burning Real

{via pinterest}

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} 

in which i am His // and me

i started this blog differently.

rather, i didn't write the traditional "hi, my name is..." post at the very beginning. i started out to be a private poet.

in fact, i never have written one of those posts. at first, it didn't feel right to me to talk about myself or share random scraps of this and that.

i have a bio page which talks about me. but it's just crumbs on the plate that is me.

this is one of those times when i wish i could open my soul's door to you -- just to let you peak inside and get a glimpse at this watercolour wallpaper which paints a picture of the real Rachel.

with her mother's middle name and orange circles in her eyes 

with a new-found obesession with dreadlocks and searching for greater soul

because that's the real me.

am i strange because my favourite kitchen item is this teal and white ceramic bowl, all vintage and old? i have no idea where this bowl even came from, how it managed to find its way into my tiny culinary corner. but it did. and it's my favourite. 

 i can read the same book over and over again; i can find different things within each ink jot and somehow love it more. i've done that with Shakespeare and with Rowling.

i love the touch, the feel, the aroma of the printed word. i will never buy an eBook. not ever. 

i didn't use to write in lowercase letters all the time. in fact, i was a perfectionist with capitalization and punctuation. i'm recovering from that. 

{via pinterest}

i'm discovering the sacred now. it's a walk, and it's a painful one. but i'm letting Him drive now, and it's a better journey. 

i'm intensely claustrophobic. even sleeping bags freak me out. if i can't move my feet, or my head can't turn, then i'm bound to panic. 

i love vanilla. and cinnamon. and spices that tantalize my lips and tongue. 

i love wooden spoons and wooden bowls and ice cream with them both. 

do you see me better now? 

these are just bits of me. i wish i could paint you a picture. i don't know if you'd see what i see. i think i like that, though. 

i learning to love my rosepetal smile and my watercolour eyes. 

i'm learning to walk, that it's okay to break. 

i'm learning Him

and in the process 

i'm learning me.  

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}

real life

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

REAL LIFE.


now GO...

i'm on a Gilmore Girls obsession lately. 

i think it's because i've been dreaming on this concept of real life. once again, planned before i put fingers to keys. 

i sit and watch this show, mother and daughter with all this quirk and all this mischief

and all that reality that modern television likes to obsess upon in an awkward and overbearing way. 

real life is becoming something a bit too false.

reality television? all connections being over social networking and nothing face-to-face? chained to the desktop, unable to branch out and up and forward.

i love my blog. 

i love those dear brothers and sisters that i have added to my family through this simple typed medium. i love my facebook and twitter, two ways in which i can connect with those who have gone from home to uni in two steps without looking back. 

but i love my family doubly so.

my mother's tender hugs, 

my father's volumous laughter in my ear. 

food on my tongue when shared with my sister, 

coffee steam hot in my face at a social moment with a friend. 

tears in my eyes and love in my heart as we commune face-to-face.

this is real life. 

found online, found in the heart, found when joined heart-to-heart and then again. 

mix the two.

you'll find common ground. 

growing real.

"The Christian does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us." ~C.S. Lewis


it's a funny thing, this concept of growth.


honestly, it's not what i expected it would be, or what it would feel like. 

it's so much scarier than i ever imagined.

if you've been following me at this blog for any length of time, you will have noticed that i have made a lot of changes in my writing style. the way i express myself has truly molded into truth as time has passed. 

in the beginning, i was never real. i never shared my 

pain

struggles

heartache

i never talked about the hard things.

i wrote what i was sure people wanted to hear. 

what was the popular way to feel? what was the right way to write? what was okay to share? where was the imaginary line in the sand that i dared not cross?

i have only recently begun to let go of my own intense perfectionism. 

this includes writing with much more abandon, less drafting and more living. and honestly, it means letting go of capitalization sometimes and just letting things flow. 

i'm still learning how to let go, how to let the Gardener prune me into His most beautiful creation. growth is a funny thing. 

sometimes, it really hurts. and oh, it's terrifying. 

i have the occasional minor moments of panic after posting something that isn't a ray of sunshine or a post regarding the beauty of daisy petals. 

pray for me.

because more than anything, i want to be changed. 

i want to be clay on His wheel.

i want to become a new thing. 

a fresh thing. a clean thing.

a real thing.

(first post at Eat, Pray, Write this morning. giveaway ends in five days.)

Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. ~Isaiah 43:19

Linking up with Jen and this beautiful weekly sisterhood.
Soli Deo Gloria

draftless. {challenge}

I want to fit. I want to be accepted, no matter what I do or what I say. I want to keep my fingers crossed and my eyes wide shut to the imperfections of this vessel that is me.

But I can't seem to shut my eyes as tight as I would like.

I can still see all the cracks. Every last cracked and battered shard until there is nothing but the damage.

After hours of thinking, this is what I realized.

i write too many drafts.


it's so much more than just saving now for later.

it's overthinking. overknowing.

it's too much.

and i can't stop myself.

i keep going back and

editing

editing

editing 

again and again until my inspiration has become uniform and my former dreams conform to yours.

but then i get scared of what you might think of me and i leave my draft unpublished.

another bit of broken pottery.

so i write another.

and another

and another

until my dashboard is flooded with orange italics and too many unfinished thoughts.

count your drafts. how many do you have, really? is it just one? is it five, or ten, or twenty, or one hundred?

four. four drafts too many.

not today. not this time.

no edits, no overthinking. just writing as i think, thinking as i write.

i am His first draft.

why can't this be mine?

This is me draftless.

This is my challenge to you. Don't think or edit or write countless drafts. Just sit at your computer and write. As long or as short as you wish...just let the words flow like water from your mind to your fingertips and out into the world. Then link up below. 

Take the plunge and go draftless. 

Soul

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body. ~C.S. Lewis

I haven't posted for two days.

Yes, I know this goes against my plan to post every day in the month of February.

Honestly, though, I couldn't bring myself to post.

I just wasn't inspired.

And I couldn't force myself to write meaningless posts that didn't come from my heart just to fulfill a "goal."

Because, you see, when I write, I don't just scribble down random, trivial things for no reason.

I just can't bring myself to write like that.

Everything I write has a purpose.

I pour part of myself into everything I write.

I never understood writers who used their writing as a cover...

...a disguise to hide themselves from the world and remain anonymous.

Maybe it's my personality, but I am unable to separate myself from my writing.

I want those who read my blog to be as observers gazing through a picture window, gazing up at the stars and moon set in the black fabric of the night sky.

I want them not to see mere words -- black marks upon a page.

I want them to see into my heart.

I want them to see my soul.

I want them to see Him through me.

So read with caution, gentle reader...

...for what you see here is my heart.

So please, handle my soul with care.