passion seeker :: finder

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but how do you find your passion?

no, really. how do you find your passion?

:: the sacred life of rain

it's a simple question. isn't it?

i'm an artist, a dreamer. i'm a passionate person with overflowing dreams and an electric surge under my skin. but how do i find my passion? 

i feel like my passion hit a wall this week. we had something in our grasp, something i didn't know i wanted quite this badly until it fell apart. it was a home, and it was beautiful and green, and i heard our future in those walls and planned moments in those rooms. 

but then, it went away. and then i wept until my body ached. i was on fire for this dream. 

and now, i feel swayed by this wind that has gushed through my body and whispered i wanted this so bad. and i wailed to my husband,

this is why i don't get excited

and i opened my mouth and dared to wrestle with the Lion like Jacob.

 why? 

i don't understand

why did you let us get this far?

and i sobbed for all the memories that could have been, and i broke for the passion that i would have possessed there. i stared at drab brown and white walls that i am not allowed to paint, and the too-much-stuff that crowds my corners with not even room for an easel, and i felt my passion compressing down into a cube that barely fit in this tiny place. 

i felt squished. i felt grey, like all the colour had been rung out of me. i felt limp and helpless and empty. no more passion, because i left it in the foyer of this perfect dream.

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:: and so we wrestled, He and i, until the dawn.  

and then somehow, i dried my tears. my soul woke up and looked around this place, this little corner where he and i and soon our daughter have been placed. and i started to see dark bookshelves in a corner, and swooping dark purple fabric hung like bunting from corner to corner in the back room now-turned nursery. 

we went and bought new sheets for the bed. soft gold fabric to match the flowers on our midnight blue bedspread. and we put down the corners and made up the bed with the gold hidden inside until the blanket got pulled back after midnight. 

i slid my body between those sheets and let out a breath that was more of a prayer than a sob. because my passion isn't dead, it isn't gone, and it wasn't left wrapped around the perfect hardwood banister. 

it never left. i just forgot where it was. i didn't have to find it after all, because it was never lost. my focus had just become blurred. my passions aren't controlled by where i am, by what i have, by what i experience. 

they just are. 

they are in a two story dream, and they are here, in a four room canvas that i just haven't been bold enough to embrace. 

they don't need to be found.

they just are. 

expectancy

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i am learning about expectancy.
not the act itself, but rather the level i dare to have.

because i don't have nearly enough, because my Jesus meets His loves at the level of their expectancy. i didn't notice that my tank was brushing e, that i didn't have nearly the amount that He aches for me to have.

the man whose daughter slipped from Earth to death, he begged Him to come and heal, to come and raise. just come, don't linger, just come now.

:: and Jesus went, and raised :: 

the solider who took a knee on dirt path and stone and whispered, "i know the power, i know the authority of a word. speak here, and my servant is healed."

:: and Jesus spoke, there on the road, and healed ::

the woman who bled, and reached out two trembling fingers just to brush against the hem of filthy fabric that composed the Saviour's robe. "if only i can touch, i will be healed."

and Jesus whispered in the pulsing crowd of a thousand fingers, 

:: "who touched Me? power went from Me, and I felt it go." ::

and i do not have her level of expectancy. i do not hold enough. i am the needy child who tugs His arm again and again and cries, "come now, Daddy...can You fix it?"

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i don't expect enough from Him. i whisper "maybe You can...can You?" i should reach out with two tiny fingers and touch, and know. all i have to do is touch, and He will give.

and so i let the branches of self-doubt and human reasoning twist so that no more hope can seep out. it's just too risky, you see, to expect so much. too much gets lost, too much me gets forgotten, i think.

but oh, and then i realize that light is unconstrained, or else it is darkness. and expectation becomes the knowing, the watching and waiting not with maybe but with will come.

and i let my dreaded soul open, and run, and wail joy and knowing to the skies.

i'm kneeling in the dirt here, barefoot and broken. i'm reaching out for the hem of His robe.

and i know.

blessing overwhelming {228-235}

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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. 

weary solace

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understanding why does not make the weariness easier.

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

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

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

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

my soul waits in silence for God alone; 

from Him is my salvation. 

He only is my rock and my salvation, 

my stronghold; i shall not be greatly shaken.

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

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

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

but this word is not afraid. it is brave. 

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

even now, i seek solace and brave.

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

resting Christmas :: five minutes

if i'm not careful, December can wear me to the bone.

it's that way with beautiful things. if we aren't careful, we can loose ourselves in the miscellaneous of the year and let the big picture fade into a ruined negative. 

i can become full of calender dates and evergreen, making endless plans and fretting over budgets that never seem to end. 

and when Love comes, my oil is all gone, because i realize that i've forgotten to store up any for myself. and Love is there, and He takes me still as broken and worn. but the blessing that could have been...that's faded and forgotten.

it's fear that brings me racing.

must be perfect

it's Christmas...my perfection.

no more resting until the work is done. oh, how weary, how tired this makes my soul.

i need to remember. i need to take the time to reflect upon another weary young woman, the one who strove through confusion and exhaustion.

the little one with the heart of a King beating in her womb.

the tired pregnant woman who found her rest close to the tiny feet of the newborn Messiah.

whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty

so i'll join her there, in that place of tears and stable straw. and we'll gaze with wonder and awe. 

this is the right kind of peace.

the right kind of tired.

{linking with Lisa-Jo for these five minutes of Love}

{also, the November giveaway winners will be announced this weekend. thank you for being patient!}

peace in the soon

i'm at peace with wanting.

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i have my little list, tucked in a place where only He and i can find it when the time is right. and sometimes, we pull it out late at night, my King and i, and we laugh and we weep together over this little scrap of paper. 

my Love knows my list, too, but he doesn't understand it fully. he listens when i can contain it within myself no longer, and i pour my soul like water over us both. and he comforts me then, as best as he knows how.

but i think no mortal can understand another want unless they want it too, and just as badly. 

it's tricky to find this place of wanting and having without stepping over into this dangerous place of 

my will be done. 

there is a strange darkness in this place where we blow out the Fire and shiver by self's candle instead. and i've learned that it's not worth it to cross this line. 

and so i learn to wait and cling to the hem of His robe, knowing that i am safe when i stay at His feet and softly whisper

Thy will be done. 

who knew it was so hard to wait? 

and sometimes i find myself looking into that mirror and beating my fists on the walls and begging for the now and not the then. and then i must stop, because i am waiting on me and not on Him anymore. 

because His wait is not as hard as mine. because it's strength renewing and wing-giving. 

{via pinterest}

and He takes delight in blessing His children with good things. 

wait is not never. wait is only this -- wait. and soon. 

and so i find my place in this thickly woven cosmos, and remember that i am seen and i am known by the One who made and placed me here. 

 and i curl into His arms and wait for the rain. 

i am at peace with this thing of wait. because wait doesn't mean never. 

it means someday. it means soon. 

for He calls all time soon. 

{linking this moment with my King along with Laura; also, over at the "Write It, Girl" project}

time // gratitude {160-164}

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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.

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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}

wanting need

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i want a lot of things.

things that might make my life better.

things that might simply take up another spot on a shelf and never be used, though i will say

i have that. 

some things are bigger though. some are wants that drive us to our knees, blurring the line between want and need. 

sometimes

 it isn't about material things that we want.  

sometimes, wants are soul aches that strum a chord of longing that only we can hear...us, and those who long, too. 

we all want. 

my wants are vast. i have my Christmas lists and grocery lists and reading lists and all those things i want. 

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and then i have the list that only He and i share, the one where He must hold me as i read, as i shake with sobs in wanting. 

i'm learning to want Him first. 

to want His will when it hurts, to want His timing when it takes so long.

i'm learning to be still, and know, and wait for strength renewed and heartcries fulfilled. 

i'm learning these words:

yes, Lord. 

i will wait. 

i'm learning to ask for the right things. for His will. for His place. 

taking Him at value. that His promises are sure

and His grace is sufficient. 

of all my wants, He is my need. 

 Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

— St Francis of Assisi 

covered

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what we speak and what we do can often be so very different.


how often have you heard a plea, a heart crying out for something that seems so distant, and murmured 

i'll pray for you.

and then life comes and sweeps this way and that, and takes your mind to other places. and your promised prayer is long forgotten. 

have you experienced this gift though? this one where a tender sister grips your hand tight in hers and begins the whispered words

let me pray for you.

this touch of love that far surpasses. the touch of God of Earth. He intercedes still for me. my King still kneels to His Father and prays for me.


on Thursday, Sarah {Emerging Mummy} a dear cyber-sister who has never beheld my face or drawn me for a comforting embrace, prayed over me. 


precious words from St. Teresa of Avila, for my heart and for all those who have pressed "follow" at her corner of the world. 

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i am humbled by this gift of supplication.

this knowing that i am loved by one whom i have never seen and never shared even a mug of steaming coffee with in this lifetime.  

these precious moments are not just in the comfort of our living rooms. 


we share this friendship -- this sisterhood -- from afar, with those who hold our hearts whom we have never met. 


this knowing that, one day, we shall kneel in praise together in the realms of Heaven. holding hands in love, as sisters, over the coffee and cinnamon buns that i know must be waiting for us there. 


no more lip-service from me now.


you are covered in prayers, dearhearts. from me, and from Him.

as my sweet sister Sarah did two days ago, i do the same now for you.

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May today there be peace within.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content knowing you are a child of God.

Let this presence settle into your bones, and 

allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of you.

~ St. Teresa of Avila

patient wait

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i'm not patient. 


i may seem to have a better grasp on waiting for things that matter


but in truth, i cannot bear this thing of wait. 


it's agonizing, to know something could be and is not yet. to know that what i want cannot yet come to pass. 


to know that His answer is always there. 


but sometimes it is wait. 


i'm learning to discern. to hear. to listen. to recognize His voice and leap like a lamb to His feet. 


but oh, how hard is this thing of wait. 


but when He speaks, it pours like water, like rain on the parched soul. 


it is worth this thing of wait. 


it takes such faith to sit under this rock, in this long-standing shade, with the only goal to hear. oh how i fight myself here. 

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i despise waiting. 

i want now. this now here now. instant. 




but His will is not mine. why is it not? i have been His for years. why do i still reach out with impatient little girl fingers, stomping my petulant foot with pouted lip and crossed arm.


now, Daddy. now. 

but He knows more. 

and so He touches my cheek and whispers

wait. 

and so i learn to unfold my arms and raise them up.


waiting here. 

we're waiting here for You

with our hands lifted high in praise

and it is You we adore

singing Alleluia 

{christy nockles}

from now until the beginning of May 2012, i have embarked upon a study: discerning the voice of God by priscilla shirer. i do this in company with a small group of women from our church, including my mother-in-law, led by my dearest mother. 

this walk is new to me, this concept of truly being still and hearing Him speak is familiar but oh so foreign. 

each week, i will be pouring His voice here. 

expect Him here.

 {pray for me.}