broken stems dancing

{photo by dramaticelegance}

today is the day i forgot my laptop. all i have is twenty-four coloured pencils in their brand-new packaging, and a black ink pen, and the new shinji moon book from rain. and i'm sitting here, tucked neatly away in the corner of the coffee shop, in the frustration, and i've decided to exhale instead.

because i'm eternally grateful for this life, to the One who breathed life in the whispering silence of nothing. and i have hands and fingers and the knowledge to write at all, and that's something alone.

and the homeless man from under the bridge came in with barely enough quarters for hot coffee, hold the cream, and i didn't look up from my phone. because the way he spoke made me uncomfortable. he spoke poverty and a world i didn't know, and it hurt my pride.

and then i looked up and saw the two flowers in the vase in the window, and one was whole and the other was broken. but i didn't judge the broken flower like i did the homeless man. and neither did the other flower in the same vase, in the same world. and their stems touched and draped one over the other.

and i judge me now. silly backwards upside down heart.

:: He promised, after all.

{via pinterest}

come to Me

all you who are laden-heavy

and I will give you rest. 

and He brought the long-haired one into His temple as perfume dripped down from the strands like material world whispers of love. and the men murmured under their breath with priestly robes clutched tight in holier-than-thou fingers,

"He must not know what kind of woman is touching Him."

and He reaches down and lifts her chin, and i catch her eye for the barest second. and i realize, she is me. and i am touching Him. and He loves, oh how He loves.

sometimes, i don't know who this woman is, either. the one who dares to remember His death until He comes. the one who wraps the scarlet chord -- yes, that simple sweet melody written in the blood of the spotless Lamb, the Lion of Judah -- around her soul and clutches there, tight. the one who wanders with the moon to the tune of clucking tongues and shaking head and scolding words.

and i wish i could write the way this music feels when He reaches out and takes my soul in His hand and softly whispers,

daughter
may I have this dance?

:: joy dance

{via pinterest}

the pursuit of joy is a dance, a thing of glory.

it's feet placed squarely against smooth cool wood, that slight intake of breath right before the music starts, a matched exhale with that very first note.

happiness can be found easier, under the stones that cover the bed of a stream or right between the complimenting syllables that trip so sweetly from the lips of an admired one. 

but joy. ohh, joy is the elusive White Stag of the Great Lion's master plan that leads you in a mighty chase to place you direct in the center of His roaring triumph.

see, I am doing a new thing, a mighty thing.
joy, joy, joy!

it's a majestic thing to be in the center of this whirlwind of joy. because to get to this center, this pearl in the midst, there comes that grain of sand tucked in the sensitive corners of the soul.

the rubbing and the aching brings the sorrow.
and then comes the dawning in a rumble of Lion's song and dew-drenched blades of grass.

joy is something sought after, something requested and then begged for, a thing that draws the greatest and the lowest to knocking on the door with flattened palms and an urgency incomparable. joy is not the feeling. it is the being. it is not the treasure, it is the hunt.

you would not have called for Him had He not been calling for you. 
{paraphrased from C.S. Lewis}

and so joy is a dance, a leap and a skip that can be done alone but is better with two, with clasped hands and fingers raised and head thrown back.

{linking today with beautiful emily and the imperfect prose community}

in which i release

{via pinterest}

i was awake at midnight this year. surrounded by family and friends and so much food and laughter. and at the stroke of 2013, my father in law raised a glass and bowed his head. and in the silence that this prayer brought, Heaven's breath fell on my ear.

and my OneWord365 for 2013 was confirmed.

:: release :: 

to free from confinement, bondage, pain

to let go

i've been striving upward and onward, you see. chasing Aslan's breath before i knew fully what i was chasing. i sought Him, and He sought me. 

but there is luggage. trunks and suitcases, all with labels affixed to them that gnaw and tear at my soul. words like shame and regret and mistakes and broken and guilt. and these are things i know all too well, because i packed them up myself when i started out. and slowly, i have added to them. twenty-two years of neatly folded bundles of brokenness. 

but this is the year for renewal. this is the year for release. the year for freedom. 

back in June, i wrote real beauty // you are not fat. this was the iceberg's tip into the shame and insecurities that i carry back with me from my early years. and now i have a little one, a child with fairy-blue eyes and the strength of a young warrioress with a song to be heard. and i will not allow my shame to crush her light, to bear her down before she has even begun. 

and so i'm leaning over the cliff with suitcase wide open and tears gushing down my face as i scream to the One who knows before i speak

{via pinterest}

You can have it all. 

it's far too heavy for me. 

and i won't deny, i'm afraid. there's a lot there, a lot of unpacking to do. and there's more than just the bad things, you know. there are good things too, lumped in with the rest. there's half-finished canvases smeared with black not-good-enoughs and dreamcatchers smashed and twisted. 

but i'm releasing. and He's going to fix them, restore them. they will be drenched in the blood of the One who broke for my wholeness. 

and i will be made new. 

i don't have time to maintain these regrets when i think about

the way

oh, how He loves

drumbeat :: magnify

{via pinterest}

a precious breather occurred this weekend. i was going to apologize for not blogging in two days, but i'm refraining.

i'm honestly not sorry. 

i love this place i'm in right now. it's a breathing place, a place where Light overwhelms and rest is finally accepted.

it's a dancing place, a place of scarves and bells and so much leaping to the music of glory as this soul magnifies again and again.

this year is barely twenty-two days old. and it's already the best year of my life. perhaps a cliche, a redundancy that everyone speaks in moments of joy. but this is more than this heart can bear.

:: i'm pregnant ::

these are words i still struggle to speak because of their newness and the awe that accompany their presence against my tongue. as the weeks are ticking by and my exhaustion is deepening and my appetite for every food in sight grows, i also start to smile broader. as this little one gets bigger within me, i cannot help but magnify.

:: i'm going to Europe ::

i'm boarding a plane to Germany and Prague with my little sister in April. i still am in utter awe to the point of falling to my knees with elation and wonder. in a matter of hours it went from maybe to impossible to official, and this trip is now in the middling stages of planning. and again, i magnify.

my soul doth magnify the Lord

and my spirit rejoices in God, my Saviour. 

{via pinterest

there are times when i feel that my level of blessings overflow above and beyond anything i could have ever anticipated.

and then in the moments of darkness when hope seems barely fingertips from reach, i remember this.

these dancing moments where glory brushes the earth and i find myself streaking cheeks with earth in lines of warrior paint and the drums of pounding hearts set the beat for my soul to leap.

oh, i am brave, soul doors thrown open to let the sun warm the broken corners.

oh praise Him.

:: EDIT :: Europe has fallen through. and though my heart broke all afternoon and tears flowed like water, i am still rejoicing. because there is something here for me, something to which i should cling. and home is where i should be now, i see. and i am still magnifying. 

stone dancer

 a gift of inspiration from my precious best friend. 

and from my King.  

this inspired me.

before you even read this post, you need to dwell upon the above link. 

watch it once. watch it twice. but watch it first. 

i watched breathless. heart stopped mid-beat and breath caught mid-inhale in my throat. tears poured, pooled into the cleft of my collarbone, and yet still continued. 

i watched it again. i searched for what about it struck such a powerful, shuddering chord in my soul. 

and then upon the third viewing, my vision cleared. 

it's this concept of stone. this concept of dance. 

for every dancer is a sculpture. 

it's a curse and a love we share. 

we seem to find ourselves frozen like Medusa's victim, imprisoned in this body of the dancer mold. 

if you dance, you know what i mean. 

and even if you don't, i think you know, too. 

we're all statues. 

limbs of cement and hearts of rock. 

we start off so solitary. repeating the same lists over and over again, so alone in this pressing of a crowded world. 

and then there is a touch on our souls. that hand that comes alongside. a partner to see this road through.

a lover. a friend. a parent. a mentor. 

{via pinterest

someone to take our fingers and whisper

dance.

i'll catch you.

He'll catch us both.  

and mingled with His light, we soar. 

feet never touch the ground, arms raised in this gesture of 

come. 

let go. 

reach. 

breathe. 

and if we find that we must freeze into stone again, we are not alone. 

we become a duo. a trio. for now this compatriot has frozen with us. 

fingers brushed. hearts melded. 

breathing stone. 

{linking with jami today}

phoenix stage

There is hope; there is a purpose to suffering. Art can create a place where the weight and reality of our darkness can be seen. ~Makoto Fujimuzo

i live for art.

really, i do.

they drive me crazy sometimes. i find myself sitting on the edge of the stage, gazing out over all the empty seats

and i wonder why i do it.

and then i remember. 

i do it for the nights like this one.

the nights where cue-to-cues flow better than they are supposed to and struggling lines turn smooth and rocky steps being to flow in unison again.

i do it for the beauty. for the composition. for the thrill and rush and the incredible feeling of satisfaction seeing months of hard work transformed into a symphony onstage.

today was the first day of Tech Week for OZ!


day one of five before the show. day one of five arduous days that will make my brain ache, my tears flow, and my legs ache with constant pacing and running and darting and leaping.

but it's a beautiful kind of pain.

it's perfect. 

it's this dance. this gift from Him to me. this pain that turns to joy.

this onstage phoenix. 

this quote from my precious Alexandria speaks my artist heart better than i ever could.

We tape up sore toes, 

play till our fingers bleed, 

stain our hands with ink and paint, 

deal with writer's cramp, 

and weep through countless sleepless nights

because without our art 

we would die.

life step

this whole life can seem like a theater dream.

you know, the bad kind.

the kind where hands push hard on your back and you stumble

stumble out onto a fully lit stage with naught in hand and strange clothing on your back, if any at all.

and they tell you dance but there is no familial music and no steps to guide your feet.

and they tell you speak but you don't know the words.

you don't even know who or what you're supposed to be. 

and you freeze and stumble and bleed and weep and all you want to do is run

run 

run 

run 

run 

run 

run 

until you can't see this strange place anymore ever.

and the comes the laugh. the hearty mocking gafaws that echo through your heart and cause you to freeze and stumble and bleed and weep all over again.

and there is no run.

because your legs have turned to liquid stone and you have nothing anymore.

and then you wake up. and it was all a dream. 

the sigh of relief falls into canter with the beating of your still unsure heart.

but then the news clicks on. death and destruction and ache and break and death not life and dark not light and nothing is as it should be anymore.

hands pushed you into this glaring place and you don't know what o do.

nothing in your hand. nothing on your back.

and then they say dance. 

but He gives the music and holds your feet against His bleeding nail scars and you move together.

they say speak. 

but He gives you His words and you speak. 

a mouthpiece for a mouth of peace. it's a symphony, 

this life of you and He together.

alone it's a kurfuffle of empty noise.

together is a dance.

 a step. 

a life. 

no fear. no stone. no ice.

life love warmth freedom courage.

all this life in Him. 

{linking with my dear emily for this broken song of love}

Valse (Waltz)

Daddy and I
Photo by DramaticElegance

The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in His love, He will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing. ~Zephaniah 3:17

I am a dancer.

I suppose that my dancing abilities come with the musical theater territory...as well as attending a high school where swing dancing was the movement of choice.

It also may have something to do with my jazz musician father and musically-inclined mother slow dancing together  in his office to Frank Sinatra records...seeing them dance together at school functions...watching them share a dance in the corner on my wedding day.

My mom is a willing follower...my dad is more than a joyous leader.

It's one of my earliest memories: standing on my daddy's toes while he taught me the simplest of waltzes next to the stereo system in his office, him counting in my ear while my tiny five-year-old fingers clutch his large paternal hands.

It's a memory that follows me to this day...and shall continue to do so all of my life.

It's a memory that came to culmination on my wedding day...holding my still tiny nineteen-year-old hands against my daddy's slightly wrinkled palms, his tux contrasting with my white dress as we cried together to the tune of Cinderella. 

Is it not so poignant then to know that our Father dances over us?

My daddy showed me how to form the steps...my Daddy forms them over me.

My daddy counted out the rhythm in my childish ear...my Daddy counts my breaths and knows them all.

My daddy taught me how to dance.

My Daddy taught my father how to dance.

You dance over me / While I am unaware / You sing all around / But I never hear the sound / Lord I'm amazed by You / Lord I'm amazed by You / Lord I'm amazed by You / How You love me / How wide / How deep / How great / Is Your love for me. ~Amazed, Jared Anderson

Tumble

I have a lot of thoughts tonight. And my brain just won't shut up.

I'm having a hard time bringing my racing mind and overactive imagination to a calm state.

It's 12:13. In the morning.

My head is a tumble drier, filled to the brim with thunderclouds and rose petals. Tossing. Rolling. Spinning until I'm so dizzy that I can't catch my own breath.

My heart is trying to tango to a jazz rhythm. Conflicted. It wants to dance, but it's forgotten the steps.

This is what happens when you care too much...

...when you think too much.

...when you dream too much.

My mind is beautiful train wreck, a slow dance among a traffic jam.

Why?

Because He holds my soul.

Among the noise of my thoughts and the questions brought on by my own mortal confusion...

...I can hear His still, small voice. He knows my name.

Daughter.

He serenades me with the music of His peace. He raises His nail-pierced hand and speaks softly to the storm raging in my heart.

Peace. Be still.