the end of passe love

{photo via dramaticelegance}

i am a voice on the internet.

it is sacrilegious to say that i feel like being as blogger has given me a deeper understanding of John the Baptist? i can identify with the sand and the voice and the wildness, his voice echoing in a wilderness, bouncing off rocks and scrub brush in an effort to reach the ears of those who needed to hear :: the Kingdom is at hand. 

the final result of John's words were a sword that severed his head from his body. bloggers deal with words. it's a different kind of pain. 

i knew that when i wrote this post, and especially this one, that there would be backlash. it's to be expected when you put your heart on the expanse of the internet :: you're not always going to get a gold star. but there are things i didn't expect.

:: i didn't expect to be told that Jesus didn't want me anymore. 

it's culture shock to hear words like that, be it from a stranger's anonymous mouth or from lips that have smiled at you in friendship time and time again. it's hard to wrap your mind around, hard to appear strong when your mouth is opening and closing and your brain is spinning and the tears are coming without permission.

i grew up in a place where the words Jesus loves you was repeated almost without meaning, to the point that it became as parroted as a lunchtime prayer. it had purpose, of course, to comfort and assure and fix the broken hearts that surrounded us. it was almost part of the liturgy :: stand up, sit down, pass the plate, Jesus loves you.

{photo via dramaticelegance}

i wonder when we stopped believing the chant. when did the fact that we are loved become so passe?
when did it become easy to tell the ones that we disagree with that maybe it's good that they're running, that they're scared, that they are turning down torn and battered labels because He didn't really want them anyway. when did that happen?

it's killing me.

i'm not sure when love became synonymous with damnnation within the Church :: to be used with care, only in appropriate situations, but most often directed toward those who are headed toward a path that doesn't "look right."

maybe the path is a little bit darker because His wings are spreading a broader shadow.

i'm over the debates of whether heaven is meeting earth unforseen or sloppy wet. i would so much rather drown in the sea that whispers against the sand, oh, how He loves.

even me.
especially you.

moon-howler // be still

{via pinterest}

daughter

be of great courage

for your faith has made you whole.

i forget He said that.

it's funny, the more i pour through familiar words, the more i'm okay with passing them by. maybe because they whisper a little too close for comfort, maybe i'm afraid of what they say. 

am i afraid of being made whole? 

am i too comfortable with brokenness? 

because being healed takes more work than maybe i want to invest. maybe this thing of building wings while falling is too scary...too many of the "what if's" clouding my eyes like midnight fog on the windshield making it hard to see through the night.

after all

i might drop the feathers

howling at the moon is a brave thing, but what if my voice cracks? what if i'm less of a Lioness and more of a kitten on a rain-soaked back porch? the scars make a pretty picture, but they tell a story too, and what if i don't like the words they speak? 

:: because if i start, then i have to finish. 

{via pinterest}

oh

He will fight for you

you need only be still

so sometimes you have to leave your shoes somewhere in the blackberry patch and just run out in the soft dew-damp grass. because you have wings hidden in your hair and stars in your eyes, and the Son who made the moon wants to dance with you because you're His lady-love. 

and He'll hold your hand while you howl at the moon, brave-hearted beloved, fingers curled against His pierced palm while He sings His song in your ear. 

the world might whisper 

do you know Him? really?

and i sing

He knows me.

breathing phoenix rain

{via pinterest}

sometimes i wonder just what i am. i wonder if all this writing i do ever amounts to anything, if all it will ever do is sit in the recesses of my computer.

every time i read over my old work -- those worlds of my own creation, those characters whom i love like pieces of myself -- i wonder if anyone will ever see them, ever treasure them like i do.

and if they did see, would they love? or would my mountain become their molehill, lost in translation and unconveyed in their importance to me, to the world?

this fear almost cripples me. it's almost enough to jerk my words from me into darkness and shut the light tight on all my aspirations.

but without words

i wouldn't be able to breathe. 

not really. because see, that's what He gave me. to some He gave song, and to some He gave paint, and to others He gave a stand.

but i received words. He poured them into my soul, wove my spirit from ink and parchment and inspiration that i have yet to fully uncover. and He begs me

be writer, dearheart.

be this thing I made you to be. 

:: be writer ::

{via pinterest}

and so i keep writing. not for money or fame or any sort of plans set in stone.

but for love. 

only for love. 

and in this darkness, in the silence of night, my fingers grasped something and held on tightly. and i set my fingers to paper, and the ashes parted to reveal that which was hidden.

phoenix rain.

right now, there is so little. but it's enough to pull at me. for love, for wings, for future and dreams.

i have my breath. my paint, my canvas.

my story. 

her story. 

:: His story ::

all together now.

{unwrapping this glory today with emily}

wings

"And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! Then would I fly away, and be at rest." ~Psalm 55:6

i'm in love with the Psalms.

honestly, David had such power in his written word. there are so many times that i am tempted to be intimated by this king-turned-poet. 

his words resonate so deeply in my soul and seem to flow from some unknown spring of wisdom and God-touched power...it is almost enough to make me afraid to write another word in my lifetime.

but then i remember that David was not a king-turned-poet.

he was first a poet.

first a nothing.

first passed over.

second passed over.

passed over six times before he was remembered to be out in the field with the sheep.

but he was the chosen. not the first, nor the second, nor even the sixth. but he was the one picked.

he was the man after God's own heart.

how this man feared. how he fled from death and murderous men. forced to hide in caves, the dankest and darkest places of the earth. almost a tomb for him and his poetic light.

and oh, how he cried to the Lord.

how he begged. how he wept.

but how he praised. 

even in his darkest, he knew his King was his brightest.

he begged for his own dove wings. to fly away.

but his King said

I will carry you Myself. on My wings will you find life.

i am a nothing turned something. picked last, but soon to rise. a poet turned princess. 

and i will let myself be carried

from darkest caves to heaven's heights 

on His wings.

He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. ~Psalm 91:4

linking up with my dear Jen and the other beauties at the sisterhood of Soli Deo Gloria
as well as Hear It On Sunday, Use It On Monday

Brimming

I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it. ~Audrey Hepburn

I'm one of those "brimming" people .

I've constantly overflowing with something...some sort of feeling, emotion, or passion. I find it impossible to do things by halves. 

When I fall in love with something, I hold nothing back in my quest to make the whole world aware of just how amazing my new delight is to me. 

When I have joy, it flows from me like a bubbling stream. I can't contain what I'm feeling...there's something inside me that cries

release me. 

set me free.

However, to my everlasting chagrin, it is not just the beautiful things that find their rapid way into the world from my lips and heart.

It is the ugly things too...those things which destroy beauty and break a thousand hearts.

When I am broken, my tears are endless and the world has never seemed blacker. I yearn for comfort or reassurance, and yet feel unworthy of the love being showered upon me. 

When I am angry, the skies turn black and the boiling within me churns until I am almost sick with the tempest flooding from my eyes and mouth. 

When I am wronged, or when I wrong others in any sort of way, I shatter. I feel as though I have made some unforgivable action, and that I am the bane of all those who say they love me.

It is then that the little voice inside me has turned from a exclamation  of joy and delight, to a whimpering cry to the Heavens...crying out  to the Heavens as the Psalmist did from his terrifying rocky hideaway from those who sought his death. 

release me.

set me free

I was made for bigger than this. I was made to love like the sky, and dream like the wind.

My love is big, and made to be bigger,

His love is bigger still. 

His forgiveness is a fountain. 

I love much. I will be forgiven much. 

He never breaks His promise...

and so He sets my heart free 

to fly again. 

"For this reason I say to you, her sins, which are many, have been forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven little, loves little.” ~Luke 7:47

Dawning

Hope is a thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings a tune without words
And never stops at all. ~Emily Dickinson

I've spent a lot of time dwelling on hope this morning.

I think it's a combination of some of the most recent occurrences in my life that have drawn me up toward this elusive sunrise...

...this phoenix rising from the ashes, arching for its comet-like dash across the night skies...

...this White Stag calling me from the thickest and darkest parts of a seemingly endless wood.

Come chase me. 

Try and catch me. 

Watch me.

I want to have more hope than I already do. I have a tendency to turn my back to the sun to stare at the shadows...those foolish, changing images that I am now taking as truth.  

One moment, my future is tall and stretching past the treetops. The next, I am gazing at my own frail feet and thinking, "where did my beauty go? I must have none."

This strange wing'ed thing...this mystery that is hope...it is not an ever-changing shadow.

It is the sun itself, always there even when hidden by a cloud of doubt or a storm of grief. 

It is the moon streaming into my bedroom, dancing over the soft piecework quilt, only to give me a kiss on my freckled and tear-streaked nose and whisper

courage, dearheart.

Hope is dawning. Hope is rising. Hope is there behind the clouds and in the darkest of nights. 

Hope is a Lion. Hope is a King. Hope is a Savior. 

Jesus. 

"Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.They are new every morning; great is Thy faithfulness.I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him.'"~Lamentations 3:22