week seven :: brushing mother

{via pinterest}

and this marks seven weeks, and one week, too. because it was a week ago today that i discovered that my body was home to another, that i was no longer one person walking the earth. i was now two.

but the little ticker that changed from sweet pea to blueberry today made my heart do a flip, and a smile pull my lips upward and left them unshaken for the majority of this day.

even among the frustrations and the irritations that life brings, i touch my stomach and remember that it's one week less until i meet my long-awaited stranger.

looking at my body, you can't tell that i'm expecting. not really. it's a secret that i carry from the rest of the world, from the people passing me on the street or at the bank.

the exhaustion is expected, and i'm learning to breathe through it as it crashes over me in waves.

because i'm sand being molded, harsh edges worn down until i'm smooth and ready with each wave and each new facet that reminds me that i'm thirty-three weeks away from everything changing.

{via pinterest}

but hasn't it already? 

it's more than just cravings for macaroni and cheese with hot sauce, or Asian asiago chicken salad. it's more than the water that i'm chugging by the bottle and the deep desire for the caffeine that i am slowly abandoning. it's more than vivid dreams and restless sleep.

it's this realization that sacred has taken up residence in my body. it's as though He's whispering to my soul on the daily basis

be full of Me, daughter

as you are full of this. 

do you see, even a little

how much I love you?

and i'm still singing the Lion's song. note by note from His heart to mine and into tiny ears that are just beginning to form. 

and it's seven weeks when i've only known for one. and that amazes me daily as i'm seeking to walk this path of sacred realization. a warrior now fighting for two with a King fighting for her. 

and i whisper to this tiny blueberry in my tummy

please know Him. 

know Him as you know Him now. 

learn His Name outside as you sing it within.

burning :: sacred

{via pinterest}

i'm finding that i'm touching the burning bush more and more.

it's a fine line between the sacred and the ordinary, and it's something i'm daily learning to understand. it confused me at first. the closer to the fire i grew, the more intricate the flames became.   

did i never see Him before, in the ink and the dishes and the silverware? did i just see colour as a visual and not as intricately spiritual? 

perspective can change a life. the ability to step back from a scene and look at the dirt and only see a footprint in the dust where nothing showed before. when you see eyes like transparent glass and tumbled messes as something beautiful to be savoured like art

doesn't that change you? 

someone wrote me and said that they didn't understand. where did i get this pair of eyes that sees something where there is really nothing? am i just digging too deep or trying too hard? 

is there really sacredness in laundry or freshly-laid eggs? or am i painting a portrait where there's really only a blank canvas? 

:: but that's the thing about God ::

{via pinterest}

there is no line between sacred and ordinary. isn't that what we celebrate with white lights and candles and whispered stanzas of oh, holy night? 

Heaven became Earth and sacred became touchable. I AM became little boy smiles and tangled brown curls over deep brown eyes and a Israeli childhood with prayers for Messiah's coming. 

this Word become flesh and blood and bone and tears and smiles. this doorway smeared with blood on top and sides opened wide to the sacred and the ordinary melded together. 

this burning bush of glory, of barefoot rejoicing and gentle choruses to welcome Emmanuel. 

fall on your knees

oh night divine. 

bubble

{via pintrest}

little kids and blowing bubbles go together.

there's something so innocent about pressing your lips together to blow a steady stream of air, causing the world to expand and expand

come together and let go

that floats and floats on the breeze, catching light in a strange sort of glint that cannot be described right or duplicated right

until something gets in the way and

pop

in a glisten of raindrop beads as the beauty goes from high to shattered before these little ones even have a chance to react or try to save their perfect bubble.

and then they giggle and do it again. 

life is like that, i think.

it's a bubble that we strain to create as innocent children.

my world, my creation, my perfect bit of sunshine

{via pintrest}

all about us until something comes into the path of our sunny day and

pop

our beauty goes from high to shattered on the pavement with no warning to save our precious pieces.


but sometimes

we can't giggle anymore.

 because the giggle went away when we grew up and got cynical and hardened because life is just that hard and nothing floats the way it used to when you get to just that age.

but then, isn't it funny how we forgot our unchanging God?

this One without turning or shadow. this One who changes not and loves much.

this One who promised to carry our brokenness when the path just gets too hard and too much and all the bubbles have popped.

in these moments, i praise. win or lose, joy or pain, greatness or destruction.

there is no shadow.

and His change is never.

{linking this imperfection today. so much can come from being real}

{prematurely linking with Laura for
this playdate with the King}

skyeyes

Remember being a little child

lying on your back with your eyes wide shut

staring ceaselessly at the floating clouds above.

Giraffe. 

Ice cream cone.

Hero dragons with mouths of flame. 

These are the things we saw

more than just puffs of gathered precipitation floating in the

atmosphere.

Angels bowling

Cameras flashing.

Roads to Oz.

These are the things we heard

more than just rolling thunder

or whirling tornado clouds.

Child ears. Child eyes.

Nearly twenty-one and never forgotten.

I want to keep my

innocent eyes

to look up at the clouds.

(Note from Rachel: After penning yesterday's post of imperfect prose, I became so inspired to turn my hand at the poetry wheel again. It had been so long, and I felt so deeply that this was something God was telling me I was supposed to undertake once again. And so here it is...uncensored and unedited. 

Spoken word. Living truth.) 

Pregunta (Question)

I think, at a child's birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity.  ~Eleanor Roosevelt

Questions are important to life.

We are born with the innocence of curiosity...the need to know, search, muse, and ponder the things set before us.

The statement has been made that there is no such thing as a "stupid" question, and I am inclined to agree. How can we know if we do not ask? What things can we glean if we keep our musings behind our lips and unheard by those who may have the answers we seek?

So here, I give you the opportunity to exercise your gift of curiosity.

Ask me what you wish to know. 

Ask me anything.

Any question...no matter how "foolish" you may thing it may be or how trite it may sound to your own ears.

Ask me of my life, my dreams, my wishes, my inspiration, my heroes and my failures...my favourite colour to my deepest beliefs.

Put your question in the comment section of this post, and I will answer it with all honesty in a forthcoming post.

Obviously, there is a level of decorum and appropriateness that is accepted, but I am most sure that I do not have to bring this to your attention.

I have laid down the welcome mat and unlocked the door of my mind.

Open the door, if only just a crack.

Be curious.

And ask away.

The important thing is not to stop questioning.  Curiosity has its own reason for existing.  One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality.  ~Albert Einstein