sorting out

I'm still sorting this out. That I am in one place, but pieces of my heart are elsewhere. In a vibrant college town, scattered in the hill country, big building cities, and over great bodies of water. And I'm here. Moving is one of the hardest things I have done and will do. Sometimes it makes me mad. Because I want so badly to be somewhere else. Not at all because where I am now is awful. My here and now is quite lovely and bright and exciting and changing.

Yet there are people. That's it, the people - friends, family, sisters, brothers, kindreds. They are what make me wish I could hop in a DeLorean and go back. Better than that, I wish I could just teleport. Because I want to see and hear and hug and laugh with them, now.

I miss the smell of cigar smoke on the front porch and the crash of water on skin jumping in to the river. Running down the dunes, kicking sand in to the air and scraping ice off of my windshield with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Even more I miss the sound of our three voices singing in to the night, the way she interrupted an entire coffee shop with her elated laughter, chasing them through corn fields at night, and sharing so many meals with them.

All of them. Whether plopped on blankets in the living room, the tall table in the kitchen, over queso at 3am, or making eggs & bacon at midnight. The breaking of bread (or chips) brought us together. On Sunday nights, Thursday adventures, or after closing HBCB and froyo runs. For that I am thankful.

We lived wide, loved deep, and laughed long. If my adventures weren't so wonderful, my memories not so strong, my heart not so tangled in others, it simply would have been wasted. It would have been a life less lived. Mediocre.

So, while I get annoyed when the tears sting my eyes as that song comes on or when I see the picture and wish it was me sitting and having coffee with them - I have to remember. Remember, that there I Lived. And that Jesus gives Life, because He wants it to be lived. And just as He called me then, teaching me of adventure and discovery and deep joy & relationship, He calls me now. Lessons will continue and new ones will come. Always though, will He be my Guide. The perfect Partner, Leader, and Friend - calling me deeper in to Life as He gives it - raw, hopeful, and full of adventure.

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. 

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.

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.

a journal entry

I was sifting back through the pages of my journal and came across this today. Thought I would share...

I want the words on this page to meet more than just my eyes.

I want these words to see and meet the world with much more than just a "hello" and "good-bye".

I want nothing more than for them to meet you where you're at,

to speak of what's in your heart.

Those thoughts and feelings you could never explain.

I want for these words to inspire, to ignite a fire like none other.

For them to spark a change in your heart and your mind.

To speak truth to dispel the lies.

I want these words to be so much more than me, sitting, listening, writing, thinking.

I want the words that I write, the words that I say to give light to my actions and why I live this way.

For this way is not my own,

and this world is not my home.

I have been purchased by the blood,

I have been vindicated by His sacrifice.

For nothing I do out of my own strength is of worth.

So I throw off my greed of self,

my obsession with my own strength.

I want nothing more than to be frail, to be broken, to be weak.

Because those are the moments when I feel beautiful,

with my hands to the sky and my face to the floor.

When everything in me aches for nothing more than a glimpse,

for even that will be enough-

just a touch of the hem will bring me closer, will draw me in, will satisfy this thirst.

Yet, You give me more, more than I could ever ask for, more than I realize.

You adorn me with grace, crown me with mercy, wash my feet with humility.

Who am I to deserve this?

If anything, I should be the one washing your feet,

anointing them with oil-

and that's what you ask, but in your sweet, tender way.

You beckon me to give You each day

to dream with You that this life can be so much more than it is right now.

Because you love me.

And those words I will never completely comprehend.

I'm in awe that my name and your love even are joined in a sentence together.

Because without you-

I belong nowhere near the town that holds the library, that has the book, that contains the sentence,

where it says You love me.

You have given me so much more than I could ever need-

You shower me with blessings and love me anyways-

You are my Father who loves me and because of this I choose to praise and exalt you.

You are the reason I live and breathe and move.

I found this after a week of learning, and I'm BLOWN AWAY, like no words to describe, no expression on my face can do justice, no volume used when speaking, could ever begin to express how GOOD Jesus is. This week, I've been reminded of His sweet faithfulness and timing. Of how He desires to teach me and draw me nearer every step. And God even used something I wrote months ago, to continue speaking to me. So my desire for including my journal entry was not to point at me in the least. My desire is to turn it back to Jesus, because without His goodness those words of love to Him would not have poured forth. He is the reason I write and move and breath and have being.

So lovelies, I hope you experience His goodness and love this week. He is faithful and just and absolutely adores you beyond your wildest dreams!
Much love,
Ky