weary solace

{via pinterest}

understanding why does not make the weariness easier.

i can tell you this from experience. as joyful as i am at this new knowledge, this growing beneath my skin that now occupies my every thought and action, i am still weary. and that is hard for me.

 i knew that it would come, this tiredness that seems to allow my energy to drip like water from every pore. but i wasn't ready for how powerfully this feeling would strike, and how i would feel when it did arrive.

i keep hearing His voice whisper rest and my frustrated self crying out please don't make me.

i started catching myself drifting toward the negatives, toward the nervous self-reliant what if's that can make a pregnant woman crazy without the hormones to help her out.

my soul waits in silence for God alone; 

from Him is my salvation. 

He only is my rock and my salvation, 

my stronghold; i shall not be greatly shaken.

it's not just my body that i need to rest. it's my mind, the one that crumbles sometimes when i hear a story of another life that isn't mine, but maybe could be...maybe. i can be assured a thousand times, but words can fall on deaf ears if i'm set strong to worry.

and so i find my place in the sacred corner. the place where i wrap shaking arms around body and womb and curl up there with woolen quilt and quietly repeated Words that come from the Holy Places. 

and i'm just inhaling. because there's so much worry in which i could loose myself, if i chose to be afraid. 

but this word is not afraid. it is brave. 

and rest takes brave. and motherhood takes double brave, even when the child is as small as a sweet pea and curled up safe in my body. 

even now, i seek solace and brave.

 in the quiet places of barefoot and holy, i find His peace. 

Nouveaux (Novel)

Books can be dangerous. The best ones should be labeled "This could change your life." ~Helen Exley

I spent a portion of my morning at the library.

This might be one of my favorite locations in the entire world.

Granted, I am a huge fan of expansive fields under perfect blue skies, the whisper of a breeze in my hair as I tuck myself under a tree with a brand-new paperback and a soft blanket.

However, if I had to remain indoors for any extensive period of time, I would rather it be lost among the melodious stacks of our anciently elegant library.

There is something hypnotic about this place.

Almost as if a portal to Narnia exists somewhere among the aromatic books, aching to be discovered by an attentive and observant seeker of knowledge and fantasy.

Today, my fingers reached out and darted from one spine to another...

...as if begging my sensitive fingertips to ascertain if the information to be found inside was worth the moments of my time to read.

And indeed, I found several such volumes...

... exquisite volumes flooded with such words as to intoxicate and overpower me with their beauty and worth.

I have met my match.

I have found my weakness.

Who would have imagined that the feeble scratchings of ink upon a bit of parchment would cause tears to spring to my eyes and my world to be changed forever?

The written word is my weakness.

Be gentle with me, oh poet.

Be cautious with my heart, oh composer...

...for you have woven a spell over me

from which I pray

to never

awaken.