{a writer's prayer}

{via pinterest}

if my heart has one ambition

if my soul one goal to seek

this my solitary vision:

'till i only dwell in Thee. 

:: hymn // brooke fraser ::

to the Lover of my soul, the Authour of my story, 

i'm walking a calling, something You gave me. something You pressed into my hands the moment before You sent me earth-bound and whispered, remember to use this. 

and now i use it, or at least, i'm trying. i'm grasping at napkins and ink pens, whatever my fingers can find to  etch the words that stir like snow in the wind behind my eyes. 

so here i am, on my knees with words piling up around me. 

please. 

hear my exhale.

guide my hand to write the Glory

guard my soul to write the Right

grip the pen when i'm too weak to do it myself. 

let my words be mighty, let my words be Yours.

the worlds i invent, the lives i create, may they be filled with Your Light 

and so here i am, just as i am, ink-stained hands raised up. because oh Lord Jesus, i am scared. there is transparency here, the see-through openness that somehow seems to bleed onto the pages. and i am laying myself bare, the deep parts, the aching and beautiful parts. the Glory visible can lead to pain.

this is trusting You with all of me, every corner, even the dust. 

::amen. 

so be it.

painted words

sometimes i wonder what it would be like to live as a painter.

would it be easier than this thing of creating images with words?

i would have colours then, bright and pale and every shade and hue with which to fill an empty space with brightness.

i would have strokes, broad or thin, richly pattered or intricately traced.

i would have something tangible to show the world.

a canvas that i can hold up, like a child holding up a finger-painting,

see? 

this is what my soul sees...

it's hard to paint with words when i want them to read my soul in just the way i meant it, without any misunderstanding. 

i want them to read my painted words, see them in the way i intended from the beginning. 

i wish i could write in paints, that my words would flow from keyboard to screen in a swirling watercolour rush of blues and greens. 

emotion for tone, passion for hues. 

a living paintbrush that could show the world my soul without confusion. 

but i live with words. i'm a writer.

it's day 2 of NaNoWriMo. seven thousand words swirl with life and fire and so much colour that it threatens to overflow and spatter the ground with life abundant. 

so i see i'm finding the center, this middle ground between paint and ink. i'm finding the way to make sparks fly from keyboard ticks. i'm learning to let the colours arc outward.

to paint my soul with words so others can look and see

see what my soul sees

in black and white

and technicolour. 

{linking today with dear emily and others for this moment of imperfection}

armour // nanowrimo

{via pinterest}

this morning started at 5am. or rather, i wanted it to begin at this early hour.

however, i found myself dozing off instead of beginning my writing adventures.

so i suppose this morning started at 7:30am. i opened my laptop and stared at the blank Microsoft WORD document. then i started to type.

the document is no longer blank. now it is the home for 3,128 words and counting. it's the home for my dreams now.

i'm learning how to turn words into life. i've done this before, you know, but not like this. i've written a 50,000 word novel before. i've done NaNoWriMo twice before. but i'm doing this my way now.

i'm wearing armour this time. 

word armour, i suppose. 

i would rather my critics be paintbrushes that breathe. but i know they'll be cannons instead.

but i have to learn to let their bullets clang against my armour. i know they might dent a bit, might break my heart just a bit.

but it's my work. 

they can't do this for me.

this is one of those things that is between me and the Author of life and a keyboard of twenty-six letters.

these are my dreams in black and white dots and dashes.

i'm turning them into a dreadlocked girl dressed in purple with magic in her eyes.

this is just the start.

{because of NaNoWriMo, i am not going to do an elaborate giveaway winner announcement post. i do hope you will all forgive me. the winners, in order of items 1-4 are Quinn, Jess, Cassie, and Kimberly. congratulations, lovely ladies! please email me with your information with 48 hours to claim your items!} 

writing eucharisteo {152-159}

{via pinterest}

this is my last Monday of rest, in a way.

at least for the next month.

each day comes with its own level of responsibilities, its own little list that softly whispers take care of me, check me off. 


but as of tonight {or rather, tomorrow morning} at 12:00am, i will officially be launching into my third year of NaNoWriMo.

 this will mean i will floundering in word counts, coupled excessive amounts of tea and coffee to keep my tired, wrung-out brain from sputtering to a halt.

this is one more thing on my self-imposed to-do lists. and i bear the slightest fear of burning out.

but i know i won't.

because i have written eucharisteo on my wrist.

 i will weave this thing of gratitude, grace, and joy deep into my soul as i compose each word. i will not grow weary, nor give way to frustration or despair of completing my seemingly daunting goal.

and even in my chaos of daily life and 50,000 words, i will continue to count my ever-growing blessings, one at a time.

• 152. the support of family and the one i love as i embark upon this {perhaps a bit insane} mission

• 153. people in my heart who bear me up as Aaron to Moses, lifting my arms as i grow weary in doing good, never letting my passion drop. 

• 154. the voice of God, clear as knell in my soul. 

• 155. contentment in staying home when i would be rather have been at Relevant11. finding my place, my corner as i wait on Him. 

{via pinterest}

• 156. the cutting comments regarding my most recent post, and being featured on a site that rips apart Christian writings. Matthew 5:11-12 has never rung so deep and true in my soul. i cling to Him alone. 

• 157. trees decked only in orange and red leaves that line the block outside my window. the artist that paints my soul has not ceased her singing. 

• 158. my new affiliation with Shabby Apple. standing for beauty and modesty, and knowing that i am not compromising. this is a blessing beyond words. 

• 159. refreshment for my heart. freedom for my soul. this is Love, dear ones. 

and so i will be writing. i will be finding my moments with the King amid the black and white scratches upon the paper. i will be delving deep with Him this month. November will be beautiful. 

wallpapered from door to window with blessings. 

{linking with Ann today}

{the giveaway has been extended until November 1st to give me some time to balance myself out 

winners will be drawn after midnight and posted on the 2nd, along with November's giveaway}

lifeblood art

{via pinterest}

it's a curious thing. 

to be an artist, you have to embrace mistakes. 

you have to let your pain flow like blood in a safer way than trembling razorblades from wrist to elbow, making an outlet that won't take your life but just might safe it in the end. 

 your joy like fireworks exploding from your skin and fingertips and hair and eyes and lips and soul like so much jubilant light. 

your love stream from your eyes like a river, tears that aren't unbidden but that so many just won't understand to be anything but pain rippling out and out. it's not, though. it's perfect love.

that's what it is to be an artist.

after all, how can we know passion if we have never experienced it ourselves? how can we write, sing, or leap with emotions that are unfamiliar territory?

we have to embrace our imperfections. 

every last beautiful one. 

{via pinterest}

i'm preparing for a month of being laid bare. letting my soul pour into my novel, exposing my heart for this whole world to taste and touch and run their fingers over. 

maybe it'll do some good. 

a month of imperfections. a month of breathing art in like air. 

of being an artist

following my calling of art and passion and depth and soul. 

living here in imperfect art. 

creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes

art is knowing which ones to keep

~Scott Adams 

my own

{via pinterest}

there are plenty of mornings when i have no idea what to write about. it might just be one of the most frustrating things i have ever and will ever encounter in my life.

writing is my life. my pillow is words and my tongue is prose and my clothing is poetry and my blood is ink and inspiration.

and so when it is illusive, i feel as though i am missing. melting. a fog being sieved by the rocks and trees and mountains of this very real thing called life.

i look at this world and think

how can i not write? there is so much here. 


and in my dreams, inspiration comes. in those last moments before slumber overtakes, my mind is full to overflowing with this and that and so so so much richness that comes in the fog of dreaming while awake.

but then i awake, and i have lost it all.

inspiration is less frightening that i wish it was, i think.

 i wish i had a reason to be afraid of knowing this light. because there is power in this light, and it's my calling to bring it here.

His wish. 

share My words, dearheart. 

and it's frightening. because this is big.

i sit, quilts tangled and sunlight streaming. voices calling nonsense from the street below.

{via pinterest}

and i touch the play on my pandora and let the music envelop.

i let the phone ring, and press my best friend's voice to my ear as she spills life and pain and confusion and delights into my waiting soul...because she's good at that for me.

i soak myself in life. 

this melody of inspiration that never stop flowing, the one i just have to reach out and touch.

so i run fingers back through tangled locks

and smile.

i need Your grace

to remind me

to find my own.

{linking with laura -- this playdate with the King} 

eyes {writer blog}

i have an obsession with my character's eyes.

actually, i'm obsessed with eyes in general.

maybe it has something to do with the spiritual connotation found behind these rich pools of ocular beauty.

the eye is the lamp of the body

it's true, though.

so much can be spoken through a simple glance. a moment spent gazed into another's eyes can be enough to pass along an entire conversation and more left unspoken.

...

(to partake in the rest, go here)

Launch

Today is a beginning.

Today marks the launch of an answered dream.

It is the start of something which I have been planning on doing for quite some time, that has now fully come to fruition.

Today is the start of answered prayers.

today, a new writing blog was launched.

In collaboration with my best friend and literary soul sister, Alexandria (Petals and Freckles), we have together begun a writing blog. It is a place to post our thoughts, our inspiration, and our novel-esque ideas for the world at large to enjoy and survey. 

It is also our headquarters for our 2011 NaNoWriMo endeavors. We are writing separate novels, but we will be cheering and coaching one another on, and this new blog gives us the most wonderful opportunity to walk this road together. 

We will both continue to post on our respective blogs as normal. So please, fear not, loves. Nothing is being lost or moved from here to there. 

It is simply an expansion. 

And so, with awe and wonder at the majesty of my King, I am humbled and honoured to present to you

Eat, Pray, Write

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

Soul

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body. ~C.S. Lewis

I haven't posted for two days.

Yes, I know this goes against my plan to post every day in the month of February.

Honestly, though, I couldn't bring myself to post.

I just wasn't inspired.

And I couldn't force myself to write meaningless posts that didn't come from my heart just to fulfill a "goal."

Because, you see, when I write, I don't just scribble down random, trivial things for no reason.

I just can't bring myself to write like that.

Everything I write has a purpose.

I pour part of myself into everything I write.

I never understood writers who used their writing as a cover...

...a disguise to hide themselves from the world and remain anonymous.

Maybe it's my personality, but I am unable to separate myself from my writing.

I want those who read my blog to be as observers gazing through a picture window, gazing up at the stars and moon set in the black fabric of the night sky.

I want them not to see mere words -- black marks upon a page.

I want them to see into my heart.

I want them to see my soul.

I want them to see Him through me.

So read with caution, gentle reader...

...for what you see here is my heart.

So please, handle my soul with care.

Illuminate

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all. ~Richard Wright

There's this thing with writers. It's something I've noticed with almost every blogger, poet, or novelist I have ever had the pleasure of knowing over the years.

We write what we know, not what we see.

When we write, we sit down in front of our computers or take our pens in our fingers, and begin to express everything that our hearts are feeling...that our minds know...that our souls ache to reveal. Every written document in the world has the personal stamp and touch of the writer brushed across it like an invisible watermark.

Recently, I took the time to go back over my blog and read the past fifty-two entries that I have published since May of this year. It was a bit frightening and a bit like revisiting an old friend.

It's similar to the feeling a young woman might get when going back over some old private diary or rereading old unsent love letters. There are sprinklings of amusement, maybe even a flush or two of private embarrassment. However, it also brings with it a fairly large portion of self-reflection and recollection.

The same was true for me. As I went back over my old posts, re-reading my ramblings, I was reminded of how far I have come in the past eight months. So many things have changed, and I will admit, my life is in an entirely different direction than I ever could have anticipated.

And then I sit back and look at what I had written and marvel that God allowed me to see a peak of something so sacred...so marvelous...as a fragment of His plan for my life in the months that have passed and in the years yet to come.

It's like He's given me this "gift" of writing as a sort of illumination to help me see the road He has laid out for me.

Sometimes, it's a flashlight...a broad beam leaving nothing to the imagination.

Other times, it's a flickering candle...a tiny little splash of light cutting through the darkness, just enough for me to follow His footsteps on the path.

But either way, He gave it to me. I just have to keep moving forward...

...upward, inward...

...closer and closer...

I have no way of knowing what the end of 2010 holds for me. Nor do I have even the faintest idea of what 2011 will look like -- where I will go, who I will become...

...all I know is that I have this candle of words in my hand, the King of Kings at my helm, and an incredibly valiant team of warriors on every side.

I'm gonna keep writing what I know instead of trying to write what I see.

I'm gonna make it.

One word at a time.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God...in him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind...the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." ~John 1:1,4-5

Real

I have OWD. Obsessive-writer disorder. It's a fact.

I will spend hours staring at the same blank page, racking my brain for something to write. And it can't be just any old nonsensical idea. It has to be perfect. Flowing. Grammatically correct. Poetic, while still being real. Tonight alone, I have started and erased about ten different blog posts.

Why?

...so many reasons.

I have people that read my blog that don't even know me. All they have are these words, sporadically typed up and published by a nineteen year old wanna-be writer who's nuts about Jesus Christ, cares too much, loves until she's got nothing left, and might just be a little be insane.

And honestly, I was at the point tonight when I didn't even know if I was gonna even write anything worth publishing. Again.

But then, I got to thinking.

There's about five people in my life who know me on an extremely intimate and personal level. They've seen the beauty, the ugliness, the tears, the heartbreak: my husband, my parents, my sister, and my two best friends. And every single one of them has told me at one point or another that I mean the world to them...just they way I am.

Last night, my husband kissed me in the grocery store parking lot for no reason whatsoever. He just grabbed me, put his arms around me, and kissed me. We've been kissing one another for almost two years; the kiss itself wasn't uncommon. But there was something about that innocent kiss that made my eyes well up. Jon has endured a lot in the 2 1/2 years that we've been together, and even more since in our 9 months of marriage. And even after the fights, the pink socks, the late dinners, and the lack of blankets, he still loves me enough to sweep me off my feet and remind me of just how much he loves me.

So now, I've decided. No more over-scrutinizing. No more self-degradation.

I'm done.

I'm going to be real. I'm going to shoot straight. I'm not going to worry about being the world's best blogger, or the most perfect writer. I'm not going to hide any more.

I'm tossing my mask on the rubbish heap.

I'm going to be me.

Girl, 19. In love with and sold out for Jesus Christ.

Madly in love with the man who stole my heart and made me his bride.

Artistic, emotional.

Loving hard, caring deeply, heart on my sleeve.

Blessed with two of the most amazing parents and sweet-hearted sister in this world.

Has two incredible best friends, and a whole host of remarkable friends who make my world shine.

Slightly insane, but that's okay.

Because that's me.