finding the new {236-242}

i am barely here this morning. my precious notes of jubilation still remain, but they are clouded with exhaustion and a twisting, churning stomach that has yet to abate since close to 8:30 last night.

i knew this would be a side effect. it's the one everyone whispers about behind closed doors, the one they all ask me about, and the one i thought i was escaping.

but curled up in armchairs clutching a ceramic bowl before rushing to another wider bowl in another room...this has been my sleeping and my waking.

and my stomach is slowly fading in its clenching as sparkling water with hints of peaches and a lot of slow-moving rest are finally beginning to do their job.

i feel my blessings slowly changing in their style, but never fading in their sacred glory.

• 236. ginger ale and sparkling peach water

• 237. laundry already started and the strength to finish the chore

• 238. salsa chicken in the crockpot, one of the few things that appeal to my lurching tummy

• 239. the peace of resting soundly when sleep finally came

• 240. comfort in disappointment, rest in knowing that plans are held in a Lion's paw

• 241. encouraging notes from dear sisters and friends, knowing that other women have walked this road before, and have made their own paths of strength

• 242. being reminded that i am brave and warrioress even in the oddest of ways.

and so i'm resting now. 

i'm breathing slowly and feeling myself settle deeper into the comfort of warm quilts and steaming cups of tea. this cold winter does not touch me here, for i am warm and safe and healing deep within. 

blessings rise here. pregnant and barefoot in the sacred. 

blessing overwhelming {228-235}

{via pinterest}

this month is half over already. and it's overwhelmed with blessings

i started this month with a whisper of a word, spoken to the night like a pleading, a promise. brave.

and then the world started tangling and twisting, so many things changed in the space of sixteen short days. and fingers fumbled with slender packages and whispered words of new life discovered as i leaned against a cold steel wall. 

and my blessings continued to grow, even as my mind churned in wonder and i felt myself changing from the inside out. it's the strangest, the deepest growing that i have ever experienced.

this -- these months counting down on infant fingers and toes...this is my most breathtaking brush with sacredness yet. 

• 228. two dark purple lines that change a life forever

• 229. rest from weariness, peace in confusion

• 230. brand-new grandparents, eyes illuminated with the excitement of new life

• 231. fresh grapefruit and woven wheat crackers. 

• 232. the connecting fingers of sisters and friends, the ones that care and the ones that cradle

• 233. a husband rejoicing, a family celebrating. 

• 234. learning to change my body's position in sleep and in life, moving my feet in step with the dance of mother instead of me

• 235. now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us. {eph. 3:20}

and so i'm continuing to find the beauty in the seemingly ordinary. those things that are perhaps forgotten, perhaps misunderstood. these are the things i'm learning to love. 

i'm getting a stronger grasp on the important, seeking the sacred in the foggy mirrors and the crumpled scraps of paper. 

:: becoming mother ::

:: becoming warioress ::

:: becoming seeker ::

becoming braver and braver, day by day. 

freedom :: press send {220-227}

no one told me it would be this hard.

barely two days, and this thing of brave already has my fragile fingers shaking. and all it took to make my heart beat faster was pushing that button. 

:: send ::

because the first thirty pages of my book just went to an interested publisher. it took a precious one in my life to get me to get the courage to click that mouse and let it fly from security to unsure. it's my fragile soul, a month of bleeding onto the paper and turning thought into word and imagination into fiction. 

and now it's out of my hands. and i'm petrified. because i don't do rejection well. 

really, does anyone? 

but i'm bad at counting blessings etched on my soul when i'm too busy shaking in the corner with fingers draped over eyes whispering

please don't let me fall

i can't do this.

but i count anyway, one and two and three and four...

• 220. courage. knowing that courage is more than doing, it's being. 

• 221. vulnerability. 

• 222. the voice of a precious friend, urging me to be brave and leap. press send.

• 223. grace. so much grace when i deserve it not. 

• 224. warm soup on a day so cold that noses go numb and fingertips shiver. 

• 225. fresh starts and clean slates. brand-new year, 2012. 

• 226. puppy kisses and The Bachelor on winter nights. 

• 227. healing tattoos, eternal reminders of my place on His palms. 

so i still count. because nothing stops my racing heart more than drowning in eucharisteo, in letting the focus slide away from fear and up further, in further. 

because it's being brave. it's being, all on its own.

it's surrendering in the darkness, waiting for the Light to come again.

{linking with Ann and my sisters in gratitude today}

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}

turning Christmas pages {207-212}

{via pinterest}

it's less than a week to Christmas.

i'm having a hard time believing that Christmas is really this close. i'm one of those people who peaks ahead on every new calender, pressing my finger to the 25th of December like a little child and whispers

how many more days are left?

the blessings that flock among these days are more than i can ever begin to comprehend, more than i could ever share in one place at one time. this season seems to be wallpapered with eucharisteo, from head to toe with grace.

but as always, i'm going to raise grateful fingers to heaven, and count...

• 207. this first year of being a family of six. Kyle home for Christmas from the US Army, laughter shared and memories exchanged until our sides split. 

• 208. live pine in the living room. imperfect just like we are. 

• 209. the overflow of love from sisters across the nation found in my mailbox over the past week. books and notes of love, reminders that we're connected, that we're a sisterhood here. 

{via pinterest}

• 210. our first sprinkling of snow. short-lived, but it was here. 

• 211. the sacrifice of a Father to share His Son with the world. the sacred blended with the earthy, Holiness clad in flesh. 

• 212. warm quilts and fluffy pillows and White Christmas. there are some traditions that i will never cease to adore. 

i love Christmas. but to me, there's more to Christmas than just the story found in the second chapter of Luke, more than we see or comprehend with our mortal minds. there's a big picture, a book with more than one page.

so i'm doing Christmas differently this year on my blog.

i'm unfurling those forgotten pages, showing the other sides of this time of year when Love came down and virgin arms cradled Emmanuel against her breast.

to read the first part of this sacred saga, visit here: the first-page :: havah.

because there is more than first glace can reveal. that's the mystery of my Jesus.

there is more. 

He is more. 

and i ache to drown in this mystery.

{linking my blessings with Ann}

barefooted :: painted one {191-199}

{via pinterest}

there are times when i feel like my life is a painting. strokes on a canvas, some soft and some harsh. like standing back as i watch the artist compose the piece in front of my eyes, unable to see the final product until i touch the shoulder of the concentrating painter, and ask

show me what you see. 

this has been a brushstroke canvas week for me. i've felt peace and war, even at the same time, pressing me inside and outside. this has been a week full of laughter, oh, so much laughter until my eyes streamed and my sides ached for mirth. 

and then there were the moments where the floor and i were companions, fingers curled to my palms as tears coursed their way down my cheeks in unison with the silent sobs where no voice could give way to the

why // why // why?

this is why i love my God. because there was always joy. always eucharisteo found in the midst of the sobs. because of Him. this grace, this promise. 

• 191. His grace which is sufficient. His promises which are never returned void. 

{via pinterest}

• 192. music. that kind that makes you leap and spin and toss your hair until you drown in melody

• 193. blackberry merlot and the company that comes alongside as you sip and laugh and confide and plan and grieve and exchange those knowing looks. 

• 194. raspberry tea and Adele beside the flickering Christmas tree

• 195. this expectation, this anticipation for this coming Salvation. 

• 196. counting down the days like an eager child. we're down to twenty now.

• 197. strawberry Nerds and a tow-headed lad of barely six years giggling, "you're a silly nerd, sister!"

• 198. these brothers and sisters, not by blood but by love.

• 199. the picture of freedom in a day-old baby girl, the symbol of freedom between two freed ones. even her name echos with life: ariadne grace {very holy one with grace}

i have much. i am flooded with His brushstrokes, from head to toe with the soul unforgotten. 

oh, my God holds me close. His arms are sanctuary, His blood is life. 

i cannot rise from this bare-footed hallowed ground. this burning bush of surrender and gratitude and sacred.

barefooted and paint-streaked at His feet. 

{linking with Ann, sharing my gifts as they grow}

gratitude via canvas {183-190}

{via pinterest}

this weekend has been soul-stirring.

i wish i could open the shutters of my heart wide. i'm eager to show you what i've found, what treasures this weekend of pure eucharisteo has imparted to my soul. 

i've come to view this lifestyle of thanks, of grace, and of light as a work in progress.

:: a painting of a thousand strokes ::

it's artwork that will never be finished, growing eternally. but then come those times when we take that slight step back, to view and remember where we've come. to touch the strokes that have dried, reminders of our past steps. 

that's what this weekend has been for me. this time we in the United States call Thanksgiving. these weekend for laughter and family and too much pie. 

• 183. fifty thousand words and a completed NaNoWriMo challenge.

• 184. week-old puppies that whimper and make their little feet run with small, unknown dreams, tucked beneath your chin during football cheers. 

• 185. soft plum scarves and sock-less feet tucked into shoes. winter comes soon. 

• 186. the promise of snow in coming days. 

• 187. the countdown to Christmas beginning already with my parents' long-decorated house and Advent calender anticipation

• 188. returning promises that come back valid. a Word that does not return void. 

• 189. earthly tragedy turned to Heavenly triumph. 

• 190. art. the rawness, the promise, the haven for our ink-stained souls.

these have been my ladder moments. the times where the brush gets tucked into the messy bun and the eyes traverse over the canvas, if only for a second.

it's remembering

the grace

the glory

and the gratitude. 

it's soaking in the Light where darkness wars to prevail. 

it's embracing.

{linking my multitudes with Ann and my fellow gratitude seekers}

in the soothing {176-182}

{via pinterest}

sometimes, Monday is a rut. the start of a week that can only get better from a day that makes you fall to your knees and wonder why.

but then there are Mondays that remind me of the grace of God. the way in which He shines a light that cuts through the darkness.

 even on days when i'm exceptionally irritable, feeling like everything is rubbing me the wrong way, i find myself drawn to sparks of blessing.

God's fingers touching my soul, murmuring 

be still and know, dearheart.

• 176. Breaking Dawn with a girlfriend whom has been far away for months. 

• 177. laughter so hard that it comes out silent, aching sides and streaming eyes over coffee and cinnamon bagels

• 178. newborn puppy whimpers and loving mama kisses as she looks over her ever-growing brood.

• 179. cell phone GPSes that save from late-night losses on country backroads

• 180. steaming coffee and vanilla creamer, late night companions to my slowly growing word count

• 181. emails from publishing companies, affirmation that my work is "good enough." dreams fulfilled with a few simple keystrokes. "we're interested in Cut Loose..."

• 182. messages from my sweet friend Jen, knowing that simple words of mine were used of Him to confirm a heart's yearning.

it's hard to not become overwhelmed in a world of declining Mondays. it's hard to look ahead and see a bright Light instead of a train coming to plough me down. 

but there comes my list, slipping into my corner. 

and i am cheered on this path. these little moments of soothing when the world rubs me wrong.

my soul brushes of being still, and of knowing.

{linking my blessings with these beautiful ones of blessing}

brimming with grace {165-175}

{via pinterest}

i've started carrying Ann's book wherever i go.

it's small enough, which baffles me how a book so small can carry such a powerful weight of truth. it fits in my purse, but my soul can barely contain it all inside.

i'm full to brimming after only another four pages.

these pages were about pain. about this God we serve, and this mystery of pain.

this mystery of God's grace.

i know that we aren't supposed to know. but sometimes i want to know.

doesn't everyone?

i've been counting my blessings for several months now. i never once mentioned pain or aching hearts or any of those things that tend to make us shake our fists and scream at the skies. 

maybe i should start. 

because His grace is sufficient. His Word will not return to Him void. 

i look back now over my blackness and see where His light kept me walking when i wanted to crumple and die there. 

and so i'm learning. every sunrise brings me a lesson. and this one is hard, and i'm not sure if i like it, or even want to admit that i've been shown this truth. 

this is one i want to ignore. but i can't. 

{via pinterest}

because i'm still counting...

• 165. God's grace. 

• 166. the darkness that brings the sun into greater brilliance 

• 167. a sky full of stars on a cloudless night

• 168. homecomings and reminders that alone is never again an option

• 169. learning Him more, deeper with time passing. 

• 170. His lessons, painful and beautiful. knowing that He knows, and i will learn when that right time comes. 

• 171. first winter's snow, just enough to dust and melt away, but more than enough to light warm Christmas candles on the hearth of my heart. 

• 172. intercession for one another. moments of hands clasped over a thousand miles as one covers the other in blankets of prayer. 

• 173. thirty thousand words

• 174. rolling pins and the aroma of fresh pie dough. 

• 175. learning to be transparent. authentic. His hands slowly unveiling me. 

i'm going to keep a pen in my hand always. i'm still barefoot in His glory, because its starting to clear in darkness as well as light.

because these windows in my soul have been washed. 

and i'm still counting

because i'm seeing clearer. 

{counting to a thousand and beyond with Ann and my sisters there}

time // gratitude {160-164}

{via pinterest}

i'm slowly reading A Thousand Gifts.  


i started it on September 10th. i only just finished the fifth chapter.

and i'm never wearing shoes again.

everything urgent about this life is starting to fade away into something manageable. people complain that life is too short and that time moves too fast.

i disagree now. life moves the same length, the same time. we're the ones moving too fast and being far too short in our sight. we've stopped savouring this sacredness of life, of eucharisteo.

the most urgent necessitates a slow and steady reverence.

--Ann Voskamp

she's right. 

He's right. 

this is holy ground, this place of thankfulness. this place of finding communion and eucharisteo with the King of Kings. have we forgotten who He is? 

time the essence of God. I AM. this need to consecrate time. 

i may never wear shoes again.

--Ann Voskamp

this is a place for shoeless wonder and for eyes that blink in awe against His glory. this is not the time for traffic jams and to-do lists that stretch for miles.

{via pinterest}

this is the time for slow sips, slow breaths, and slow-growing lists of all those gifts from Heaven to earth. 

• 160. time. this gift of seasons and time, preordained but loose and free 

• 161. community with artists who love to write like i do, sharing words and coffee over hardwood tables.

• 162. so many smiles from freckle-faced children as they bury me in hugs and bring me orchard-sliced apples with autumn-flecked grins. 

• 163. one extra hour of rest. something so small, but so needed for this weary one who seeks until the stars have been out for hours. 

• 164. truth spoken twice, confirmed. 

i'm finding peace in this place of gratitude.

reaching out to touch the hands of the clock, old friends learning to tick-tick-tick slowly. to savour each moment that comes our way.

to be covered with this essence of God.

shoes left at the door.

{continuing these steps of gratitude with Ann}

writing eucharisteo {152-159}

{via pinterest}

this is my last Monday of rest, in a way.

at least for the next month.

each day comes with its own level of responsibilities, its own little list that softly whispers take care of me, check me off. 


but as of tonight {or rather, tomorrow morning} at 12:00am, i will officially be launching into my third year of NaNoWriMo.

 this will mean i will floundering in word counts, coupled excessive amounts of tea and coffee to keep my tired, wrung-out brain from sputtering to a halt.

this is one more thing on my self-imposed to-do lists. and i bear the slightest fear of burning out.

but i know i won't.

because i have written eucharisteo on my wrist.

 i will weave this thing of gratitude, grace, and joy deep into my soul as i compose each word. i will not grow weary, nor give way to frustration or despair of completing my seemingly daunting goal.

and even in my chaos of daily life and 50,000 words, i will continue to count my ever-growing blessings, one at a time.

• 152. the support of family and the one i love as i embark upon this {perhaps a bit insane} mission

• 153. people in my heart who bear me up as Aaron to Moses, lifting my arms as i grow weary in doing good, never letting my passion drop. 

• 154. the voice of God, clear as knell in my soul. 

• 155. contentment in staying home when i would be rather have been at Relevant11. finding my place, my corner as i wait on Him. 

{via pinterest}

• 156. the cutting comments regarding my most recent post, and being featured on a site that rips apart Christian writings. Matthew 5:11-12 has never rung so deep and true in my soul. i cling to Him alone. 

• 157. trees decked only in orange and red leaves that line the block outside my window. the artist that paints my soul has not ceased her singing. 

• 158. my new affiliation with Shabby Apple. standing for beauty and modesty, and knowing that i am not compromising. this is a blessing beyond words. 

• 159. refreshment for my heart. freedom for my soul. this is Love, dear ones. 

and so i will be writing. i will be finding my moments with the King amid the black and white scratches upon the paper. i will be delving deep with Him this month. November will be beautiful. 

wallpapered from door to window with blessings. 

{linking with Ann today}

{the giveaway has been extended until November 1st to give me some time to balance myself out 

winners will be drawn after midnight and posted on the 2nd, along with November's giveaway}

autumn's blur {142-151}

{via pinterest}

this week has been one of those confusing bits of time.

those times when all the days run together and it's hard to decipher where you even fall in the stretch of Sunday to Saturday. these are the times when things can seem very blurry, dizzying in their confusion. it's not that things have been awful or easily forgettable.

it's just been a blur.

 i think i'm still in a place of rest, of recovery, from my crazy beach wedding adventure. it's been a week now since my plane touched down on the tarmac and i left the Southern warmth. i returned to find that the Midwestern world kept turning without me, and fall came in a blink.

it's refreshing to inhale the cold. it's something about being home. about wool and peppermint hot chocolate.

about my lists continuing to grow, leaps and bounds of blessings that swell over me like a rush of autumn leaves.

• 142. His love. forever and always, no matter what i do. i'm His daughter, the one for which He died. this never-changing glory. 

• 143. tears of life. of joy. there is something powerful in knowing that tears are not only for brokenness, but for when light overflows into sparkling drops down your face. 

• 144. the miracle that is my precious Granny. she is holding on...for just a bit longer...giving me a chance to see her in the coming days before she slips from earth to Home. 

• 145. peppermint hot chocolate and chicken pot pies in October. an early blessing and whisper of winter's promise

• 146. so much closeness of family. we're all here, all close. this corner of the world is ours to share. 

{via pinterest}

• 147. carving pumpkins with little voices and hands. sparking eyes and rounded lips as they see their own work glowing in candlelight. 

• 148. music. again, the mystery of notes and melody captivates me. 

• 149. seeing my novel start to come together. pinboards and blog posts, cementing my imagination together. only seven days left until i begin, and i am no longer afraid. 

• 150. giggles with my little sister. both adults but still refusing to grow up. 

• 151. fairy tales. Prince Charming and enchanted roses. knowing that there is an eventual happily ever after for those who belong to Him. 

another scrap of ecletic blessings to fill my Monday. these streaks of watercolour on a week that threatened to bleed together all over again. 

but i held out for the colours. the cold will not freeze my soul, will not dim my eyes. 

this fade is the start 

of so many blessings. 

{linking with Ann and my fellow blessing-chasers today}

abounding {129-141}

{your first sneak-peak at the wedding photos}

on this morning, my cup overflows.

i cannot even begin to express the condition of my heart as the Floridian sun caressed my cheek this morning, reminding me that my time to return has come.

i don't want to leave this place.

this place of love and connection and some of the most precious people that dwell in this world.

and even in the midst of all the stress and rushing that has flooded my path this week,

the blessings have been innumerable.

• 129. ocean breezes and the crash of waves

• 130. the sight of a fresh and pure bride stepping down the sand toward a glowing groom with handkerchief blindfolded, awaiting her touch on his shoulder, to turn and to see her for the first time.

• 131. the tears on a mother's face as her daughter steps from child to woman

• 132. laughter.

• 133. swing dancing in the ocean waves as waves soak our skirts and the sunset kisses our lips and eyes. 

• 134. secret smiles and inside jokes

• 135. the reassuring and loving caress of a woman whom i call Mama

• 136. my best friend, now a wife, as she sobs into my shoulder with so many smiles. this day was perfect for us both.

• 136. love. the love of family. of friends. of man and wife. of 35 people gathered together. it was overwhelming. 

• 137. the ordaining hand of God, bringing each moment together in the most perfect of ways.

• 138. His provision. His promises are sure. 

• 139. aching sides and streaming eyes as laughter echos from the bridal party's throats among the sandy dunes

• 140. returning home when the time is right.

• 141. knowing that i am loved, knowing that i am wanted and treasured. 

my list is endless this morning. i could write for hours. His grace is so much sufficiency for me

and so i board a plane and journey home. and i will weep as i kiss my second family goodbye. 

but for everything there is a season. a time to come, and a time to go.

and this has been my time

 of blessings never ending.

{linking as always with Ann this morning. this blessings are growing greater}

resting lists {119-128}

at the time i'm writing this, it's 12:30am.

and for whatever reason, i can't sleep.

actually i know why i can't sleep.

i have lists in my head. like a tumble drier, all the things i must do and all the things i must not forget are passing back and forth and back and forth through my tired mind.

i have lists. and i am making more lists.

i leave for my best friend's wedding in a little more than 16 hours. my suitcase is gaping open on my bed right now, overflowing with too many blouses and not enough shoes. everything i need to be a maid of honour, everything that is required of me to be gone for a week.

what to pack. what to leave. what needs to be done at home. programmed coffee pots and eight loads of laundry.

i can't forget anything.

so i make lists.

and then i remember. oh, precious recollection.

today is Monday. and i have another list to continue. a list that won't make my head ache or my fingers tremble as they grip a pen.

a list that will refresh. renew. give me the grace of energy and the sweetness of sleep in one swift movement.

and so i write it now. at 12:36am. 

• 119. oversized suitcases

• 120. one more late night phone call

• 121. answered prayers and gifts restored

• 122. unlocked apartment doors on days when i locked myself out

• 123. warm quilts and downy pillows that call my name at this late hour

• 124. Alex. the beautiful bride-to-be. she remains my dearest friend. 

• 125. a great-grandmother that clings to life...perhaps a chance to hold her close and whisper my own goodbyes before she goes to Him

• 126. my father's laughter, robust until the humour strikes and then the squeaking and the tears and the uncontrollable joy that spreads like wildfire around our tiny ice-cream laden table

• 127. airplanes. oh, how i love to fly. 

• 128. sleep. rest. 

it's time now.

time to let the lists go and the sleep to come.

no more lists. 

only these blessings to comfort and rest.

today is just beginning. 

sparks {102-117}

today is cold. wet. rainy. so grey and oppressive.

the kind of day that makes you want to curl up and just shut the world out. no more noise or cold or wind and rain.

nothing good. only the dark.

but i find this crackling hearth in my soul. and i sit beside the soul-glow and find the warm from blessing upon blessing.

• 102. cableknit sweaters and knitted scarves

• 103. letters from friends. hand-penned words in lavender pencil, even from growth comes love. 

• 104. acoustic guitars 

• 105. three amazing performances of OZ! 

• 106. friendship

• 107. birthdays. 21 years of light. 

• 108. peace. the chance to slow. to rest. to be still.

• 109. hot chocolate

• 110. Ravenclaw. 

• 111. discovering i am more than i can see, worth more than i might think. 

• 112. Him. what greater blessing is there than my King? 

• 113. warmth.  
• 114. touch. 

• 115. surrender. 

• 116. family. 

• 117. light. 

again, small things. 

my little things.

but on these days of darkness, of grey, of cold and damp

these are my sparks. 

my flames to melt the ice.

more and more {92-101}

these lists on Monday have begun to change me.

the book has changed me doubly still. 

the King has gripped my soul.

i never realized that this would be a transforming habit. 

i make lists as it is. a bit compulsively, i might add. grocery lists, to-do lists, wishlists and Christmas lists, gifts to buy and things to make. food to cook and dreams to fulfill. 

this is not a wishlist. not a collection of things i need or want or require to make my life a better place. 

"not of gifts i want, but of gifts i already have...this writing it down -- it is sort of like...unwrapping love." 

and so bit by bit

i unwrap this love. 

• 92. respect. from peers is given, from position is earned.

• 93. new cell phones, gifted for twenty-one years from my parents. phone calls that can be made, texts to be sent, and that doesn't turn off without a moment of warning.

• 94. steaming mugs of raspberry tea. warming after the damping from icy rain.

• 95. corner booths in old-fashioned cafes. 

• 96. "calm. peace. be still."

• 97. late nights in theaters, the smell of paint and sawdust in the air. 

• 98. a word from His heart to mine. "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." (Isaiah 41:10)

• 99. plane tickets purchased to my best friend's wedding. less than a month, and the date is here. 

• 100. the smell of new books

• 101. the wisdom of elders, the calming of friends, the sweetness of children.

i love these gifts of mine.

no more demands or wants.

these are gifts i already possess. 

this is eucharisteo. 

grace. 

thanksgiving. 

joy.

{linking up with this one thousand step journey}

eucharisteo {84-91}

i bought the book.

after almost a month of walking down this path of a thousand blessings and more, i finally took this volume in my hands.

one thousand gifts. ann voskamp. 

what i found, i did not expect.

but then again, i don't honestly know what i was expecting.

i think i was expecting a book. but this volume, this thing of paper and ink and cardboard cover...this is no book.

this is love flowing as through veins. this is mystery to be taken in and slowly, ravenously savoured like some rare and precious savory treat.

this book has lost me and gained me. emptied and filled me.

i see now what i did not see. 

and i'm barely touching chapter three. 

i wish you could see my copy. so full of markings, pen scribbles of my own floundering heart poured out to mingle with her poetry and truth.

the list has begun to form on the inside cover. each time i pen a blessing here, i will now write it in the book. making my own Gift List within the book itself.

and oh, how my blessings grow.

• 84. freedom in Christ. freedom in country.

• 85. this book of mud-straw nest and sky blue eggs. this dare to be different. this life-changer. 

• 86. forgiveness. 

• 87. sister's fingers through my hair, soothing as she combs and talks of things we missed.

• 88. cooking, chopping with the new knives from father to mother, laughter amid sisters and mothers and daughters. 

• 89. little boy arms around my leg, clinging. love you, rae-cho. 

• 90. the perfect theatrical finale, coming together to make something so harmonious. this show will be a good show.

• 91. rest. oh, the sweetness of rest after the arduous tousle of days packed full and nights of dark-laden screams. my God is good. 

i will never cease to praise. i will never cease to find this word of life. of joy. of grace. of every day steps. 

how they rise. a thousand lanterns brushing against Heaven's waiting fingertips. a thousand moments of perfect praise, gifts to Him from earth. 

finding this daily thanksgiving. 

this grace of living to live. 

"Eucharisteo—thanksgiving—always precedes the miracle." ~Ann Voskamp

linking up with hundreds of others
with Ann
as we walk this path of multitudes together

positivities. {61-70}

(via Pintrest)

another week has come upon us. another Monday has now arrived.

unlike last Monday's good-morning perfection, this Monday has already asserted itself in an attempt to bring me down under a chanting weight

so much to do.

so little time.

long. days. ahead.

i suppose, in a way, this little voice is speaking a measure of truth. 

i do have a great deal to accomplish today. 

i do only have 24 hours in this day, nine of which I have already slept away. 

and yes, this week has the potential to be either remarkably wonderful or disgustingly hideous. at this point, it could really go either way. 

but i have a choice.

 i could either allow myself to become overwhelmed by all that lies before me, take all of my hard and somewhat heartwrending situations of the week and internalize them, and then explode under the extreme pressure...

...or i can stop. i can breathe. i can know the Truth, and hold it closer than ever. and i can walk the path, doing what needs to be done...all the while remembering to breathe, and remembering to lean on the One who carries me through it all. 

and i can remember to be blessed. 

• 61. my mother and sister are coming HOME. tuesday night. after almost three insanely long months without my best friend-slash-sister, and one without my dearest mother...they are finally returning back to the USA. please forgive me a moment while my father and i go leap about the still very empty farmhouse like overly-caffeinated bunnies.
• 62. one month to go until opening night. it's almost here. i can taste it for it's closeness. i just have to survive the next month of off-book act polishing and tech/set conundrums until that curtain finally opens and i can say it's done.
• 63. laundry. the one chore i hate more than any other. but for all its hassle, it bears a certain measure of calming silence in that mostly-deserted laundryroom. save for the humming of the machines, all is quiet. and i can find a moment of stillness there. 
• 64. the continaul reminders that i am not alone in this walk of life. the message from a friend saying, that meant so much, just that talk. the little email with its words of wish you were here with me. these are the little comforts. 
• 65. spending hours talking with my dear engaged best friend. receiving text messaged pictures of the most flawless vintage wedding dress, discussing colour schemes and bachlorettes, and remembering that this path to the altar and to her adoring new groom is growing shorter with each passing day.
• 66. the new writers blog. it means the world to me. to ali. to dreams come true and visions realized. 
• 67. rango and tangled. being a child for just a few hours, laughing and loving those animated films which delight my soul. 
• 68. crying. the healing power of tears as they pour down my cheeks. the gentle reminder of the One who knows my heart. just a little while, dearheart. a little while and all will be as it was again. just wait a little while. 
• 69. His mercies. oh, may i never cease to praise Him. 
• 70. pintrest. whiling away the hours, listing and pinning and admiring such beauty. an addition, to be sure. a blessing, even still. 

this week could go either way. i have much to do, and little time. 

but i am not so small as my enemy would like me to believe. 

for greater is He who is in me

than he who is of the world. 

linking up with multitudes on monday.
a beautiful challenge. never forget. 

restoration. {51-60}

It's back again.


Monday, that is...although this morning has been so beautiful and peaceful that I think that "Monday" may have decided to wait another day to appear, and that I have instead reawakened on Sunday.


There is something so beautifully peaceful about this morning. It's a reminder to me as to why I don't write these posts on Sunday nights and schedule them to post the next day.


True, one of those reasons is because I have yet to figure out the whole concept of successfully scheduling my posts. But the other is because of the powerful beauty in awakening to a morning of twittering birds and cool almost-autumnal breezes.

• 51. An almost perfect week of OZ! rehearsals. I may have just set a theatrical jinx upon myself, but these past three practices have flowed like a summertime stream, and we are actually currently ahead. Lord, let this endure.

• 52. The sweet pain of correction, and knowing that I have a dear one in my life with the courage to pull me aside and speak words of change into my heart. "You have to let go, or else you will be consumed...you are beautiful and undeniably precious...you are not an untouchable."

• 53. Food. A simple blessing, you may think. But to me, this is a gift worthy of mentioning. Food is becoming an art to me...the complex combination of flavour and presentation, tugging on all five senses with sensory fingers of delight. Is this bringing me back to the days when I wanted to make my life out of edibles and create culinary masterpieces for a profession. A dream rekindled, perhaps?

• 54. A young teenager who holds the door for me, sincerely and without parental pressure. Chivalry is not so dead as we once feared.

• 55. |An afternoon of laughter with my husband, my father, and my visiting grandmother whom I have not seen since last spring. Sharing stories of my father's childhood adventures over plates of stunning food...laughing until we couldn't stop with tears pouring down our faces. 

• 56. Our church. This place has touched the face of God. 18 months ago, we followed the call of God and took our seats in this place for the first time. May we never look back.

• 57. Curling into a pair of strong arms, feeling so secure and calmed by the touch of my dearest Love. Kisses on my forehead and nightly reminders that I am treasured, that I now walk this road as two instead of one, that I have a witness in this life. In case you wondered, I believe in soulmates. And I have truly found mine. 

• 58. Hearing my sister's voice, from Italy to America via technology. How I miss her and my mother both. One more week without them, and then...the most beautiful of homecomings. 

• 59. Wrestling with God, and being undone by His mercy. 

• 60. Finding myself again. This broken vessel has a use in His hand. I can be fixed. I am not forever destroyed.

These are my blessings. Some fleeting, to be sure. 

But most? How they will endure until the end of time and beyond.


The inspiration overwhelms me on mornings such as this one. The voice of my God is an echoing whisper in my soul, forever reminding and forever loving.

My cup runneth over. 


We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed...for our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. ~2 Corinthians 4:8-9, 17-18

Linking with Ann, as I have done every Monday since July.
However, I have just now found the graphic.
Nine days left to enter into my August giveaway.