rising wild

i am a rare creature. i am a thing of wonder, a thing of push and pull and inhale exhale repeat repeat without even thinking.

it's the little and the simple parts of me combining to create something greater, something that even i cannot explain. something glorious and dangerous and precious that pushes on the edges of the world and reaches past to twist among the stars.

"'you,' he said, 'are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world 

and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain.'"

:: emilie autumn 

but that's what growth is. it's pain, it's the push of life to emerge from beneath the thick rich-scented earth to burst through green and bright and full of promise.

a friend wrote two Aramaic words that rang in my soul for days after. talitha cumi. and i couldn't help but ponder these words and the Man that said them soft into the ear of a little girl whose breath had left her altogether. and then it came back. because He spoke it so. 

and that is the power of the cry of arise spoken by the One who vanquished storms with a word. they were simple words, familiar to the ear but strung together in a way that was far more foreign than it ought to be. it sinks wonder into my heart, but why? why should life returning at the word of the Son be anything but expected, but known, but anticipated with bated breath?

so i tie a string around my finger and remember.

this world is not where i belong, my hunger is for another place. a place where the wild and the wonder are the common and the expected, where the wind is the Breath of the Most High and the sun pales in the light of the One who spoke before time was ever born.

because i am the wild one, the daughter of more than grace, but of Water and Bread and Blood. a rare thing, a real thing.

bursting.
questing.
:: rising

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.

:: brave looks good on you

{via pinterest}

i've been compelled by bravery in recent days.

i think it's because i'm learning more about my Jesus, more about this journey that He and i are taking. and i'm embracing the fear that might come, because it makes me lean against His chest more and whisper,

hold me, Daddy. 

i got a new tattoo on my leg this past week, the kind that hurts a lot more than you thought it would. but i closed my eyes and embraced the ache because it was a beautiful picture for me, spending my Good Friday with the low throb on my skin.

because He marked His skin for me, in a holy different way. and then He broke the bonds and rose up, up, the phoenix from the ashes of death with a resurrected Lion's roar.

I am the Resurrection.

I am the Life.

I AM. 

and so i have a phoenix of my own now. it's my reminder to be brave, to sing in the flames while holding the hand of the One, the Son of God. 

{photo by DramaticElegance}

it's standing on the Rock that is mightier than i, reaching out for the hem of the robe of the Broken Lamb. 

i won't lie, i'm more like Peter than i'd like to admit. the fearful one, shaking by the fire with trembling lips and eyes downcast to the ashes gathered by my toes. 

and i have to reach up and touch the marks of Love that track down His back, the holes through His hands, the ones that speak of the most incredible self-sacrificing Love. 

now i reach down to the mark on my leg, the red and black, the flames and the petals. and i smile to myself and whisper

:: be adventurous more often

brave looks good on you, dearheart.  

a sacred meal

{via pinterest}

certain things have begun to monopolize my thoughts in recent days. some of these things are rich and deep, filling my hours with turning book pages and steaming cups of tea.

the other is food.

it's almost comedic how things that were once unnoticed are now suddenly the center of a growling stomach. and it's not just the flavour of food, as certain once-beloved tastes have faded into the background.

it's the cooking, the creation of things at my counters with flour and butter and cheese and a warm collection of spices that make my nose tingle and my tastebuds ponder as though they had their own minds.

there's a freshness, a newness to the creation of food. 

in some respects, it's a breathing. 

when simple items connect and join to become something new. it's knowing that i'm touching something important to God.

because even the Messiah, the King of the Universe, cooked for those He loved.

{via pinterest}

the simplest meal of homemade bread and roasted fish over open flame, served on a beach for eleven frightened men once grieving and now faced with the Risen One again on the water's edge.

come and have breakfast.

so there is something blessed, something mysterious in food and the creation of a meal for those we love. it's more than just the caress of flavour on a palate. 

it's a sacred act, a humbling of self to the betterment of others. 

it's a warrioress' duty to provide for those in her care. with meals that take all day, or simple gifts of grilled cheese and chocolate chip cookies. 

it's still the echoing call of the Lion on the beach. 

I am the Bread of Life; 

he who comes to Me will not hunger 

and he who believes in Me will never thirst.

seasons // time

{via pinterest}

this is a morning for musings.

a morning for acoustic guitars and indie lyrics that soothe the soul with a caress. 

i feel like i'm sinking more and more into Ecclesiastes

there is a time...a time...

what is this time? 

i know this is the time for new beginnings. the time where earth must die for newness to be born. 

autumn is the fade. winter is the rest. 

unless a seed falls into the ground and dies, it cannot bear much fruit.

i think we forget that. we focus on the brightness and rejoice. but when the fade comes, prelude to the rest, we groan. 

but there is beauty in the fade. beauty in the rest. 

the sun is not going away. it never leaves us. it just takes a moment to slip behind the clouds. the light does not go out, it merely changes for a time.

only for a time. 

do we forget this passing of time? winter is not forever. 

it is not a White Witch curse.  

{via pinterest}

it comes and goes. 

it has a time. 

this is why i cannot curse or begrudge any season. each one is a cloak of beauty for this earth in which we dwell, a sign of Love's fingers. 

He died for life. 

a step from Throne to earth. a Life given for life to be made new. there is a time for everything.

He did not stay below the earth. He rose. He returned. He lives still. 

this glorious conundrum that is my Jesus. 

this season is passing. 

this time of autumn is caressing, this time of winter is swift aproaching.

curse not. 

only love. 

there is a time for everything...

Primavera

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. ~Nadine Stair

I adore spring.

If I had my way, we would skip all other seasons and live in a perpetual state of freshly budding flowers and 75-degree days.

Spring is beauty personified. Everything is springing up from death into life.

It is nature's greatest art form...God's most precious masterpiece.

It is fresh strawberries and bare feet buried in soft grass.

It is gentle breezes and holding hands by the lake, wind-swept waves caressing over lover's toes.

Spring is strawberry lemonade and frozen treats, just enough to send a tiny shiver up my spine.

It's driving with the windows down and my sunglasses resting on the bridge of my nose, the A Fine Frenzy playing just loud enough to make me shout and the wind warm as it musses my hair.

It's as if God poured all of His love, elegance, and passion into this perfect season...three beautiful months of serenity, whispering rain, and teasing breezes.

This is the season of Holiness...the season where death's sting became a distant memory and its power was lost forever.

The season of blood, splintered wood, and iron nails.

The season of empty tombs and "He is not here, for He is risen."

Spring is the season of life. Renewal. Redemption. Resurrection. Restoration.

Spring is my bliss...

...and I can't wait to find it again.

And [the angel] said to them, "Do not be amazed; you are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who has been crucified He has risen; He is not here; behold, here is the place where they laid Him. ~Mark 16:6