twenty-three :: the year of shedding

{photo by dramaticelegance}

it's six'o'clock in the morning. being awake at this hour wasn't exactly my plan today. after all, it's my birthday. but there is something about this year :: this twenty-third year. it cries to be remembered. there's something impending, something important about this year. and i have no idea what it is.

// this is the year of shedding. 

i haven't seen a sunrise in such a long time. i treasure my sleeping. it's a very rare commodity in this house, what with a sweet small one who sets the time clocks with her precious voice. but this morning, i'm awake at six'o'clock. and i'm more than alright with this change of plans.

i've written a lot about thrashing in the past couple weeks :: this concept of letting go of answers and letting questions become acceptable, of having no idea what i'm doing...and it being okay. it's this flailing thing, dipping my arms to the elbow in the paint. it's that trying to dance, the learning, the splashing. and it might be more ridiculously awkward than i care to envision at this point.

i'm learning more about God than i ever did from my fundamental seat. i finding myself more undone by Him than ever before. i'm feeling like i've had a blindfold on, and i'm lifting it up, one inch at a time, and letting the Light in.

it's releasing my inner selkie soul. selkies are seals, magical and ocean-dwelling, emerging from the sea to be all woman, wild and beautiful. and that's what this twenty-third year will be for me. it's an emerging, a releasing. i'm reaching in deep and drawing my wild out. this time last year, i was holding a week-old baby girl in my arms, too overwhelmed and too afraid to mess anything up for any sort of awakening. i was where i needed to be.

{via pinterest}

and now i'm still where i need to be. it's all new and fresh, a one year old daughter curled into the curve of my arm, and my shoes left far behind on the path. it's holy ground, this venturing, even if i have no idea just how holy this space might be.

part of me is still sitting in grief from the loss of my grandmother on Saturday. my soul is still kneeling, sitting in a quiet shiva. but there is that low Voice in my ear ::

grief is great. only you and I know it yet.
let us be good to one another. 

and i feel the breath on my neck, and i know that twenty-three will be a year to remember. i am selkie girl in a year of shedding. and He still holds me there. not safe but good. He's been there for twenty-three years, curled at my back. i don't think He's going to stop now.

i'm right by the window.
and oh, this sunrise...it's luminous.

art is for you

{via pinterest}

i remember the first time i saw the ocean. i was a little girl, landlocked from birth, with a swimsuit that matched the ocean and short hair hacked by even younger hands. and my soul inhaled the salty air and murmured,

:: i am home. 

it takes diving into a pool and sinking down to rise up into the place He sang into Life. it takes cresting the ocean's wave to even catch a glimpse of His eternal country. there's something powerful about this idea, that it takes deep immersion until all you can see is the Light hovering on the surface of the water from down below.

we are all soul-creatures, made to be seen, 

created to be tenderly cradled and adored, 

yet we tremble at the thought of it.

love like water :: wild rain

so often i wish i had a mermaid tail tucked away in the closet, shimmering and waiting for me to slip inside and dive into the sea :: to return home, in a way, to a place that i never truly held but always flowed through my fingers.

i think it's part of why i've gone back to being an artist in recent days. it was something i had given up after comparing myself to others who were "better" even though all we were was different. i was seventeen when i put down the brush. all it took was an art teacher's slightly raised eyebrow and the words, maybe art isn't for you. 

all i can do is reflect back on words i've written before :: it's those moments in the dark where we wrap our arms around our knees and kneel within ourselves to the waves of crashing Love that threaten to overwhelm us. it's a tremble, not a cringe. it's a breathing, not a hyperventilation. 

{sketch by alexandria for dramaticelegance}

this is for me. and my mermaid soul is seen by the One who wove kelp into my hair and called my soul to love of depths.

there is a seacove of my own, tucked gently beneath the waves at the edge of Aslan's Country, that place that hums a familiar melody and whispers of one day, forever. there in that place is a set of paintbrushes made from the mane of the Lion who gave it up for me to Live freely. 

it's a metamorphosis of sorts, a shedding of the ugly and the embracing of the mantle of glory.  it's stepping away from the shadows that confines my feminine soul into certain boxes that aren't allowed to stand here because it might not be right. 

it's being brave and letting down my hair. He promised to come to us like rain, and like water does He fill my soul to overflowing. 

and this is where i am :: tucked in my cove surrounded by sisters of soul and ocean, the crash of the ocean and the roar of the Lion harmonizing tender. 

because He promised
art is for you,
My mermaid daughter. 

sparrow maps

sometimes life becomes about the push and the shove. it's impossible to avoid, as much as i wish as i could burrow down into the silence and inhale the sweetness of rest into my lungs. but instead, there's smog in the air, and it's heavy and there's traffic here and there and everywhere. 

and sometimes i feel upside down and i've forgotten how to straighten myself out. and that expression "pulling my hair out" becomes reality as the brush rakes that little bit too rough in the effort of working the knots out of my soul from where the footprints left their marks. 

looking around, i realize that i've been tying knots in other souls too. because i can't always keep my mouth shut, and i leave crater-holes where i've ripped love out by the roots and left gaping bleeding patches in my wake. and the ones i love hold hands to their hearts to keep what little i left behind, because i'm brutal in myself. 

you are a box with fragile written on it, 

and so many people have not handled you with care. 

and for the first time, I understand that I will never know 

how to apologize for being one of them. 

:: Shinji Moon

we all have the books, the pages worn around the edges from the turn and turn and turn and the press of the ink against every line. we have scrawled our lives there in our own secret language made of whispers and moments. we have a map tattooed in invisible ink on our palms and sometimes we just run out of compass points to decypher. it's hard work to walk alone, after all.

{via pinterest}

i think that's why we raise our hands so often in that moment of emptiness. He already knows the road, but it's okay to remind Him where we are, because He likes to be asked. and my palms are bleeding from the twisting and the wringing and the clawing. and so my hands go up with a soft sob of oh Abba, i don't know anymore.

and that's when the drums of brave start to their thudding, their sweet heart-beating glory finding the cadeance of love and light and forgiveness. and i'm going to hum so sweetly of sparrows under my breath, because if He sees them, He sees me. 

it takes an ocean not to break

hums birdy

and she's right. 

but for me, i'm resting on the hands of the One who soothed the waves to glass-calm and dove into the depths of fire to remind me that i am worth more than the scars on my arms would lead me to believe. i am seen by the One-Who-Sees, and i've said it a thousand times, but one more time is needed, i think. 

i sing because i'm happy

i sing because i'm free

His eye is on the sparrow

and i know He watches me.

Crash

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

I am a mermaid.

An ocean obsessive.

Ever since I was a tiny girl, vacations at my grandparents' home in Florida spelled one thing for me: a visit to the salty seas that never seemed to end...a variable fairytale for a land-locked Midwestern farm girl who had only Lake Michigan as her large water experience.

The sand between my toes....sand castles to be woven from bits of broken shell and rock..the elusive conch shell to be found and taken home for a salty day reminder.

And there were the waves. The beautiful, powerfully frightening force of nature...the swelling water that rose

and rose

and rose

until it came down with a thunderous crash upon the land, dragging everything back into the depths with each pass of its aquatic fingers.

As this girl grew up, the ocean changed.

No more was it a place to play and race along the shore...now it was a place to dream. To stand on the edge of the shell-scattered sand and letting the sea breeze rustle my hair...it was a place where the voice of my God could echo with the waves.

It was the place to let the mercy crash...

...it was the place to drown.

And even now, as I find myself landlocked once again with my next oceanside visit two months yet to come, my mind drifts seawards.

Rock bottom is the perfect place from which to rise.

The waves are still crashing hard on me....dragging me back into the ocean until I feel as though I might let go and drown without a trace...

...but then I catch His swell.

I do not drown. I crash to the shore...and rise

and rise

and rise

The crystal wave holds me...

...safe in His hand.

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you. “For I am the LORD your God, The Holy One of Israel, your Savior..." ~Isaiah 43:2-3

(Guest posting over at Love August today. You can find me here.) 

Coffee

This morning, I had my first cup of coffee in a very long time. It was like getting reacquainted with an old friend.

I don't know exactly what is it about a cup of steaming java, but there's something so soothing and familiar about the feeling of the ceramic cup in your hand.

...the fragrant steam floating up from the mug, brushing its warm fingers against your nose.

...the sharp, smooth flavor of that first, perfect sip.

It's comforting, at any season of life.

There are so many "coffee-flavored" aspects of life. Perfectly simple, and yet essential. Somehow, they end up filed under "forgotten wonder," and their existence fades into a misty sort of consciousness until they eventually disappear altogether.

It's the simple, seemingly insignificant things -- beautiful things that we tend to overlook until we realize that they've disappeared and we want them back in our lives again...

...that little ray of sunlight that breaks through the window each morning to dance on the pillow and whisper secrets in your eyes.

...the sweet kiss of a lover, barely a brush against your check.

...the reassuring hug of your best friend that speaks volumes without a single word being spoken.

...the breath of ocean-scented wind as it sweeps your hair like a velvet curtain over your eyes and caresses your sun-tanned shoulders.

...the words of God, locked away in the secret corners of our mind that bring life when we feel like we're fading away.

So maybe it's time to re-evaluate our lives...

It's time to inhale the scent of steaming coffee, blink away the fog...and live again.

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. ~C.S. Lewis