born from crushed aluminum

{via flickr :: creative commons}

I crushed a soda can last night. you can see the exact shape of my hand in the aluminum, the swirling white letters bent inward to form something more akin to a prayer than a brand name.

my not-so-tiny girl needed stitches, right on the even of her second birthday. three small black lines, twisted up with flesh. she cut her foot last week. it wasn't so bad. there was blood, but it washed away. there was a scab, but it was closing. and then last night, she tripped. and it opened anew, worse than before. so we bundled into the car, my husband + me + Marian (her in squawking high spirits, us not so much).

and the doctor said "stitches," and something inside me dropped so hard that I thought it might actually come out through my feet. they washed her foot and I cringed, holding her hand. they said "needle" and "Lidocaine" and I  made a hasty and less than dignified retreat. he made me sit, the doctor did, pressing a can of soda into my hand for sugar. I was white, he said.

and I sobbed on one side of a clinic wall while my daughter wailed, clutched tight in my husband's arms as he bear-hugged our fierce fighting child. they were hurting her to help her, and it made my momma-lioness roar vicious. and I crushed that soda can in my fingers until they were white and the can was twisted metal in my grip.

then it was over, and she was drenched in sweat but bandaged, sniffling into my shoulder. I buried my nose in her head as I rocked her, inhaling the scent of tears and sweat and strength and bravery, as much as a little-yet-fierce creature can exude.

this morning, I pondered as she nuzzled into my breast, an eager face at 7:02am beside my bed. it's been two years with this child, nine months before that of her nestled under my skin. motherhood is a funny thing. you can read every book in the world, and still realize that you know absolutely nothing when that child is born. and you have to learn. and they say that you learn from experience and doing and "as you go." but really, it's your child that does the teaching.

cliche? maybe.
true? entirely.

and so, as my Marian-girl begins her second year of life, my heart is swelling full of  holy hopes + wishes for her.

 :: I wish for her bravery to be acknowledged. she is not fearless, she is brave. 

:: I wish for Holiness. 

 :: I wish for delight in small things and joy in big things

:: I wish for her pain to be allowed. I do not want her to hurt, but when she does, I want her aching to be FELT instead of being brushed over or dismissed. 

:: I wish for a drawing near to Grace and the Throne upon which it sits. 

:: I wish for might. not power or fame or glory, but might. 

:: I wish for laughter (have you heard this child laugh? music.)

:: I wish for Kleenex and ice cream and shoulders and companions and light and Glory abundant. 

:: I wish for LIFE.

happy second birthday, my beautiful girl. 

I love you. 

the blessing of more

{via pinterest}

"can you show me the sign?"

my own words hit me in the face as I asked my toddler daughter to recreate the ASL word for "more," tapping her tiny fingertips against one another. she was asking for another cracker, another drink of water. we've been teaching her these simple little signs since she was barely old enough to hold up her head on her own. and now here, as we approach the second year of her life in a matter of weeks, she still knows every gesture.

please. thank you. milk. more. 

that last one still takes my breath away.
let me tell you why.

::

I remember seeing her, sitting casually on a too-tall barstool, her tattoos clearly visible, her blonde hair fresh with pink and purple streaks. she looked like a vision of everything I wanted to be. there was about fifteen of us gathered around her, listening to her speak over us.

her words caught me off-guard.

I want you all to see me as more than just the founder, more than your coach, more than a published author. I want you to see me as more than just that. see me as me, okay? 

the concept was so foreign. it didn't feel right. surely she misspoke. because how could any of us do that? she was all these amazing things, this powerhouse badass of a woman who had come up gasping from grief + destruction + hardship. she was a phoenix. how could I see her as "just her"? that was a disservice to her greatness.

wasn't it?

and this thing of her -- just her -- being more. I didn't understand it.

except then I sat down on the couch with her and looked into her eyes.

// how are you? 
// how are you? 
// how are you?

and then it started to click.

::

"can you show me the sign?"

that simple little phrase knocked me back. as I watched my daughter's baby fingers form that word in the chaos of my lunchtime kitchen, I found myself breathing a blessing over her.

you are more, Daughter of Eve. 

you are allowed to ask for more

and that more is you. 

you are Lion-breathed, filled with wild Holy breath from the lungs of the Most High

what more does anyone need but 

just simply you? 

dwell in your muchness, your more-ness. 

oh my daughter, accept the blessing of more. 

blessings on the sh***y

{photo by me}

blessings on the sh***y, she said to me, and I gasped. it's impossible not to gasp when someone lays prophecy over you like that after you confess to her that your Wednesday has been more like a Monday and there isn't much left except to sit.

she blessed the ugly, the parts of the day that we don't talk about publicly because they make everything fade a little, and no one wants to see your fading. except that David wrote a hundred psalms where he cried from the recesses of the cave, the ones where he begged for rescue and in the same breath, he whispered, in You, oh God, I put my trust. 

she blessed the tangled, the cracking spots, and I'm starting to see why. because those cracks let a little bit of light through. who says that breaking lets in the darkness? I've had a lot bottled up, tiny fists beating against the glass wall, fairy dust merging with gunpowder, and the glory was suffocating while I leaned all my weight on the lid.

and then she blessed the sh***y, and I cracked a little.

live into it, she urged, and I felt something give. those strange-faced ones, the ones that speak into my life without relationship, they warned against the dam, warning that there was pulsing wildness behind it, and it could kill someone if let free. hold it up, keep it together, press your fingers in like mortar.

but then I realized that I was dehydrating, that my skin was cracking and my hair was fading from fire-glow to guttering embers. fire and water don't mix, but that's the paradox, isn't it? because without Living Water, I have no air, and the spark flickers. and my fingers came free and the water gushed like uninhibited Elven stallions to drown the black horde clamoring behind me. it was deep drinking, full soul hydration, saturation in pure life.

live into it, she said, and I pressed against the thin places, the spots where the darkness flew out and the Light streamed in like holy saline straight into the veins of my soul.

and so, oh love, wherever you are.

blessings on the sh***y. blessings on the thin places. blessings on the broken glass, blessings on the tangled.

live into it, dearheart. pen your Psalms in the cave.

{my dear friend, Esther, the woman who spoke these words over me, wrote something of her own on this subject. read her words, won't you?}

love you, dearheart {a self-care for warrioresses giveaway!}

i'm learning the art of self-care. 

i'm learning that it's okay to whisper two letters that are hard for me :: no. i'm learning how to soak in life, allowing myself to sojourn to the art table and sink into paint and ink and paper. i'm learning that it's okay to shut the bathroom door and cry, because it cleanses, and that's okay. 

i'm learning to take care of me so that i can better take care of them. 

:: i'm learning how to embrace the self that the Lion found worthy enough to die for. 

and i want to help you do the same. 

so i have put together three amazing packages, three amazing love-gifts from my heart and from the hearts of eight other craftsmen, to show you that you are worthy of some tender love all your own. 

// you could win //

1. a spot in MADE :: a inspiring creative e-course created by my precious friend Beth Morey. i am taking part in this, and now you can join myself and a host of other beautiful artists in seeking God-centered creativity. the course begins on September 1st. 

2. a beautiful body, heart, and mind self-care kit which includes 

:: a beautiful handmade jewelry piece from sea of wild

:: an alstroemeria real flower petal necklace from enchanted planet

:: a lunar necklace from spiralDRIFT

:: two types of soap {vanilla sugar + lavender} from Inspiri

:: a custom handmade journal from my own personal shop, DEJournals

3. a tender loving care self-care package which includes 

:: lovely beauty products from Cosmic Bath and Beauty

:: a peppermint pumice + lotion foot care kit from Inspiri

:: two handmade surprise bracelets from hallie johanna

:: a yummy turquoise and silver "brave feather" bracelet from soulmakes

oh dearhearts, i am so excited to bring you these gifts. you are a warrioress, prized and loved beyond all knowing. you are treasured and precious. 

love yourself. it's okay. 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

taking flight // incense

i've been making observations about this faith of mine.

little by little, i'm stepping deeper and deeper into the Holy of Hollies, the place now opened from top to bottom when He whispered it is finished. and the ground shook with the intensity of how much He desired me. and now i'm shrouded in veils with Him, a tent in the wild.

and i'm seeking, floating like a mermaid with fingers through the seaweed, sinking deeper and deeper in the water until i close my eyes and let myself drown to be risen again with a new name, a moniker of Light.

:: oh let my prayer 

be counted as incense 

before You

{psalm 141:13}

why do we fear the candlelight and the whispered repeated words and the sweet smell of incense rising to the heavens in a cloud of delicate worship? it's so strange when we look at the words and somehow wrap them up in a Church-appropriate package with a bow on top and pass it out as the only way allowed.

because He went to the mountain for peace be still, and i'm following in His footsteps, or at least i'm learning how to walk that way. for now, i'm riding on the Lion's back like a lamb with a broken leg. and i have a warm blanket for those cold winter nights among the fur trees with the stars above singing His glory.

and i'm drawing a circle in the dirt and sitting there with candles lit around me. and i'm worshiping here in my wilder-ness to the One Who Sees, to the Wild-Maker who tucks feathers behind my ear and whispers

rise up on eagle's wings, daughter
and I will teach you how to fly

mantra

{via pinterest}

there's something about the unknown, something deep that i cannot fully explain, even though i'd like to try. we've become a people set on the solving the unsolvable, unmasking the hidden, and insisting on the knowing and the knowing now. 

but there's a lot of power in these unknown things. and it's okay to exhale and whisper, 

i know naught, save Thee. 

there is so much power in the things that are yet hidden, those things too vast and too beautiful and too strange to comprehend. things He knows, and that i don't. because He is God, and i am not. 

and sometimes i don't know how i'll take one more breath, because life is hard sometimes and the dishes fill the sink and the tears fall to match the shower drops, invisible to all but the One who sees it all.

and there are times i find myself on my knees with the water raining down on my head and strands of hair falling on my face, and the ceramic is the only thing keeping me from falling down through the core of the Earth.

but getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way

to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of 

:: air ::

{sarah kay}

because He is One, and He is Three. and i am body that dies but soul that lives eternal. and i cling to the Rock that is higher than i, and i stand in the storm. 

i want to live from inhale to exhale, and then live again. i want to burn with the holy fire that never goes out, never falters, even in the rain. 

and i lift my hands and sing fire to the sunrise, the mantra of the warrioress that thuds beneath my skin as familiar as my heartbeat. 

i know naught, save Thee. 

{linking again, only redemption, with dear emily and her community of imperfect prose}

please stop

{via pinterest}

this one's for the lonely

the ones that seek and find

only to be let down

time after time

this one's for the torn down

the experts at the fall

come on friends get up now

you're not alone at all

:: comes and goes // greg laswell 

dear world, please stop. 

stop battering down my door with a thousand voices telling me just how i should mother, how i should parent, how i should be. 

it's breaking me down before i've even begun.

dear fashion designers, please stop.

stop teaching us to hate our bodies, because we already fall down enough and we need to love this thing that carries our souls and hearts and breaths and dreams. it's okay not to be a size 2. 

it's killing our daughters. 

dear mothers of the world, please stop.

stop hating one another because one holds a baby to her breast and one chooses another form of life-giving food for her little one, because one chooses to return to work and another can hold her baby from dawn to dusk. 

i can't bear it any more. 

dear church, sons and daughters of the King of Kings and Lord of Love, please stop.

stop screaming hate when He said love, stop twisting words to mean what He never meant. put down the torches and the pitchforks. 

it's making Him weep

and He doesn't recognize you.

what else can i say but please. please, from the bottom of my heart, cloaked in all the love i can muster...

:: please stop :: 

circles repeated

{via pinterest}

:: i am drawing circles in the earth.
i am marching around my Jericho. 

those words, those two simple lines, started a post that i wrote on the last day of January. my circle journey had just started, and i almost want to laugh and then weep at how far i have come.

because all of me has become a circle. and i can say that with laughter as i watch my belly grow and grow and continue to grow. and i watch the mandella of prayer in which i have found myself kneeling become visible and evident on my skin, dark purple twisting lines that create

the most intricate
the most precious
the most beloved
and the most frightening of prayer circles that i have ever witnessed.

i've learned more about myself in these past nine months than i ever could have anticipated. and yes, it has been nine months now, at the dawning of this morning's fingers of rose and pale gold. i've had to release the rigidness to which i have steadfastly clung, because i wake up every morning without a single clue as to what i might encounter.

and this journey of her safely beneath my skin is almost over, and with a scream of mine and a wail of hers, she will be here...and this makes me tremble, loved ones. this makes me tremble in the most sacred of ways, and the most human of ways, as well.

{via pinterest}

i feel like this circle is fragile. like it could break if i press the wrong way, and everything falls to pieces. it's that fear again, that serpentine voice whispering my ear, you shall not surely die, but you shall be like God. 

and now i understand why Eve's temptation was so great, why the first woman reached out for the fruit that whispered lies of simple solution, of knowledge of what is and what could come.

but i'm letting Him guide my fingers from sparkling poison apples to something brighter, something dirty like Carpenter's sandals, something dusty like the hem of the Rabbi's cloak.

grasp Me here. 
and down on your knees is where you will find Me, the most clean and the most pure. 

because faith is found in circles of prayer and blood and freshly cut covenant
where the fire can pass between the torn pieces of me to lodge in the fullness of Him.