Monday, August 27, 2012


Have you ever taken a walk with a child? You're holding their hand, taking in the moment, pointing out cool things to look at and talking about the colors. Suddenly something happens and they get scared. They'll do one of two things: climb up you like a monkey or let go of your hand and book it in the opposite direction. If they choose the latter, you'd run to catch them. Reassurance would be needed and that safe hand to hold would be essential. Eventually, you'd get back on the path and talk about how that thing wasn't so scary after all.
I'm still learning. I just wanted to point that out. I'm okay with it. Learning brings with it this ying and yang effect. The black versus white; the simple versus complicated. I've had to relearn some things about my faith. Deciphering what I believe and why I believe it; it's not always easy. I keep trying to figure out this simple versus complicated thing. Is Jesus simple or is He complicated? Is living out my faith simple or complicated? What's the big deal and why can't I come to a conclusion?
Why? Because it's both. Are there complicated things in the Christian life that we don't always have the answers for? Yes. Are some things simple? Yes.
Things are simple when you need them to be. I've been needing them to be simple lately. Life has been on the scary side. The camel's back has been broken at least a dozen times and the poor fella can't handle much more.
This happens to me almost every time I get scared and book it in the other direction: We go to church and church is good. It's always the same message. Jesus died for me. Jesus loves me. The end. It's simple. It's what I need to hear. It's Him taking me by the hand, getting me back on the path, pointing to the cross and saying, "Hey, see what I did for you? I love you. I got this," as He wipes my tears.

He's got this. Phew. Take a break, Mr. camel.

Sunday, August 19, 2012


When Ben and I visited the View the beginning of this year, I left with a feeling of accomplishment and relief that we had begun a new chapter in Florida. The idea that we were no longer bound to what I thought was the arm pit of East Texas was refreshing. The few people I still knew there were leaving soon and I felt confident that we were right where we were supposed to be. So if you had told me then that we would be back there someday, I probably would've given you the stink eye. Don't get me wrong, Longview was good to us. We learned a lot, we planted roots like we were supposed to and we missed El Sombrero. But going back was so not on our radar. Like ever. As far as our dream place to live? Shoot - give us an island with a tent and we'd be pretty set. We live for the ocean and we crave it when we're not near it. So East Texas? Not exactly our dream.
But - yeah, here comes the but - the Lord has other plans. Should we have left in the first place? Absolutely. I needed Florida. I needed the life change. I needed to be reminded of what family is all about; what that word means and who it really turns out to be in the end. I needed to drench my feet in salt water and watch the sunset. I needed the year long vacation.
The next chapter is about to begin, my friends. The View chapter. We're way more stoked than we thought we'd be. But that's how God works. Sometimes you get knocked down in ways you never thought you would. But the View is always better on the other side.

In other news... Dude has finally started getting more teeth! Naturally, the pain and agony of those little suckers had to come in the midst of one of the most challenging times in our lives. But, hey, we rocked it. Tired eyes and all.

We've also had the privilege of visiting the other side of the spectrum: the Smoky's in all their glory. Having family hidden up there has it's advantages and we've been exploring it in all it's majesty. 

We're refreshed and rejuvenated. Ready for whatever comes next. Watch out, world, Happy's back with a vengeance. Bam

Happy Monday.  

Thursday, August 16, 2012


My cousins lost their house a few weeks ago. When I say lost, I mean a tree fell and destroyed everything but the beds they were sleeping in. The devastation was unbelievable. Truly blessed to be alive, they've been digging through rubble trying to put their lives back together piece by piece. They found some Christmas ornaments last week. As big as Christmas is in our family,  I know what a cool discovery that must've been.
Sometimes that's how Happy works. She's always there. Sometimes you have to dig for her; sometimes she's hiding underneath what seems to be a devastating mess, but she's always there. Just waiting. A bit like hide and go seek.
That's what we've been learning. Being Bedouins is fun for the first 48 hours. No real plan, no place to be, the world is your oyster. You think of it like a vacation. Then you stop and realize that a vacation is only a vacation when you have a home to return to. 'Cause there's no place like home, right? Some days are discouraging. Happy hides behind a broken fender and reality is hard. No emails, no chance of  the vacation being over, still no plan and the oyster turns out not to be as open as you thought.  But Happy's still there. You'll hear her giggle or see her run behind a tree. She'll remind you to smile even when you don't want to. She'll whisper things like "Good always outweighs bad" and "Look at that rainbow." Happy knows what's up.

Here's what Happy looks like right now...


Photos taken via Instagram. Follow me @ambertwebb

Happy wants you to find her. She might have a really good hiding place, but she's there. Can you hear her laugh? 

Friday, August 10, 2012


We've said a lot of hard goodbyes over the years. We said a very hard goodbye yesterday. It was one of those that you're ready for, but it still feels like a Mack truck hit you in the gut. Remember that scene in The Parent Trap?  That's what I pictured in my head as that moment began to unfold. We said what we could muster up, hugged more than we needed to and waved in the rain. 
Ben will miss his Uncle Pete and Aunt Ashley. 
I'll miss my brother and sister. 

Emotions have been running high. The coming home part was easy. The "not having a home" part is another story. Micah should be home. We know that. Micah survived something he shouldn't have. We know that, too. But when it rains, it pours. 
And when you cry, you cry a lot. 

I just want to be settled. I want my baby to sleep in his own crib. I want to put groceries away in my own refrigerator. I want somebody somewhere to realize what an awesome asset Micah would be for their company. I want my hubcap back. I want my fender dent free. I want to relax on a beach somewhere. 
But when it rains, it pours. 

I like the rain. But I like the rain when I know the sun will come out afterward. I know it will someday. But when it rains... it pours. 

My dad says this will pass. I'd be okay with that. 

Monday, August 6, 2012


We've been Bedouins since July 30th. Everything we own is tetris-packed into a pod with the exception of what we needed in suitcases for said Bedouin activities. We have no real plan. We have no real home. We have a dent in our back fender and a teenie crack in our windshield from a flying rock. Because evidently rocks fly in North Carolina. It's cool, though, and we've been taking advantage of the built in vacation we've been given. We've been seeing family because family's important.We lost one of the patriarchs the day Micah came home.  It was hard. Poppa and Dottie were the best. The perfect grandparents. The kind of people you want to be like. We had a memorial service that lasted long enough to lose track of time. People cried. People laughed. We remembered the legacy.

I didn't feel worthy enough to have shared the stage with those who knew them their whole lives, but this is what I would've said had I worked up the courage.

I didn't know what having a grandfather was like until Poppa. I knew two things about him before the actual meeting: 1) Poppa loved to tell stories and 2) Poppa loved Dottie. You never saw one without the other. They were more in love than newlyweds and more devoted to each other than anyone I'd ever seen. They were the perfect example of what a Godly marriage looks like. Ever since that first get together, Poppa would tell me, "You said you'd be back. I believe you meant it. And I'm sure glad you did."
One of my most cherished moments came in the midst of one of the most painful for me. I had a kidney infection that felt worse than labor pains. The only position that provided any relief was sitting up straight in Dottie's sheep-skinned covered rocking chair in the new kitchen. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't move. I didn't  do anything but cry. Poppa stayed up with me all night. He told me stories, kept reheating the rice-filled homemade heating pad, whistled his favorite tunes and read me his favorite Bible passages. I couldn't imagine anyone else being more gentle and loving. He didn't have to take care of me. He didn't have to stay up all night. He didn't have to be my Poppa. But he was.