Dear Friend,
The calendar turned to July this morning, and I caught myself smiling.
Not because of any one thing, but because this month always seems to be filled with the kinds of moments I look forward to all year.
My husband and our oldest son both celebrate birthdays in July, so there always seems to be something worth gathering for. Before the month is over, we’ll have celebrated around the table more than once, spent plenty of afternoons by the pool, and I’m sure there will be colorful towels draped across our Adirondack chairs after another swim.
I’ve never needed elaborate plans to enjoy summer. Give me family, good food, a quiet evening outside, and I’m perfectly happy.
One of my favorite traditions comes every Fourth of July.
Our neighborhood gathers around the community pond as the sun begins to set. Some families walk over carrying lawn chairs, while others pull up in trucks and settle onto the tailgates. The pavilion slowly fills, children find each other almost immediately, and neighbors spend as much time catching up as they do waiting for the fireworks to begin.
Every year, a handful of neighbors comes together to put on the fireworks display, and somehow they manage to outdo themselves every time.
When it’s over, no one seems to be in much of a hurry.
People linger for a while, finishing conversations or laughing about something that happened earlier in the evening. Eventually, chairs get folded, blankets are gathered, and everyone makes their way home.
I’ve always loved that part.
Not because the fireworks are over, but because the evening somehow isn’t.
There’s something comforting about walking back through the neighborhood while the air still smells faintly of fireworks and everyone is carrying a little bit of that summer-night feeling home with them.
I’ve been thinking about those ordinary moments a lot lately.
This week, I’ve been on vacation, and my mornings have slowed down in the sweetest way. Instead of rushing out the door, I’ve been making a cup of coffee, sitting down at my writing desk, and spending a few quiet hours working on Story 9. There have been moments when I’ve looked up from the page, watched the morning light come through the window, and thought to myself, “I could get used to this.”
By afternoon, I usually trade my keyboard for a good book. I recently finished Every Summer After, and after watching the series on Prime, I couldn’t wait to begin One Golden Summer. Summer has always felt like the perfect season for stories, whether I’m writing one or getting lost in someone else’s. I think one somehow makes me appreciate the other even more.
As I’ve spent time moving between the stories I’ve been reading and the one I’ve been writing, I’ve realized some of my favorite scenes are the ones where almost nothing happens.
People linger on the porch after dinner.
Conversations wander without any particular destination.
Someone laughs.
Someone else gets up to refill a glass of iced tea.
The sun slowly settles behind the trees, and no one seems to notice how late it’s getting because no one is in a hurry to leave.
A few years ago, I probably would have wondered if those scenes were too simple.
Now I think they’re the ones that feel the most like real life.
Maybe that’s why I wanted to begin writing these monthly letters.
Not to give you another email to read, but to invite you into this little corner of my world once a month. A place where I can share what’s been inspiring me, what I’ve been writing, and a few ordinary moments that I hope remind us both to slow down every now and then.
If you’re reading this with a cup of coffee beside you, we’re probably doing the same thing.
And if not, I hope you’ll find a quiet moment for yourself sometime this month.
Thank you for being here.
Whether you’ve been reading since the beginning or you just recently found Grace in the Waiting, I’m grateful you’ve chosen to spend a few minutes here with me.
Before I go, I’ve tucked a little gift below.
This month’s printable is called Summer Evenings, and it’s the first page in my From the Writing Desk Collection. My hope is that these pages become something you look forward to each month. A place to write down the conversations, memories, and ordinary moments that become part of your own story.
However you choose to use it, I hope it reminds you to notice the little things.
They have a way of staying with us long after the season has passed.
Wishing you a July filled with family, slow mornings, long evenings, and moments you’ll be grateful you didn’t rush through.
Shelley
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