prayers of the people {guest post for Osheta Moore}

{photo by Jennifer}

oh Mighty King,
step down and see.

oh Creator of all,
reach down and hold.

oh Daddy,
help us.

we are living in a land of divide, of lines drawn in the sand to keep the colours from blending together when they bleed, except when a boy of darker colour is bleeding on the pavement from a bullet fired from pale-coloured hands. and that's when it merges into shades of grey fog, and there's so much staggering, and so much confusion. and there's so much weeping, Jesus. there's so much weeping.

because there's hands up, clenched fists pounding against walls that should have been knocked down years ago, that should have never been raised at all. we're shuffling back into iron chains that You bled Yourself dry to corrode into flakes of rust.

{dear ones, today I'm over at Osheta's place, pouring out my prayers like water on the ground. read the rest of the post here, and then join me today in prayer for eyes to be opened, hearts to be healed, and peace to consume all.}

blessings on the sh***y

{photo by me}

blessings on the sh***y, she said to me, and I gasped. it's impossible not to gasp when someone lays prophecy over you like that after you confess to her that your Wednesday has been more like a Monday and there isn't much left except to sit.

she blessed the ugly, the parts of the day that we don't talk about publicly because they make everything fade a little, and no one wants to see your fading. except that David wrote a hundred psalms where he cried from the recesses of the cave, the ones where he begged for rescue and in the same breath, he whispered, in You, oh God, I put my trust. 

she blessed the tangled, the cracking spots, and I'm starting to see why. because those cracks let a little bit of light through. who says that breaking lets in the darkness? I've had a lot bottled up, tiny fists beating against the glass wall, fairy dust merging with gunpowder, and the glory was suffocating while I leaned all my weight on the lid.

and then she blessed the sh***y, and I cracked a little.

live into it, she urged, and I felt something give. those strange-faced ones, the ones that speak into my life without relationship, they warned against the dam, warning that there was pulsing wildness behind it, and it could kill someone if let free. hold it up, keep it together, press your fingers in like mortar.

but then I realized that I was dehydrating, that my skin was cracking and my hair was fading from fire-glow to guttering embers. fire and water don't mix, but that's the paradox, isn't it? because without Living Water, I have no air, and the spark flickers. and my fingers came free and the water gushed like uninhibited Elven stallions to drown the black horde clamoring behind me. it was deep drinking, full soul hydration, saturation in pure life.

live into it, she said, and I pressed against the thin places, the spots where the darkness flew out and the Light streamed in like holy saline straight into the veins of my soul.

and so, oh love, wherever you are.

blessings on the sh***y. blessings on the thin places. blessings on the broken glass, blessings on the tangled.

live into it, dearheart. pen your Psalms in the cave.

{my dear friend, Esther, the woman who spoke these words over me, wrote something of her own on this subject. read her words, won't you?}

when I say I'm pro-life

{photo by Jennifer}

{trigger warning: non-explicit mentions of abortion and rape}

if I say Roe v. Wade, you know what I'm talking about. I don't have to explain the details or lay out what those words mean. it's two names with a "v" in the middle. versus. two sides standing one against the other.

I believe in a lot of unpopular things. I write a lot of things that offend people, that make them bristle and take a step back. sometimes they even write me letters or notes explaining just how wrong I am, just how far off the path I have wandered.

but this is where it gets sticky. because I'm pro-life, but I hesitate to write those words because of the connotation they immediately conjure. when I say I'm pro-life, you get a picture in your head.

I remember the day we were driving home from school passing by the McDonalds on the left and the buffet restaurant on the right. it was so many years ago, but every time I pass that corner, I still remember. there were people there, screaming, holding signs set with images of blood and death and broken body parts. the man behind us, or was it beside us, rolled down his window and commented to a red-faced picketer that they were on their way to dinner and the pictures were making him lose his appetite. the man spewed, "good. enjoy your dinner, sir," spitting out the final term of respect as though it was the filthiest curse.

I'll never forget. I think I was seven. I'm twenty-three now. I'll never forget, not as long as I live. but what I remember aren't those signs or the words on them. I remember they were vile, that they made my elementary-aged stomach do a funny sort of flip. but what I remember is that man. what I remember is the rage.

when I say I'm pro-life, I want you to know that I'm anti-shame. I'm anti-picket signs, and I'm anti-red-faced men spewing spittle and rage in the same breath, and I'm anti-bombs being flung into abortion clinics. I'm anti-whispering and I'm anti-pointing fingers.

when I say I'm pro-life, I want you to know that I'm pro-woman. I want you to know that I'm anti-rape and anti-victimizing. I'm against the twisting of women's bodies into nothing but sexual objects with the singular purpose of causing men to stumble. I want you to know that I'm pro-life because I'm pro-human, and they can go hand-in-hand.

when I say I'm pro-life, I want you to know that I've wrapped my arms around women who've had abortions and held them while they cried. I want you to know that I've heard the comments that those who claim to bear the name of Jesus make about "the least of these" behind their backs and under their breath. and it makes me sicker than those signs did, because He promised to wipe away all tears and to bring life where death would rather abide.

if you have had an abortion, I want you to hear this, so loud and so clear. I may be pro-life. but I am not anti-you. I am not, He is not. 

I know there is a better way, there has to be. I know that when the laws disappear that back-alley blood is spilled and women die out of fear and desperation. I find myself sitting with my head in my hands with tears in my eyes as I go back and forth. aren't we supposed to be hands and feet, life-bearers and love-bringers? aren't we supposed to hold and treasure and forgive, four hundred and ninety times plus one more for good measure?  aren't we supposed to protect all life, women and children alike?

how can both be done? oh Lord. there must be a better way.

so on this forty-first anniversary, I will sit in the silence with the ache burning deep in my soul. I am begging the Lion for a better way. 

the silent moment :: everything

i remember the night i held a gun to my head. and it was the quietest moment of my life.

i was seventeen. the gun was plastic, a $2 knicknack from WalMart, one of maybe twenty just like it, tossed into a plastic bin and carried from one country to another. i was one of close to four thousand other teenagers all pressed closed and gathered in a Peruvian resort, all in pursuit of discipleship and missions. seven of us felt something tug at us. we were performing the Lifehouse Everything Skit.

it's burned into my head. standing on that stage, the music in the background, every step and movement rehearsed to an art. and how can i stand here with You and not be moved by You....and then came the lifting of the pistol to my head.


it was the most profound hush of my entire life. everything else seemed to fade out, a whisper in the background as i met with the Most High for the first time in the most sacred of ways. it was the first time i ever heard Him speak. and i was holding a plastic gun against my temple.

you're about to throw yourself at Me figuratively

darkness is holding death

throw yourself at Me literally 

i will catch You. 

let go of death, grasp tight to Life

i will catch You. 

{photo by Ron Nickel; property of dramaticelegance}

i was supposed to drop the gun to the floor. 

i threw it across the room. 

i was supposed to lean toward my friend playing Jesus, reaching for his hand. 

i flung myself at Him. 

there were other actors there, playing temptation, lust, deception, distractions. they were there to fight me, to keep me from Him. they were acting, and so was i. but there was something deep in me that was not acting. something had broken inside me. and it got loud inside me for a split second. it was a moment of warring, clawing and clutching for the hand of the Holy One.

and then He dove in and held them back. arms stretched out, He held back the flood. 

and the quiet came again. the hush of the Holy overcame me and something inside me settled. i was on my knees, three thousand miles from my American home and comforts, from my familiar church and my well-known faces. 

He met me there, silent in the crowd 

with a plastic pistol to my head. 

what the silence taught me

{my space, unafraid of clutter}
photo property of dramaticelegance

i've been practicing silence this week. i didn't press myself hard one way or the other, and i refused to let legalism be my governing force. i simply let myself sink down, down into the ocean-rushing.

oh, the things that happened when i stopped shouting and let the Light soak in deep.

we met a new place, a white cottage tucked into the urban wild. we put our names on a piece of paper and let the Lion prepare to sing us a new word :: home. and oh that space has potential, and my fingers can twist gently around the banister of a place called mine, and his, and ours, and His, too.

dearhearts, we're buying a house and making it home. 

the irony is, i finally found my space here. tucked between the kitchen sink and the front door, there it was. i think He was waiting for me to exhale, ending up with my forehead on the table with ink on my fingers and paint in my hair, before He slipped this new space into my grasp.

i learned to embrace
:: and i learned to sever. 

i learned to cut and rip and take something mysteriously called "whole" and make a new kind of wholeness from the pieces. there's nothing wrong with reaching out and finding the secret messages humming deep within a secret place.

oh, let us know Him.

His going forth is established as the morning;

He will come to us like the rain

:: hosea 6:3

{via pinterest}

i'm excited about August. the last month in our place of almost four years. it's a page-turning, a severing embrace. it's bittersweet, i'll admit. but oh, am i excited.

it's like i'm finally seeing the design among the broken pieces. because July was so deep and full of grief, so full of shattered bits that didn't feel smooth like seaglass but were jagged enough to gash and scar. but then i realized that there was something beautiful coming. it's a birthing, a labour in blood and
tears and even some breaking deep inside.

and then Life streams forth, and glory is born. i've been fired like molded clay, not made hard but made strong. a few feathers floated to the ground, but my wings are still beating strong in the wind.

the silence taught me to grasp tight while i sever. the silence whispered to me of strength. because He was not in the fire or the wind or the crushing storm. but that still small voice, that hush-holy selah...

the Lion found me in the silence and spoke a hard thing into my soul.

it is coming.
and i am eager to breathe.

sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet

confinement of your aloneness

to learn

anything or anyone 

that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

// david whyte :: sweet darkness \\

love you, dearheart {a self-care for warrioresses giveaway!}

i'm learning the art of self-care. 

i'm learning that it's okay to whisper two letters that are hard for me :: no. i'm learning how to soak in life, allowing myself to sojourn to the art table and sink into paint and ink and paper. i'm learning that it's okay to shut the bathroom door and cry, because it cleanses, and that's okay. 

i'm learning to take care of me so that i can better take care of them. 

:: i'm learning how to embrace the self that the Lion found worthy enough to die for. 

and i want to help you do the same. 

so i have put together three amazing packages, three amazing love-gifts from my heart and from the hearts of eight other craftsmen, to show you that you are worthy of some tender love all your own. 

// you could win //

1. a spot in MADE :: a inspiring creative e-course created by my precious friend Beth Morey. i am taking part in this, and now you can join myself and a host of other beautiful artists in seeking God-centered creativity. the course begins on September 1st. 

2. a beautiful body, heart, and mind self-care kit which includes 

:: a beautiful handmade jewelry piece from sea of wild

:: an alstroemeria real flower petal necklace from enchanted planet

:: a lunar necklace from spiralDRIFT

:: two types of soap {vanilla sugar + lavender} from Inspiri

:: a custom handmade journal from my own personal shop, DEJournals

3. a tender loving care self-care package which includes 

:: lovely beauty products from Cosmic Bath and Beauty

:: a peppermint pumice + lotion foot care kit from Inspiri

:: two handmade surprise bracelets from hallie johanna

:: a yummy turquoise and silver "brave feather" bracelet from soulmakes

oh dearhearts, i am so excited to bring you these gifts. you are a warrioress, prized and loved beyond all knowing. you are treasured and precious. 

love yourself. it's okay. 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

fall fresh on me // avocado

{via pinterest}

i've always been captivated by the inside. by the stuff that no one sees, the painting underneath the varnish that was forgotten for a hundred years until one brave chisel flaked away the dark to show the light.

and it's springtime, or almost, and i'm watching as life is fighting winter every minute and every second to find its way out of the ground and into the blue sky world out here.

i saw a little girl find a feather the other day, and she smiled and held it up, and the silken strands were still so strong despise the wind and rain and squashy mud all around. and my soul picked up the feather too and tucked it in my hair, the little girl in my heart throwing back long dark waves of hair and laughing to the sky

Spirit of the living God,
;; fall fresh on me

and i'm starting to find God in the little things again, the things i forgot. and i know i've written here a thousand times about the beautiful ones, the almost hidden ones in the Bible, the ones He noticed that were invisible to everyone else.

it's the slicing of the avocado, that thick black shell melting away under silver to reveal the green of nourishment and the thick pit that holds life at even its tiny tight-locked core. and it's marvelous how much life can be wrapped up in something so wrinkled and unappealing to the eye.

sometimes i feel the pain of that knife slicing so smooth through the vileness that has built up around the life potential He placed in my heart of hearts. and it hurts so that i falter and weep and beg

{via pinterest}

Spirit of the living God
:: fall fresh on me

and then the green is seen, and the life tucked away deep within comes to the surface and blooms rich like springtime with glory and life shining from every pore. oh, how i ache to be radiant, to cover my face with a veil for the Light bursting from me to every corner.

now i feel infant fingers pull at long waves of my raven-wing hair, and i bring down my own fingers on the soft ginger gosling down that clings to the head of my beautiful little one. i think of future days when i will brush her hair and tell her about feathers and grace and the Light of the Son.

but for now, she falls asleep on my shoulder and lets loose the sweetest of baby sighs, and i feel something stir deep inside my soul. it's that little girl, tucking the feather behind her ear. she sits beneath a tree with the soles of her feet pressed together and elbows on knees.

and she whispers soft like the newcoming springtime breezes

Spirit of the living God,
:: fall fresh on me

upward gaze ::

{via pinterest}

i've decided to stop looking down

because all that's down there is grass and dirt and my feet and the path less traveled. 

and He's not underground anymore, because He's risen and now sits among the stars. and i'm going to spend my hours in the stars this spring. no more shame with downcast eyes and hesitant steps that aren't exactly sure, that aren't exactly steadfast. 

now that she's back in the atmosphere

with drops of Jupiter in her hair

she acts like summer and walks like rain

reminds me that there's a time for change ::

drops of jupiter // train

people are living on the "even the..." too much these days, while i'm rubbing the eraser over those words until they disintegrate into thin rubber strands on the paper and get brushed away as far as the East is from the West. 

i'm resolving and loving regardless. and that includes loving you in the skin you're in, and looking past sex and race and orientation because those are words but they're are who you are, too. because He didn't stop and pass out checkboxes just to make sure the crowds were lovable before He stretched out His arms and poured out pints and pints of redeeming blood. 

so why do i?

so no more looking at the crowds with pointed fingers, Church-Bride. no more figures where faces should be. see the dove daughters and rainbow hued sons and paint-streaked kings and offbeat queens, just like He did. 

and that means loving you too. it means loving me like i'm worthy of His death and rising and loving and sword to the throat of Hell for me, oh all for me. and for you. and them.

:: amen.

so let it be.

ashes :: what wondrous love

{via pinterest}

what wondrous love is this 

oh my soul //

oh my soul //

i've been softly singing these words as i wander though my morning. it's been notes that have hung on my tongue since Saturday afternoon when i stood and watched as tongues of fire devoured my in-law's barns and vehicles. 

but the wind turned in the nick of a second and spared the house. melted slightly, scorched and warped slightly. whispers of what could have been, but were not. what wondrous love is this.

and now i find myself on my knees as i ponder what He let me see. i walk a line between grief and awe, of sorrow and wonder. because i'm learning first hand about refinement through fire, and seeing things that i never connected before. 

beauty from ashes, life from the ground's barest places. this is the thing He has been pushing on me in recent weeks. i have the firebird on my ankle, placed there the night that we remember His cry of it is finished. 

and He spared the house like He spared my soul, with His breath and His wind and the rain that came pouring down like tears as He saw the grief and wept Himself for love of His own. and as i walk through the ashes and embers and charred remains of wood and metal, i realize this more and more. 

{via pinterest}

deeper and deeper i am sinking into impossible Love that is almost wordless, inexplicably powerful except for when you experience something beyond yourself. 

He dwells within her

she shall not be destroyed.

::psalm 46:5

because my soul is something tucked away, and He lives in every corner of me, and i'm learning to let Him paint my soul His colours instead of mine, and gently mold me into something more beautiful than i could ever comprehend. and if that takes ashes and ink and clay and soot, so be it. 

and so i'm back to the words that i've been singing for three days. 

what wondrous love is this

// oh my soul

// oh my soul

creating light

{via pinterest}

exhale. what comes out?

air. 

speak. what comes out?

power.

there's life or death in the words of your lips. that's great power coupled with great responsibility to borrow the cliche. how than can we say that we are weak if that's what we possess, all of us? 

and i'm learning to tame that power in the right channels, to create life where death lingers and to bring light where darkness permeates. 

and i will learn, i will learn to love the skies i'm under. 

i'm tired of existing in a world that exhales darkness and dwells in it like a poisonous fog. 

the darkness screams violent, destroy, because it's easier. 

the light whispers tender, create, because you must. 

:: oh, you must. 

there is more to creating that scissors and glue or cloth and string. there is creating in this place you're in. it's the simple act of brewing coffee at midnight and the sweet shushing song invented to soothe the wailing. it's the braiding of hair and the wrapping of blankets. 

it's unity, it's sisterhood, brotherhood, the sacredness of family with and without blood for bond. 

exhaling light, life. creating beauty in the simplest of things and the most precious of actions.

and i will learn, i will learn to the love the skies i'm under. 

{linking with dear sweet em today}

little girl loved // two weeks

{taken the day of her birth, bare minutes old}

my daughter is two weeks old today.

and i've been resisting the urge to blog endlessly about her for fear of turning into one of those moms who can't exist outside their children.

but she's so new, and so precious, and i can't help but fall in love with her all over again every single time i look into her tiny face and see those blue eyes staring back at me and see that tiny mouth curl up into a pouting smile that illumines me.

the first days of her life are a mental blur for me, a blur of morphine and hospital blue and white stripped blankets. and now they are a different sort of blur, an exhausted new mommy blur of sleeping sometimes but not all the time.

clocks have stopped having a meaning for me. 3am and 12 noon and 4:15pm have all become times to curl my body around my newborn child and feed her from my own body and inhale her sweet indescribable infant aroma.

and though she be but little

she is fierce 

:: william shakespeare ::

{two weeks old in Daddy's arms, already so much different}

there is a strange fierceness about this tiny creature that came from my body. the way she demands attention with the loudness of her wails, the wildness of her intense blue eyes. 

there is no secret that she will be a warioress, 

// and she already is, in a way. 

at two weeks old, she is already little girl loved, small fairy-child treasured. and now she sleeps on my husband's chest curled in a soft pink daisy-patterned blanket with her rosebud mouth partially open and an arm tucked beneath her head. 

and i'm overwhelmed with the fierceness of this small one, of Aslan's newest and smallest daughter, currently a cub but a strong lioness in the making. 

i'm mad with love, with a fire i did not know i could ever possess. 

i'm mother, more than i ever was before. 

and i am two weeks mother to a lioness. 

arrival // Marian Abigail

she is here. 

my bug, my angel, my soul-wailing warrioress. 

:: Marian Abigail ::

9-16-2012

9:21pm

9 lbs, 6 oz, 21 1/2 long

my labour was induced on the 15th at 7pm. i laboured for 24 hours with no change, breathing my way through contraction after contraction, praying for strength as they grew and then faded and then grew again.

but then her heart began to struggle as i contracted. oxygen found my nose and fluids found my veins and we watched and waited and prayed. 

doctors came and my mother held one hand, my mother-in-law held the other, and my husband stood at my head while i wept in fear and whispered

please God...

please...

labour was too hard on her, they said. and she was big, bigger than they had ever imagined my body could produce and bear for so long. and the time had come, the appointed time, for this child to enter the world. 

they bound my husband up in baby blue scrubs and clad us both in green mesh caps and numbed my body from breasts to toes. and i laid on the table, arms spread wide and shaking like a leaf with whispered words into my ear and his hand clutching mine, and His hands holding all three of us. 

and they pulled her from me, this child of the strong lungs and dark hair that covers her head like the softest duckling feathers.

 in a rush of blood and life-giving fluid, my daughter was born and laid at my cheek so our skin touched. 

and i heard her wail, and i wept. 

and now she lays against my side, curled in pink and white blankets as my body heals among the IVs and foam cups with ice chips. we're a tiny family here. 

my strong little miracle. my heart outside my body. 

my Marian. 

my daughter. 

jumble // tomorrow

{via pinterest}

i'm all over the place right now.

bag packed, clothing washed...did i remember everything? do i need one more blanket, another outfit, just in case? am i overplanning, under-doing?

i'm excited. i'm so, so excited.

but

oh Lord, i'm so scared. 

:: tomorrow is the day ::

i've been counting down for this day for 41 weeks and 3 days that have seemed to stretch endless in front of me. and now this is the end, no more waiting.

i'm being induced tomorrow, the stroke of noon is where this pumpkin starts to transform from me to Mommy. it could be hours, it could be days. i don't like this unknown where i sit right now, this not knowing.

but this i do know.
He is greater. He is in control.
He is God. i am not.

so pray for me, would you please? because i'm so very small, and this seems so very big. and i need peace to do this big thing, this foreign and beautiful and frightening thing.

i'm bringing life through blood. it's sacred, a reminder of Him, really. the Stone Table broke when blood was spilled, and my body might break in this pursuit of motherhood. i'm ready to be carried, lifted up and held.

tomorrow is begin.
tomorrow is the start.

and He is greater.

reaching out for life

{28 1/2 weeks}
photo by DramaticElegance and PinkStudios 

i've often marveled at the gravitational pull that my stomach seems to bear these days. it's as though people cannot help themselves from reaching out, from pressing their fingers against my taut skin.

:: they want to feel the life inside

and i have to admit, as much as i was dreading these outstretched hands into my personal space and even against my body itself, i've found myself seeing the profoundness in this simple gesture.

people would not be touching my stomach if it was just me, wandering around and making my way through the world on a day-to-day basis. it's not something that you do to just anyone.

but i'm pregnant, and there is life beneath my skin. it's not me they want to touch, it's her. it's not my skin they're desperate to feel, but the little wiggles and pokes that remind the world that there is indeed a person dwelling within a person.

// they're reaching out for life //

and isn't that how things should be with all of us? shouldn't spirits be gravitated toward us, whispering

you have Life. let us feel. 

we just want to touch Him. 

that's what i want, all the time, even after this little one is born and in the world. i want hands reaching out, not for me, because it's not me they're desperate to feel. it's not my spirit they want to connect with, to feel flowing like electric water through their veins.

it's Him. even the hem of His robe is enough. they just want to feel the Man dwelling within.

:: they're reaching out for life ::

wonder mother

{via pinterest}

my mother is a superhero. and i wish i was her.

my entire life, she has been the most put-together woman i have ever known. my earliest memories are of her seated at her desk sipping at a silver, hand-held caraffe coffee with her hair laid perfect and her make-up pristine.

and i have strived to match her footsteps. and i am failing.

because as i write this post, i am clad in men's Dr. Pepper pajama pants with my hair tossed back in the messiest of ponytails, taking the smallest bites of applesauce from a plastic container in an effort to keep my stomach settled.

and i am about to be a mother myself. and i want to be the most pristine of women with my future children collected and composed. but if they are anything like me, they will be ruffians and i will be flustered perpetually.

that is, if i keep attempting to be a woman i am not. a woman that she has never asked me to be, and would never dream of requiring of me. time and time again, she tells me

be you. not me. 


and that's what i have to do. because it is weary being someone who is not me, and walking in shoes far too big for my small feet. and this is my motherhood journey, as she had hers with two daughters who both turned out a bit alright, i think.

and so i will reach out and take her hand for now. and when i get scared and when my little one is tucked away, i may run to her arms and weep for comfort that only a mother can provide.

she is my mother. i am not.

and for this, we are both grateful. and for this, we overflow.

i realized today that i have allowed this pregnancy to push away the corners of my brain. 

and i have forgotten to announce the winners of my last giveaway, which i was supposed to do in January. my goodness.

the winner of the Shabby Apple timepiece necklace is Ashley

the winner of the pearl earrings is Blythe.

congratulations, girls! contact me with your addresses as soon as possible!

and don't forget that you still have two days to enter the current giveaway. 

expecting brave

and now i know, this is why my word is brave.

because in a moment when a stall door slams behind me and trembling fingers tug silver and paper away,  life changes forever. when stomach is now cradle and fingers now press against soon-taut skin.

because he and me are becoming we.

and this is frightening, in the most beautiful way. i'm not me anymore. it's we, me and little one curled against my innermost parts as He weaves and crochets little eyes and fingers all together.

{via pintrest}

we are expecting a child. 

:: our first ::

and i feel unworthy. this vessel filled, and maybe now i understand my own mother a bit more. because i love this child fiercely, and it still lingers with only six weeks of life beneath my skin and bone. 

we don't know daughter or son, we don't know eye colour or richness of hair. but we know we love this tiny babe growing deeper and stronger. 

and so i press discovering fingers to my abdomen where my little one grows and i whisper of the Lion's song to these developing ears. 

mama loves you already, dearheart. 

and so does daddy.

and so does Abba. 

and i saw the light in my own father's eyes as we held hands today, a grandfather already to the unborn. and i heard the laughter in my mother's soul, a grandmother long awaited. and i heard my sister's gasp of disbelief and cry of joy as sissy turns mommy. 

and i watched my husband's eyes light up with the strangest sparkle as he pressed lips to tummy and whispered sweet dreams, baby. 

september comes fast. thirty-six weeks to go before a ring of fire and blood and life in infant cry. 

and i now know why He wanted me brave. because i'm becoming warrior of a new sort. 

:: mother :: 

brave life :: on skin

{via pinterest}

i read a quote today, the first line of a blackout poem from the seeker heart of a girl whom i would call an inspiration and a friend. 

life printed on skin

a self-portrait must follow

this quote curled up and nested in my soul from the moment the words passed from eyes to mind. 

for a long time today, i sat and pondered, because i wasn't sure why these words spun silken threads of Light around me and held so fast. 

life printed on skin. 

and then i was drawn back to brave. 

because everyone sees your skin. 

yes, you can cover certain areas with clothing, even bundled from head to toe if you so choose. but you know what's there when the lights go out and the garments slip from shoulder to floor. 

it's not tucked away under flesh and blood and bone like secrets that even x-rays can't reach. it's like the tattoo that stands bold on my wrist, thick black lines that the whole world can see. 

and it's a choice we have. 

a self-portrait we must follow. 

we can tuck down and hide, ducking behind the blankets and begging the world to close its eyes and just look away, just for another minute of invisibility. 

but i feel like He holds out fingers to those corner-clingers, the ones that ache to hide in shadow. and He speaks of sacredness found in freedom, those footprints in the sand when we let Him left and carry. 

i'm brave now, or at least, i'm striving. 

striving hard to live eyes to the sky with outstretched arms, bare with scars and marks. 

because He's in love with them, and so i must be, too.

in love with those lines and lines, thin and thick in black and white and whispers of technicolour of this self-portrait that whispers to His mercies, His glory, and His salvation. 

inked :: tattooed :: inscribed

{i am left, she is right}
photo by dramaticelegance

today, i crossed another item off my bucket list.

i now bear my first ink. a small kanji on my right wrist whispers two unknown words that beat with my heart.

:: elder sister ::

they match, her ink and mine. as much as two sisters, so different, can have eternal art on their skin, and it be the same. 

hers is thin, almost airy in its strokes. mine is thicker, bolder, with lightly feathered ends. they're different, like we are. 

but there's still one part that is the same. that one word, six letters that makes them the same. 

sister. 

i find profoundness in the marking of one's skin with permanence. it's a sacred act, a mirroring of the marks that my Father bears on His palms. 

the Son is pierced, the Father is tattooed. 

behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands; 
your walls are continually before Me.

inscribe: to write, to carve, to engrave. 

{via pinterest}

there is permanence in this, this thing of marking love on the skin. of speaking volumes to a world that might not understand these strange words we speak of "born again" and "redeemed" and "sanctified."

but they understand ink, and blood, and eternity. 

never erased. 

always there. 

and so i wear ink. it's not my last, not by far. it's beautiful and powerful and so sacred. i'm overwhelmed and undone, almost feeling unworthy by the beauty, the reminder. 

because i'm inscribed on my skin, and i'm inscribed on His palms. 

eternity. engraved.

the glory // the strangest way

it's Christmas Eve. i will be brief.

but the saga of this swiftly-coming night of holiness has not released its grip upon me.

because i turn on the radio and i hear songs of silent nights and silver bells and the celebration of God become Man.

 this mystery of how a humble virginal child can spread frightened fingers toward Heaven's gates and sing of a delighted soul, how a confused but tender-hearted carpenter can become the earthly father of the Son of the Most High God.

Why me, I'm just a simple man of trade?
Why Him, with all the rulers in the world?
Why here inside this stable filled with hay?
Why her, she's just an ordinary girl?
Now I'm not one to second guess what angels have to say
But this is such a strange way 

to save the world. 

:: strange way to save the world // 4-Him ::

and so

:: i dare you tonight ::

to find the time to hit your knees upon the floor and behold your King, come humble and gentle, come infant and precious. because this was for you. 

do you understand?

He came to die. 

this was His purpose, His highest calling. 

this precious infant curled in the arms of wondering parents while His Father gazed from Home with tears in sacred eyes as Word became flesh. 

behold, your King. 

now i'm not one to second-guess what angels have to say

but this is such a strange way 

to save the world. 

the third page :: the Father's beginning

{via pinterest}

{to read the first chapter visit here}

{to read the second chapter, visit here}

sometimes i don't feel like getting ahead, this thing of push and pull and jerk and tug that seems to be so prevalent this time of year.

sometimes, i feel like hanging back a bit, because there's power in beginnings because it shows where you've been, where you used to stand and who you used to be.

because stories rarely start with once upon a time and end with and she stayed the same forever.

:: there is a change :: 

and sometimes i think we need to go back past the first breath of Saviour Child, before the word spoken to the cosmos when dark became light and nothing became something.

to before the beginning, even, when Heaven crossed swords and one thing lower sought to be Highest and overthrow the One who made him. when sonic booms and broken skies led to the the tumbling down of the once bright star and a third of his followers until they struck the earth and still kept sinking past the earth's burning core and into a vile black place of their own.

{via pinterest}

when a Father touched His Son's shoulder 

and knew. 

because we see virgin mother and awestruck mortal father and tiny infant hands and feet tucked in manger straw with angels singing and shepherds worshiping. but there's another sacred corner. another Father, the only One who truly knew what must be done.

because He held the future in His Hand, and saw the coming. saw the scream of crucify Him crucify Him and saw the blood as lashes struck and thorns pressed into His Only Son's forehead as His sinless blood flowed into His eyes merging with the tears.

and He heard the wail of a broken Son crying out

My God, My God, oh, why have You forsaken Me? 

and still He touched His Son's shoulder and knew. and still He stood at Heaven's gates and gazed down upon this scene of nativity with moral flesh clothing His precious Son.

because His love for His broken ones, His people wandering in the darkness with hands outstretched and whispered pleas for deliverance...it overcame all.

so this is Love

not that we loved God

but that He loved us

and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. 

{linking this imperfection with emily and all my dear ones}