tuesdays unwrapped

Having known each other for twenty minutes, we sat like two old friends and gushed about dreams and ideas. I listened as she shared, telling me what she wanted to do, who she wanted to help. Her face lit up, in that way that only comes from dreaming big. From holding an idea, a venture, that just might be "too" big, but being audacious enough to hold it tight and run with it.

Flames flashing and illusions tricking our eyes. Fire dancers and magicians. Accuracy veiled in excitement. With each movement that seemed to exhale - this is me and this is what I love to do.

Talk of a certain pond over breakfast. A meeting of two writer's hearts. Encouragement to take the next step, without knowing what step two may be.

Glimpses of dreams. A friend that changed her major, leaving security behind. A girl's meek smile as she shares of her love for composition, her heart music pouring forth as she opens up. A younger brother's excited plans to create, clay ready in hand.

The sight of a painting, the acoustic strum in a certain song, the folds like fabric in a statue long since crafted. The excitement of the soul as it experiences art. Here I am reminded of His heart for the created. His created, His children. I am overwhelmed to ponder, my enjoyment of the work of hands, is minuscule in light of His adoration. The work of His hands, His enjoyment at the sight of His creation, is undaunted, abundant, pure in appreciation.

He wanted us to meet Him there. He placed within us a heart that beats a little faster in the presence of a gift. He invites us to share with Him. To recognize the desire placed and open hands wide to see and be moved by Him in it.

His heart is to teach the created the love of the Creator. May we turn and open hands wide, desires in palm, and surrender.

That we may know Him deeper.

this is not my story

"Do it. Do it. Do it."

"I want you to write a book."

"Wait, please write a book. What would it be about?"

A few weeks back I sent out a text to a few close friends. It simply said, "I want to write a book." It's funny really, because I never seriously considered this before. Unless you count third grade when I thought I was going to write first date and love stories forever. That did in fact happen. In third grade. Third grade. What eight-year-old writes about a romantic first date? None? Oh wait, no I did. While slightly embarrassed by my own love-sick elementary past, recalling that motivates me to pull out my old elementary school notebooks. There's got to be some good stuff in there, laughable at the least. 

I suppose that goes to show, I love to write. It's the one thing in school I've always enjoyed. Fiction writing exercises in fourth grade, argument essays in eighth, poetry in twelfth. I once wrote an entire literary comparison piece in an ABAB rhyme scheme, because I could and I thought it was super fun. 

It's one of those things that feels as natural as waking up. That must be akin to how the conductor feels as he raises his arms to shepard a symphony in playing their notes, notes like wind brushing across the listeners ears. He knows what is about to pour forth and knows the hilltop the audience will be taken too. Writing like music is a chance to give voice to emotion, it captures, transports, and is not confined to one form. 

I hadn't seriously considered writing a book until Jesus and I had a talk. At the end I made the decision I would. Not because I feel I have an abundance of wisdom to be poured out or some incredible story to be deliciously divulged. Part of me wants to write for the sake of writing. Jesus is also teaching me that He has placed desires in my heart for a reason, and the desire to write is not within me so I can talk and dream about how it'd be nice to write more. Then simply leave it at that - a thought, a conversation. Much like love is not truly love until it is in action. It can indwell us, but it isn't fulfilling all that it was purposed to until it is shown. Love, like paint in a tube, isn't art until it is placed upon canvas.

And here I am. Paint brush raised and feeling whimsical just standing in front of this easel. The words I know for sure are "This is Not My Story". I cannot claim the words, for they are not my own. The setting and characters were chosen by the Author Himself. As I raise paint-dipped brush to canvas, I breathe deep the breath of the conductor. Exhaling as I begin, knowing all that can be anticipated is an experience that will leave me captivated. Enthralled by the matchless love of a Father that knows my desires and calls them forth. So here I go. I'm going to write a book. 

for freedom

I'm here to say - I don't know.
The road before me is veiled to my eyes, but not His.
No longer will I hand you the acceptable answer.
His ways are higher, they are greater, they are beyond understanding.
I refuse to affix blocks in a pattern that conform to comfort.
I'm here to admit I've tried.
My attempts are akin to describing a panoramic view,
the words to justify a scene are like a child's attempt to draw a sunset.
Really any personal effort to capture His essence is like a crayon-drawn sinking sun.

Beyond the chapter He's authored as of late,
the stories He scripted up to these moments -
seem sweetly unattainable, yet they abide in the ink of every line.
His goodness and care laces the black liquid.
He wrote to tell me before this began that He would take care.
Before He called out for me to jump,
arms of ever-comfort were wrapped around.
In action was shown the depth of His love, as on the day the curtain tore.

The eternal love writing He continues to read to me.
Each vowel, consonant, letter an invitation to once again step to the ledge.
And the accompanying embrace always the love-action that shouts -
"For freedom, I came. So I may offer it to you. Now, let's jump."

step Two

We speak of being called to step out on the water.
That first step....
          it's frightening, exhilarating, freeing, scary, crazy, and joyful.

We often stop the story there,
at Step One.

It's funny, now I find myself at Step TWO.
People don't talk as much about this step.

We speak so often of the beginning - the call. And consequently, the end - the conclusion.
What about the in-between?
The in-between. That's where we live.
The in-between is step Two, step three, step four, step five....

I'm reminded of Abraham. [Genesis 22]  Abba calling him to sacrifice Isaac.

Abraham's step Two was rising the morning after the Call.
Step Three was waking Isaac.
Step Four chopping the wood - every fall of the ax, every grunt, every wipe of sleeve against brow -
leaning in to Abba.

Every step is a choice of dependence.

It's here I find myself.
Step one - the Call.
Step Two - the Unknown.

Dependence is being shaped. A heart for adventure being fostered.
This Guide of mine, Abba, He sure knows how to make His children enter in to Life.
I'm learning that's the invitation every day.

"I invite you in to a life ABUNDANT." [John 10:10]

a day off

a break in time from the usual

eyes for makarios that envelope these 24 hours

discovery time with Jesus

classrooms that look like this

sprinkles of flowers in front yards

barefoot baking & yummy smelling houses

grateful that He walks through everyday by my side & uses the world around me to overwhelm my heart with reminders of His grace and mercy.

                                           Give to me the gospel of the fields and woods,

                                           The sermons written in the book of books;

                                           The sweet communion of the things on earth

                                           Fresh with the warm baptism of the sun;

                                           Give me the offertory of bud and bloom,

                                           The perfect caroling of happy birds;

                                           Give me the creed of one of God's fair days

                                           Wrought in the beauty of its loveliness;

                                           And then the benediction of the starts,

                                           His eloquent ministers of the night.



                                                                                                                    -Ravenscroft

[grateful thoughts]

A glance back over the shoulder at the moments & adventures shared

in order to gaze upwards & thank the Giver of all

car rides & cuddles with pups named Pancake

mornings spent walking in parks & dreaming of days to come

days started with colorado coffee in french presses

work that makes me feel like I'm in exactly the right place

kitchen giggles & yummy dinners

 all with the most lovely best a gal could ask for

night rides with acoustic tunes simply "because"

to adopt words that sum it up better than I can say:

"Here's to gratitude and how it turns everything into enough."

{ http://www.todaysletters.com/ }

the day I decided not to go back

The question begged:
What would you do if you had no fear of the future?

The answer startled.
Abrupt and simple:
To not return.

It's simplicity, refreshing. It's boldness, ravishing.
There it stood, the answer.
Left aside for time,
so thoughts could simmer and swirl.

Rising again in a modest moment.
This answer ushered freedom.
Speaking softly of Hope and unabashed Trust.

Now shared with Joy complete,
no telling of what days forward will bud in to.
The Guide grasps my hand by His side.
His Presence enough as we sojourn in to coming time.

to the Artist

Thank You for the dreamers,
the everyday future writers.

Thank You for the workers,
the craftsman of unordinary days.

Thank You for the ponderers,
the thinkers that don't settle.

Thank You that You are their Center,
the ebb and flow of your love the motivation.

Thank You for the creators,
the shapers of mosaic life.

Thank You for the singers,
the voices of our condition.

Thank You for the welders,
the molders of intention.

Thank You that You are their Reason,
the cascading crash of Your grace in to our brokenness the story.

starting fresh

      Gratitude for

          a house full for Sunday night dinner

          waking in the dark to greet the day

          days spent with faces new and hearts of gold

          mugs on walls, window washing, & yirgacheffe black

          midday naps and hours that run long

          night walks & rooftop concerts

          Old Pine by Ben Howard

          celebration of all sorts

       
       

a grand expedition

There are moments like this where I look at my life and I simply cannot comprehend the vast difference a mere 365 days makes.

A year ago I was anticipating classes, and frankly had no idea what to expect of the new season I found myself in.

The lack of knowledge of what tomorrow holds is still present, but in a new sense. Beyond the counter which I will spend several consecutive hours of my day behind - I truly know not what to anticipate.

There are moments where my mind whirls with all the possibilities - other pauses where I sit and chuckle, wondering what AM I to do?

There is this delightful aura to the life I'm leading at the moment. One of tales not yet unfolded and dreams like a kite flying unfettered in my mind's wind.

This path is scattered with grinds, lined with the friendliest of faces, and I'm being led by my ever-present Guide. To stand and wander down this path - new to me, yet known to Him, is to enter in to the grand expedition. Of which I know not what each day holds, but only
Who holds it.

Whether it contain warm embers of kindred hearts, or if it will bring with it a bridge to traverse over hurt in to healing. Each step is taken in the print of the One that walks before me. With Whom I shall know no fear.

it is here

Images flit back and forth
Words are tossed unabashedly
Pictures give way to living art forms
Speech turns to proclamations of hope

It is here that we dream.

Prayers are poured forth
Wisdom sought for in circles
Conversations with the Most High are had
Encouragement is borne out of crossing lines

It is here that we seek.

Ideas are molded carefully
Hearts light with anticipation
Clasped hands are opened to all He has
Spirits united directed towards One

It is here that we surrender.

little ones

lately it's been hide-and-seek,

chocolate mustaches and blanket forts.

smiles around corners that peek,

and goats nibbling shorts.

thankful for these little ones

and the joy they bring.

g'night friends!

glimpses of lately

7 days. A week back here, the place a call home. It's been sweet time and a feels like the exhale of a big breath after a long semester. Here's a few glimpses in to life lately....

Bittersweet good-byes in the best of places. 

Complete with cups a jo, yummy pizza, and lotsa hugs to go around.

Nights at home with those long-since-seen.

 Indoor s'mores, more coffee, and sleepy eyes.

New adventures in exciting places. 

Seriously "blown" away by the art of glass blowing now.

Celebrating the wonderful mama's in my life. 

Wisdom and beauty right there folks!

Days spent soaking up the sun with these 3 youngsters.

My baby-language is coming back strong.

Eating healthy food in a real kitchen in a real home.

It truly is a splendid thing.

My dorm emptied in to the game room. 

A mess that no insta-effect can remedy. 

(stay tuned this project is still in process)

More time with the little-uns.

Outside, water soaked, and bellies full of watermelon.

This is what summer is made of. Hope you're enjoying these days as much as I am friends!

And oh hey, in case you didn't notice...

It's the WEEKEND!! Now go dance or something, because that's exciting!

i don't know

(image: Pinterest)

I don't know. This is where life is right now. I'm not sure if there's ever been a point at which the future was so unknown to me as it is right now. ( I could be exaggerating here, but really.) There is a staircase before me that is dark, I'm not sure where the first step is, and Papa has called me to wait. To sit here and wait.

I'm not one to wait much. Or if I am waiting, I do what I call "active waiting". I always try to be productive, so if I'm in an office or before class, 99 out of 100 times I will be doing something-making a list, reading a book, checking email, on the phone.

What's funny as I sit and re-read what I've just wrote is that the emphasis of the unknown is on me. I don't know, and that's just it- I don't. I never truly know. But He does. And this is the Truth I cling to. Because I know His character-He is good, He is faithful, and gives joy and peace abundantly. And He has been so wonderful to show me that this week.

So many little blessings, makarios, have twinkled to show light in the midst of the dark unknown. I could literally list the many things that keep me looking Up. From the people who have walked across rooms just to open the door for me, the visiting students saying "Howdy! I hope you feel better!" as I pass, the friends whose selflessness has astounded me as they walk me from class to class carrying my bag, and the countless texts, messages, phone calls asking how I am and if there's anything that can be done. I find myself joyfully speechless as the flash of these little lights flit on by.

I knew from the beginning, when I approached this staircase and Papa whispered to stay here and wait, that JOY was going to be found at this landing. He hasn't ceased to deliver. Again and again, joy appears, the lights twinkle by, and because of His Hope I look Up. And while I don't see the path before me, I know Who walks beside me and holds my hand.

In Him alone, I can trust. How lovely?

May your day be wonderful and you have eyes to see His makarios, my dears!

when life looks different

When life looks different from what you thought it would....


you learn to walk without seeing the next step

you see what a gift those around you truly are

you laugh at unexpected circumstances

you cry a little at the unknown

you hold tightly to the Truth: "I am the same yesterday, today, and forever."

you have the choice of Joy Abundant every moment & His Strength to make it

you rest so securely in the arms of a Savior that loves you dearly and hears your every whispered cry

please excuse the construction

Workin on a new blog design as of late, so it looks a little "eh" around here. Soon (and by soon I mean, I have no idea when exactly) the brand-spankin-new look will be up to marvel at, or not notice. Either way, thanks for stickin around! :)

perception

What do you think of me?

How often is this the question that laces our thoughts.
It's embarrassing, isn't it?
We hate to admit that we care so much, so often.
I'm guilty of it.

How are we seen?
To what conclusions do people arrive at once they have met us?
What image is projected upon the white mask we hide behind?

I've been thinking about this quite a lot lately.
A little, as I have sifted through blogs and 'social-media' pages.
A bit, as I have encountered and witnessed interactions.
A lot, as I have examined my own motives when posed with the question:

WHY?

This isn't a very conclusive post.
More a thought-process I'm throwing out there,
perhaps to be returned with your own ideas or answered with silence.

So I ask you:
WHY?

I'm committing to ask myself this and maybe you will too.
Rather than accepting the status quo of my thought life.
Capturing every thought and holding up to the Light.

Let's see where things go from here, shall we?

to my sisters

Your stories have been a light to my day,
your lives beautiful displays of the Father's redemptive grace.

You have grabbed hold of the Truth,
and fearlessly run forth with laughter in your eyes.

You know that the work has just begun,
and the masterpiece being painted is breathtaking.

You feel out of control of all that is going on,
but are learning the joy of Faith without sight.

You delve deep in to what many would avoid,
knowing that you never walk alone.

You cast off the fear of man that constricts,
and boldly burst forth in Christ-confidence.

You won't settle to remain where you are,
because you know that ahead lies better things.

Your gaze doesn't settle upon fleeting pleasures,
but is fixed upwards on the Eternal.


You each are a gift to those you encounter,
the Light of True Life within you radiates without relent.



Thank you sisters.
For the words spoken, the tears shed, the masks removed, and the invitation in to your life.
I'm oh so thankful for each of you.

"And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful." Colossians 3:14-15

what i shouldn't be doing

There are days, like yesterday, that I crack open my computer with the intention of doing productive things, such as, but not limited to: writing scholarship essays. There are also days, like yesterday, that I end up spending time writing whatever decides to float through my brain, such as, but not limited to: what you are about to read. So was yesterday productive? Eh...I guess it depends on how you look at it :)

Vagabond

          

      I am entitled to nothing, though I expect so much.

What is it I think I deserve?

Oh little me, why do you think you need it all?

                Have you not heard His voice,

That soft, lilting, melodic call?

To come to Me all who grow tired

Of this life we live, in which we chase…

                All that we think will satisfy

My dear, oh me what do I think

                Of the quiet call and the deafening noise

Do I even separate the beautiful voice

From all those that I hear?

                Or do I listen and then turn

Turn away from all He said

yet I’ll give my attention

sell it for pennies and dimes

                to the bidder who can give

entertainment for the moment

visual dances and a silly little song

                why do I fake satisfaction?

Do I even know what that means?

To be satiated by the One

                To drink deep

To come along

For a waltz in the wilderness

                Tall trees bow as we walk in

You lead me here

You take my hand and spin me round

The air caresses my skin

and I breathe in deep of the earth

why have I pushed this away for so long?

You know my heart

Pursuit of the vagabond

Is what this story must be called

                For I run more than I call

But you lead me back

To this wilderness and rest

                You remind of the beginning

And of the glorious end

                Of the feast to come

                And the marriage vows already spoken

You love me though my life lies

It speaks against those words I said to you long ago

                Squandering what you gave

                I live for myself

But oh dear me, here you are once again

Always seeking after me

Calling me that sweet name no one else knows

                This is our story

One of love and pursuit

I give it all to you

                Write, please write

Scribble through my best-laid plans

Ruin me for all my eyes seek

Blind my eyes to temporal causes

                Create in me a desire eternal

To walk hand in hand

                In that wilderness I now call home

Once a vagabond, now a child

Oh Daddy, dance with me once more.