for when you're sitting in limbo

{my girl and my love watching the snow.
they teach me the most.}

I am in the state of limbo that every writer who has ever submitted their work for publication knows intimately. it's the period between submission, the pushing of the words out from your hands to another pair of stranger-eyes, and the hearing of the acceptance or the rejection.

I sent my short story, Coffee, out for publication right around the end of January. I haven't heard back yet, and that's to be expected, as I was told it could be as late as April 1st before I heard anything in either direction. I still check the acceptance page of the publication's website every day.

my friend Brandy says this: just putting yourself out there is a win. aim for rejections. it's so foreign to me, this concept that even releasing your words is a step in the right direction, that a rejection letter is a sign that you did the impossible. you wrote something and sent it out.

honestly? I'm not in that place yet. I can't look at rejections as positive reinforcement, as reminders to keep trying. I haven't been able to stop the heart-pounding when I think, maybe they won't like me. it's reminiscent of being a child, right on the edge of the all-wood playset in the yard of the school, wiggling my fingers back and forth against my legs as I watched the other children chase and swing and toss pebbles at one another.

I just want them to like me. 

writing is vulnerability personified. I've said that before, that exact sentence almost exactly a month ago when I acknowledged that this process is, for me, wandering deep into the lair of a dragon. even more than that, it's realizing that I have no weapon, and that my intent is to ask the beast to share a meal with me. writing is walking up to the Big Bad Wolf, holding out my basket and whispering,

Grandma's not home. do you want to share?

{my writing space}

that's how I can tell that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing. there's a whole new kind of fear that comes when you recognize your calling and understand that breaking bread with dragons can be written in my resume under "job description." it's one of those moments in the tent, the kind where you overhear the Angel of the Lord tell your husband that you're going to have a baby at ninety years old, and you laugh because it's impossible. you have to laugh. it's that or cry.

the website for the publication to which I submitted uses the words "in progress" to refer to a work that hasn't been "completed" {passed on} or "accepted for publication." I think that's prophecy, in it's own way.

I'm still waiting. I'm still in progress, fidgeting a little bit as I wait to hear where my words will go next. I'm still refreshing the page every day, still watching the number beside my name, the one that identifies me as a writer.

I can feel Him looking at me, straight through the doorway of my tent, the place where I sat and laughed when He spoke a calling over me. I can hear the way He shakes His mane, the way the wind whispers through the wilderness and weaves around Him. 

Rachel, why did you laugh? I will return, and you will bear. 

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!)

Respuesta (Answer)

I have no special talents.  I am only passionately curious.  ~Albert Einstein

Questions are a marvel of mine.

There is something so provocative, so deeply poignant, found within the curious ponderings of the human mind.

It fascinates me.

And so now, as promised, I have come to answer the questions poised to me in this post by so many precious and equally curious minds: Jess, Ashley, Christina, Kelsey, and Hannah.

In short, I will be honest...straightforward.

Read if you will.

What is your favourite type of music? 

Truly, I enjoy all types of music, with the exclusion of heavy metal, excessive rap, and overly "twangy" country. Those who know me know that my favourite artists include Owl City, Breanne Duran, Imogene Heap, and Brooke Fraser. 

If you could travel to three places, where would they be?

Peru. 

India. 

Paris.

What was your happiest moment last year? 

 To chose just one? So incredibly difficult. 

I would have to say the birth of my beautiful niece...holding her and cuddling with her for the first time, only moments after her birth. Such a precious gift, and such a beautiful moment. 

A few of your favourite bloggers?

To make this list is so deeply complicated and so very difficult! 

I love every single one of my fellow bloggers...but those that top my list are Carlotta, Olivia, Rain, Jocee, Jess, Polka Dot, and Grace. 

Your pet peeves?

People that interrupt. Men that disrespect/make jokes that degrade women. Theatrical politics. Dripping faucets. Daily drama being made public. Phones ringing in movie theaters/playhouses/etc. 

Your pet loves?

Kisses on my face, forehead, and nose. My niece's smile. Hearing my love call me beautiful. The Book of Isaiah. British accents. Properly used grammar. Inca Cola & Dr. Pepper. Sunsets. Hand-written letters. The smell of new books.  Watching the face of the groom as the bride walks down the aisle. Laughter. My King. 

How do you write so well? Did you take a course? 

I do not write so well. I write my heart on the page, and you may do with it what you will. And no, I did not take a course or any sort of college education, save the classes I took during High School.

Where do you find the pictures that you have in your posts?

Unless otherwise captioned, all photos are taken from WeHeartIt. 

What is your favourite holiday?

Easter, hands down. 

Such love and glory magnified into one single day. The world can barely contain such beauty.

What are three of the books that influenced you and your writing the most, books that inspire you, books that make you who you are?

To only choose three? Difficulty personified. 

Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J.K. Rowling

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

I assumed the Bible was a given, as it and its Authour have transformed my life.

Which people, either living or dead, inspire you the most?

My grandfathers, one who is now with his King, and the other with whom I still cherish this lifetime.

My grandmothers, both beautiful and strong women who have prayed me into existence.

My birthmother. Flooded with courage. 

My mother. My model.

My father. My hero.

My sister. My best friend.

My love. My champion, and my Prince Charming.

My King. My Savior. My God. My Father.

If your house caught fire, which five items would be the most important for you to save?

My Bible.

My stuffed lamb, Lucy, which I have had since I was born. I love her. I am unashamed to admit this.

My laptop.

Other than these things, nothing else matters more than the lives of those whom I love and care about. If they are safe, I am the richest of women. 

White, dark, or milk chocolate.

Yes, yes, and yes. 

What is one without the others?

If you have read to the end of this post, I applaud your endurance...I value your curiosity.

If you have any other questions for me, never be afraid to ask them. There is always room for more answers, even if it takes another post to answer them 

Never stop searching for answers. 

You never know from whom and from whence they shall be found. 

Curiosity is little more than another name for Hope.  ~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare

Reflétant

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?  ~Winnie the Pooh

Tonight, I am taking the time to think.

I'm not sure what it is about tonight that is causing my mind to become lost in thought.

Perhaps it is the fact that the sky is finally calm...after almost three days of storm-churned clouds and pounding rain.

Or that I had my second dose of the final Harry Potter movie tonight, and was reminded yet again just how much my heart belongs in the stone corridors of Hogwarts.

Maybe it was the taste of the entire pack of strawberry Twizzlers I slowly nibbled through this evening until the wrapper was empty and the fruity taste of the only member of the licorice family that I enjoy lingered gently on my lips.

Might it have been the growing list of questions that have begun to collect on my blog...brimming with untouched inspiration, awaiting  my answers in the coming days?

Perhaps it was the way I spent my day...curled on the couch in the company of three other women whom I greatly admire, laughing and weeping and learning together amid plates of summer salads and fresh-cut fruit.

Whatever the cause, my mind is lost in itself tonight.

I'm not even sure what I'm thinking about, to be honest.

I'm simply overflowing with the beauty of life.

My thoughts dazzle me, as though the stars had melted with my dreams, calling me to waltz with them tonight.

There is much to be said for the beauty speaking...

...but there is much unsaid for the elegance of secret thoughts.

And then, when the Empress ran aground / And my eyes turned blue and green, / I heard a gorgeous sound, / And that's when it became a dream / When the sky fell in, / When the hurricanes came for me, / I could finally crash again, / And that's how I became the sea. ~Owl City, How I Became the Sea