laid bare :: in which i learn that courage groans

{photo of myself, courtesy of nikki} 

sometimes being brave is easy. 

you know what you want to do, and you take first one step and then another and suddenly you're across the bridge without a second thought. and your footprints are there, and looking back, you're aglow with what you have done.

you were brave without realizing. 

and then comes the hard stuff, the realities as the glow of bravery washes away and you realize that not everyone see the same footprints you do. you see the whole path, the big picture, and they see the toe marks in someone else's way.

yesterday, i made a choice. a choice to drop every facade, a choice to dare and be brave and be luminescent :: woman. i chose to live what i have been speaking here for the past several months. i chose to pose semi-nude. 

and i didn't just do it to say i could, but for the hearts of the woman i have held in my arms as they weep and whisper, i starve because i am starving. 

and so i laid myself bare. no make-up or jewelry, no primping save a brush through my hair. there were no touch-ups to take out stretch marks or freckles or those things that i try to cover up with my fingers with down-turned eye and whisper, don't look.

and i closed my eyes and burst into smile and climbed the summit to meet my Savior there in a hush of holiness and a gentle murmur of "on earth as it is in Heaven."

and i met stones on the way down. 

they had their points and they had their reasons and they had their laid-out plan. and i can't help but respect conviction, because after all, i have my own. and it was my husband who stood up with his hand on my shoulder and took the step in front of me and took so many extra arrows in the chestplate, my warrior-man. and i did the best i could, but i sat down and shook with weeping because it was just too much to bear. 

{photo of myself, courtesy of nikki} 

and my dear friend wrapped arms around my shoulders from across the United States and spoke softly to my soul, 

courage doesn't always roar

sometimes it whispers, sometimes it groans

but it is still courage.

and it came from all sides, from the east and the west. 

:: brave. brave. you are brave.

and it came from His own lips, too. 

:: My daughter is brave

and i knew it would happen, but i didn't expect the intensity of the ache. and i knew it would be hard to be brave, that the journey over seemed so easy but the path down the mountain was a rocky tumble. 

so why did i do it, then?

because you are beautiful. i promise you are, dearheart. 

and i'll do whatever it takes for you to see it for yourself.

my daughter drew life from this body, whispered into my being by the Breath of the Lion. and she changed my visage, my skin, into a portrait made with blue eyes and soft red hair and baby's breath on my neck. and i fit no molds, not that i did before, and i'm learning to be okay with that. 

i am my Beloved's, radiant and adorned. 

thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.

:: song of songs 4:7

// // 

{i want this to be a gentle place, a place of love and respect. if you have something to say, please say it with love and words seasoned with salt and Life. i have disabled anonymous comments because honestly, i am still learning to be brave, and i think you should, too. if you don't want to write your response publicly, my inbox is always open to you. i also have a zero tolerance policy for fat-shaming, victim-blaming, "slut"-shaming, etc.}

deconstructed fences

{via pinterest}

i encountered adventurers yesterday. 

they weren't thrill-seekers with their parachutes or wooden walking sticks. they didn't seek to change the world with fists held high or picketing signs up and down the sidewalk.

they just wanted to be free. past the fence and into the world to see what they had never known, but had long gazed upon from so far away.

did i mention that they weren't even human, 

but equine?

two of them, huge and dark brown with eyes like deep pools of melted chocolate, if chocolate bore intelligence and perhaps it does, actually.

and somehow, they had broken through their hill-top paddock fence and made their way down into the middle of the winding country road. 

but that was as far as they went. the world was so big around them, so expansive and beautiful with grass and hills and rolling fields. but they stayed there, on the pavement, barely a hundred feet from their original enclosure.

they were free, but they did not choose to act in freedom. 

{via pinterest}

they were still caged. 

do i do this? 

do i still live caged when in truth i am surrounded on all sides by open fields of Love and Grace and Mercy and Truth and oh, so much Light? 

do i chose to cower in the darkness right next to the broken Death-fence, whispering

but i know this. i know here. i know now. 

i don't know anything else. 

but i have freedom.

for all those who have dwelt in darkness have seen a Great Light. 

because He used the nail and hammer to tear down fences, and the wooden beams to deconstruct the cages of fear and death. He tore curtains from top to bottom, death working backwards. 

i need to grasp, and inhale and exhale and inhale again

and run free. 

Watercolour

After a thousand watercolors you will find you have fallen in love with paper and paint. ~Rex Brandt

I wish I was more of an artist.

I took four years of Artistics in high school, but even that was barely enough to scratch the surface of the things I wish I knew.

My favourite medium is watercolour.

It's more than just a damp horsehair brush rubbed against the caked colour pallets.

It's something deeper...richer...more powerful.

There's more to a watercolour painting than first meets the eye.

The colours run, blend, combining together into something far more than the artist could ever have originally anticipated.

That's why my heart races at the sight of a watercolour canvas. You can't always plan ahead. You can't always see the future.

The colours have lives of their own, dancing and flooding together...as if they too had minds and hearts and souls.

I'm blessed to have a watercolour life.

A life that is more than what I can see at first glace...beautifully composed by the most incredibly talented Artist this world has ever known.

I'm a canvas.

Cover me in watercolour.

I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica. ~The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Bête (Beast)

"A beautiful thing is precious, no matter the price. Those who do not know how to see the precious things in life will never be happy." ~Beastly

Anyone who knows me knows that Beauty and the Beast is my favourite fairytale...my favourite love story...my favourite dream that teeters on the knife's edge between fiction and reality.

There have been hundreds of retellings of this classic tale of rose petals, magic, and the deepest value of inner beauty. One of my absolute favourite versions of this story was penned in this century...a hypnotic modern retelling that appeared first on the page, and then across the silver screen.

Beastly. 


The story of Kyle...strikingly handsome in face, popular and wealthy in lifestyle, and arrogant and cold in heart and soul. One word, one curse...and his flawless features are warped into the scarred, tattooed visage of a modern-day beast. Pushed aside by his horrified father, locked away in a house where none but his blind tutor and his loving housekeeper are witness to his "ruined" appearance.

The story of Lindy...a tenderhearted dreamer in love with roses, burdened by a careless father who makes one mistake too many. Swept into circumstances that lead her straight into Kyle's prison-palace...into a greenhouse full of roses...

...and love enough to break a curse.


I want nothing more than to press this book into the hands of every last human being on this planet...perhaps then a new view could be taken on appearance, on romance, on the realities of love.

Some fool has spread a rumor that women want a certain thing in a man. Strong muscles, masculine features, and a popular streak boosted with money and power.

Like I have said, the person who invented this mentality was a fool...and has passed his foolishness down to twist the minds of men and women both.

Knights don't always come wearing shining silver armour, prancing in atop a white horse...they don't always have perfect hair or flawless skin...they aren't always the most popular or the one with the most fantastic car.

What I care about is behind the helmet and steed.

I want to see the dents.

I want strength of character...depth of heart...eyes that see me and not my body's lack of perfection...hands that can carry me when I can't stand.

Am I the only one that thinks like this? Am I so very strange in my mindset?

If I am, correct me, please.

But not every woman is Cinderella. We don't all want Prince Charming.

Sometimes, all we are is Belle...

...and all we want is a Beast.

I just was scared that you didn't love me. And I didn't think you could because of how ugly I am. I should've known better. That's not who you are. You took one look at me and still said you'd seen worse. And somehow, when I'm around you, I don't feel ugly at all. ~Beastly