writing eucharisteo {152-159}

{via pinterest}

this is my last Monday of rest, in a way.

at least for the next month.

each day comes with its own level of responsibilities, its own little list that softly whispers take care of me, check me off. 


but as of tonight {or rather, tomorrow morning} at 12:00am, i will officially be launching into my third year of NaNoWriMo.

 this will mean i will floundering in word counts, coupled excessive amounts of tea and coffee to keep my tired, wrung-out brain from sputtering to a halt.

this is one more thing on my self-imposed to-do lists. and i bear the slightest fear of burning out.

but i know i won't.

because i have written eucharisteo on my wrist.

 i will weave this thing of gratitude, grace, and joy deep into my soul as i compose each word. i will not grow weary, nor give way to frustration or despair of completing my seemingly daunting goal.

and even in my chaos of daily life and 50,000 words, i will continue to count my ever-growing blessings, one at a time.

• 152. the support of family and the one i love as i embark upon this {perhaps a bit insane} mission

• 153. people in my heart who bear me up as Aaron to Moses, lifting my arms as i grow weary in doing good, never letting my passion drop. 

• 154. the voice of God, clear as knell in my soul. 

• 155. contentment in staying home when i would be rather have been at Relevant11. finding my place, my corner as i wait on Him. 

{via pinterest}

• 156. the cutting comments regarding my most recent post, and being featured on a site that rips apart Christian writings. Matthew 5:11-12 has never rung so deep and true in my soul. i cling to Him alone. 

• 157. trees decked only in orange and red leaves that line the block outside my window. the artist that paints my soul has not ceased her singing. 

• 158. my new affiliation with Shabby Apple. standing for beauty and modesty, and knowing that i am not compromising. this is a blessing beyond words. 

• 159. refreshment for my heart. freedom for my soul. this is Love, dear ones. 

and so i will be writing. i will be finding my moments with the King amid the black and white scratches upon the paper. i will be delving deep with Him this month. November will be beautiful. 

wallpapered from door to window with blessings. 

{linking with Ann today}

{the giveaway has been extended until November 1st to give me some time to balance myself out 

winners will be drawn after midnight and posted on the 2nd, along with November's giveaway}

plot-ish // writer's blog

i finally feel like i have a footing. it's taken me six months to come up with this concept.

i'm honestly not sure what took me quite so long to let loose and allow my inspiration to create this concept in my head.

i will admit, a very large portion of this came to me in the bathtub {of all places} on Friday night. i now hold fast to cucumber melon body wash, and the power of a relaxing soak.

{the remainder of this post, as well as a brief synposis of my NaNo novel, can be found here}

taken name

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sometimes i struggle with my name.

not the one my parents gave me, nor the one that changed when i became a Mrs.

but the one i took when i became His. the name that has been stamped upon, sullied, and desecrated until i no longer am sure i want to bear that banner.

Christian

i don't like be associated with that name. i am not ashamed of Him. oh, please, God, never would i be ashamed to be known as His. 

but the name itself. 

i am a Christ-follower. i belong to Jesus Christ. 

but what once was a badge of honour, literally speaking little Christ to the darkness of the Roman empire and then to the world at large

has now become a mark of hate.

people with picket signs and waving Bibles in the faces of frightened girls as they walk up toward a building to end the life of their child. 

it has become the shield for people -- dark-hearted villains -- who stand at the funeral of a young gay military officer and scream 

god hates you

god hates gays

god hates America

god hates everyone

i always capitalize God. i did not do so above. why? 

because this god they speak of is not the One True God. this is not the God i love, worship, and serve with my whole life. and this book they read cannot be the Holy Word of God. 

these goats and blind guides will stand at His feet one day. His eyes will flood with tears as He looks away and speaks 

I never knew you

my God hates sin. He hates the darkness. 

but He loves people. He loves the ones trapped, even if they have no idea. 

we love Him because He first loved us

church, where have you gone? what have you done? 

to be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable

because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you

-c.s. lewis

i am His. make no mistake. 

there is a Hell. it takes a choice to step from Death to Life. 

but doors are closed to no one. no sin is so great that He cannot forgive.

Love is everlasting. 

so drop the picket signs covered in marker scrawl, reach out a hand, and drawn them in. speak to them Truth, but in the firmness of Love. 

hide no realities of death and Hell, but show the alternative....show them Life. 

show them Him. light a candle. 

little sparks can light great fires. 

{linking with Michelle today}

stand for something // shabby apple

{Shabby Apple -- Che Bella?
from the Roamin Holiday collection

being a woman in this culture is hard.

being a woman of character, a woman who stands for something -- nay, Someone -- greater than herself is pushing the limits of difficult.

exhaustingly so at times.

we fight so many cultural lies that tell us what the measure of beauty is. we have molds in which we must shape and twist ourselves to fit. and oftentimes, we find ourselves wanting and broken from all the attempts to fit, from all the failing.

and there are places that make a difference. that make a change in the culture. that make being a woman of character and being feminine line up and work together.

confident, beautiful women. all shapes, all sizes. all smiles and all curves.

this is why i love Shabby Apple.

their mission statement is simple and straightforward:

We started Shabby Apple because we saw a need in women’s fashion that was not being met. A need to make women feel feminine and beautiful for what they wear, not what they bare. 

We offer flirty, stylish dresses a woman can wear just as comfortably in the office, at a family dinner, or on a date. 

Shabby Apple is a fashion company for women, by women, and of women.

this is why i personally have taken a step forward. 

DramaticElegance is now affiliated with Shabby Apple. 

{Shabby Apple -- Carnival}
from the Carousel collection 

i could not be more inspired, more impressed, or any more delighted with this organization. it's dressing to impress and causing the right kind of scene with your appearance.

 it's about wearing, not baring. 

a corner of the world packed with vintage-styled skirts and dresses for all body types, finding your most flattering fit, and embracing personal style -- including Mama Apple {maternity wear} and Shabby Baby {children's apparel}. there's even a darling Arts & Crafts with rich-toned nail polish, shadowboxes, and more.  

 it's more than just a website to buy adorable vintage-styled clothing and accessories. it's a place to give back and support women and children-targeted charities through each one of your purchases. 

please keep your eyes open for upcoming giveaways on my blog from Shabby Apple. 

being a women can be so hard. 

but doors are opening. boundaries are being pushed. the world is being shown that beauty doesn't mean being a certain size or dressing in a certain style. 

no...

true beauty flows from the soul. 

{i receive a 5% commission for all qualified sales that are generated by DramaticElegance from links and buttons/banners placed on my site.

all opinions regarding the company and their products found on this blog are my own.}

days // hours // minutes

{via pinterest}

we all have our comforts. 

those things that draw us in and bring us a sense of warmth during these final months of the year. the spirit of celebration and nostalgia begins to burn within our hearts, as if kindled by the colder air and swirling leaves in tones of red and gold. 

comforts and warmth are part of the season. these final two months that grace the year are full of so many things unique to them, and only them.

 perhaps it is why we look at our calenders and count the days like children, eager for whispering snow and silver bells. 

how many more minutes 'till Christmas?

i've always been the nostalgic one. the one that looks with fond memories over each tradition, each carefully packed away decoration. the smell of pine makes me dream of late winter nights spent with my sister, pouring over our brightly coloured pictures and decorating the tree on November 1st. 

it's only 365 days between each visit, you know. 

{via pinterest}

but why does it feel so long between?

and why do i want it to come so fast this year? 

i'm catching myself drinking peppermint hot chocolate and longing to slip The Holiday or White Christmas into the DVD player. breaking my own firm rules: nothing Christmas until at least November. 

but we still have three full days until the eleventh month. i'm counting the days till Christmas on my fingers and toes. this sentimentality is killing me. 

perhaps Christmas is my comfort. the carols, the tinkling bells. the smells of pine and snow, the aroma that winter alone carries in its pocket. 

perhaps it is celebrating the start of my salvation. the stepping from gold to straw. from cries of Holy to cries for food and comfort from the throat of the King. 

God to Man combined. 

and so i will snuggle up with my peppermint hot chocolate, breaking my own little rule.

and this little girl will sit, counting... 

57 days. 1,364 hours. 81,864 minutes.

winter pot pie {recipe}

{via pinterest}

there is something so comforting about warm food in the wintertime.

amid the turning leaves and whispering snow, there is something wonderful found in a steaming bowl of soup or something equally warm and inviting.

chicken pot pie is, for me, one of those edible bits of cooler weather. until this year, i had never attempted to make it myself, relying only on my mother-in-law or pre-prepared offerings from the local grocery.

this year, however, i have delved into this particular recipe myself. and it has been proved delicious and incredibly easy to put together.

i share so many words with you all, so many mental and musing treasures that flood my mind night and day. but this simple bit of cooking is something that i could not keep to myself, and felt that each one of you might enjoy having yourself.

• one medium onion, diced 
• 2-3 moderately sized chicken breasts, diced
• 1 tablespoon butter
• 1/3 cup flour
• 2/3 cup milk
• 1 small can cream-of-whatever soup {chicken, celery, mushroom, etc.}
• 2 cups broccoli florets
• 1 1/2 shredded cheddar cheese
• 2 nine-inch unbaked pie dough rounds {either your own favourite crust recipe or pre-made}
• salt, pepper, garlic powder, and herbs to taste {i use parsley, oregano, basil, and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper, mixed in with the onions before sauteeing, but you can wait and mix them in with the cream mixture later}

{via pinterest}

sautee the onions and herbs together with the butter just until soft. add the chicken and cook together until cooked through. 

in a separate bowl, slowly combine the flour and milk until you form a smooth batter. add the soup and whisk together until smooth. add the broccoli, cheese, chicken, and onions; mix well together. 

line a 9" pie plate with one of the circles of pie dough. pour in the filling and spread it out evenly. 

top with the second round and crimp the shells together to make a trimming crust. 

cut slits or simple designs in the top crust to vent. 

bake at 425 degrees F or until the crust is golden brown.

allow to cool for a few moments and serve warm. 

this dish is so wonderfully easy and quick to prepare. try other kinds of vegetables to suit your family's tastes. we have done corn, carrot, and green bean as well, which is equally delicious. 

yes, in all seasons, we relish in the taste and goodness of delicious food.

 but in winter, there are certain culinary delights that pique our fancies and hold us captive in an embrace of warmth and reminders of childhood homes. 

step into your kitchen. 

take a moment, 

and bake yourself a memory. 

relevant

five minute fridays. we write for five, and only five, minutes. no editing, no overthinking, no backtracking. linking up with the gypsy mama.

the word

RELEVANT

now GO...

i crave relevance. i ache to have a place of here and now in this world. where my past has blended into shadow and is no longer haunting my every step with its pack of has-been lies. 

i tend to place relevant and authentic on the same level. because how can we stand in a place of relevance to the world if we are not being authentic with Truth and Light? 

relevant means pertinent, connected to the matter at hand. 

authentic means real, not falsified. 

so you see how they must go together?

so many of my precious blogger friends are doing just that this weekend. they are wrapped up together in a place of relevant, authentic love and community. 


this place of sharing and precious connection where only computer screens had joined before. 

and i won't lie in that i envy them this. i wish i could be there with them, finding my corner of community with this thing that can feel so aloof at times. 

but i know i am here in my relevant place, where i need to be for such a time as this.

maybe someday, in another year, i will join them in their place. 

 i am not with this community now, but i am here. 

still authentic, still honest, still raw, and still craving this touch of relevance. 

knit-wise

{via pinterest}

i don't knit. i wish i did.

right around this time of year, my mind turns to pondering my love of soft yarn and just how a pair of knitting needles might feel clicking against my palms.

i like the way knitted things smell. that rich aroma of softness and the love that was poured into each stitch.

 i like the concept of being able to create something that could benefit others.

a treasure to help keep them warm, to bring a little smile as they hold something comforting and made with their heart in mind.

but then i remind myself that i have more than enough things that take up my time without adding knitting to my list.

that doesn't keep me from my thoughts as my finger run over a precious pair of creamy fingerless gloves from a dear friend, or a wedding-gift blanket from my aunt.

knitting feels so intimate.

the joining of things once apart, individual strands that once meant very little. making some beautiful with the caress of our fingers.

for You created my innermost being. You knit me together in my mother's womb.

i praise You for i am fearfully and wonderfully made.

{via pinterest}

 i tend to forget that i am intimately forged in the palms of the Carpenter. the One who makes no mistakes. the ultimate Artist. 

this sunset Painter. this mountain Molder. this weeping-willow Weaver.

He knits, too. carefully, purling each stitch together, caressing the material with loving fingers as He saw His masterpiece taking shape. 

knitters don't wake up to discover that their twisted ball of knots has been transformed into something precious while they slept. 

it takes time and work and careful intimacy with the yarn and their fingers. 

it's a process. days, weeks, sometimes even months. 

no accidents here. 

careful craftsmanship only. 

i am more than knots and twisted confusion. 

i am smooth knit-work from the Hand of the Master. 

lowercase wood

{via pinterest}

i spent some time today going back over some old blog posts, some old work, some old scraps of paper upon which i had scribbled my moments of darkness of whimsy.

all properly ordered.

all with the appropriate punctuation. all in perfect lines. uppercase and lowercase, all where they belonged.

but then i hit a point of real. a point where the mask came tumbling off and shattered against the floor. and i found my crevices again.

i realized that i was cracked and marred, like well-weathered wood. fragments of me have broken off and been left behind. little scratches and cuts where life has left its mark. 

and my lowercase began to appear. slowly, just a bit at a time. as the polish was scrubbed away, it became frightening. painful. 

but the beauty was apparent. the weathered wood was coming alive, telling a story like polished perfection never could. 

maybe it's okay to be wooden. 

{via pinterest}

to be a story told again and again. to wear my life for others to come and read, pieced together by my skin-scars and soul ripples. it's okay to not be smooth all the time.

bumps are part of it all. 

but the past has made me strong. fire burned me hard, but let my heart stay supple to His tender carving. oh the pain that came with each brush of the knife against my soul. this Carpenter knew what He was doing when He made me this way. 

He left a line or two, a reminder of my weathering, lest i forget Him and grow brittle.

this lowercase imperfection is all i need to remind me that He is God and i am not. this dancing soul which He has carved for Himself, this daughter of Light and Love and so much forgiveness. 

He never said he would erase our past. that was never a promise.

only His glory was assured. 

and so these imperfections.

 they do not glare, they glorify. 

they do not scream, they sing. 

they do not humiliate, they humble. 

and they do not disgrace Him. 

they amplify Him. 

{joining this beauty of imperfection with emily and other soul-searchers today}

seeker // wrestler

{via pinterest}

i am tired of being the condemned seeker.

when did it become a broken thing to be the one who searches? when questions are met with rolling eyes and huffing sighs.

you should know this already.

i am weary of tears being scorned. 

i am weary of wrestlers being watched with indignation. 

church, where have you gone?

broken daughter, where do you stand now?

judging souls, are you so flawless that scorn is something you are free to cast about like rocks into a rippling lake?

if we knew, we would not need an Answer. 

if we lived in a perpetual place of strength, would we still need a Rock? 

Jacob's wrestling gave birth to Israel. the fingers of the Son on his hip gave him lifelong pain and weakness.

for greatness to come, weakness must be accepted. 

i'm overwhelmed at this place in which we stand. 

we are the King's chosen. we did not walk up to this throne and demand our birthright. 

we came on hands and knees, torn and broken. dirty and abandoned by this world that never let us call it home. 

to love is to be vulnerable

-c.s. lewis 

not one of us was born here. we were all swaddled in grey and black and brown of sin and death and darkness. 

{via pinterest}

but He gave us His garments of Light. but we had to come first. we had to crawl to His feet and reach out shaking fingers to brush against His hem.

be free, love. 

it's okay to let shaking knees and legs give way. it's okay to seek, to ponder, and to muse over Him. it's okay to not know it all.

be a seeker. 

be a muser. 

be a wrestler. 

let go 

and be. 

autumn's blur {142-151}

{via pinterest}

this week has been one of those confusing bits of time.

those times when all the days run together and it's hard to decipher where you even fall in the stretch of Sunday to Saturday. these are the times when things can seem very blurry, dizzying in their confusion. it's not that things have been awful or easily forgettable.

it's just been a blur.

 i think i'm still in a place of rest, of recovery, from my crazy beach wedding adventure. it's been a week now since my plane touched down on the tarmac and i left the Southern warmth. i returned to find that the Midwestern world kept turning without me, and fall came in a blink.

it's refreshing to inhale the cold. it's something about being home. about wool and peppermint hot chocolate.

about my lists continuing to grow, leaps and bounds of blessings that swell over me like a rush of autumn leaves.

• 142. His love. forever and always, no matter what i do. i'm His daughter, the one for which He died. this never-changing glory. 

• 143. tears of life. of joy. there is something powerful in knowing that tears are not only for brokenness, but for when light overflows into sparkling drops down your face. 

• 144. the miracle that is my precious Granny. she is holding on...for just a bit longer...giving me a chance to see her in the coming days before she slips from earth to Home. 

• 145. peppermint hot chocolate and chicken pot pies in October. an early blessing and whisper of winter's promise

• 146. so much closeness of family. we're all here, all close. this corner of the world is ours to share. 

{via pinterest}

• 147. carving pumpkins with little voices and hands. sparking eyes and rounded lips as they see their own work glowing in candlelight. 

• 148. music. again, the mystery of notes and melody captivates me. 

• 149. seeing my novel start to come together. pinboards and blog posts, cementing my imagination together. only seven days left until i begin, and i am no longer afraid. 

• 150. giggles with my little sister. both adults but still refusing to grow up. 

• 151. fairy tales. Prince Charming and enchanted roses. knowing that there is an eventual happily ever after for those who belong to Him. 

another scrap of ecletic blessings to fill my Monday. these streaks of watercolour on a week that threatened to bleed together all over again. 

but i held out for the colours. the cold will not freeze my soul, will not dim my eyes. 

this fade is the start 

of so many blessings. 

{linking with Ann and my fellow blessing-chasers today}

lifeblood art

{via pinterest}

it's a curious thing. 

to be an artist, you have to embrace mistakes. 

you have to let your pain flow like blood in a safer way than trembling razorblades from wrist to elbow, making an outlet that won't take your life but just might safe it in the end. 

 your joy like fireworks exploding from your skin and fingertips and hair and eyes and lips and soul like so much jubilant light. 

your love stream from your eyes like a river, tears that aren't unbidden but that so many just won't understand to be anything but pain rippling out and out. it's not, though. it's perfect love.

that's what it is to be an artist.

after all, how can we know passion if we have never experienced it ourselves? how can we write, sing, or leap with emotions that are unfamiliar territory?

we have to embrace our imperfections. 

every last beautiful one. 

{via pinterest}

i'm preparing for a month of being laid bare. letting my soul pour into my novel, exposing my heart for this whole world to taste and touch and run their fingers over. 

maybe it'll do some good. 

a month of imperfections. a month of breathing art in like air. 

of being an artist

following my calling of art and passion and depth and soul. 

living here in imperfect art. 

creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes

art is knowing which ones to keep

~Scott Adams 

twenty-nine

{my parents on their wedding day}

i love fairytales. i love happy endings.

i love those storybook moments that make people sigh and give those little smiles and maybe, just maybe whisper into someone's ear

that'll be us one day

i grew up watching a fairytale. not a perfect one, not one without the occasional villain or rolling fog or even broken-hearted tears. 

but still a love story. a passionate beautiful thing where two people pledged their love and it remained. 

for twenty-nine years

today.

my parents are a legacy in their own right. barely into their fifties, but still a legacy. 

their love is a bonding of heart and soul and everything good and sacred.

{my parents on their wedding day}

 if you want to see a God-touched love, a soul-rippling marriage

take a look at them. 

twenty-nine years ago, my Daddy wed my Mummy. 

he still looks at her the same way as he did then. 

they still dance in the kitchen to silent music. i still hear them laughing in that secret teenage way.

and i know they are still passionate together.

not just romantic. but passionate in that way only man and wife can be. 

and it was never hidden. 

{my parents on their wedding day}

never 

stop, the children are watching. 

he kisss her lips daily. more than, even. and he has never hidden his affection and admiration for her. not to us, his children. not to anyone.

yes, they have their secret intimacies, as do all couples.

but they are newlyweds forever. holding hands, singing, dancing, raising my sister and i in full view of that love. 

she still blushes when he looks in her direction. i've seen it, i've seen the notes and the flowers and the little signs of this and that. 

and they're my parents.

{my parents on their wedding day}

i'm fortunate to have parents still this much in love, twenty-nine years since they said i do. 


perhaps my bias is higher than most, but i am confident that i have the greatest parents in this world.

their covenant connection to one another is Biblical, strong, and connected by cords of love that only the King of Kings could weave.

they cling to Him. they cling to one another.

til death do us part.

happy anniversary, Mummy and Daddy. 

i love you so much. 

wise men say, only fools rush in

but i can't help falling in love with you

seasons // time

{via pinterest}

this is a morning for musings.

a morning for acoustic guitars and indie lyrics that soothe the soul with a caress. 

i feel like i'm sinking more and more into Ecclesiastes

there is a time...a time...

what is this time? 

i know this is the time for new beginnings. the time where earth must die for newness to be born. 

autumn is the fade. winter is the rest. 

unless a seed falls into the ground and dies, it cannot bear much fruit.

i think we forget that. we focus on the brightness and rejoice. but when the fade comes, prelude to the rest, we groan. 

but there is beauty in the fade. beauty in the rest. 

the sun is not going away. it never leaves us. it just takes a moment to slip behind the clouds. the light does not go out, it merely changes for a time.

only for a time. 

do we forget this passing of time? winter is not forever. 

it is not a White Witch curse.  

{via pinterest}

it comes and goes. 

it has a time. 

this is why i cannot curse or begrudge any season. each one is a cloak of beauty for this earth in which we dwell, a sign of Love's fingers. 

He died for life. 

a step from Throne to earth. a Life given for life to be made new. there is a time for everything.

He did not stay below the earth. He rose. He returned. He lives still. 

this glorious conundrum that is my Jesus. 

this season is passing. 

this time of autumn is caressing, this time of winter is swift aproaching.

curse not. 

only love. 

there is a time for everything...

beyond

five minute fridays. we write for five, and only five, minutes. no editing, no overthinking, no backtracking. linking up with the gypsy mama.

the word

BEYOND

now GO...

i love this word. 

this idea of going beyond...

...beyond what is normal, what is accepted, and what everyone says should be.

perhaps it is the seeker in me, the little girl with TOMs and searching eyes barely hidden beyond choppy bangs that may have never grown up. 

she's still here. just six years older and a little wiser, or maybe not. 

i'm still aching for the beyond. still digging through fur coats to find the snow at the back of the wardrobe. i'm not about to stop that search, and it's about more than a magical land.

it's about the beyond. the more. the bit of unseen that i know is there, fingers out and reaching at the beams of hidden light. 

i want to go beyond this world. beyond this place of feeble and insignificant. because anything can be made beyond. because we were made for greater things.

{via pinterest}

if i find in myself desires that nothing in this world can satisfy, i can then only conclude that i was not made for here. 

i am not of here. i am of the beyond.

i am a citizen of the land of Love and Salvation and Light. 

i am a daughter of the soon. 

tired of this glass dimly, aching for the fresh eyes of Heaven-sight.

i want to catch that White Stag, find that hidden door, step past the train platform of Shadowlands and come into the brightness of this ended dream.

of this morning beyond. 

i'm ecstatic with the knowing that beyond is here. and i can touch it.

i am living in the now, living in the soon, living endlessly in the beyond. 

i don't have to come back to reality

because i'm already there. 

He promised, and i believe.

beyond is soon. 

beyond is here. 

thirteenth floor

{via pinterest}

i've found a new place.

a sacred place. for the wounded and the healing, where angels whisper as they tread, and God is far away but oh, so close here.

the thirteenth floor.

on this place, this haunting place of broken souls and issues that the world calls for taped mouths and vocal chords tied up tight

because we don't talk about this. not like this, anyway.

heads shake and tsk tsk because it's a shame to be there, to stand there, to have clung to shaking walls and shattered banisters of this broken hallowed ground.

but the Truth is hidden from so many eyes because they are blind with hardened hearts and stopped-up ears to know that even in a place of thirteen, a place of fear and supersitition and too much weeping

He is there.

He never left. He is close at hand to touch His broken daughters and fragile sons who ache to weep but have been forbidden. strong and silent types allowed, raised voices should be hushed in church.

sacredness isn't always silent.

sometimes it is loud. it is screams of

WHY and 

YES and 

FREE and 

HOLD ME JESUS PLEASE 

because i have lost my scraps of nothing now. 

{via pinterest}

i can't say this as well as i would like.

so please

watch this video below.

this touched heart from one who was touched by him...and then healed with a touch from Him. this touched one. sactified who speaks better than my feeble tongue can muster up.

because she walked here.

with us. 

with me, 

and you, 

and her and him.

and then she turned, and walked with us and Him

 together.

{this video below deals with sexual abuse and mature topics. use discretion when watching around more innocent ears. her words are power, dear ones.}

13th Floor: Sexual Abuse - Janette...ikz from Pure Path on Vimeo.

{linking with Michelle}

quirk

quirky people make the world.

especially those of us who pass daily down the pavement without even a whisper of those little wonders that make so odd...so perfectly unique?

do we suddenly awaken to realize that we bite our nails, that we always tap-tap the top of our soda cans, that we turn off every light in the house except the one above the bathroom mirror?

and those are just the little ones.

i think we all have habits that even we don't realize.

the quirks that make us unique, the ones that set us apart from everyone else in the world.

i'm the biggest advocate of quirk. maybe it's because i have so many of my own.

i'm all about embracing the individual. because we weren't made to fit. we were made to break.

we were created to stand out, to be set apart.

why blend? 

we weren't made to swim with the other fish.

we were made to leap with the whales, to sing with the dolphins.

 perhaps it is our calling to be the odd ones.

 we are the nose-wrinklers and the coffee-drinkers. the sun-singers and the music-wearers. the ones that dance to no music and write when inspiration seems to be a thousand miles away.

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” ~Marilyn Monroe 

so embrace those habits, those weird little things that make you sigh and smirk and giggle.

please don't let the world crush your song.

broken dreams make beautiful mosaics, after all.

catch the sun. sing His song.

be a quirk, little one. 

warring stillness

{via pinterest}

the Lord will fight for you. you need only be still. 

~exodus 14:14

i found my calm this morning.

for a while, i thought i had left it amid hot glue guns and satin ribbons and sand-covered programs, all tumbled together on the other side of the United States. 

the chaos of this entire past week was a breathtaking, beautiful rush akin only to the crash of a salty ocean wave. it swept me under in a glorious swell.

but then i found myself tossed ashore and breathless again. 

this mantra of Love that i have chanted for a week is pounding into my head like a oceanic roar, perhaps to the point of being numbing.

if i'm not careful, i could lose myself in this battle. i feel the hilt of my own sword of self digging into my palms. this fight i'm carrying alone...the one i forbid those i love to undertake with me. 

{via pinterest}

i can do this myself. 

i can be strong. 

i promise i can. 

but then i awoke this morning. a strange feeling mixed with the tension that i have and yet still carry atop my shoulders.

i'm still tense. i'm still overwhelmed. but i have found a scrap of calm amid this noise. 

perhaps it is the unstopping of my own ears...letting the chaos trickle out and the silence replace the gaps. 

and so now i will sit and let my Lord fight. my sword is down and my fingers, ringing with battle clash, are shaking with the rest that comes after the storm. 

and i will be still now.

i will drop my trembling fingers to brush against my denim-clad legs and breathe slowly again. 

inhale. 

exhale. 

repeat to survive. 

now let go and fall

into His stillness.  

{linking this imperfection with emily today}