eating cereal late at night somehow feels.
I love nooks -- all kinds. I love new local coffee shops. I love built-in bookshelves.
I love making it to the store just in time before it closes to grab the one thing I really needed.
I love when I’m home at my parents' and my dad asks if I want him to build a fire in the fireplace and my mom makes a fresh pot of coffee with just the right ratio that only she can do. I love Saturday mornings in their kitchen sitting room, lounging on the wicker chairs with a second cup of coffee and talking about whatever comes to mind.
I love the intimacy of a book recommendation.
I love the delight of quiet surprise, like the sight of a ladybug on my pillow or hand soap that smells incredible when you didn't know it was going to even be scented in the first place.
I love the squirminess and mini tulle dresses at baby dedications. I love the beauty and emotion of testimonies at baptisms. I love the Church.
I love how Kyle sends me a voice memo every day on his way to work just to say good morning. I love that he's done that since the week after our first date.
I love buying a bouquet of flowers for myself at the beginning of a grocery trip and carrying them around with me for the rest of it.
I love the 2005 version of "Pride & Prejudice," and the moment when the camera zooms in on Mr. Darcy’s hand as he twitches after touching Elizabeth’s.
I love the soundtrack too, and that one song that plays on a loop on the DVD menu. I love it because it reminds me of waking up at 3am when I couldn't find the remote, being sandwiched between my sisters in bed on a Friday night. I love the memory of weekly "sister sleepovers."
I love discovering that I chose the perfect watermelon and how my mom taught me to dive right in and knock on each one to find it. (The hollower-sounding, the better.)
I love how my dad used to countdown when we were approaching a state border on road trips. (I love how I still do.)
I love singing "driver's license" as if I were a heartbroken sixteen-year-old.
I love how my old neighbors called me "Giggles" because I laugh often and easily, and how they didn't know that my great-grandmother was nicknamed essentially the same.
I love the sentimentality of Valentine’s Day, the electricity of New Year’s Eve, and the ambition of New Year’s Day. I love how the entire world seems to shut down on Christmas.
I love the phrase a thrill of hope in the carol “O Holy Night.” I love how it reminds me of the sign that hung above my counselor’s desk when I first came into her office in 2018 and admitted that I was battling depression. I love that the phrase that follows is a weary world rejoices.
I still love counseling.
I love Central Park.
I love the Caseville Cottage.
I love Detroit.
And now I love Dayton too.
I love Jess Janz's poetry and new comedy skits from Trey Kennedy or @hicaitlinreilly. I love perfectly crafted metaphors and silky smooth alliteration. I love live jazz in a restaurant or on Spotify while I'm cooking. I love Chipotle on a Wednesday.
I love the first episode of season one of “Modern Love.” I love the line where the doorman tells Maggie that “it’s not just [her] anymore.” I also love how at the end of the episode he tells her, “I was never looking at the men, Maggie. I was looking at your eyes.”
I love when people correctly use brackets in quotations.
I love when a seat at the coffee shop becomes available just after I prayed for it. I love that God cares about those small things too.
I love the nostalgia of college friends, and the space created over a kitchen table or living room couches to "catch up." I love those moments with some of them when time feels like it hasn't passed at all.
I love being known.
I love when I get a text that starts with "Hey can you pray for me?" I love when what follows is a run-on of honesty, brave honesty in the details and the opportunity to pray and another way to see God's work front-row in the life of someone for whom I care deeply.
I love the way the sky looks in the winter at sunrise. I love that the Lord created such unnecessary beauty in the transition from day to night and night to day.
I love the indulgence of a crusty baguette, a good dish of pasta, and a glossy magazine.
I love the serendipity of movies set in New York City.
I love seeing people's Christmas trees through their open windows as I drive by. I love passing a couple taking a picture, knowing that a moment in time is being solidified in an image, and I got to witness as an anonymous passer-by.
I love the concept of sonder.
I love finding an old coffee shop receipt in a book as a placekeeper, of pages and time past.
I love the victorious satisfaction of picking just the right ice cream flavor after several annoying minutes of indecision. I love when there’s no line behind you at that ice cream shop and the staff member doesn't hesitate to give several samples.
I love people who are humble and people who are kind. I love people who are both.
I love the comfort of the “You’ve Got Mail” soundtrack, and just “You’ve Got Mail” in general.
I love finishing. Finishing books, journals, assignments, races, hard seasons. I love the tension between satisfaction and grief of finishing and beginning anew.
I love the moment you realize exactly why a book or movie has its title.
I love Exodus 16 and the story of God providing the manna.
I love how it tasted sweet like honey, just because God is good.
This post was inspired by this original poem. Other writers joined in on this prompt, including Ashlee Gadd and my lovely writing group friends, Michelle and Sarah.
I would love to hear -- what do you love?