It’s been a crazy and fun few days, and honestly a welcome break from some of the feelings I’ve been having. The third weekend in September is much loved because our downtown streets are home to the Arts in the Heart festival. It was extra lively and busy at the store, which we’re thankful for. ArtZilla set up on our front patio and artists painted on site the whole weekend, plus we ate our weight in delicious cuisine and browsed the seemingly endless booths of art. It was a solid good time. We bought a painting by Lorri Kelly and a small hanging pot, which, it goes without saying, I can’t wait to see in the new house.
The weekend ended with drinks and good conversation and finally crashing in bed with guilty pleasure television shows. My legs ache from walking more than usual on top of my regular runs and our temporary room is a neglected mess, but it’s worth it. This morning was quiet and calm, and now rain and thunder have brought a darkened beauty to the day. It’s oddly just what I need to get myself back into the swing of daily life.
Last night I was struck by how different our weekend was compared to the year before. I speak of it often, though only vaguely–one of those decidedly painful and difficult times that had us feeling a heavy burden and tension surrounding these few days in particular. It’s a strange memory to have–one that almost doesn’t seem real–and we’re relieved to be passed it but also glad for the humbling opportunities for relational growth that resulted. I feel a major freedom in that, and I’m grateful not to have felt anger, grief, and confusion this weekend but simply the honor and joy it was to witness a city come alive through art and fellowship.