burning Real

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i'm twenty-two. and i'm just now starting to understand what it means to be real.

it's more than just existing, brushing my hair and putting on the same pair of shoes every day for a week. it's more than breathing, the inhale and exhale that i don't think about, i just do.

it's about that giving up and that allowing for ashes on the face, from clinging to the Fire that burns like white-hot glory in your soul. it's about the understanding that He is greater, higher, stronger, than i could ever be. and that's okay, because He is the Lion and i am His lamb.

once you become Real, you can never be ugly

except to people who don't understand. 

and i'm okay with being barefoot in the sand, because i'm treading on holy ground and there's nothing i want more than to be in this place of sheer and complete emptiness, full of Him and empty of me.

there's a sweet silence in the mantra spoken under my breath in the candlelight when He and i meet. it's precious, Abba God teaching me how to roar. and i'm still soft and squeaky and tumbling over my own tail at the snap of a twig. but we start again, and again, and He's patient even though i break His heart.

it's in pursuit of Real, of the nail-pierced hand on my cheek, guiding my tears into the bottle He keeps on His shelf.

it's about realizing that you're small, and that's okay, and you're worn, and that's okay too. because through the soot and the tumbling and the ink-stained fingertips, He's making you new.

and so i'll sit in the right place, tucked at His feet. it's all the dance, this step right and step left and settle in here.

with Your arms around me
i'm home. 

{linking with dear emily where we rejoice in imperfection} 

amen :: so be it

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i am in awe of the infinite. i am sitting and meditating hard on this word, amen. there is such depth in such a short word, flippantly flying off the tongue at the end of every prayer, at the pause in every causal heartwish.

but every time i finish a conversation with Him, i whisper a final plea.

amen.
so be it. 

and it's a sacred sort of whisper, the kind that resonate like the roots of a tree, solid in the earth but reaching up toward Heaven even still anchored deep in my memory.

because every word i speak He memorizes, and that's a little fearful to know that He cares so much about every letter that passes my lips that He remembers them all. every one.

and He likes me to ask Him. He knows what i need, but daddies like when their daughters come and ask them things, and Abba God wants me to lean on His knee and whisper, "can i please?"

it's the sacred amen, the faith found in the so be it, even in the shaky stillness when words come halting and hesitating. it's crying into the abyss and being caught up safe in the arms of the One who knew the second my footing trembled.

i thank God for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes

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:: e.e. cummings

and so i'm becoming less and less afraid to reach up and brush the foot of the Cross because i climbed the hill on bloody hands and knees, whispering "amen, yes, and amen, and yes and amen again."

i'm lighting a candle and pressing my face to the floor because there's something mighty about the lowering, allowing Him to wash my feet because i'm clean already except for the dirt of today's road. and it's the infinite of His glory that swallows me whole. 

and i die to live, drown to breathe.

i'm finding myself

at a loss for words

and the funny thing is

:: it's okay ::

{{word of god speak // mercy me}}

metamorphosis

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metamorphosis. this has become my state of being, my mind-set.

there is so much about this place, this condition of womanhood set upon me, that i have grown to fear and grown to loathe. but this cannot be. how can i raise my daughter to love herself, to face the world with a lifted head and a cry to the heavens, if i do not believe it myself?

i ache to redefine womanhood. i am more than tatted lace and teatime socials. i yearn to let my hair down and dive in, swim down deep, to drown in His spirit and rise anointed from the ashes holding the hands of those who walked before me. 

Hosea whispered, 

He will come to us like rain. 

and i want to dip my head back, mouth open and eyes aglow, and take Him in with my whole heart. i want to be baptized in the water and fire that is His glory. i am unwilling to wrap myself in a veil that He tore in an impossible way for me, and if only for me, it would have been enough. 

and so i am breaking from this place of stagnant dwelling, this place of sit here silently. i am a Lioness, He promised, and renewed i shall be. 

paint scales on my skin, for i shall be a mermaid. 

no fear of depth, great fear of shallow living. 

:: a paraphrase of a quote by anis nin

i will be a mystic, with candle light and war paint mingling on my cheeks. and i will lift my small hands and place them against His pierced palms and speak bravely. 

mermaid girl come to drown

to rise again. 

to live mightily. 

for my God hears me. 

mantra

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there's something about the unknown, something deep that i cannot fully explain, even though i'd like to try. we've become a people set on the solving the unsolvable, unmasking the hidden, and insisting on the knowing and the knowing now. 

but there's a lot of power in these unknown things. and it's okay to exhale and whisper, 

i know naught, save Thee. 

there is so much power in the things that are yet hidden, those things too vast and too beautiful and too strange to comprehend. things He knows, and that i don't. because He is God, and i am not. 

and sometimes i don't know how i'll take one more breath, because life is hard sometimes and the dishes fill the sink and the tears fall to match the shower drops, invisible to all but the One who sees it all.

and there are times i find myself on my knees with the water raining down on my head and strands of hair falling on my face, and the ceramic is the only thing keeping me from falling down through the core of the Earth.

but getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way

to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of 

:: air ::

{sarah kay}

because He is One, and He is Three. and i am body that dies but soul that lives eternal. and i cling to the Rock that is higher than i, and i stand in the storm. 

i want to live from inhale to exhale, and then live again. i want to burn with the holy fire that never goes out, never falters, even in the rain. 

and i lift my hands and sing fire to the sunrise, the mantra of the warrioress that thuds beneath my skin as familiar as my heartbeat. 

i know naught, save Thee. 

{linking again, only redemption, with dear emily and her community of imperfect prose}

:: be kind to yourself

{my little love and i}
photo property of DramaticElegance

they used to believe that a photograph captured a piece of the soul. with every flash, a part of the person was absorbed into the image.

sometimes i think that's still true. only in part, of course, for i know where my soul stays unwavering. but part of me pulled into the image...yes, i think i could believe that. because i judge my face in the mirror and the camera is a mirror of sorts, a mirror that freezes moments in time.

and i don't always like those moments.

:: be kind to yourself
the note on my mirror reminds. four little words that might be the hardest ever to swallow. but i have to be kind to myself, for my little one's sake. because she's started holding out her arms to me, five and a half months old, and already she silently calls for her momma.

and i know that soon enough she will be speaking, because she's already listening. and she reaches up her hand each morning with sleepy eyes and feather-soft touch from the bed we share and coos love to me.

she loves my face.
why don't i?

i have to learn. so i wrote the note in my best handwritting, the letters composed in what my friends call a fairy language, a love message to myself. because i have to learn to love myself before my little girl sees that i don't, and learns to hate herself the way i still do sometimes.

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so i'm learning to smile for the camera, learning to reach out a hand toward the feral, frightened kitten that lurks under the porch. we need to make friends, she and i.

there's a promise written, one i will one day have tattooed on my skin like the Lion on my left wrist.

the King, your King, is enthralled by your beauty.

honour Him, for He is your Lord. 

::psalm 45:11

there is a King, mighty and righteous, a roaring Lion and a sacrificed Lamb. and He is captivated by me.

so for my little girl, i will learn to look beyond the mirror and into the soul the camera can't quite capture. the one He holds in the palm of His hand, the one He finds beautiful and worthy, covered in His blood.

Lion of Judah, enthralled by me.
oh, how can it be?