:: 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}

joy :: the Lion's song

{via pinterest}

someone told me you need to be happy always now. 
and i laughed.

because that's not possible, pregnant or not. understand me this, i am filled with such feelings of elation that i cannot fully put into words, writer or not.

but there's other things too. there's life that keeps happening outside my sheltered world of expecting motherhood. there's frustration and hurts that well up, and hormones that fight me to explode free from fingertips and lips.

this is complicated, this thing of morning sickness that turns to ravenous hunger and late night tossing with vivid dreams that are almost impossible to rationalize to reality. and then there are the tears that well over at insurance commercials and late-night episodes of Grey's Anatomy. 


and i cannot be happy always.
no one can.

but i find the joy in the quiet moments when i press earbuds to my stomach to teach this little one the best of music, or when i pour words from favoured pages into little forming ears. and there is courage in knowing that i will be okay, because i am not alone.

:: i never have been :: 

because even in this strange ship at sea, there is a gull on the masthead whispering courage, dearheart to my thudding heart. and there is a lilting song on the wind that i can barely hear, but i know it is coming. and i am teaching this Lion's song to my unborn.

not of happy, but of joy.
not of fearless, but of brave.

there's an expression i've heard: barefoot and pregnant. and that is me, overwhelmed in the sacred to the point of no shoes, curling safe at the base of the cross.

overflowing // pie {213-219}

i'm at a loss for words this afternoon.

{via pinterest}

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. 

{via pinterest}

:: 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}

morning :: finding Light {200-206}

i'm not a morning person. not by a long shot.

maybe this is a negative aspect of my life. perhaps i should enjoy rising before the birds begin to twitter or the sun paints the world gold and pink and pale shades of blue. but i don't, honestly.

but these past several Mondays have been mornings of rising at half past five and stepping down from warm bed to pre-dawn chill to meet the Chicago rush of commuter traffic. i'm having to learn to change my views on life, on mornings.

it's not something i enjoy, but it's something i'm embracing. and isn't that what eucharisteo is about, this thing of grasping the mystery and soaking in the unknown? even this time of year, these moments of Christmas celebration with the green and red and flickering candlelight

isn't this all about surrendering? 

about following and stepping from comfort zone to holy ground? 

and so even among the commutes and the too-much noise so early, i continue to count one by one by one.

• 200. peppermint hot chocolate 

• 201. the blend of sacred and Earthy found in this month. the way He paints my path with gold and dust and speaks "know Me here by this name, dearheart."

• 202. a father's laughter and stimulating debate as we drive too-busy roads and play the music just a little too loud

• 203. love found in the tiny wife guiding her tall, blind husband to his seat and the tenderest caresses when only touch communicates her face. 

• 204. children's innocence with their off-beat clapping and their misstep dancing and the way they speak of "gold, Frankenstein, and myrrh" before giggling with blue eyes dancing. 

• 205. feeling my characters become real, taking flight under my fingertips as paper becomes blood and ink becomes breath. it's intoxicating. 

• 206. finding Sarah Kay again and finding my spoken word again. it's strange and raw and so frightening. i could not love it more. 

and so amid the bustle of the Japanese sisters sharing coffee and too-loud laughter, and the Italian cluster of gentlemen arguing with hand gestures and rapid tongues in a language i wish i knew, we're conversing.

He and i. 

we have our silence in the noise, the moments i can feel the silence. it's a kiss, an embrace.

it's the ending dream, and the touch of morning.

{linking the count of gratitude with Ann}

waiting and joy :: mary

{via pinterest}

i spent this morning thinking about Mary.

this innocent girl has been on my mind so much these days as we count down the seconds, the minutes, the hours until Christmas.

because our anticipation lasts from the final dish on Thanksgiving Day until the twenty-fifth wooden figure is hung on the Advent calender.

but hers was for nine long months. 

do we forget that sometimes, that this was not a humble woman with eye aglow with pregnant anticipation with friends pressing eager fingers to a swollen belly, anxious to feel a kick?

this was a frightened child with big doe eyes and a secret told to her by an angel -- one that she could only hide for so long before the world would know and come running with big, sharp stones and cries of "whore."

this was her culture, her people. she had a strong man who loved her and sought her for his bride, but this baby was not his, and he would know, and then they would know.

but oh 

there was joy. 

this young woman of wisdom and grace, this little one with the heart of a Messiah beating inside, wrapped her arms around the place where the Sovereign One grew fingers and toes and eyelashes and a tiny smile, and cried

my soul doth magnify the Lord. 

my spirit rejoices in God, my Saviour. 

she baffles me. standing in the shadow of so much uncertainty, she praised. she turned her face to the skies and sang of her joy. because she KNEW.

she knew her soul was wrapped tight with the Hand of the Master. the protector of the innocent, the Father to this Son.

and so she waited in the silence. hand on her stomach to feel the kick of the One who would save her soul from Death

:: and clung to unceasing joy ::

lifeblood art

{via pinterest}

it's a curious thing. 

to be an artist, you have to embrace mistakes. 

you have to let your pain flow like blood in a safer way than trembling razorblades from wrist to elbow, making an outlet that won't take your life but just might safe it in the end. 

 your joy like fireworks exploding from your skin and fingertips and hair and eyes and lips and soul like so much jubilant light. 

your love stream from your eyes like a river, tears that aren't unbidden but that so many just won't understand to be anything but pain rippling out and out. it's not, though. it's perfect love.

that's what it is to be an artist.

after all, how can we know passion if we have never experienced it ourselves? how can we write, sing, or leap with emotions that are unfamiliar territory?

we have to embrace our imperfections. 

every last beautiful one. 

{via pinterest}

i'm preparing for a month of being laid bare. letting my soul pour into my novel, exposing my heart for this whole world to taste and touch and run their fingers over. 

maybe it'll do some good. 

a month of imperfections. a month of breathing art in like air. 

of being an artist

following my calling of art and passion and depth and soul. 

living here in imperfect art. 

creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes

art is knowing which ones to keep

~Scott Adams 

morning honey

via {honey and jam}

sometimes, i don't know what to write about each morning

i wake up so inspired but there's just too much flowing from my head to my lips to my toes and back up again

i don't know where to put it all. 

it's mornings like this that i wish i was a photographer.

that i didn't have to pop around my pintrest or borrow from my sister's incredible photography to add the colour of my blog.

because i wish i could picture my inspiration in some way.

i wish i could channel these mornings.

these perfect mornings of sun and light and love that overflow from my soul.

i think it's because i'm overwhelmed emotionally. and i wept my heart out last night in sheer devastation and frustration.

but it's this gift He's given me

that after an emotional breakdown of tears, i get a beautiful and overwhelming rush of inspiration.

not the dramatic over-emotional kind that leads to dark poetry and angsty passion.

but the gift from Heaven kind. the kind where the gentlest whispers from my Almighty Father remind me of His presence.

the kind where He gifts me love.

via {pintrest}

a failure, you are not

empty, you are not

a beauty you are. 

inspired you are. 

so dry your tears with My grace

and 

write write write. 

and so, i can't help but delight. 

i will soak in food blogs

and bask in this sunrise. 

i will never stop to question this sweetness that He bestows. 

like the delicate richness of honey on my tongue, pouring down my throat in celebration of this life. 

new. fresh. 

oh, so much sweet glory. 

because once again i see that joy comes in this morning. 

i find the beauty of this life 

flooded in His love. 

veil

hidden.

discretion tucked away behind yards of spiritual fabric.

so much silence found in place that should be flooded with joy

locked in the somberness of black and dark and 

walk this way

fit this mold

be this person

it's what He wants?

did we forget just as i am?

did we forget that this veil has been torn already

not by us from the bottom

 but by Him from the top?

no more cowering required. 

no more dark laces and segregation. 

this is freedom found

hair flowed loose, any colour allowed. silver jewels in ears and nose and lip. 

there is so much shouting here. so much colour here. so much life and love and freedom. 

there is no more condemnation. He sees all, forgives all, if only asked. 

did we forget where He looks? 

not out but in. 

so let this veil go. 

freedom is this song. 

{linking up with Jen and my loves at Soli Deo Gloria}

Brimming

I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it. ~Audrey Hepburn

I'm one of those "brimming" people .

I've constantly overflowing with something...some sort of feeling, emotion, or passion. I find it impossible to do things by halves. 

When I fall in love with something, I hold nothing back in my quest to make the whole world aware of just how amazing my new delight is to me. 

When I have joy, it flows from me like a bubbling stream. I can't contain what I'm feeling...there's something inside me that cries

release me. 

set me free.

However, to my everlasting chagrin, it is not just the beautiful things that find their rapid way into the world from my lips and heart.

It is the ugly things too...those things which destroy beauty and break a thousand hearts.

When I am broken, my tears are endless and the world has never seemed blacker. I yearn for comfort or reassurance, and yet feel unworthy of the love being showered upon me. 

When I am angry, the skies turn black and the boiling within me churns until I am almost sick with the tempest flooding from my eyes and mouth. 

When I am wronged, or when I wrong others in any sort of way, I shatter. I feel as though I have made some unforgivable action, and that I am the bane of all those who say they love me.

It is then that the little voice inside me has turned from a exclamation  of joy and delight, to a whimpering cry to the Heavens...crying out  to the Heavens as the Psalmist did from his terrifying rocky hideaway from those who sought his death. 

release me.

set me free

I was made for bigger than this. I was made to love like the sky, and dream like the wind.

My love is big, and made to be bigger,

His love is bigger still. 

His forgiveness is a fountain. 

I love much. I will be forgiven much. 

He never breaks His promise...

and so He sets my heart free 

to fly again. 

"For this reason I say to you, her sins, which are many, have been forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven little, loves little.” ~Luke 7:47

Reminders {41-50}

This has been one of those "Monday sort of Mondays."

Perhaps it is days like this that conjured up the idea that Mondays are indeed the bane of the weekday.  From my first moments of waking, I was overwhelmed with an onslaught of hurt.

So many dark clouds seemed to have crept over my beautiful ideals for this day, as if in an attempt to shut out any glimpses of joy.

I actually had no intention of even writing this post today. I simply poured out my heart in this post, and made no true plans to write anything of a joyful or blessed nature today.

I thought, maybe tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow, I will write my joys. I will be in better spirits, I'm sure, and then I will lose myself in beauty.

But my Lord had other plans for me this morning.

Write your joys, beloved one. 

I'm carrying you in this...is that not enough reason alone to sing? 

Be strong, dearheart. 

Courage. 

Write your joys.

And so, I will write my beauties...my joys...and my light. 

• 41. An hour and a half long phone call with Grace...discussions of yarn, knitting, paperback novels, and the comforting glory of God in the midst of our struggles.

• 42. The power of my rapidly growing church, and the majesty of the Mighty God who is backing us up through every single moment of growth...and through every moment of hardship. We are facing our giants, claiming this Promise. 

• 43. Dance rehearsals. Long, exhausting, beautiful dance rehearsals. I will never tire of seeing a group of disconnected, confused cast members suddenly click...suddenly understand....suddenly dancing in sync. There's a powerful beauty in this. 

• 44. Laughter. Oh, so much laughter. 

• 45. Being curled beneath my bedroom window, the cool wind and sweet half-summer-half-autumn aroma tickling my senses. I wish all days were like this. 

• 46. The comfort of my mother and sister, even across an entire ocean. There's something about my sister's fire of indignation and my mother's calm smile that wrap me in arms of indescribable sweetness. Two weeks until they are home again.

• 47. Knowing I am loved. Knowing that, no matter what happens, He loves me. That my treasured friends love me. That I am carried in arms of prayer and wings of mercy. 

• 48. Life. Breath. Salvation. Joys aplenty. Endless mercies. 

• 49. Grief. There is beauty found in tears, the release of weeping and pouring oneself out before the King. He cannot fix what is not broken. 

• 50. Watching Tangled for the literal ten thousandth time, curled on the couch with a five year old towhead angel of a boy as he touches my tear-streaked cheek and says, "don't cry, he comes back to life again. Promise!" 

I have found beauty in this darkness.

There is pink and blue and gold among this grey.

There is love here. 

...bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of His splendor. ~Isaiah 61:3

(Don't forget to enter August's giveaway! It's almost half over...don't miss out!)

Supposed

I pray your glory shines / through this doubting heart of mine / so my world would know that You…You are my strength / You and You alone / You and You alone / Keep bringing me back home. ~Gungor, You Are my Strength

I know that you're all expecting my weekly Monday musings regarding all the beautiful things in my life. 

And there are many of them, brimming just under the surface of my dreams and moments this past week.

But right now, I can't find them.

I made a resolution to myself that I wouldn't write what the world at large might want to hear. I'm going to write what's real.

My reality.

And right at this moment, my reality isn't all that beautiful. In fact, it's rather like a harsh palace of stone and ice. I feel at war with myself, with certain people in my life...and in all honesty, I don't even know what to say. 

I'm brimming over with so much confusing, and maybe a little too much hurt than I should be in this particular situation. 

It's overwhelming me. And I have no outlet...not right now. Later, I will, I'm sure...but I don't need it later. 

I need it now.

I feel horribly selfish and petty to even write a post like this one. I feel as though I have promised you poetry, sunshine, and summer breezes in every piece I write. And this one is truly more of an icy snowstorm of hurt and complicated emotion.

Forgive me? Please?

Maybe later this afternoon, after a bit of a good cry and losing myself in the silent embrace of the Word, I will come back and pour my beauties onto the page.

…but, for now, this is all I have... 

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. ~Psalm 73:26

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. ~Isaiah 41:10

Joining in with this beautiful sisterhood on August 22nd, 2011
Expect to see more of this blessed release from time to time.
Life is hard. God is good.