:: gentle, gentle

{via pinterest}

 we are not gentle people. we have very heavy feet, and so often, they find their way to treading heedlessly on the dreams of others.

dreams are gentle things. they are big things, even if their keepers have no idea just how wide their wings might spread. they are delicate things, easily broken if they are not given care. it doesn't take much for careless fiddling to pluck each feather from its place and leave them a pile. and then the dreamer must rebuild, if they ever dare again.

there is sweetness deep inside, a kind of fruit worth savouring but so easy to bruise and destroy if we press too hard. and we are not gentle people.

:: but i want to be. 

i've started to focus on my mouth recently. the way my lips form words, the way they open when i inhale. what comes out with the breath, i wonder?

is it Light, radiant and luminescent, whispering Life into each soul that i encounter. or is it too late because my fingers caught the flame and pinched it dark?

because the seekers are met with sideways glances and the wrestling ones are given a wider berth, and the lonely hearts echo like windchimes in a wasteland, an empty beauty that everyone else is missing. and the whispers come, how dare they? they should know better. 

what you held in your hand, 

{photo property of dramaticelegance}

what you counted and carefully saved, 

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness. 

{Naomi Shihab Nye}

and i can't help but look at them and quietly weep because i've been there, just where they are. and maybe i still am, a little bit, because my footing is learning these mountain heights, where the other does leap like grace and i'm still white-knuckled. but i look to my left and to my right and see others there. beautiful ones with half-plucked wings wrapped in linen and eyes so full of soul that it takes my breath away.

this is my tribe, my Love-sisters. and we've made a circle of shoes on the ground where we all sit together, this holy sacred place that hums with hints of Lion's song still so alive in the earth. and we plant our seeds, one beside the other, and watch them lift their boughs to the sky and murmur, He-Who-Sees is here. 

and we hold hands and hum familiar notes that shimmer in the new-breathed air from a Lion's mouth, the place where we have all found ourselves. there is water there, for we are deep-living mermaids with transforming souls. there is fire there, soft and warm to comfort shivering souls. and softly, together, we seek His face.

and we are holding hands and whispering together

gentle, gentle 
:: we are brave

soul-gasp :: knowing Aslan

{via pinterest}

{over the next several weeks, maybe even months, i will be writing here and there from elora's thirty days of prompts. this is something that i have never done before, something raw and fresh and gorgeous and potentially painful. so please, be gentle with me. you can find all posts i have written from these prompts here}

:: what words make you gasp with the wonder of it all?

these words have been ringing in my head since the moment i read this prompt :: i'm going to live like a Narnian, even if there isn't any Narnia. and maybe it's a strange thing to associate with this particular prompt, but i couldn't help it. for you see, i've been brushing against this gasp-educing reality my entire life.  

for me, it's like that moment when they are gathered on the beach, breath bated and eyes wide, that first moment when they see over the wave. that moment when they catch their very first glimpse of Aslan's country. and oh, the hunger that is lit in their souls, even though they may not have understood it yet. 

// did they know they would end up there, one day, forever?

did they know they had just touched the sky?

elora's first words in the prompt were these :: what would happen if you wrote down everything -- every word, every syllable, every image -- that reminds you of the soul-splitting ecstasy of colliding with your purpose? and honestly, my very first memory of this soul-splitting gasp was the first time i met Aslan.

i've met Him a thousand times since then, even as i grew up and began to know Him by that other Name. and each time His roar has whispered Life into my soul, i knew instantly. and as i have dug deeper into the life-humming earth, still rich with His song steeped into its very essence, i have uncovered this strange beautiful wellspring...the one that hums warrioress, the one that murmurs braveheart lioness, joy shall be yours. 

{photo property of dramaticelegance}

and i feel silly even admitting just how deep my love for this word-made land goes. but i remember the first time i felt my soul gasp and i never want to forget. i wanted to live under every patch of blue sky i found because He was there, and the thistles in the pasture were White Witch traps. and yes, i was teased until i cried for running to the edge of the dock and gazing over the water at age ten and whispering His name. 

:: Aslan

and i didn't gasp then. but i do now. because even then, i saw Him. and my soul raised its eyes and reach out for the Lion and buried its fingers in His mane. 

// oh, i am gasping. and my soul is bursting.

because i saw Him, and i know Him, this Lion. 

and i am writing down each gasp, even if i think that this world is dark and full of reaching out fingers for a candle that might just be pretending to be the sun.

but i am going to dance in the moonlight with the Song making waves through my hair. and i am going to live endlessly like a Narnian. 

one thing // i want to see

{photo taken by rachel lee
property of dramaticelegance}

{over the next several weeks, maybe even months, i will be writing here and there from elora's thirty days of prompts. this is something that i have never done before, something raw and fresh and gorgeous and potentially painful. so please, be gentle with me}

sometimes i wonder if i ever have a one thing. all my life, i've been the she of a million hats, that girl that does it all. i raised my hand more than it sat on my hip, ever since i knew how.

i've been working, plowing a strange sort of furrow on the ground and dropping a handful of seeds in the dirt. and they grew, up like fingers reaching toward heaven. 

and then as all my things grew up twisted and tangled and strangely beautiful but all too close together, i sat and sighed. because it was beautiful and perfect, but it felt foreign. like something you go and look at that another has done, without the personal connection.

and again, i whispered,
// do i even have a one thing?

and then i find myself in the darkness under the light of the beaming supermoon, and the lyrics flow in: now you do, now you do.and i start to realize that maybe i do have a one thing. a trend that has followed me all my life. 

:: words. 

and i think i know what i'm doing, some of the time. and then something inside me slips, a cog tripping out of line, and i start with the assumption that actually i have no idea. and then i get scared and scarred and i pick up my skirts and i run away, because shadows whisper too much of the unknown. 

and this thing of the unknown is unsure and viciously uncomfortable. and i told a friend, the kind of friend that grips your heart and gathers close to your soul, that it was an awful gorgeousness, and she felt it because it's true. 

i want to be Lucy, brave Lioness steeped in renewal. but then, i find a mirror and i choke. 

{via pinterest}

i'm Edmud. ugly, traitor, viciously sucked in by tempting sweets laced with poison lies until i am pale and and empty. i'm Eustace, trapped and afraid, clawing at myself because i cannot get free of this scale-wrapped fear prison...the one that holds the words back. 

and all i can manage is a cry, one so much less than a roar and more of a squeak from a mouse who forgot what it was like to have a tail after all. 

if You are willing, i want to see.

and He finds me there at the pool alone and touches my cheek and murmurs my name in the light of dawn, His love roaring like a Lamb. 

dearest daughter, 

I AM willing. 

and i can see. laid before me like a banquet of starlight from His secret garden, i can see my one thing.  

:: words. 

messy, aching, beautiful words. 

i want to be the moon

i write poetry. it's what i do. and it's a gushing of sorts, a ripping of my soul wide wide open and exposing myself in a personal way to eyes that don't even know me save for the words i put down here. 

and there are parts of me that i want to just display so proudly on the wall of this little sacred chapel-circle we have built together, but i refrain and i hold back. not in a bad way, per se, but in a way that ponders things deep within. 

speak us a song, they clamoured, ceaseless. sing to us of all you know.
and she opened her mouth and gave all He had.
Light :: Life
{storygram by me, property of dramaticelegance}

and i started yoga three weeks ago yesterday, and i started storygrams a week ago today, and these little parts of me are slowly chipping away from the scarred marble and leaving something that is so painful and so breathtaking that i can hardly bear it all inside. 

and it's bursting from my fingertips with head tipped back and mouth open in a scream of something so glorious. a birthing, of sorts, because He promised that He bring something so beautiful through the pain. 

 i look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, 

and i wish i could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine 

so you know 

that there’s nothing but light when i see you.

:: shinji moon :: 

i refuse to ignore the Light. after all, how could i with the way it beams into my eyes and whispers in the most brilliant beams, I am here, daughter Mine. and it's baffling to me how i can feel something so powerful and so deeply and yet be utterly helpless as to how to put it into words. 

oh how i need You

oh how i need You.

:: all sons and daughters

rarely do i write and weep at the same time. but tonight, in the darkness, i am writing here, and i am weeping. and it is so beautiful. because this past week has poured me out like a drink offering in ways that might be trivial to some but have been so wrenching to this heart of mine.

but there's something about this emptying that leaves room to be filled, and He is sinking deeper into the core of me and my cup is running over and becoming a pool into which i am diving. and there we are together at the bottom, where the whole world is alive and humming to the never-ending notes of Lion's song. 

shine Your light from the inside out

:: You are the Sun, i want to be the moon ::

{phil wickham}

from me to you :: housekeeping notes

{via pinterest}

oh my dearhearts, my sweet loves, 

each one of you has blessed me in such exponential ways. since this place first breathed in 2010, the outpouring has been beyond my wildest dreaming. and now, four years later, each one of you has gathered me into your arms and we have murmured together of Light time and time again.

so rarely do i write a personal note in this place, but i felt the need to step forward with a small bit of housekeeping as June is drawing all too swiftly to a close, and the changes to Google Reader and GFC are coming around the corner as of the first dawnings of July. 

i will still be writing in this place, of course, and the address will stay the same. however, for following and staying connected, i would ask each one of you to follow me via bloglovin. it is so very simple to use, and i will admit readily that i have started to fall soul-over-heals in love with the format. 

this is a quick tutorial as to how to make the switch from Google Reader to bloglovin. 

oh, my bravehearts, this is a new chapter in the blogging world. and i won't deny that i have felt a bit tossed about by these changes. my fingers grasp tight onto the familiar and so often refuse to let go. but He is unchanging despite the ever-turning.

there are other ways to stay connected with me, too, of course. and i am always sitting with open arms for you to sit in my circle with a warm cup of tea or a glass of wine and simply be with me. 

// Facebook :: twitter :: pinterest :: instagram \\

may blessings in His Light abound as we continue, my precious gypsy tribe

:: rachel

our Father :: glory

{via pinterest}

yesterday was Father's Day. and i meant to write, i did, but the crush of the do and the laughter and the ice cream and pizza and s'mores in the glow of a low-setting sun overtook my inspiration.

there were hugs from the man of God that raised me, and from the man of God that gave me his son as my love and calls me "daughter," and from the man of God who looks at our tiny evenstar and calls her daughter.

and i inhaled family instead, and oh, it was so good.

and then i woke up this morning with sunrays on my cheeks and some strange realization brewing soft in the core of me. because on Saturday night, our pastor spoke familiar words that the whole room of worshippers repeated back to him, not just because he asked but also because we couldn't help it, really.

our Father
hallowed be Thy Name. 

and these words, just those two short phrases, had lodged themselves in my mind and hummed at me in the dawning. i've felt the stirrings my entire life, the pull from the place where my faith journey started where nothing was personal. it didn't feel right even to my little-child heart who grew up in the church.

why call Him Father and then be afraid to touch Him?

and i've been chided more than i can really comprehend for daring to touch the spiritual, for being so irreverent as to reach out my fingers toward His robe and even just brush the fabric. and i use that strange word so often :: sacred. and the intensity i feel scares even me sometimes, because what is there that pushes me in such a powerful way?

{via pinterest}

He does. 

and i reach up my fingers with a kind of hesitant bravery, that kind of courage that groans in the silence when we know what must be done, but there is a shakiness somewhere down deep. and it's overwhelming and we know that it might lead to something else...something bigger....maybe something  that would hurt.

our Father, 
glory. Your name is glory.

and so i grasp, tight, and i'm lifted onto a Lion's back and the roaring laugh reaches my hesitating soul. fingers in His mane, we leap to salvation, and i am so close i can feel His heart. and oh, it is a thunderstorm and a tidal wave and a comfort and a peace.

it is all of these, and a thousand things more.

and i beg Him to write His name as deep as it can go, because i don't want to forget. and i want to throw back this strangely terrified warrioress heart and howl glory at the coming moon, early seen at twilight, and radiant in the darkness.

:: my Father. 

Your name. 

oh...glory. 

listening ::

{photo property of
and used with permission
by gypsymothsol}

when i was little, there was a poem i used to whisper

:: is anybody listening, listening...

and i said it in little-girl hush, and giggles accompanied each little word as i held my fingers against my lips and whispered. and sometimes i say it in adult groan where there is no one listening, no one seeing me. i mean, i'm here, don't you know that? but no one listens.

and i feel tiny. everyone does sometimes, but in this blogging world, it's hard not to be drowned out by a crushing roar of words that overwhelm and make me feel like my fingers are reaching up for a tiny bit of oxygen and i'm whispering

:: is anybody listening, listening...

but there's something profound about the whisper, even if no one else hears the words that leave your lips. because Lion's ears are acute and they pick up on everything. i swear the little tears that plink against the glass in His hand are the loudest chimes to Him.

and i haven't written a book. but something i wrote earlier this week made a splash and my brokenness was heard, louder than i anticipated. and i'm learning that there is someone listening, just the right someone. it doesn't have to be kings and queens up on the high places, but that tear-stained momma tugging herself to fit the mold that doesn't fit on her like it does on the other "hers" across the street.

and maybe it's just the plink of a tear in the bottle. one little drop.

but i promise
He is listening, listening...

{linking five minutes of uncensored stream of consciousness with the gypsy mama}

laid bare :: in which i learn that courage groans

{photo of myself, courtesy of nikki} 

sometimes being brave is easy. 

you know what you want to do, and you take first one step and then another and suddenly you're across the bridge without a second thought. and your footprints are there, and looking back, you're aglow with what you have done.

you were brave without realizing. 

and then comes the hard stuff, the realities as the glow of bravery washes away and you realize that not everyone see the same footprints you do. you see the whole path, the big picture, and they see the toe marks in someone else's way.

yesterday, i made a choice. a choice to drop every facade, a choice to dare and be brave and be luminescent :: woman. i chose to live what i have been speaking here for the past several months. i chose to pose semi-nude. 

and i didn't just do it to say i could, but for the hearts of the woman i have held in my arms as they weep and whisper, i starve because i am starving. 

and so i laid myself bare. no make-up or jewelry, no primping save a brush through my hair. there were no touch-ups to take out stretch marks or freckles or those things that i try to cover up with my fingers with down-turned eye and whisper, don't look.

and i closed my eyes and burst into smile and climbed the summit to meet my Savior there in a hush of holiness and a gentle murmur of "on earth as it is in Heaven."

and i met stones on the way down. 

they had their points and they had their reasons and they had their laid-out plan. and i can't help but respect conviction, because after all, i have my own. and it was my husband who stood up with his hand on my shoulder and took the step in front of me and took so many extra arrows in the chestplate, my warrior-man. and i did the best i could, but i sat down and shook with weeping because it was just too much to bear. 

{photo of myself, courtesy of nikki} 

and my dear friend wrapped arms around my shoulders from across the United States and spoke softly to my soul, 

courage doesn't always roar

sometimes it whispers, sometimes it groans

but it is still courage.

and it came from all sides, from the east and the west. 

:: brave. brave. you are brave.

and it came from His own lips, too. 

:: My daughter is brave

and i knew it would happen, but i didn't expect the intensity of the ache. and i knew it would be hard to be brave, that the journey over seemed so easy but the path down the mountain was a rocky tumble. 

so why did i do it, then?

because you are beautiful. i promise you are, dearheart. 

and i'll do whatever it takes for you to see it for yourself.

my daughter drew life from this body, whispered into my being by the Breath of the Lion. and she changed my visage, my skin, into a portrait made with blue eyes and soft red hair and baby's breath on my neck. and i fit no molds, not that i did before, and i'm learning to be okay with that. 

i am my Beloved's, radiant and adorned. 

thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.

:: song of songs 4:7

// // 

{i want this to be a gentle place, a place of love and respect. if you have something to say, please say it with love and words seasoned with salt and Life. i have disabled anonymous comments because honestly, i am still learning to be brave, and i think you should, too. if you don't want to write your response publicly, my inbox is always open to you. i also have a zero tolerance policy for fat-shaming, victim-blaming, "slut"-shaming, etc.}

revelation :: i am seeker

{via pinterest}

i've been pondering myself lately. and there's been a lot of poetry, and a lot of searching deep within myself, and such a journey to the mountain. and i found myself among the proverbial pine trees searching for the illusive spark.

and honestly, i'm terrified of this new place that He is calling me toward, stepping one toe in front of the other with my heart thudding louder than any tribal drum and the murmur of the Holy One at my ear

courage, dearheart

for I have overcome

because it was someone dear to my soul that chided all those months ago that not everything can be sacred, and i'm trying too hard to find something that isn't there, and what am i trying to prove anyway?

so it was with shaking trepidation that i found myself one week ago with fingers uncurled and eyes closed and breathing so deeply into my soul. i pressed my palms on the hardwood floor of the yoga studio and curled my toes on the mat and heard my heart whisper low, i am home here.

and i caught myself hesitating to open my heart and strike match to flint and touch flame to wick so that the warm Light beams through every corner, the way He-Who-Sees-Me does in that moment when the dark night of the soul threatens to swallow you whole.

i've written before about the Lion's song, the melodic mantra that blends with my heart's cry to form that strangest sweetest music. and He and i whisper it together under the moon, our own version of the precious breathing that leaves our lungs in a musical hum. it's an om of a different kind, His and mine, one we carved together out of crystals and tears and His own blood poured out when Death fell beneath His feet.

and even as they scorn, i'm putting down roots.

{photograph of myself, courtesy of  nikki jean photography}

:: because i don't want to lose the mystery 

that comes when One is Three, and to die is to Live, and how darkness melts like candle wax in the Light. and i am a seeker, captivated by the moon as she changes and finding myself moving with her in the oddest and most glorious of dances.

i'm not done yet, i am just beginning.

and i am seeker, journeyer, gypsy soul afire.

feather-haired braveheart, i am.
His lioness, i am.

I AM's, i am.

falling up :: five minute fridays

{via pinterest}

falling scares me.

i watch The Amazing Race and whisper with my husband, i want to do that with you. and we talk about each challenge...could we, would you? but the height ones seem to make me swallow the hardest

and then there was the man who smiled at the tallest building in the world and said, oh, i love the heights. and i started at the screen agape, heart filling with something i still don't understand just yet.

and i'm realizing that it's more than just the simple heights of feet and inches up against the clouds. i've found myself afraid of high living, because there's always that chance i might plummet down with just one little misstep. and nothing scares me like that  idea that maybe i'm not as steady as i like to think.

but falling just might be what needs to happen. because there's that rush as your eyes close and the Breath rushes past your cheeks and there's nothing but you and the Lion in the silence, and you realize all of a sudden that you're flying.

i'm in awe of the way His wings feel against my cheek. or maybe it's the shock of the feathers sprouting out of my own fingertips as He whispers about the wings of eagles that He promised low in my soul.

it's sacred, holy ground. 

:: holy air.

and when my feet touch the ground again, i lift my wings to cover my face and whisper

worthy worthy, holy holy

maybe one day, i'll lean back with eyes closed and let myself just tumble hand in the hand with the One who fought death and won. tandem diving from earth to Heaven.

{linking five minutes of unedited stream of consciousness with lisa-jo }
join us?

three things // repost

{via pinterest}

sometimes i want to write what i feel. i want to take what i see and do the undone and fix the unfixed and light the snuffed candle all over again. but then i look and i say, do i even see? do i even know anything?

and so i take my pen and my paper and my too-many thoughts and i sit and i wonder just what might happen if i knew something, anything at all.

i watch the people, feet on pavement and pavement on feet. and i realize what i know.

i know three things, because sarah kay says good things come in threes, and she's right, after all.

:: i know that light kills the dark ::

and when you're walking in the dark and there's nothing but a match in your pocket, it's a good thing to know. and when you're walking in the Night and there's nothing but a verse in your mind reminding to be still and know that I AM...it's a good thing to know.

:: i know that art is the voice even when it never speaks ::

i know that sometimes the silence of a paintbrush screams SEE ME and the whisper of just one wavering note in the empty concert halls cries I CAN DO THIS AFTER ALL and the raised arm on a stage is the salute to all things undone and all things done over and over and done well.

:: i know that mystery is just that, and it's okay to not know ::

i know that knowing is part of the battle, and when you don't know what you know that it can crush and scare and be unsure. but it's okay to have a mystery that you don't understand.

{via pinterest}

and it's okay to let Him be the mystery of Love and Flesh and Man and God all in one small infant bundle, growing up up up to be Death and Life and Salvation and Water and Broken Bread with Wounds that Heal.

that is what i know. no more shaking ground for i stand on What, on Who i know. because i write what i feel and i feel what i know. and i know Him and little else. but that's power, okay? that Light is more than enough. that Water is more than enough.

because i know these things. Him and Him only. everlasting, time over time, from age to age.

Alpha and Omega, You answer. because You know

more than three things. 

{this is a slightly edited re-post from this post from December 2011

linking this renewal with emily today}

:: kinsman redeemer

{via pinterest}

i wish i could reach down and smear my fingertips with paint and streak them across your eyes so you can see what i see.

i want to look up and count the stars, the ones tucked away in a sacred place that even my own human eyes cannot find them. the ones that were there the night among the piles of honey-toned barley where a whispered exchange passed between the lips of a man and a once-cursed foreign beauty.

spread your cloak over me, for you are my kinsman redeemer. 

and she slept that night on the threshing floor at the bared feet of a man who swore to save her, joining the ranks of the world-forgotten women that reached up and wept to be seen.

she was third of five, this Moabitess who begged for the covering from her saviour-turned-groom. they all bore the familiar shame, the whispers and pointed fingers. they were stamped with an ugly word, one too quickly spoken still two thousand years down the road. but from their blood, oft murmured "tainted," came the Life-Bringer.

:: the One who spoke to the slave in the wilderness, 

who rested hands on the unclean and whispered

dearest daughter

I knew you would not be long...

{via pinterest}

there's a reason that Lewis wrote so often of the breath of the Lion on the face of those He treasured. the wind from the mouth of the Risen One against the cheek of His bride, the whisper in the night that He is coming to bathe me in Light. i am not forgotten.

the rocks on the seashore, grit and earth and dirt

until they are picked up by the fingers of one who knows

and then they are treasures. 

so i'm finding my own place on the threshing floor, under the stars with the moon as a witness, and speaking to the One who is not safe, but oh, so good

spread Your cloak over me, 

just let me touch the hem

// for You are my kinsman redeemer