:: in which i'm Tangled up in Brave-ry

{via pinterest}

{over the next several weeks, maybe even months, i will be writing here and there from elora's thirty days of prompts. this is something that i have never done before, something raw and fresh and gorgeous and potentially painful. so please, be gentle with me. you can find all posts i have written from these prompts here}

every time i breathe, i am reminded what is like to be a woman in this day. every time i put my toes outside my own little circle, i find myself attempting to be swallowed by this creature that is confusion.

it's why i have so deeply adopted release as my precious word for 2013, and why it has been so hard to live the words i speak. or, in this case, type. more often than not, i feel like my soul competes for a place against the modern definition of "sense." in faith, in life, in motherhood, in the very essence of womanhood itself.

i found a poem someone anonymous had left with magnets on the bookshelf at the library today, as i sat and pondered being a woman, being a mother to a little dove-daughter who has woman brewing at her core. it fit, deeply, like a puzzle piece locking in a secret sacred place within my heart ::

worship Light through enormous shadow

rain, mist, storm will be

swim above

never beneath

dream

drive on

smoothly

luscious life can shine

:: author unknown, and they want it that way :: 

i sat with my little one today and watched Tangled. and sometimes we watch Brave and sometimes it's Beauty and the Beast. they're tales of princesses and true love and beautiful dresses, and people beat down my soul-doors and cry, how can you stand strong as woman but embrace fluffy dresses and princes on white horses?

did you know it's possible to acknowledge love and still embrace myself? because we all need someone, after all, and it's okay to have a bow and arrow in your back pocket but still look out the window and whisper, someday...

warrioresses have two hands, one for the bow and one for the Words.

{via pinterest}

:: but needing a warmth to curl against when the nights are cold doesn't make you a traitor to strength or a backstabber to progress. it makes you created with God-breath in your lungs.

because we all know He spoke truth when He murmured like breeze among Eden's leaves, it is not good that {s}he should be alone. 

and sometimes we just need to sketch the solar system on our palms and look down and realize that we are held in more than ink and skin but in Light and Breath from the lungs of Glory.

it's okay to release what you think you know and turn your neck so that you look behind you just to make sure that the Breath will carry you when you take that step off the cliff. and maybe you have to build your wings on the way down using the string from your bow and the feathers from your arrows.

but you're still warrioress.

beautiful {a fae*rie tale}

{via pinterest}

finding beautiful was something she found almost impossible. really, it was something she had to pursue, something she had to chase down. but it was always so far away.

and then she tucked herself in among running water and air-light bubbles. and the chaos still continued outside, the television murmuring and little baby whimpers as sleep claimed her bright blue eyes. but there was silence and stillness and fragrant beauty in the candlelight with the water splashing.

she felt a mermaid there, nestled among the sea-foam that would consume her if she was not careful. her skin glistened and her the ends of her hair dripped sandalwood and night-blooming jasmine. she started to hum, she couldn't help it, in tune with the soft flickering light that swooned around her.

she pondered the grace and wonder of the candle flame, how the light faltered in the breeze of her own lips but then returned stronger and brighter. was that beauty, not something with skin and eyes and hair and the curving shape of lips?

that it was the gentle bending, the fingers curled into hair and lips parted with the harmonizing of a familiar growing Song that was more than just a strain of notes and melody, but a state of being. 

was beauty a sort of surrender? 

:: it was, in fact, the ultimate. 

tribe :: being seen

{via pinterest}

i think i have found the most beautiful word :: tribe. 

and honestly, it's a word i used to hate. there was this movie we watched when i was younger. i don't even remember the name. but this woman called her children "the Lacey tribe" and never told people all their names because "life is short and time is precious."

and it made me feel strange, unsettled, even when i was eight. because why wouldn't time be precious enough to list off your own children's names? why lump them into this vile thing...this tribe?

and then i realized something for the very first time, just yesterday, at almost twenty-three years old :: being part of a tribe is about being known.  to take the idea and make it about being identity-forgotten, to strip away the you-light from this candelabra of tribehood, is to destroy the very essence of what it is to be.

because the Lion sang tribes into existence from the soul of the man who wrapped himself in fur and lied, who worked fourteen years for love, who dared to wrestle in the hour of his unknown. and from him there came twelve, and from one came the One. and there is something so precious, so unique about each tribal voice that led to the breathing of the Most High.

being in a tribe, finding your circle and your family of exhale :: it's about being see. it's about gazing and locking eyes with another, the brush of fingers over your cheek to leave a soft painted blessing on your skin.

{via pinterest}

// because you're seen. 

it's not about being smooshed into some sort of grey-hued mass where you blend in, where you simply are. it's about the circling of arms around you as sisters braid your hair and wind your neck with colour. and there in the caves with the soft lap of the water against the stones, the light flicking and the Light flowing from He-Who-Sees gathered in their midst. 

we see you, unique one. 

we know your name. 

and i know theirs. because i'm their family, and they are mine. and we take the time to see their lives and call each soul by name. just as the Lion who sang the stars, one burning flicker of light at a time, and whispered their names in the darkness. 

dearest daughter, 

I have known you long. 

i want to be the moon

i write poetry. it's what i do. and it's a gushing of sorts, a ripping of my soul wide wide open and exposing myself in a personal way to eyes that don't even know me save for the words i put down here. 

and there are parts of me that i want to just display so proudly on the wall of this little sacred chapel-circle we have built together, but i refrain and i hold back. not in a bad way, per se, but in a way that ponders things deep within. 

speak us a song, they clamoured, ceaseless. sing to us of all you know.
and she opened her mouth and gave all He had.
Light :: Life
{storygram by me, property of dramaticelegance}

and i started yoga three weeks ago yesterday, and i started storygrams a week ago today, and these little parts of me are slowly chipping away from the scarred marble and leaving something that is so painful and so breathtaking that i can hardly bear it all inside. 

and it's bursting from my fingertips with head tipped back and mouth open in a scream of something so glorious. a birthing, of sorts, because He promised that He bring something so beautiful through the pain. 

 i look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, 

and i wish i could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine 

so you know 

that there’s nothing but light when i see you.

:: shinji moon :: 

i refuse to ignore the Light. after all, how could i with the way it beams into my eyes and whispers in the most brilliant beams, I am here, daughter Mine. and it's baffling to me how i can feel something so powerful and so deeply and yet be utterly helpless as to how to put it into words. 

oh how i need You

oh how i need You.

:: all sons and daughters

rarely do i write and weep at the same time. but tonight, in the darkness, i am writing here, and i am weeping. and it is so beautiful. because this past week has poured me out like a drink offering in ways that might be trivial to some but have been so wrenching to this heart of mine.

but there's something about this emptying that leaves room to be filled, and He is sinking deeper into the core of me and my cup is running over and becoming a pool into which i am diving. and there we are together at the bottom, where the whole world is alive and humming to the never-ending notes of Lion's song. 

shine Your light from the inside out

:: You are the Sun, i want to be the moon ::

{phil wickham}

broken stems dancing

{photo by dramaticelegance}

today is the day i forgot my laptop. all i have is twenty-four coloured pencils in their brand-new packaging, and a black ink pen, and the new shinji moon book from rain. and i'm sitting here, tucked neatly away in the corner of the coffee shop, in the frustration, and i've decided to exhale instead.

because i'm eternally grateful for this life, to the One who breathed life in the whispering silence of nothing. and i have hands and fingers and the knowledge to write at all, and that's something alone.

and the homeless man from under the bridge came in with barely enough quarters for hot coffee, hold the cream, and i didn't look up from my phone. because the way he spoke made me uncomfortable. he spoke poverty and a world i didn't know, and it hurt my pride.

and then i looked up and saw the two flowers in the vase in the window, and one was whole and the other was broken. but i didn't judge the broken flower like i did the homeless man. and neither did the other flower in the same vase, in the same world. and their stems touched and draped one over the other.

and i judge me now. silly backwards upside down heart.

:: He promised, after all.

{via pinterest}

come to Me

all you who are laden-heavy

and I will give you rest. 

and He brought the long-haired one into His temple as perfume dripped down from the strands like material world whispers of love. and the men murmured under their breath with priestly robes clutched tight in holier-than-thou fingers,

"He must not know what kind of woman is touching Him."

and He reaches down and lifts her chin, and i catch her eye for the barest second. and i realize, she is me. and i am touching Him. and He loves, oh how He loves.

sometimes, i don't know who this woman is, either. the one who dares to remember His death until He comes. the one who wraps the scarlet chord -- yes, that simple sweet melody written in the blood of the spotless Lamb, the Lion of Judah -- around her soul and clutches there, tight. the one who wanders with the moon to the tune of clucking tongues and shaking head and scolding words.

and i wish i could write the way this music feels when He reaches out and takes my soul in His hand and softly whispers,

daughter
may I have this dance?

upward gaze ::

{via pinterest}

i've decided to stop looking down

because all that's down there is grass and dirt and my feet and the path less traveled. 

and He's not underground anymore, because He's risen and now sits among the stars. and i'm going to spend my hours in the stars this spring. no more shame with downcast eyes and hesitant steps that aren't exactly sure, that aren't exactly steadfast. 

now that she's back in the atmosphere

with drops of Jupiter in her hair

she acts like summer and walks like rain

reminds me that there's a time for change ::

drops of jupiter // train

people are living on the "even the..." too much these days, while i'm rubbing the eraser over those words until they disintegrate into thin rubber strands on the paper and get brushed away as far as the East is from the West. 

i'm resolving and loving regardless. and that includes loving you in the skin you're in, and looking past sex and race and orientation because those are words but they're are who you are, too. because He didn't stop and pass out checkboxes just to make sure the crowds were lovable before He stretched out His arms and poured out pints and pints of redeeming blood. 

so why do i?

so no more looking at the crowds with pointed fingers, Church-Bride. no more figures where faces should be. see the dove daughters and rainbow hued sons and paint-streaked kings and offbeat queens, just like He did. 

and that means loving you too. it means loving me like i'm worthy of His death and rising and loving and sword to the throat of Hell for me, oh all for me. and for you. and them.

:: amen.

so let it be.

:: be kind to yourself

{my little love and i}
photo property of DramaticElegance

they used to believe that a photograph captured a piece of the soul. with every flash, a part of the person was absorbed into the image.

sometimes i think that's still true. only in part, of course, for i know where my soul stays unwavering. but part of me pulled into the image...yes, i think i could believe that. because i judge my face in the mirror and the camera is a mirror of sorts, a mirror that freezes moments in time.

and i don't always like those moments.

:: be kind to yourself
the note on my mirror reminds. four little words that might be the hardest ever to swallow. but i have to be kind to myself, for my little one's sake. because she's started holding out her arms to me, five and a half months old, and already she silently calls for her momma.

and i know that soon enough she will be speaking, because she's already listening. and she reaches up her hand each morning with sleepy eyes and feather-soft touch from the bed we share and coos love to me.

she loves my face.
why don't i?

i have to learn. so i wrote the note in my best handwritting, the letters composed in what my friends call a fairy language, a love message to myself. because i have to learn to love myself before my little girl sees that i don't, and learns to hate herself the way i still do sometimes.

{via pinterest}

so i'm learning to smile for the camera, learning to reach out a hand toward the feral, frightened kitten that lurks under the porch. we need to make friends, she and i.

there's a promise written, one i will one day have tattooed on my skin like the Lion on my left wrist.

the King, your King, is enthralled by your beauty.

honour Him, for He is your Lord. 

::psalm 45:11

there is a King, mighty and righteous, a roaring Lion and a sacrificed Lamb. and He is captivated by me.

so for my little girl, i will learn to look beyond the mirror and into the soul the camera can't quite capture. the one He holds in the palm of His hand, the one He finds beautiful and worthy, covered in His blood.

Lion of Judah, enthralled by me.
oh, how can it be?

name-seen

{via pinterest}

we are all soul creatures, made to be seen; we are created to be cradled and tenderly adored. 

:: and yet we tremble at the thought of it ::

{the sacred life of rain}

the above passage from the lips of my bohemian sister have been haunting me since i first read them. i knew they were important, i knew they were resonating with me for a reason. 

i just didn't know why. 

but i do now. because now my warrioress spirit is churning up and my fingers and tangled with grief into thick dark curls and i feel like breaking down into two kinds of weeping. 

once for the joy of truth known.

twice for the agonizing grief of truth kept hidden.

dear Christian women of the world, stop. please, please stop. please put down the measuring cups and brush your hands down your aprons for just a moment, tip your heads back, and cry your name to the skies. i dare you. wherever you are, wail those beautiful syllables from earth to Heaven. your name, the one given by parents, the word known before the creation of the earth. 

the one etched in blood and ink on the pierced palms of the One who died for you, too. 

whoever told you that you had to blend into the woodwork, to be a wallflower and wait with lips pressed together in the silence and shadows...oh, sweet sister, they lied to you. 

because you are seen. and He craves to see you. 

did you know that? 

{via pinterest}

did you know that your name is beautiful and that He speaks it with a smile? have you ever been told that His heart sings when He looks down and sees His daughters with open palms raised to the skies and a warrior-beat thudding between their ribs?

the introverts who peer up from swooping bangs and sing in the silence, the extroverts who leap to bare feet and dance up one aisle and down another. you are warrrioress, and you are too, sister. 

the veil was already torn, dearheart. why do you crave to cling to shredded fabric and hide there with your face shrouded and your eyes down to the stones by your feet. 

He is not down, He is up! He is risen, and you are raised to glory. so tip back those beautiful faces and speak that name to the sky. speak for your daughters, those ones who need a hand to guide them down the bravery path just for now. their feathers are still forming, these dove-daughters, and they need a map to follow. and He made it, and you speak it to their little ears. 

this is truth. open, honest, raw, beautiful truth.

you were made to been seen, to be heard, to be known. 

leap in the meadows and roar with your Daddy Lion. cling to His mane and sing His song at the top of your lungs. 

you were made be to loved this much. 

{linking this warrioress soul prompt with rain and emily}

ordinary

five minute fridays. we write for five, and only five, minutes. no editing, no overthinking, no backtracking. linking up with the gypsy mama.

the word

ORDINARY

now GO...

this ordinary has been forgotten.

we forget those little bits of life that are so important...

the most important. 

we seek glitter and glitz and so much different that we forget to see those things that are right in front of us. those bits of inspiration that are daily lost in this shuffle of seeking extraordinary.

yes, forever should we strive to be living lives that are beyond the pale, strong and rich for Him. 

but even this is ordinary.

we follow a King who cast His crown away. living among the dust and dirt and death and sin and pain of this world. 

{via pinterest}

He who knew no sin...

...covered in this world's dust. with feet that needed washing, and yet He knelt and washed that of others. 

He was most extraordinary of the ordinary. this Man of sorrows, this King of Life. 

and we must not forget this place we hold in this world of shadow and strangeness. 

find the beam of light in the darkness. 

that one pebble along the beach.

that one moment in the passing of eternal time. 

this beauty in the plain. 

this is ordinary. 

this pursuit of the extraordinary. 

stone dancer

 a gift of inspiration from my precious best friend. 

and from my King.  

this inspired me.

before you even read this post, you need to dwell upon the above link. 

watch it once. watch it twice. but watch it first. 

i watched breathless. heart stopped mid-beat and breath caught mid-inhale in my throat. tears poured, pooled into the cleft of my collarbone, and yet still continued. 

i watched it again. i searched for what about it struck such a powerful, shuddering chord in my soul. 

and then upon the third viewing, my vision cleared. 

it's this concept of stone. this concept of dance. 

for every dancer is a sculpture. 

it's a curse and a love we share. 

we seem to find ourselves frozen like Medusa's victim, imprisoned in this body of the dancer mold. 

if you dance, you know what i mean. 

and even if you don't, i think you know, too. 

we're all statues. 

limbs of cement and hearts of rock. 

we start off so solitary. repeating the same lists over and over again, so alone in this pressing of a crowded world. 

and then there is a touch on our souls. that hand that comes alongside. a partner to see this road through.

a lover. a friend. a parent. a mentor. 

{via pinterest

someone to take our fingers and whisper

dance.

i'll catch you.

He'll catch us both.  

and mingled with His light, we soar. 

feet never touch the ground, arms raised in this gesture of 

come. 

let go. 

reach. 

breathe. 

and if we find that we must freeze into stone again, we are not alone. 

we become a duo. a trio. for now this compatriot has frozen with us. 

fingers brushed. hearts melded. 

breathing stone. 

{linking with jami today}

Reminders {41-50}

This has been one of those "Monday sort of Mondays."

Perhaps it is days like this that conjured up the idea that Mondays are indeed the bane of the weekday.  From my first moments of waking, I was overwhelmed with an onslaught of hurt.

So many dark clouds seemed to have crept over my beautiful ideals for this day, as if in an attempt to shut out any glimpses of joy.

I actually had no intention of even writing this post today. I simply poured out my heart in this post, and made no true plans to write anything of a joyful or blessed nature today.

I thought, maybe tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow, I will write my joys. I will be in better spirits, I'm sure, and then I will lose myself in beauty.

But my Lord had other plans for me this morning.

Write your joys, beloved one. 

I'm carrying you in this...is that not enough reason alone to sing? 

Be strong, dearheart. 

Courage. 

Write your joys.

And so, I will write my beauties...my joys...and my light. 

• 41. An hour and a half long phone call with Grace...discussions of yarn, knitting, paperback novels, and the comforting glory of God in the midst of our struggles.

• 42. The power of my rapidly growing church, and the majesty of the Mighty God who is backing us up through every single moment of growth...and through every moment of hardship. We are facing our giants, claiming this Promise. 

• 43. Dance rehearsals. Long, exhausting, beautiful dance rehearsals. I will never tire of seeing a group of disconnected, confused cast members suddenly click...suddenly understand....suddenly dancing in sync. There's a powerful beauty in this. 

• 44. Laughter. Oh, so much laughter. 

• 45. Being curled beneath my bedroom window, the cool wind and sweet half-summer-half-autumn aroma tickling my senses. I wish all days were like this. 

• 46. The comfort of my mother and sister, even across an entire ocean. There's something about my sister's fire of indignation and my mother's calm smile that wrap me in arms of indescribable sweetness. Two weeks until they are home again.

• 47. Knowing I am loved. Knowing that, no matter what happens, He loves me. That my treasured friends love me. That I am carried in arms of prayer and wings of mercy. 

• 48. Life. Breath. Salvation. Joys aplenty. Endless mercies. 

• 49. Grief. There is beauty found in tears, the release of weeping and pouring oneself out before the King. He cannot fix what is not broken. 

• 50. Watching Tangled for the literal ten thousandth time, curled on the couch with a five year old towhead angel of a boy as he touches my tear-streaked cheek and says, "don't cry, he comes back to life again. Promise!" 

I have found beauty in this darkness.

There is pink and blue and gold among this grey.

There is love here. 

...bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of His splendor. ~Isaiah 61:3

(Don't forget to enter August's giveaway! It's almost half over...don't miss out!)

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

Whimsy (Second Giveaway)

Item No. 1

Dreaming is an act of pure imagination, attesting in all men a creative power, which if it were available in waking, would make every man a Dante or Shakespeare.  ~H.F. Hedge

Before we begin, I have to admit...I was blessed beyond measure by each and every one of you that responded to my previous giveaway. For it being my first, it was exactly the encouragement that I needed to continue in this beautiful endeavor. From the lovely comments I received, three random winners were chosen.

And now, as August rolls around...the final month in these warm and wonderful days of summer...the second giveaway has begun

I am more than honoured to present the following pieces from the beautiful and talented Molly and Claire of Molly the Pirate and Bisou Bisou Beads, respectively.

Each one of these pieces is remarkable in its own unique and one-of-a-kind beauty. I am, once again, drawn to the faintest bit of longing to be one of the lucky ones who will receive these elegant designs.

As before, the items mentioned are shown in order throughout the post.

Item No. 1: Afternoon Coffee Petite Glass Earrings from Molly the Pirate

Item No. 2 (example)

Items No. 2 & 3: One (1) Scrabble pendant necklace of the winners' choice from Bisou Bisou Beads. Two examples have been included in the post. Two winners will be receiving this gift.

(IMPORTANT NOTE: If you are one of my lovely international readers...i.e. not from the United States...please comment as such in one of your entry comments. Many lovely thanks!)

Here is how to enter to win one of these three beautiful items (each counts as either +1 or +2 entries; leave either one or two comments per entry, respectively. Also, please include your email or blog link in at least one of the entry comments).

Entry 1 (mandatory): Comment on this post with something you've always wanted to do, a place to which you have always wanted to journey, a dream you have yet to complete...perhaps an item from your bucket list. (+1)

Entry 2 (mandatory): Follow this blog, and put the BLOG BUTTON in your side bar/lovely reads/blog page/etc. (+1)

Entry 3: Blog/tweet/Facebook about the giveaway (+3, one entry per, one comment per)

Entry 4: Go to Molly's Etsy shop, heart it (if you have Etsy), and comment on this post with your favourite item from her shop. (+2 )

Item No. 3 (example)

Entry 5: Go to Claire's Etsy shop, heart it (if you have Etsy), and comment on this post with your favourite item from her shop (+2)

Entry 6: Follow Molly's blog (+1)

This world is full of whimsy...of beauty...of so many perfect dreams, just waiting to be experienced. Life is meant to be lived. We were created to wonder...to muse...to stand in awe of this world and the Mighty Creator who knit us all together from our earliest moments.

Be a gypsy.

Be a sojourner in this world while you yet have time.

Inhale life.

Chase the whimsy.

This giveaway closes on August 30th at midnight CST. Winners will be drawn that night using Random, and announced the following day. Winners will have 48 hours to claim their gifts, or new names will be drawn. 

The best reason for having dreams is that in dreams no reasons are necessary.  ~Ashleigh Brilliant