We have a history with this gathering you see. Like pieces of a child's favorite jigsaw puzzle all memorized in the motions, we marry. Cardboard peeled corners turn inward as they arrive. With jutted edges, they tend. These faithful cornerstones of our family find just the right crook of another connecting edge for just a time. This fit is collapsable in the collective and encompassing in the everyone. The Saturday before Thanksgiving we rest in this simple routine established. And, as time triumphs, we take to tending hearts each and every year. Tradition is born not by happenstance, but by the collections of presence if you ask me. Little ones pushed right up next to those big moments close & huddled creating a rhythm of one. Not perfect. Not so much profound either. But precious, so very. Above is the very first image captured of mine and Kenny's hope for what would be the product of presence.
And, collections have trumped the happenstance of life. This year we welcomed tradition with the #11. No years have been missed. None skipped over or watered down. The Cobble Gobble has become the story of us. Family. Together. Celebrating. Its beauty lies in the simplicity. As the pieces of our puzzle snap.press to connect, love creates new edges. These edges are known by name. Mark, Sydnie, Eli, Casey, Mollye, Mallory, Colton & soon-to-arrive sweet Amelia. Their pieces are created. Cared for. Nurtured by love and raised with the tradition of these past 11 years. Their little lives grow taller and deeper with each calendar turn. With family: simple and tended to. My heart fills heavy with happy as our puzzle's picture comes to life. Happenstance can't create the memories these 11 years tell. It can't even begin to muster up the goodness gathered when we all tend to one another. These smiles, these moments are proof. Evidence of a time marked. Dog-earred in our storybooks. Already penned into our table of contents too. And, thankful just doesn't seem to be a big enough word to hold all of my heart when I think about this very day in our family eleven years strong.
Tending. To each other. To the rhythm of tradition and to the time marked sacred the Saturday before Thanksgiving even if just for a day. Hope multiplies as puzzle pieces snap.press together. Little hands grow as they're held by hands wrinkled rich in wisdom. Dog-earred, this day is the collection of us. Jagged edges. Jutting out. Curving in. Cardboard peeled & well loved. Our pieces fit.
As time continues to triumph, our collections of presence create a larger picture. Not perfect. Not so much profound either. But precious, so very. Blessed are we all with the memories of growing hands, loving hearts and hope moving from one smile to another. Even if just for a day. Tending. I am so very happy we do.