stony place :: ebenezer

{via pinterest}

i'm still in the stony place. the  rocky, rough place that i think we all touch from time to time.

the place where i'm learning to rest for a time, but i feel like i can't let myself breathe without guilt. 

inhale no rest

exhale too much to do

it's the funny place where we feel guilty for doing right, for stopping for a half a moment just to breathe. because i'm learning to embrace the do not need to do instead of dwelling on the must do now or else. 

and the whole day yesterday, i had a window open to write a new blog post. but i never wrote a word. and i thought it would be a bad thing, that i would wake up to negativity or a heart overflowing with shame for slacking. 

but i didn't. 

:: i woke up breathing ::

and that's what i'm supposed to do. and i made toast and coffee and ate both slices, slow and without worrying about the clock with the silence of the house and the whisper-scent of winter breezes that smell like springtime. 

and i still felt strange, but i didn't know why. but it was a good kind of strange, like icy-cold soda on the hottest day and the way it runs down from lips to stomach and you feel the coolness all the way down.

so i'm taking these stones that make my place rocky, and i'm building an altar. and i'm carving ebenezer into the bottom stone. 

here has my Lord helped me. 

{linking my broken prose with emily today}

resting Christmas :: five minutes

if i'm not careful, December can wear me to the bone.

it's that way with beautiful things. if we aren't careful, we can loose ourselves in the miscellaneous of the year and let the big picture fade into a ruined negative. 

i can become full of calender dates and evergreen, making endless plans and fretting over budgets that never seem to end. 

and when Love comes, my oil is all gone, because i realize that i've forgotten to store up any for myself. and Love is there, and He takes me still as broken and worn. but the blessing that could have been...that's faded and forgotten.

it's fear that brings me racing.

must be perfect

it's Christmas...my perfection.

no more resting until the work is done. oh, how weary, how tired this makes my soul.

i need to remember. i need to take the time to reflect upon another weary young woman, the one who strove through confusion and exhaustion.

the little one with the heart of a King beating in her womb.

the tired pregnant woman who found her rest close to the tiny feet of the newborn Messiah.

whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty

so i'll join her there, in that place of tears and stable straw. and we'll gaze with wonder and awe. 

this is the right kind of peace.

the right kind of tired.

{linking with Lisa-Jo for these five minutes of Love}

{also, the November giveaway winners will be announced this weekend. thank you for being patient!}

resting lists {119-128}

at the time i'm writing this, it's 12:30am.

and for whatever reason, i can't sleep.

actually i know why i can't sleep.

i have lists in my head. like a tumble drier, all the things i must do and all the things i must not forget are passing back and forth and back and forth through my tired mind.

i have lists. and i am making more lists.

i leave for my best friend's wedding in a little more than 16 hours. my suitcase is gaping open on my bed right now, overflowing with too many blouses and not enough shoes. everything i need to be a maid of honour, everything that is required of me to be gone for a week.

what to pack. what to leave. what needs to be done at home. programmed coffee pots and eight loads of laundry.

i can't forget anything.

so i make lists.

and then i remember. oh, precious recollection.

today is Monday. and i have another list to continue. a list that won't make my head ache or my fingers tremble as they grip a pen.

a list that will refresh. renew. give me the grace of energy and the sweetness of sleep in one swift movement.

and so i write it now. at 12:36am. 

• 119. oversized suitcases

• 120. one more late night phone call

• 121. answered prayers and gifts restored

• 122. unlocked apartment doors on days when i locked myself out

• 123. warm quilts and downy pillows that call my name at this late hour

• 124. Alex. the beautiful bride-to-be. she remains my dearest friend. 

• 125. a great-grandmother that clings to life...perhaps a chance to hold her close and whisper my own goodbyes before she goes to Him

• 126. my father's laughter, robust until the humour strikes and then the squeaking and the tears and the uncontrollable joy that spreads like wildfire around our tiny ice-cream laden table

• 127. airplanes. oh, how i love to fly. 

• 128. sleep. rest. 

it's time now.

time to let the lists go and the sleep to come.

no more lists. 

only these blessings to comfort and rest.

today is just beginning. 

grace alone

Photo: the sacred life
Artist Unknown

Sometimes, it amazes me just close to the edge I can get.

Just how much I can wander right along the knife-blade without tipping downward.

forward.

Just how far from the seat of forgiveness I can step before I realize that the ground has since disappeared

i am walking on Grace alone.

Sometimes, I find myself at a loss for how much poetry I dream and then promptly forget upon my waking.

It is a powerful ache to realize just how much this world of chaos, of tears, of sleep-stolen moments and overbooked days has ripped my art from me.

It used to be a poem I breathed...a poem of mercy and love that never ceased but only continued to run and run until the stanzas were breathless with words of Him.

And then I awoke. And I forgot it all again.

And then I remember.

i walk on Grace alone 

that lingers in the day and in the night, in the waking and the sleeping.

i breathe His poem.

all hours. all days.

No more knife blade. No more ripped parchment.

i walk on Grace alone. 

Linking up with Emily: imperfect prose on Thursdays, even though this is a Wednesday.
This may become a weekly song.