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 \\

stepping into silence

{photo of me by photography by Kjelse}

{over the next several weeks, maybe even months, i will be writing here and there from elora's thirty days of prompts. this is something that i have never done before, something raw and fresh and gorgeous and potentially painful. so please, be gentle with me. you can find all posts i have written from these prompts here}

:: what are you waiting for?

for Story 101, we are entering our week of silence. this is our time to step back from the internet, our time to breathe, our time to embrace our writer souls. honestly, with the amount of time i spend on the internet every day, this prospect is slightly terrifying. 

:: but maybe that's what i was waiting for.

see, as a stay-at-home mom, the internet has been my retreat. it's the only "getaway" i have from my life as momma. but maybe it's holding me back. maybe i'm waiting for something that isn't going to happen. maybe i'm waiting for my life to go back to the way it used to be // before my precious little wailing warrioress came into our lives. 

i'm never going to have that life again.
and that's okay.

because Marian is my new life. this is normal. this is my radiant normal beautiful new life. this is my gift. this is my now.

so maybe this week of silence, this time of resting away from the internet {in part}will be my first step toward embracing my new place. i know i need to stop fighting what is. i need to stop waiting for the new house to find my space. i need to stop waiting for this illusive magic moment before i accept the pen that the Lion is pressing into my trembling fingers.

:: i can start writing that chapter now.

in some respects, i'm still bristling at this concept of internet silence, even if only in part. it was always a punishment, a stripping away of something that connected me to a world that always seemed so far away.

{photo of me by photography by Kjelse}

but i am seeking ways to heal my eyes from that past view. i am hoping, daring to reach up for that scarlet rope hanging in the window. it feels so dangerous to hope. i am still recovering from the loss and confusion and heartbreak that this year has already brought me.

but there has been such joy there too. and that is worth the hoping and the risking and oh, the releasing.

there will hopefully be a lot of returning to the journal in this week of selah. a lot of art, a lot of postcards made and sent. a lot of breathing.

oh dearhearts, won't you gather around me here?

pray for the Song of the Lion to permeate my soul? pray for strength and deep, deep grace? pray for Life, for Light, for Glory. 

pray for rest. 
pray for selah. 
pray for silence. 

{don't forget about the self-care giveaway taking place here. i would love to bless you with some tender gifts, precious ones.}

hush-holy ::

{via pinterest}

a phrase has been trapped in my mind for about a week now. two words strung together, innocently enough, make something soft and precious and so profound that it has woven itself into the very essence of me and is resting there.

hush-holy.
{phrase coined by rain}

there is sacredness nesting inside me now, building up and making something great and beautiful in a way that maybe i didn't understand before.

this word {YHWH} is the sound of breathing.

the holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator

 is the sound of your own breathing.

and so i sit and ponder in this time of spring, the epitome of hush-holy and silent glory and the majesty of life appearing in the gentlest of ways.

but there are storms, grey-skied things that sweep in with wind and rain and thunder and lightning. and oh, how the glory of God is found in this grand display. 

:: but then comes the calm.

and the wind and seas obey His voice. and all is still when He and i step back into the boat, and i find myself on my knees in the hush whispering, truly You are the Son of the Most High God. because His very breath is this thing swirling around me, even here on my yellow couch with Old McDonald as the soundtrack to this moment of worship. 

{via pinterest}

but in my head i'm singing soft words familiar to my tongue, words i have sang over and over in my soul from the first time i heard them. a tender melody found here in the hush-holy, in the calm draped over my shoulders like a warm blanket of Life from the fingers of the most loving Father.

oh the deep deep love of Jesus

vast, unmeasured, boundless, free

//

and it's not a solo, but a duet, because the Lion is singing soft in my ear, harmonizing in the most beautiful way, crooning, see, I am doing a new thing, all things made new. and the Song of the Lion has become the sweetest backdrop to arms outstretched and glory whispered from my mortal-turned-immortal lips. 

now you are a Lioness

and all...will be renewed.

{prince caspian, c.s. lewis}

glorious emptiness

{via pinterest}

i feel empty. but in a good way.

as though my self has been rung out, and tenderly folded over the edge of the sink. it sounds awful, i know. but it's a beautiful kind of emptiness.

morning by morning, He's filling me anew, and showing me that it's alright to be silent for a time. and i know that my blogging voice is has been quiet in recent days, but i feel like it's the break i've been needing for months.

since July, i've been blogging every single day. partially because of the inspiration flowing, but also because it's felt like a requirement. something i needed to do to keep myself in line in order to feel connected.

but now i'm learning to relax. i'm enjoying being pregnant, for all the discomfort and exhaustion that comes alongside this journey. i'm overwhelmed, and that's more than alright.

oh, this is a dance, steps that i have never learned before that i am now starting to understand. these slow movements turned to a pounding beat of resting...resting...resting...

and i'm standing here with hair undone and loose, and eyes wide open to see what lays before my bare feet. this is a good journey.

oh, so much glory.

overwhelmed in love. toes pressed against the base of the cross.

bear with me, friends, as i learn to juggle this exhaustion and temper myself with glory. 

and pray for me, as i measure out and find my new center. 

weary solace

{via pinterest}

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. 

last hope's gaze

i am secret.
i am silent.
i am sometimes forgotten, even by myself.

because i'm too eager to slice a vein and pour my heart out to another, leaving myself parched with life flowing away and yet, i find myself still wondering why i'm so weary.

{via pinterest}

i think it's because i feel selfish when i take, when i turn my eyes inward instead of gazing outward at those around me. because there are broken ones, a thousand of them, and i'm just one.

but i'm still one. and i need to not forget that so easily.

and by One, i am never forgotten. 

why is that we are so able to stretch out fragile arms to those around us, and forget about that person who wears our skin and breathes our air? that one of a kind suit of flesh and blood tangled around soul and spirit and sanctified? 

i think it's okay to be woman. it's okay to taste the sting of death and come out the other side alive. it's okay to not be strong all the time. it's okay to rely on another's arms to bear you up because your legs have turned to shaking, and your heart has turned to thudding. 

you don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope.

// suzanne collins :: the hunger games //

sometimes, that last hope seems impossible to even find anymore. 

but it's there, i promise you.

and when you see it, you never forget His face. 

illusive

{via pinterest}

i feel illusive.
like wind on pavement or dust in darkness.

it's there, and i know it's there. it's fact.
but i feel like it's invisible, like secrets

it's my word for 2012.

down to four days and still only silence. i've sat with Bible open and candles lit and tea cup steaming with fragrance, and i've listened. but this lack of noise, this time of peace, has only led to my heart being filled and peace on white feathers roosting in my soul.

but it's been precious.

because want can sometimes translate to need in that language that only souls speak.  it's one of those mystery, known but unknown. the way Light shines the brightest when there is none and the way words that don't leave the lips can sometimes be the most beautiful.

you are not bound to loss and silence.
for you are not bound to the circles of this world.
all things must pass away,
all life is doomed to fade…
 :: and yet you are not without hope ::

// breath of life :: howard shore //

{via pinterest}

so i'm still wordless. and i'm not rushing it anymore. i'm going to sit and breathe in the tea steam. i'm going to inhale this invisible Glory called grace and dance in the swirl of dustmotes in a sunbeam.

because it will come, just as He promised me it would in that night when He whispered

we will choose, you and I, dearheart. 

i'm rooted in that hill where death was trampled and the Word prevailed and veils tore from sacred top to bottom.

it's a beautiful sort of turbulance, the kind found when storms are settling and everyone feels it deep inside. the wind is hard, but slowing. the rain is tossing, but sweet.

and so i seek. and i wait. because when the word comes, and i know it will, it will be that sweet perfume after a cleansing rain.

it will be worth the wait.

the fourth page :: peace in glory

{via pinterest}

{to read the first page, visit here}

{to read the second page, visit here}
{to read the third page, visit here}

i almost didn't blog today. between packing our suitcases for the yearly family vacation and attempting to get my Christmas-tousled house in order, time for reflection was pushed too far behind. the press and crush of time almost did me in again.

it's a flaw i have, letting time overwhelm and to-do lists dictate my sitting and my standing and my breathing and my living. i forget to stop and rest.

silent night. oh holy night. 

behold your King

for all this crush that spells the mas where it should be Christ, we forget that there was no pomp and circumstance to herald the entrance of Christ, as God and man blended into the mystery of one flesh. 

it was as silent as a birth can be. 

there was no cluster of red carpet admirers, no throngs of people with anxious hearts and fingers stretched out to caress the cheek of this Saviour child. there was a frightened virginal couple, not even a midwife to attend them. there were animals gathered around in the stone shelter where the Prince of Peace was born, with dung and straw and nothing but strips of cloth in which to wrap the Son of the Most High. 

she called Him Emmanuel. God with us. 

{via pinterest}

do you feel this like i do? 

:: God with us ::

:: God with us ::

:: God with us ::

and this woman, this new mother -- even a child herself -- treasured each one of these things deep within her heart. there was silence that flowed purely alongside the angelic chorus of oh, glory, glory, glory. and on earth, peace.

oh, behold your King. 

hail, hail, the Word made flesh.

so we celebrate, and we gather. 

but last night was that moment in this holiday season for me. that moment when our church was silent, save for the flickering of two hundred lit candles in the darkness, and two hundred voices rose to greet this God-made-man. 

oh, come, let us adore Him.

we'll praise Your Name forever.

oh, behold your King.

thirteenth floor

{via pinterest}

i've found a new place.

a sacred place. for the wounded and the healing, where angels whisper as they tread, and God is far away but oh, so close here.

the thirteenth floor.

on this place, this haunting place of broken souls and issues that the world calls for taped mouths and vocal chords tied up tight

because we don't talk about this. not like this, anyway.

heads shake and tsk tsk because it's a shame to be there, to stand there, to have clung to shaking walls and shattered banisters of this broken hallowed ground.

but the Truth is hidden from so many eyes because they are blind with hardened hearts and stopped-up ears to know that even in a place of thirteen, a place of fear and supersitition and too much weeping

He is there.

He never left. He is close at hand to touch His broken daughters and fragile sons who ache to weep but have been forbidden. strong and silent types allowed, raised voices should be hushed in church.

sacredness isn't always silent.

sometimes it is loud. it is screams of

WHY and 

YES and 

FREE and 

HOLD ME JESUS PLEASE 

because i have lost my scraps of nothing now. 

{via pinterest}

i can't say this as well as i would like.

so please

watch this video below.

this touched heart from one who was touched by him...and then healed with a touch from Him. this touched one. sactified who speaks better than my feeble tongue can muster up.

because she walked here.

with us. 

with me, 

and you, 

and her and him.

and then she turned, and walked with us and Him

 together.

{this video below deals with sexual abuse and mature topics. use discretion when watching around more innocent ears. her words are power, dear ones.}

13th Floor: Sexual Abuse - Janette...ikz from Pure Path on Vimeo.

{linking with Michelle}

warring stillness

{via pinterest}

the Lord will fight for you. you need only be still. 

~exodus 14:14

i found my calm this morning.

for a while, i thought i had left it amid hot glue guns and satin ribbons and sand-covered programs, all tumbled together on the other side of the United States. 

the chaos of this entire past week was a breathtaking, beautiful rush akin only to the crash of a salty ocean wave. it swept me under in a glorious swell.

but then i found myself tossed ashore and breathless again. 

this mantra of Love that i have chanted for a week is pounding into my head like a oceanic roar, perhaps to the point of being numbing.

if i'm not careful, i could lose myself in this battle. i feel the hilt of my own sword of self digging into my palms. this fight i'm carrying alone...the one i forbid those i love to undertake with me. 

{via pinterest}

i can do this myself. 

i can be strong. 

i promise i can. 

but then i awoke this morning. a strange feeling mixed with the tension that i have and yet still carry atop my shoulders.

i'm still tense. i'm still overwhelmed. but i have found a scrap of calm amid this noise. 

perhaps it is the unstopping of my own ears...letting the chaos trickle out and the silence replace the gaps. 

and so now i will sit and let my Lord fight. my sword is down and my fingers, ringing with battle clash, are shaking with the rest that comes after the storm. 

and i will be still now.

i will drop my trembling fingers to brush against my denim-clad legs and breathe slowly again. 

inhale. 

exhale. 

repeat to survive. 

now let go and fall

into His stillness.  

{linking this imperfection with emily today}

Voice

Freedom has a thousand charms to show,
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
~William Cowper

I was recently given a very great compliment by a blogging friend of mine. She commented to me that she loved how I had "found my voice."

It broke my heart and yet gave me such freedom to have to tell her that she was mistaken.

I don't have my voice yet.

Every post is an example of over-analysis...self-deprecation...doubt that allows nothing but perfection to escape into this blogging world.

Or into any part of the world, for that matter.

There is a tiny voice in my head that points out my every flaw...makes me feel guilty for mistakes I have not even made yet...for posting things that might offend my readers.

No, I have not yet found my voice.

Posts like skyeyes and grace alone. are slow steps of bravery.

Slow steps to freedom.

I won't even begin to pretend perfection, as much as I wish I could. Even as I wrote those above posts, my fingers shook at the idea of releasing just broken imperfection to the world at large.

I'm a broken mirror...I don't want my fractured reflection to ruin me.

I don't have my voice yet.

I'm currently undergoing vocal surgery.

I'm under the knife...

...it hurts as each cleansing pass of the blade cuts away more and more of my self-shame and indescribable fear.

He's changing me. He's mending the mirror.

I won't be the same when He's done.

I'll finally have a voice that I will be unashamed to use.

I never want to go back to prison.

To bondage.

To silence.

If I could hear Christ praying for me in the next room, I would not fear a million enemies.  Yet distance makes no difference.  He is praying for me.  ~Robert M. McCheyne

Silence

There are two kinds of silence.

There is the beautiful kind...the whisper before the storm erupts, the wordless moments shared between two friends, the elegant emptiness of the night sky.

And then there is the heavy silence.

The silence that screams of loneliness, fear, desolation, and unspeakable sorrow and regret.

This is the most frightening sound of all to me.

And it was in this echoing silence in which the disciples lay.

Barely sleeping, barely eating.

Locked away in the upper room of an unknown house, huddled in tear-stained masses as their terrified minds replayed the events of the previous day.

The Man whom they had followed...the One in whom they had placed their faith, trust, and their entire existence...

...dragged away, beaten to an unrecognizable pile of blood and bruises, and then hung upon a splintered cross to gasp out His final breaths.

Yeshua -- their Master, their Lord -- was dead.

And they had fled.

The guilt they all must have felt...the regret and sorrow...for only John had stayed at the foot of the cross until the thunder rolled and the rocks broke into pieces.

The silence must have weighed as heavy as the stone that they had rolled over the mouth of the cave in which they had placed the beaten, lifeless body of their Rabbi.

Crushing.

Destructive.

Overbearing.

Wordless weeping, empty despair.

...but this was not the end...

...for in this silence, a mighty war was waging.

The war against Death. The war against Hell. The war against hopelessness.

For after the silence comes the storm...

...and this storm would rock the world.

DEATH

COULD

NOT

HOLD

HIM.

Silence. Broken.

Silence

Silences make the real conversations between friends. Not the saying but the never needing to say is what counts. ~Margaret Lee Runbeck

There is something so velvet, so blissful about silence.

Those moments when all distractions fade away and you are completely lost in a perfect moment of soundless thought.

Some view the concept of "silence" as a sign of mental dysfunction, or an awkward moment between friends when there is nothing left to say.

For me, it's the exact opposite.

When there is silence, there is comfort.

The noise ends, the chaos is silenced. It's a glimpse into the comfort of Heaven.

His still, small voice speaks loudest when we cease our storms and just allow our souls to be bathed in soothing calm.

I think that's why God gave us the following truth about our relationships here on earth...

...when you are able to be silent with someone, without a word between you, it is not because you have nothing to say to one another or that a unspoken tedium has been reached.

Not in the least.

You have reached that point of the utmost love. When those moments of pain arrive between two friends, there is such blessed relief in a simple embrace where not a sound need be made.

You both just know.

There is a time and a place for silence. There is an unspoken need in each one of us to have someone understand us at that level.

It's in that moment of silence when you hear the words "...you're going to be okay" the most clearly.

Because that is a picture of our relationship with God.

Does this not make the silence that much more beautiful?

It should.

And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. ~ 1 Kings 19:11-12

Tumble

I have a lot of thoughts tonight. And my brain just won't shut up.

I'm having a hard time bringing my racing mind and overactive imagination to a calm state.

It's 12:13. In the morning.

My head is a tumble drier, filled to the brim with thunderclouds and rose petals. Tossing. Rolling. Spinning until I'm so dizzy that I can't catch my own breath.

My heart is trying to tango to a jazz rhythm. Conflicted. It wants to dance, but it's forgotten the steps.

This is what happens when you care too much...

...when you think too much.

...when you dream too much.

My mind is beautiful train wreck, a slow dance among a traffic jam.

Why?

Because He holds my soul.

Among the noise of my thoughts and the questions brought on by my own mortal confusion...

...I can hear His still, small voice. He knows my name.

Daughter.

He serenades me with the music of His peace. He raises His nail-pierced hand and speaks softly to the storm raging in my heart.

Peace. Be still.