our Father :: glory

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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?

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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. 

overflowing // pie {213-219}

i'm at a loss for words this afternoon.

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the Christmas rush is finally starting to trickle down, barely twelve hours from the twenty-four that spelled out this sacred day, we are back to life again. back to normal, i suppose.

but can you ever really be normal after knowing?

is that even something i want? 

because this Christmas was more than just presents and sparkling lights, and perhaps even more than singing certain songs with hands raised in the candlelight. it was about being emptied, and then being made full again. because isn't that what we celebrate?

this thing of being empty. because how can something that is already full be filled anymore?

it's an overflow when the shell begins to brim over and then the Light tumbles over the edge and spills over in a waterfall over the edges and down the sides and falling down on everything and everyone beneath.

• 213. joy

• 214. Him coming, Him saving. 

• 215. sparkling eyes in Christmas lights

• 216. those grateful words on innocent lips when toys and games spark wonder

• 217. my precious family. words cannot express.

• 218. a God who loved enough to give. 

• 219. a Son who loved enough to die. 

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:: it's a pie shell ::

you see, i made pie this Christmas, blueberry. and as i poured the dark purple berries in their thick syrup into a patiently waiting pastry shell, i watched them flood and fill until the edges were brimming with sweetness. 

but even as i covered the pie with carefully cut lattice strips and slid it into the waiting heat, i felt the touch on my soul and the whisper

do you see this thing of being filled?

it's okay to be out of room, dearheart.

because when you spill over, you bless.

it's about having more than you can handle, more than your words can fully form and it spills over. maybe that's why i'm counting my blessings differently this Monday, this day that normally flows with rising numbers as i tick them off one by one. 

because i'm overflowing.

{linking my continuous blessings with Ann}

turning Christmas pages {207-212}

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it's less than a week to Christmas.

i'm having a hard time believing that Christmas is really this close. i'm one of those people who peaks ahead on every new calender, pressing my finger to the 25th of December like a little child and whispers

how many more days are left?

the blessings that flock among these days are more than i can ever begin to comprehend, more than i could ever share in one place at one time. this season seems to be wallpapered with eucharisteo, from head to toe with grace.

but as always, i'm going to raise grateful fingers to heaven, and count...

• 207. this first year of being a family of six. Kyle home for Christmas from the US Army, laughter shared and memories exchanged until our sides split. 

• 208. live pine in the living room. imperfect just like we are. 

• 209. the overflow of love from sisters across the nation found in my mailbox over the past week. books and notes of love, reminders that we're connected, that we're a sisterhood here. 

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• 210. our first sprinkling of snow. short-lived, but it was here. 

• 211. the sacrifice of a Father to share His Son with the world. the sacred blended with the earthy, Holiness clad in flesh. 

• 212. warm quilts and fluffy pillows and White Christmas. there are some traditions that i will never cease to adore. 

i love Christmas. but to me, there's more to Christmas than just the story found in the second chapter of Luke, more than we see or comprehend with our mortal minds. there's a big picture, a book with more than one page.

so i'm doing Christmas differently this year on my blog.

i'm unfurling those forgotten pages, showing the other sides of this time of year when Love came down and virgin arms cradled Emmanuel against her breast.

to read the first part of this sacred saga, visit here: the first-page :: havah.

because there is more than first glace can reveal. that's the mystery of my Jesus.

there is more. 

He is more. 

and i ache to drown in this mystery.

{linking my blessings with Ann}

the place of Advent

i forgot that Advent was so close.

it was such a big deal when i was a little girl. the pink and purple candles sat in their wicker wreath, wax dripping every Sunday when a new candle burned.

then i got married and moved into my own home. and i forgot.

i forgot the importance of this expectation.

this coming into place, this arrival of the Son of God.

i forgot everything i had been taught, about the sacredness that can be found in the silent moments of flickering candle flames.

and so for three years, i have had no candles to light and no verses to read. it has been as though the events of my childhood swiftly faded into the modern haze of overcrowded schedules and too much planning.

and then this year, it's been following me. i've read blog posts about the subject, seen commercials laden with reminders. it's a whisper, a reminder, the hand of God touching my heart

remember Me. 

and my soul groans with sorrow and guilt.

if it was anyone else, 

would i have forgotten?

or would i have laid my steps out carefully, preparing to greet this coming mortal?

but the King of Glory comes, and i forget Him.

and so this year, i'm finding candles and setting them out. my reminders, my beacon lights to the coming King.

these lights, one by one by one, lit in the darkness to set my yearning soul aglow --  a simple way of speaking to the silence,

i'm waiting for You. 

this heart is open; there is room here.

Freedom

Do you hear the people sing? / Singing a song of angry men? / It is the music of a people / Who will not be slaves again! / When the beating of your heart / Echoes the beating of the drums. / There is a life about to start /When tomorrow comes! ~When Tomorrow Comes, Les Miserables

4th of July. 

To the rest of the world, this is just another day on the calender. No different than the 9th of March or the 24th of October. 

But to the United States of America, this day is monumental. 

Today we declared our freedom. 

Today we stood against the background of red, white, and blue, and took our place among the nations. 

We stepped from black and white to colour...from darkness to light...from candlelight to sparklers. 

We became the United States of America. 

But now, we are starting to fall back into our own habits. 

We are slipping from the light of freedom to the darkness of our own slavery.

We are not under the dominion of the King of England anymore...but nor are we allowing ourselves to be under the reign of the ultimate Holy King. We have switched from rebelling against the laws of man to pushing our backs against the laws of God. 

We have fallen so in love with freedom that we have fallen out of love with the One who held our hands and guided us here in the first place. 

If we try to erase God from every cornerstone of our nation's foundation, we will grind the stones to nothing and leave us in a pile of rubble.

Lives were lost and the streams ran red with blood to make our country free.

One life was lost and His heart was pierced to make our souls free.

We must never separate the two. 

If these two threads untangle, our freedom will unravel. 

"One nation under God." 

Photo by Abigail Dahl
PinkStudios Photography

In Him, we are free. 

Without Him, we are lost. 

So tonight,as lemonade mingles with the ice cubes in our glasses and watermelon juice drips down your chin...

...as the anthem plays and the star-spangled banner flutters in the breeze... 

...as sparklers flash and fireworks explode against the backdrop of the midnight sky...

...never forget the ones who died to give us this freedom, and never forget the One who died to give us the ultimate freedom.

Embrace your freedom,

but cling to Him.  

Do you hear the people sing? / Lost in the valley of the night / It is the music of a people who are climbing to the light / For the wretched of the earth there is a flame that never dies / Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise. / They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord. / They will walk behind the plough-share / they will put away the sword. / The chain will be broken and all men will have their reward...~Epilogue, Les Miserables 

(I did a guest post today over at The Cupcake Dictionary, which you can read here.)