driftwood

{via stylemepretty}

these days i have felt very unpoetic, very uninspired.

all of my artistic energies have been focused on my NaNoWriMo novel, and all of my strength has been poured into the care of my precious warrior-daughter of now eight weeks.

and then the doctors said i needed more surgery. my gallbladder quit working, as though it wast just as tired as i was. and i went under the knife again two days ago. my body is rung out like a rag in the bottom of the kitchen sink, tossed and crumpled and completely without strength.

i am weary. i am without poetry. i am simply exhausted.

i am driftwood.

lead me to the Rock that is higher than i.

and i am tempest tossed and oh, so forelorn.

i am a ship and the waves are swelling. 

but there is One who calms the waters with a word.

peace. be still.

for I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel.

and He has gone before me, unsurprised by a single thing that has occurred over the past month. and all i can do is whisper "thank you" to the stars that illuminate my night. because the Cross is what i cling to without ceasing these days, or i would be smashed to pieces against the shoals, carved with lies. 

insufficient becomes :: enough

broken becomes :: whole

empty becomes :: filled

and i am driftwood carved to elegance, leaning against the Rock that is higher than i.

quarter til tomorrow

{via pinterest}

it's quarter to tomorrow.

and i am awake and blogging. i am also clinging to a mug of ginger ale for dear life.

it is at times like this when my moments of poetic depth fly far, far away, and i am left with nothing but awkward ramblings and passionate pleas toward Heaven to keep from fleeing once again to the bathroom.

this baby is already driving me to my knees, for more than one reason. i never have felt so close to Christ as when i am clutching the bowl of the toilet, whispering please oh please Jesus, please as my stomach twists.

i am so humbled by this phase, this time of being pushed from my place of self-maintenance to that of needing so much help and so much rest, even to hold back my own hair.

and so i sit here in front of my computer at a quarter to tomorrow and i write. and i read blogs like this one where i can feel so much less afraid and maybe i can do this after all.

i am wracked with so much nausea that i can barely stand it, and even the effort of standing and heading to my bed is almost too much. but i'm okay, because i can blog and i can read and i can sip my ginger ale.

and i can watch bones and once upon a time and remember that i am a writer, though a pregnant one.

it lets me feel normal, moment by moment.

even at quarter til tomorrow.

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I regard the theatre as the greatest of all art forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being. ~Oscar Wilde

This will be an incredibly short post, and I do promise a much longer one tomorrow.

I am exhausted to the core.

But the words "overjoyed relief" do not fully capture the euphoria I am feeling at this very moment. There is truly nothing in comparison to this feeling, except perhaps Opening Night.

Twelve hours...

...almost 40 auditioners....

...47 jawbreakers...

...more caffeine than any one human should consume in their lifetime...

...an amazing team of seven passionate theatrical individuals....

...and my production of "OZ!" has been completely cast.

God is so beautiful.

Theater is tragically wonderful...flawlessly frustrating...and epic in all its never-ending facets.

As of today, I don my "Director" baseball cap.

Tonight, I start my trip down the Yellow Brick Road and dust off my ruby slippers.

I have been waiting for this moment for my entire theatrical career.

OZ! has officially begun.

Here goes nothing.

Soli Deo Gloria.