today you are seen {for International Woman's Day}

Dear woman,

You are seen.

Today is a day, one of three hundred sixty-five, that has been ordained for you. I find that funny, strange even, that we have to pick one day to acknowledge women around the world. Because without women, without you, without me, there wouldn't be a world.

{via Unsplash}

So dear woman, today, on this one day. This day of womanhood. I want you to know that you are exactly the right kind of woman.

You are strong even when you taste dirt on your tongue from your face pressed against the ground one more time, yes, one more time because standing became too much.

You are valiant even when the world has decided that you don't fit the Joan of Arc model because of this or that or the other thing. Warrior isn't defined by the sword you lift but the way you wield what is placed in your hand.

You are royal even when your throne room is the inner most parts of the bathroom, tucked behind frosted glass while you hum and moan and groan contractions of physical birth and soul-rushes alike.

You are woman. Wild fighter weeping on the battlefield, blood-soaked between your legs as you pour out life month after month after month. Your body is a warzone, the kind that leaves you gasping and reeling and realizing that fertile ground is so often watered by tears and blood, ploughed by fingers gouging rich soil.

Boardroom to kitchen to backyard garden to podium. You are Malala and Mary Magdalene and Jael and Lady Liberty. You are lioness, re-born and re-birthed and re-breathed with breath that only comes from one place. Because words echo across time: little girl, Arise. And rise she did, little girl dead to woman alive, with her fingers against the palm that would one day pit deep with marks made for the love of her.

For women.

Because He loved women. When He rose, Hell left bleeding in His wake, it was woman that saw Him first. It was woman who understood the moment He said her name. Because she was worth those four letters on His tongue. First she was woman, then she was Mary.

So woman, today, you are seen. Be you standing strong with hammer and nail for nation-saving or crouching low beside a desert scrub, you are seen.

when I say I'm pro-life

{photo by Jennifer}

{trigger warning: non-explicit mentions of abortion and rape}

if I say Roe v. Wade, you know what I'm talking about. I don't have to explain the details or lay out what those words mean. it's two names with a "v" in the middle. versus. two sides standing one against the other.

I believe in a lot of unpopular things. I write a lot of things that offend people, that make them bristle and take a step back. sometimes they even write me letters or notes explaining just how wrong I am, just how far off the path I have wandered.

but this is where it gets sticky. because I'm pro-life, but I hesitate to write those words because of the connotation they immediately conjure. when I say I'm pro-life, you get a picture in your head.

I remember the day we were driving home from school passing by the McDonalds on the left and the buffet restaurant on the right. it was so many years ago, but every time I pass that corner, I still remember. there were people there, screaming, holding signs set with images of blood and death and broken body parts. the man behind us, or was it beside us, rolled down his window and commented to a red-faced picketer that they were on their way to dinner and the pictures were making him lose his appetite. the man spewed, "good. enjoy your dinner, sir," spitting out the final term of respect as though it was the filthiest curse.

I'll never forget. I think I was seven. I'm twenty-three now. I'll never forget, not as long as I live. but what I remember aren't those signs or the words on them. I remember they were vile, that they made my elementary-aged stomach do a funny sort of flip. but what I remember is that man. what I remember is the rage.

when I say I'm pro-life, I want you to know that I'm anti-shame. I'm anti-picket signs, and I'm anti-red-faced men spewing spittle and rage in the same breath, and I'm anti-bombs being flung into abortion clinics. I'm anti-whispering and I'm anti-pointing fingers.

when I say I'm pro-life, I want you to know that I'm pro-woman. I want you to know that I'm anti-rape and anti-victimizing. I'm against the twisting of women's bodies into nothing but sexual objects with the singular purpose of causing men to stumble. I want you to know that I'm pro-life because I'm pro-human, and they can go hand-in-hand.

when I say I'm pro-life, I want you to know that I've wrapped my arms around women who've had abortions and held them while they cried. I want you to know that I've heard the comments that those who claim to bear the name of Jesus make about "the least of these" behind their backs and under their breath. and it makes me sicker than those signs did, because He promised to wipe away all tears and to bring life where death would rather abide.

if you have had an abortion, I want you to hear this, so loud and so clear. I may be pro-life. but I am not anti-you. I am not, He is not. 

I know there is a better way, there has to be. I know that when the laws disappear that back-alley blood is spilled and women die out of fear and desperation. I find myself sitting with my head in my hands with tears in my eyes as I go back and forth. aren't we supposed to be hands and feet, life-bearers and love-bringers? aren't we supposed to hold and treasure and forgive, four hundred and ninety times plus one more for good measure?  aren't we supposed to protect all life, women and children alike?

how can both be done? oh Lord. there must be a better way.

so on this forty-first anniversary, I will sit in the silence with the ache burning deep in my soul. I am begging the Lion for a better way. 

:: gentle, gentle

{via pinterest}

 we are not gentle people. we have very heavy feet, and so often, they find their way to treading heedlessly on the dreams of others.

dreams are gentle things. they are big things, even if their keepers have no idea just how wide their wings might spread. they are delicate things, easily broken if they are not given care. it doesn't take much for careless fiddling to pluck each feather from its place and leave them a pile. and then the dreamer must rebuild, if they ever dare again.

there is sweetness deep inside, a kind of fruit worth savouring but so easy to bruise and destroy if we press too hard. and we are not gentle people.

:: but i want to be. 

i've started to focus on my mouth recently. the way my lips form words, the way they open when i inhale. what comes out with the breath, i wonder?

is it Light, radiant and luminescent, whispering Life into each soul that i encounter. or is it too late because my fingers caught the flame and pinched it dark?

because the seekers are met with sideways glances and the wrestling ones are given a wider berth, and the lonely hearts echo like windchimes in a wasteland, an empty beauty that everyone else is missing. and the whispers come, how dare they? they should know better. 

what you held in your hand, 

{photo property of dramaticelegance}

what you counted and carefully saved, 

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness. 

{Naomi Shihab Nye}

and i can't help but look at them and quietly weep because i've been there, just where they are. and maybe i still am, a little bit, because my footing is learning these mountain heights, where the other does leap like grace and i'm still white-knuckled. but i look to my left and to my right and see others there. beautiful ones with half-plucked wings wrapped in linen and eyes so full of soul that it takes my breath away.

this is my tribe, my Love-sisters. and we've made a circle of shoes on the ground where we all sit together, this holy sacred place that hums with hints of Lion's song still so alive in the earth. and we plant our seeds, one beside the other, and watch them lift their boughs to the sky and murmur, He-Who-Sees is here. 

and we hold hands and hum familiar notes that shimmer in the new-breathed air from a Lion's mouth, the place where we have all found ourselves. there is water there, for we are deep-living mermaids with transforming souls. there is fire there, soft and warm to comfort shivering souls. and softly, together, we seek His face.

and we are holding hands and whispering together

gentle, gentle 
:: we are brave

sdrawkcab // backwards

{via pinterest}

sometimes, i marvel at how the words of one can ring deep in the soul of another. 

it's one of those reasons that i find it a privilege to spend my Sunday mornings in my church. because we have people that resonate. 

but then i have to sit and question my motives. because i don't know if i take this gift with me when i step out those double doors. 

am i Martha when i should be Mary?

each morning when i wake up, i find myself making lists of things i need to do in the limited hours that i have this day. 

laundry and dishes and linens and groceries and menus. 

i have to separate myself from these things to find my quiet. and its only after every checkmark is in place that i take a moment to myself, that i share a moment with the King. 

it's backwards. 

i know i have my daily chores, my obligations and things that must be accomplished for my day to proceed onwards. 

{via pinterest}

but why is He not first? and why do i think that when i rise from my knees that i leave Him on the floor? 

this is why i am Mary, seeking Him in clothespins and laundry lines. 

finding conversations with my Lord amid the dishes and the passing crowds in grocery aisles. 

because eternity matters. 

ten years from now, my lists will be crumpled and tossed aside, and my chores of November and December will not be remembered. 

this sacredness, this seeking, will change my heart. transform my life.

i'm putting Him first. 

daily striving to leave Martha at the door, and live as Mary at His feet. 

stand for something // shabby apple

{Shabby Apple -- Che Bella?
from the Roamin Holiday collection

being a woman in this culture is hard.

being a woman of character, a woman who stands for something -- nay, Someone -- greater than herself is pushing the limits of difficult.

exhaustingly so at times.

we fight so many cultural lies that tell us what the measure of beauty is. we have molds in which we must shape and twist ourselves to fit. and oftentimes, we find ourselves wanting and broken from all the attempts to fit, from all the failing.

and there are places that make a difference. that make a change in the culture. that make being a woman of character and being feminine line up and work together.

confident, beautiful women. all shapes, all sizes. all smiles and all curves.

this is why i love Shabby Apple.

their mission statement is simple and straightforward:

We started Shabby Apple because we saw a need in women’s fashion that was not being met. A need to make women feel feminine and beautiful for what they wear, not what they bare. 

We offer flirty, stylish dresses a woman can wear just as comfortably in the office, at a family dinner, or on a date. 

Shabby Apple is a fashion company for women, by women, and of women.

this is why i personally have taken a step forward. 

DramaticElegance is now affiliated with Shabby Apple. 

{Shabby Apple -- Carnival}
from the Carousel collection 

i could not be more inspired, more impressed, or any more delighted with this organization. it's dressing to impress and causing the right kind of scene with your appearance.

 it's about wearing, not baring. 

a corner of the world packed with vintage-styled skirts and dresses for all body types, finding your most flattering fit, and embracing personal style -- including Mama Apple {maternity wear} and Shabby Baby {children's apparel}. there's even a darling Arts & Crafts with rich-toned nail polish, shadowboxes, and more.  

 it's more than just a website to buy adorable vintage-styled clothing and accessories. it's a place to give back and support women and children-targeted charities through each one of your purchases. 

please keep your eyes open for upcoming giveaways on my blog from Shabby Apple. 

being a women can be so hard. 

but doors are opening. boundaries are being pushed. the world is being shown that beauty doesn't mean being a certain size or dressing in a certain style. 

no...

true beauty flows from the soul. 

{i receive a 5% commission for all qualified sales that are generated by DramaticElegance from links and buttons/banners placed on my site.

all opinions regarding the company and their products found on this blog are my own.}

shatterglass

{via pinterest}

truth is not always a delicious thing in which to revel.

sometimes truth is harsh. not always in how it is presented, as truth can be laid out in a pattern of love that charms even the sharpest of opposition. but then there are still those who press fingers to ears and hum their childish la-la-la to block out any whisper that might make it past their tight-shut hearts.

and when He speaks and says,

tell My truth. speak this Word. 

and tender obedience follows this whispered command


and the hate comes, the tears can flow and the heart can break.

i pray that is allowed. for it is what i have done, and now i reel in this cold reality that truth is not always sweet to the ear or tender against the heart.

sometimes it cuts, and sometimes it is too much.

and so friends can flee. 

when i wrote this post {a emphatic yes and amen to this treasure by my beautiful friend Sarah}, i spoke what He told me to speak. i wrote His words, not mine. they flowed from my fingers and i pressed "publish" with a sense of trepidation and confidence in what i had just done.

i had obeyed.

and then the flood came.

i began to lose followers. first one, then two. then ten.

i began to receive comments some were rich, laden with power. hurtful ones. sharp-toned emails from women in my life and in this world of blogging. crying out curses on me for the language i used, for the tone i set, and for my lack of pious humility.

did i not want to be a mother? was my "calling" as a wife not enough for me? am i unwilling to stay in the "bounds of Scripture"? where was my silence? my humility? my prudent tact befitting a woman of God?

of course i do. 

of course it is. 

but wife and mother is not the end-all. it is not the end goal for all. some are called to singleness, others to wifehood. some are called to fullness of womb and home, others are handed this task of childlessness.

but that does not mean we are less than one another.

He chose the least of these. the lesser, the outcast.

we all still crave. 

i stand by my original words. and by my King.

i only speak what He speaks.

and this is truth amid the shatterglass. 

woman

{via pinterest}

{note: this post was inspired by this post from the beautiful Sarah at Emerging Mummy. it lit the candle under me. i can't be silent now.}


we are more

these Christian daughters of this world, these women and girls and widows and wives and mothers and sisters and singles and barren and overflowing with love regardless of this cobblestone we stand upon.

we are more. 

we are more than these invented definitions of femininity. we are more than kitchens and apron strings. we are more than decorators and mothers and wives.

we may be these things. but we are more. we are not silent. we are not insignificant.

we crave like you.

we crave voice. we crave depth. we crave more than modesty lectures and reminders to be the weaker ones. we need more than cooking classes and socials.

we do not have to have one extreme or the other.

either sex symbol or wallflower.

this must not be. 

we need more than our silent allotments of stand and sit and worship and listen and nothing more than this.

we crave Him. 

we ache to go deeper.

we want to search His will and see His heart and wrestle with Him in hand-to-hand until we find ourselves undone and exposed before Him.

He chose us too. 

and not only the housewives or the silent servants.


every woman has a calling.

and He chose us ALL. 

{via pinterest}

Martha, Martha. 

follow your sister, Mary. for she {this sitting enraptured seeker} has chosen what is right. 

he took those broken women. those defiled women.

those prostitutes at which the world painted whore. those vagabonds with broken homes and no husbands. those eager follows who sat and listened and yearned for Him. those water-bearers and thirsty souls.

every walk. every phase. every calling.

those hem-grabbers. those cross-clingers. those outcasts. those reachers. those tender open hearts who wanted Him and Him alone.

we are women. we are vessels, full of Him and aching to overflow.

we are brave and strong and beautiful and beloved.

we are more.

we are voice. love. power. 

His. 

Let us RISE to the questions of our time. Let us SPEAK to the injustices in our world. Let us MOVE the mountains of fear and intimidation. Let us SHOUT down the walls that separate and divide. Let us FILL the earth with the fragrance of Love.

Let us be women who Love. 

{quote from here -- more words to be read}


{linking with michelle, laura, and jen today}

Reflétant

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?  ~Winnie the Pooh

Tonight, I am taking the time to think.

I'm not sure what it is about tonight that is causing my mind to become lost in thought.

Perhaps it is the fact that the sky is finally calm...after almost three days of storm-churned clouds and pounding rain.

Or that I had my second dose of the final Harry Potter movie tonight, and was reminded yet again just how much my heart belongs in the stone corridors of Hogwarts.

Maybe it was the taste of the entire pack of strawberry Twizzlers I slowly nibbled through this evening until the wrapper was empty and the fruity taste of the only member of the licorice family that I enjoy lingered gently on my lips.

Might it have been the growing list of questions that have begun to collect on my blog...brimming with untouched inspiration, awaiting  my answers in the coming days?

Perhaps it was the way I spent my day...curled on the couch in the company of three other women whom I greatly admire, laughing and weeping and learning together amid plates of summer salads and fresh-cut fruit.

Whatever the cause, my mind is lost in itself tonight.

I'm not even sure what I'm thinking about, to be honest.

I'm simply overflowing with the beauty of life.

My thoughts dazzle me, as though the stars had melted with my dreams, calling me to waltz with them tonight.

There is much to be said for the beauty speaking...

...but there is much unsaid for the elegance of secret thoughts.

And then, when the Empress ran aground / And my eyes turned blue and green, / I heard a gorgeous sound, / And that's when it became a dream / When the sky fell in, / When the hurricanes came for me, / I could finally crash again, / And that's how I became the sea. ~Owl City, How I Became the Sea

Sans

Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.  ~Kahlil Gibran


To the right is a picture of me. A picture of which I am honestly not all that fond.

I am not wearing even the tiniest bit of makeup...my hair is wind-tossed and blown out of proportion by humid summer winds.


It's not my best look. Not even a little bit.


Normally, I would never even consider posting a picture such as this one for all the world to see. 


However, there is a reason behind this strange behavior.

PAICFBWAA. 


The above jumble of letters stands for People Are Imperfect Campaign For Bloggers Who Are Awesome -- a truly brilliant idea started by Olivia and her simply spectacular blog, Of Horsefeathers. 


The concept? To embrace ourselves as truly beautiful and imperfect women.

The challenge? To post a photograph of ourselves with all the external "beautifiers" stripped away. 


To be entirely real.

I will be entirely transparent and say that I am a very insecure individual. There are so many things I dislike about myself...so many things that, if given the chance, I would take away or add in a heartbeat. 

I struggle to love myself....and as such, I struggle to let myself be loved by others, even those who look me deep in my eyes and whisper "you're beautiful" every single day. 


In my own eyes, my own beauty is non-existent. 


And so, I war with myself.


But this is a step for me.


Perhaps a small step...maybe even more of a two-inch wiggle. 


But it's movement forward. 


Sans makeup...sans styling.


One tiny step at a time.


I'm learning to love me.


I'm learning to be imperfect. 


I don't like standard beauty - there is no beauty without strangeness.  ~Karl Lagerfeld