The Summer of 27

 Ten years ago, I wrote a piece in my journal that started something like this. (I've edited it slightly because I can't let you read my journal no matter how much I like you.)

It was the summer I turned seventeen.

It was the summer I was told the truth.

It was the summer of more questions than answers.

But for me, it will always be the summer I looked at the stars.

That summer was incredibly hard... and the thing that helped me cope was going out at night to lay on the trampoline and stare at the stars. I would lay out there several nights a week and talk to God until I didn't have any words left. 

This summer, my own little girls inherited that sturdy, old trampoline. They spend huge chunks of every day on it and when I look out my kitchen window, I can almost see the ghosts of my sisters and I bouncing into the sky right beside them. So much has changed in the past ten years! In an effort to capture that change with words, I wrote The Summer of 27.

It was the summer I turned twenty-seven.

It was the summer of the cicada's song. 

It was the summer Shiloh found her voice.

It was the summer Vienna learned that letters make words and words make stories.

It was the summer Chad drove me to a certain spot on a certain road to watch the sunset.

It was the summer we dreamed about building a home in that spot. 

It was the summer we threw away our masks.

It was the summer I fell in love with writing again. 

It was the summer we learned to fish (kind of.)

It was the summer two little girls squished against me on the trampoline while we stared into the night sky.