blessings on the sh***y

{photo by me}

blessings on the sh***y, she said to me, and I gasped. it's impossible not to gasp when someone lays prophecy over you like that after you confess to her that your Wednesday has been more like a Monday and there isn't much left except to sit.

she blessed the ugly, the parts of the day that we don't talk about publicly because they make everything fade a little, and no one wants to see your fading. except that David wrote a hundred psalms where he cried from the recesses of the cave, the ones where he begged for rescue and in the same breath, he whispered, in You, oh God, I put my trust. 

she blessed the tangled, the cracking spots, and I'm starting to see why. because those cracks let a little bit of light through. who says that breaking lets in the darkness? I've had a lot bottled up, tiny fists beating against the glass wall, fairy dust merging with gunpowder, and the glory was suffocating while I leaned all my weight on the lid.

and then she blessed the sh***y, and I cracked a little.

live into it, she urged, and I felt something give. those strange-faced ones, the ones that speak into my life without relationship, they warned against the dam, warning that there was pulsing wildness behind it, and it could kill someone if let free. hold it up, keep it together, press your fingers in like mortar.

but then I realized that I was dehydrating, that my skin was cracking and my hair was fading from fire-glow to guttering embers. fire and water don't mix, but that's the paradox, isn't it? because without Living Water, I have no air, and the spark flickers. and my fingers came free and the water gushed like uninhibited Elven stallions to drown the black horde clamoring behind me. it was deep drinking, full soul hydration, saturation in pure life.

live into it, she said, and I pressed against the thin places, the spots where the darkness flew out and the Light streamed in like holy saline straight into the veins of my soul.

and so, oh love, wherever you are.

blessings on the sh***y. blessings on the thin places. blessings on the broken glass, blessings on the tangled.

live into it, dearheart. pen your Psalms in the cave.

{my dear friend, Esther, the woman who spoke these words over me, wrote something of her own on this subject. read her words, won't you?}

the start of the melting

{via pinterest}

i remember the day that i melted. i think i will always remember. it was the very first day that i dared to question what was laid in front of me. i was seventeen with eyebrows tinged white from the missionary mime make-up. it was merely days after the quietest moment of my life. my toes were on foreign soil, in a land that has forever woven a spell over my heart.

it was the night of the talk. you know the one. we were gathered together, boys and girls and men and women. the words spoken to us were inspirational. at the time, they conjured something different than they would now. it was a type of shame, it made us blush. but we knew the drill :: we'd all heard it before, and the feeling it brought was familiar. they talked about shirts too low and jeans too tight, they looked us dead in the eye and told us to protect our brothers.

they taught us how to hug, arms draped around the shoulders from the side, never too long. they taught us about closed doors and warnings and dreaded plane trips home should we embrace too long, should a boy-toe ever enter the room of a girl. 

and then the talk ended and the mood changed. there was laughter and friends chatting during a short break, an appropriate hug exchanged here and there, but everyone was careful. it was ingrained. we knew what to do.

and then came the mention of the yearly mother-daughter cruise. there were cheers. there was excitement. and then the lights dimmed and the slideshow started to roll. and something inside me melted like wax.

the fabric was bright. blues and whites and yellows and greens and pinks. typical bikini colours. it was a cruise after all, all full of mothers and daughters bonding together. and they were on a ship in the ocean, and BarlowGirl was singing, and the girls were wearing bikinis.

i felt his hand on my shoulder, my friend, my heart-brother. i remember the look in his eyes, the way he whispered with head buried in hands, peering up at me through his fingers,

are they watching me? is this a test? i don't know where to look.

i remember when the lights came up and the burst of courage filled me. i was seventeen. i had never questioned anything before, not like this. but i couldn't let it go. i couldn't forget that look in his eyes.

with shaking fingers, i walked to the woman who ran the show, the one whose face we all knew, the one who smiled at the door each morning and spoke God to us each night. i touched her arm and took a deep breath.

"i'm sorry. but that didn't seem right. not after what you just said. all those girls in bikinis, the guys were confused. i was confused. i don't understand. it felt wrong."

i knew what i was expecting. i was expecting an answer, an easy one, some sort of explanation as to why. but she looked at me and pursed her lips and said, the Devil likes to cause turmoil at times like this. we don't need that kind of attitude here. 

i cried that night into my pillow, my roommates gathered around me with their hands on my back. it didn't feel right to them either. they told us not to look, they told us to keep our eyes closed and bodies covered. they whispered shame but screamed contradiction in our faces.

but what could we do? we were just teenagers. we were just girls.

i was so confused, everything all twisted up inside. was this what purity meant? i always thought it was something holy, something bright and white and glorious. i didn't know it then, but this was the start of my uncovering. my casting aside the millstone and taking a lighter yoke on my shoulders.

at the airport, two days later as we all winged our way from South America to long-missed families, my soul-brother hugged my neck.

i've never forgotten.

this is why i'm a Jesus feminist.
this is why i fight.

slow-stepping out the shadows, allowing the dark soul-night to teach me something. i'm learning how to put a face to the shame, slipping a voice against the palm of the voiceless.

{this is a piece of my journey. join with the wild mystics for a deep journey into the dark night}

hush-holy ::

{via pinterest}

a phrase has been trapped in my mind for about a week now. two words strung together, innocently enough, make something soft and precious and so profound that it has woven itself into the very essence of me and is resting there.

hush-holy.
{phrase coined by rain}

there is sacredness nesting inside me now, building up and making something great and beautiful in a way that maybe i didn't understand before.

this word {YHWH} is the sound of breathing.

the holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator

 is the sound of your own breathing.

and so i sit and ponder in this time of spring, the epitome of hush-holy and silent glory and the majesty of life appearing in the gentlest of ways.

but there are storms, grey-skied things that sweep in with wind and rain and thunder and lightning. and oh, how the glory of God is found in this grand display. 

:: but then comes the calm.

and the wind and seas obey His voice. and all is still when He and i step back into the boat, and i find myself on my knees in the hush whispering, truly You are the Son of the Most High God. because His very breath is this thing swirling around me, even here on my yellow couch with Old McDonald as the soundtrack to this moment of worship. 

{via pinterest}

but in my head i'm singing soft words familiar to my tongue, words i have sang over and over in my soul from the first time i heard them. a tender melody found here in the hush-holy, in the calm draped over my shoulders like a warm blanket of Life from the fingers of the most loving Father.

oh the deep deep love of Jesus

vast, unmeasured, boundless, free

//

and it's not a solo, but a duet, because the Lion is singing soft in my ear, harmonizing in the most beautiful way, crooning, see, I am doing a new thing, all things made new. and the Song of the Lion has become the sweetest backdrop to arms outstretched and glory whispered from my mortal-turned-immortal lips. 

now you are a Lioness

and all...will be renewed.

{prince caspian, c.s. lewis}

watching her watching me

{via pinterest}

are you breathing just a little, and calling it life? 

:: mary oliver :: 

it's odd, this thing of breathing. it's the ultimate release, every day a thousand and one seventy, and we don't seem to notice until we suddenly can't catch it anymore. 

and that's what life is. a die-daily, a live freely. 

but sometimes fear takes over and we breathe shallow and live the same way, afraid to put our toes in all the way and get our hair wet and streaked with color. 

there's walking and there's leaping, and there's a way to put a spring in the simple steps. there's a way to live like you're free and not like you're bound. those chains are broken, so stand up straight and dance, why don't you?

i have little eyes that watch me, big blue orbs that follow my every move and light up when i speak. and she sees the way i live. this little life breathes free against my chest every night, grabs my face in chubby fingers and looks deep in ways that only little ones can do. 

{my little seeker, my warrioress in training}
3.5 months 

and she is teaching me freedom to breathe, to squeal at the little things and embrace life. and it's okay to cry heartbroken and not hide behind pursed lips and pressed-together fingers. 

we're dancing in the living room and laughing. and we read the Colour Kittens and she watches my lips with each word. 

that's a reminder to live if there is one. and i'm still unsure, baby steps of my own, living in freedom and light and love and so much grace. 

there is no end to His kingdom, my limitless King. 

releasing here, living here. 

for my little one. 

for me. 

for Him. 

life breath :: water living

{via pinterest}

today, a dear friend posted of love like water. and i wasn't planning on writing today, simply breathing the light and the breeze into these lungs and resting in silence. but i was gripped tight by words from an unmet friend.

we are all soul-creatures, made to be seen, 

created to be tenderly cradled and adored, 

yet we tremble at the thought of it.

this has become my life. this thing of trembling at love and in awe of tenderness. it's a gift to be a bearer, to the world as well as to this child i carry. 

and so i curl on this couch with breeze ruffling my hair and my eyelashes too, and i inhale tenderness. 

a repeated in out in out in out of life. 

i felt this child move last night for the first time. 

it was nothing more than a single poke to the right side of my navel, and then a pause into silence. and then one more, a tap against my skin, a reminder that this baby is there. a reminder that i am waiting, and i am carrier, and i am life-giver.

and knowing that i am almost halfway there...it's a breath that i can barely handle to take. 

{17 weeks. my own photograph}

but i am living in a place where love washes over, and i'm covered in the tenderness and the trembling. and that's alright, to find the awe in this. 

it's those moments in the dark where we wrap our arms around our knees and kneel within ourselves to the waves of crashing Love that threaten to overwhelm us. it's a tremble, not a cringe. it's a breathing, not a hyperventilation. 

it's a knowing of preciousness that is incomparable. 

it's a breathing, a resting. a perfect trembling.  

 

be alive :: battlecry

{via pinterest}

do you want to live?

i hear this question every day. not as a cry of despair or a wail of longing, but as a battlecry.

do you want to live?

my heart beats this word. LIVE. LIVE. LIVE. who knew the very act of breathing could be more than just breathing? because there's more to this thing of living than just inhale-exhale-repeat times a thousand. oh, no.

living is so much more than being alive. did you know that today, as you press through crowds or stand in kitchen solitude?

do you have little ones clinging to your leg chanting their own reprise of mommymommymommy? or is there a thousand other voices clamouring for your attention, and you aren't sure which one to answer first?

because you're alive. your heart is beating and your blood is flowing. but are you living? really?

this is a battlecry, i promise you.

do you want to live?

because i think you should crave to LIVE. oh sister, grasp life by the mane and roar your existence to the Heavens. we are Lion children, Heaven's heirs. and we're living like miners in the goldrush, fingers pawing through the muck for maybe a nugget of truth, or maybe a nugget of lies.

have we forgotten how to live in Light? as daughters and sons, adopted to glory?

stop where you are. 

stop right now.

and look. rip off those sunglasses as those who are blind and feeling their way from brick wall to muddy bog. because there is a path to take, dearhearts. and it's lying down before you, crying out

i'm here! see me?

sometimes it's a charge. other times it's tentative steps, learning to walk all over again. so won't you leap? and won't you live?

cry out, warrior. be brave. and live.

do not :: no try

{via pinterest}

i have felt guilty all day. i haven't blogged, and i honestly didn't really feel the pull.

but it's Monday, and i make my list on Monday.

and then i read this post. and i felt less guilty.

because i don't have to. and i never thought about making that list before, never really got the idea that maybe it would be okay to not do something. that maybe it would be healthy to not do.

:: and so today, i don't have to ::

• vacuum
• fold laundry perfectly
• paint my nails
• shave my legs
• worry about anyone but me 
• stress over things out of my control
• drink tea
• put on makeup
• act like i have it all together. i don't.
• feel overwhelmed. 

i'm bad at not doing. i'm very good at overdoing. 

because i'm still sick, still sniffling and coughing and aching all over with tissues and quilts. and i need to rest, and i need to breathe. and i need to know that it's okay to not do, and just be. 

and that's my gift today. that silent moment when i jump into the pool from the in-between and His country. i'm lingering close to the surface today, because today i don't have to drown. 

i can just be. 

mystery air

sometimes, it's hard to know things.

everyone teaches you like knowing is something you want to do, something that's required before you can exist in the big, wide world all by yourself. we have to learn things like how to tie our shoes and how to walk on the right side of the road so that we don't get hit by a speeding car.

but even when we know these things, even when we know where our feet are supposed to go, we still get hit by a speeding car. don't we all get blindsided, no matter how much we know?

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}

so it's not about knowing. it's about being. it's not about knowing everything under the sun, it's about being willing to raise imperfect hands and whisper

my soul magnifies the Lord

and my spirit rejoices in God, my Saviour. 

it's about taking the mystery in and making it become alive instead of locking the Light inside the vault to keep it "safe" from Earth and dirt. because that's what we celebrate a week from tomorrow, this thing of sacred becoming touchable.

this thing of gold and Living Water turning into blood and flesh and dark brown curls over chocolate eyes and gap-toothed grins in the middle of a stable with only a Star's light to herald the Light.

because mysteries are okay. the one who said they were doesn't understand this path we walk, and the Hand we hold, because sometimes it's all about mystery.

it's okay to not know. when all you can do is inhale exhale and inhale again, and that's all that you understand, i promise that it's okay.

and when you gaze into that face of long baby lashes and a soft triangle of milk-fed infancy, remember that this mystery is the earthly picture of another.

you know, the one where a teenager wrapped her arms around the Saviour of the world and kissed His cheek and called Him "Emmanuel."

:: because it's a mystery ::

 God with us, Word to flesh, breath to breath.

and it's okay to wonder, and be full of wonder.

art :: haven :: soul

{via pinterest}

it's amazing how things change in the space of a morning.

from simple to grateful to glory in one watercolour stroke.

but today is artist's day. so i find it fitting, in a way, that everything becomes fluid on a day like this. a day when we take a moment to acknowledge the phoenix of art.

because we have stories. artists, you and i together. is it so strange that some paint with words and others write with brush and fervour on the canvas? but we're just the same.

art is the celebration of imperfection.

to dance, to sing, to paint, to write to compose. on the canvas of paper, wood, air, and skin.

:: it's embracing imperfection ::

it's all skin art. it's safely slicing a vein and letting it flow onto surfaces that abound in number. it's different for us all.

some find refuge in the studio with paint-streaked hair and eyes that whisper images that they conceive and birth to the world. others seek the solace of wooden floors and muted lighting and their feet and lips that move in tandem.

{via pinterest}

we need this, you see.

it's our haven. 

it's the dangled dreadlocks where we tuck our secrets, the moments of silence that create a masterpiece that speaks volumes to this universe.

it's that place where we sit, hands down and eyes turned up. the place where we sit with the Savior like little ones with fingerpaints and sticks of wax and charcoal, where His hand wraps around ours and we create with the measure of soul and love that only the Great Artist could impart.

do you see what we are?
we're clay thrown on the wheel that turns and throws a vessel itself.

we're the glorifiers. the prisms. the image-catchers.

we're the created turned artists.

every poet and musician and artist, but for grace, is drawn away from love of the things he tells to love of the telling... ~c.s. lewis

breath like His

it's become a thing across the blogging universe.

why do i blog? 

what brought me to this place?

and why do i continue?

i have already done my various posts of this sort, one of which can be found here. 

however, this is different. this is where.

where do i blog? where do i let myself be heard?

to start my September, i was honoured to receive the sacred becomes you award by my dear literary and heaven-bound sister, rain. 

the conviction which flooded me upon reading that post was almost enough to knock me to the ground, as well it should.

i don't blog on my knees enough. 

i think i like to to cling to this wobbling pedestal that looms above me. i don't know why that is, really. it's not that i think i'm something special or want to gloat over my fragile bits and pieces. 

i think my pride doesn't want to admit my smallness. my weaknesses. oh, how i hate my struggles, my moments of emptiness. to be counted as weak is a greater curse than being counted as silent. 

and so i stand. hard and fast against the gentle wind of my Savior's breath. this breath that should and must become my own...i fight and wrestle as though letting go is to die.

but then, isn't it?

isn't it my call to die to self and live for Him? so many greater than me have done so, and with joy. 

paul rejoiced in his infirmities, knowing this truth that i cannot yet grasp.

via Pintrest

But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 

and so i must let go. i must die. to self, to me, to pride and control and my own strength. 

i must let my breath leave my will, and let His name take its place. 

for is His name, the most sacred, is yet my breath. 

the letters of the name of God in Hebrew… are infrequently pronounced Yahweh. But in truth they are inutterable….

This word {YHWY} is the sound of breathing.

The holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator, is the sound of your own breathing.That these letters are unpronounceable is no accident. Just as it is no accident that they are also the root letters of the Hebrew verb ‘to be’… God’s name is name of Being itself. ~Rabbi Lawrence Kushner

prematurely linking up with The Wellspring.
perhaps not a playdate per se, but oh what joy . 

Soundtrack

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. ~Victor Hugo

I breathe music.

It's been something that I've lived on since I was a tiny girl.

With a professionally-trained musician father and a mother with the singing voice of an angel, I was steeped in musical notes and treble clefs from the time I could walk.

I credit my parents with teaching me the value of putting my life to a soundtrack.

Every great movie has a soundtrack -- a score of music, a compilation of songs, a haunting melody. These notes speak more to the drama, strength, passion, and bloodlust of each pivotal moment than any detailed explanation ever could.

My life is no exception.

Maybe this is exposing more of my own quirks than I actually want to, but even still...

My life has a soundtrack.

My mood and my iPod run on very similar veins.

The rich, earthy tones of Imogene Heap and Joshua Radin speak to the mellowness...the twinges of romantic darkness that cling to the edges of my heart.

The light daisy-petal notes of Mika, Lenka, or Yiruma speak to the brightness and melodic tone of my spirit.

The powerpunch of Skillet, Anberlin, HIM, or Plumb generally refer to a bit of leftover angst lingering after a particularly strong moment of dark emotion.

The bouncy snap of some popular Top40 hit or the swish of a Michael Buble melody generally speaks to my growing need to move my body and dance like either a mad lunatic or a measured artist -- all mood-based.

The flooding rush of Brit Nicole, Brooke Fraser, Chris Tomlin, or Aaron Shust remind me for Whom I live...a musical way to remind me that I live for the One who broke my chains and set me free.

I could go on, but I think I've conveyed the idea.

Music runs through my veins like blood, scores cover my skin like invisible tattoos, and notes flood my head like flocks of brilliantly-hued butterflies over a dew-dusted meadow.

Music says what I can't. It screams when I have to be silent. It laughs for me when all I can do is cry, and it unveils those hidden corners of my soul that hurt too much to reveal.

So at the moments, when the echoes are screaming and the pain is flooding my lungs, threatening to drown me...

...I let the music breathe for me.

“'Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion! For behold, I am coming and I will dwell in your midst,'” says the LORD." ~Zechariah 2:10

Outside/Inside

Strength is my weakness.

There is something so imperative, so crucial about strength to me.

I have to be the strong one.

I have to endure things for others that they themselves cannot seem to handle at that moment.

In that split second when your world is falling apart, when your heart is breaking, when you're at the very end of your rope, I have to be there.

I have to be strong for you.

If I love you, I carry stuff for you. It's the way I've always been, and I can't see myself changing any time soon.

But. I gotta be honest.

I'm a coward.

Behind this mask of strength and endurance, I'm shaking like a frightened puppy during a thunderstorm.

On the outside, I'm calm and put-together, focused entirely on making sure that you are alright and that you know that you have someone to lean on during this -- the darkest moment of your life.

But inside, I'm screaming. My mind is going a hundred miles a minute, throwing things together and tossing them out in a split second. Nothing makes sense. I have to keep telling myself...

...over and over and over again...

breathe. breathe. breathe.

Rain pelts my face, blinding me, mixing with my tears of sorrow, frustration, and guilt. The laughter of my own cowardice is shrieking in my ears.

"Afraid. You're afraid. Coward."

I have to allow myself to shut my eyes, wrap my arms around you, and lock out my fears.

Inside, I'm on my knees, eyes closed, hands raised as high as they can go.

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs to the thundering skies...

"TAKE THIS, JESUS! I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH!!! I NEED YOU!"

And then, He comes for me.

In my mind, Jesus has a roll of duct tape and a warm blanket.

The duct tape is for Satan's mouth, to keep the lies away.

The blanket is for my heart.

And for yours.