brimming with grace {165-175}

{via pinterest}

i've started carrying Ann's book wherever i go.

it's small enough, which baffles me how a book so small can carry such a powerful weight of truth. it fits in my purse, but my soul can barely contain it all inside.

i'm full to brimming after only another four pages.

these pages were about pain. about this God we serve, and this mystery of pain.

this mystery of God's grace.

i know that we aren't supposed to know. but sometimes i want to know.

doesn't everyone?

i've been counting my blessings for several months now. i never once mentioned pain or aching hearts or any of those things that tend to make us shake our fists and scream at the skies. 

maybe i should start. 

because His grace is sufficient. His Word will not return to Him void. 

i look back now over my blackness and see where His light kept me walking when i wanted to crumple and die there. 

and so i'm learning. every sunrise brings me a lesson. and this one is hard, and i'm not sure if i like it, or even want to admit that i've been shown this truth. 

this is one i want to ignore. but i can't. 

{via pinterest}

because i'm still counting...

• 165. God's grace. 

• 166. the darkness that brings the sun into greater brilliance 

• 167. a sky full of stars on a cloudless night

• 168. homecomings and reminders that alone is never again an option

• 169. learning Him more, deeper with time passing. 

• 170. His lessons, painful and beautiful. knowing that He knows, and i will learn when that right time comes. 

• 171. first winter's snow, just enough to dust and melt away, but more than enough to light warm Christmas candles on the hearth of my heart. 

• 172. intercession for one another. moments of hands clasped over a thousand miles as one covers the other in blankets of prayer. 

• 173. thirty thousand words

• 174. rolling pins and the aroma of fresh pie dough. 

• 175. learning to be transparent. authentic. His hands slowly unveiling me. 

i'm going to keep a pen in my hand always. i'm still barefoot in His glory, because its starting to clear in darkness as well as light.

because these windows in my soul have been washed. 

and i'm still counting

because i'm seeing clearer. 

{counting to a thousand and beyond with Ann and my sisters there}

more and more {92-101}

these lists on Monday have begun to change me.

the book has changed me doubly still. 

the King has gripped my soul.

i never realized that this would be a transforming habit. 

i make lists as it is. a bit compulsively, i might add. grocery lists, to-do lists, wishlists and Christmas lists, gifts to buy and things to make. food to cook and dreams to fulfill. 

this is not a wishlist. not a collection of things i need or want or require to make my life a better place. 

"not of gifts i want, but of gifts i already have...this writing it down -- it is sort of like...unwrapping love." 

and so bit by bit

i unwrap this love. 

• 92. respect. from peers is given, from position is earned.

• 93. new cell phones, gifted for twenty-one years from my parents. phone calls that can be made, texts to be sent, and that doesn't turn off without a moment of warning.

• 94. steaming mugs of raspberry tea. warming after the damping from icy rain.

• 95. corner booths in old-fashioned cafes. 

• 96. "calm. peace. be still."

• 97. late nights in theaters, the smell of paint and sawdust in the air. 

• 98. a word from His heart to mine. "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." (Isaiah 41:10)

• 99. plane tickets purchased to my best friend's wedding. less than a month, and the date is here. 

• 100. the smell of new books

• 101. the wisdom of elders, the calming of friends, the sweetness of children.

i love these gifts of mine.

no more demands or wants.

these are gifts i already possess. 

this is eucharisteo. 

grace. 

thanksgiving. 

joy.

{linking up with this one thousand step journey}

Collapse

I regard the theatre as the greatest of all art forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being. ~Oscar Wilde

This will be an incredibly short post, and I do promise a much longer one tomorrow.

I am exhausted to the core.

But the words "overjoyed relief" do not fully capture the euphoria I am feeling at this very moment. There is truly nothing in comparison to this feeling, except perhaps Opening Night.

Twelve hours...

...almost 40 auditioners....

...47 jawbreakers...

...more caffeine than any one human should consume in their lifetime...

...an amazing team of seven passionate theatrical individuals....

...and my production of "OZ!" has been completely cast.

God is so beautiful.

Theater is tragically wonderful...flawlessly frustrating...and epic in all its never-ending facets.

As of today, I don my "Director" baseball cap.

Tonight, I start my trip down the Yellow Brick Road and dust off my ruby slippers.

I have been waiting for this moment for my entire theatrical career.

OZ! has officially begun.

Here goes nothing.

Soli Deo Gloria. 

Sirius

...know this; the ones that love us never really leave us. And you can always find them in [your heart]. ~Sirius Black, Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban 

Everyone has a favourite character...everyone has someone who stands out, inspires them, and tugs at their heart more than the others. 

Tonight, I am contemplating the life of my favorite "good" character, taken from the ink-lined paper world of magic and wizardry. 

Yes, I laugh and weep with the Twins...find my own self in Hermoine's bookish elegance...smile as Luna's oddities line up so well with my own...allow my heart to dwell on how Neville's awkward charm will never cease to make me smile.

Sirius Black.

Beloved friend to James and Lily Potter. 

The dark-furred Padfoot to the charismatic Marauder quartet, along with Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs. 

Animangus. 

Member of the Order of the Phoenix. 

Godfather and legal guardian to Harry Potter. 

Murdered by Bellatrix LaStrange on June 18th, 1996. 

And of them all, he is my the one that captivates me the most. 

Honestly, I believe I am drawn to the underdog...and please forgive my pun in regards to Siruis' canine attributes.

Redeemed from traitor to savior...the one accused, and the one to expose the true betrayal, and set the mouse to running...again, pardon my pun. 

He was also the first of them all to fall.

I still remember the way my heart wailed as the spell left Bellatrix's vile lips...almost as though it was too horrible to be true.

A hero fell. 

But not in vain.

And so, on the day when the world ends and begins again...

...at 12:15am on July 15th, 201...

...I will sit in the theater with the Deathly Hallows drawn on my left hand

and Sirius on my right.

"Sirius was a brave, clever, and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger." ~Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Inspire

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes.  Art is knowing which ones to keep.  ~Scott Adams


One thing that I get asked more than anything is how I get so much inspiration...how it seems like I have an endless pot of artistry, and it flows from me in a copious amount.


I will be honest...I really have no such thing.


I run out of inspiration on a regular basis. I start posts constantly that never find their way to being published onto the blog. 


I try to write pen-to-paper, or rather, fingers-to-keys...not letting my overly-analytical brain to get in the way of my dreamer's heart.


But, to my own deep regret, I turn my nose up at my own work and allow it to sit without ever seeing the light of day. 


There are so many things that inspire me, though...so many things that move my fingers to dart a new path across the keys. 

• Summer days, complete with lemonade and fresh-picked orchard fruit
• Those people in my life who love me, comfort me, and reassure me...who bless me beyond compare. 
• Rainy afternoons, the chorus of raindrops beating against the windowpane, the percussion of thunder acting as the perfect accompaniment. 
• The melodic streams of Owl City and Imogene Heap flowing out from my rolled-down car window into the humid summertime air. 
• The sweetest scents of vanilla, white jasmine, and lilac...the kiss of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and cinnamony peach cobbler...the natural scents of damp soil and blossoming tea roses. 
• The words from my favorite book...reminders that there is more to life than facts and numbers...parchment letters from Hogwarts, back-of-wardrobe fancies that may just lead me to my long-chased Narnian home, and the floral gardens of Jane Austen romance.

These things are my bliss...rich and sweet, strong and deep

These are my inspiration...full of light, rich with power.  

These are the gifts of my loving King...the soft whisper of my Savior reminding me that He cares for me closely.

This world is hard and strange and can feel, oh, so empty. 

But there are gifts here. 

There is love here. 

There is glory here. 

There is inspiration here. 

Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better.  ~André Gide

Paths

Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten. ~G.K. Chesterton

Everything in life is a path.

Every book we read...

...every story that floods our minds from the time we are children, has an impact on us.

They shape us...

...transforming us into the adults we will one day become.

From the time I was four years old, I found my magic in the pages of a book.

Books were my road, my map, and my compass.

Tucked away in the corner of my bedroom, I received my letter and boarded the train to Hogwarts...

...I slipped through the wardrobe to Narnia and gazed into the eyes of the Lion that would change my life and capture my heart.

...I whispered "I am that is" in my sleep and ran my fingers of the sandstone walls of Redwall Abbey, battling rats and wildcats alongside the mice and badger warriors of Salamandastron.

...I walked the knolls of Middle-Earth and joined the Fellowship in their quest to Mt. Doom.

...I found my first love in the Misters Darcy, Knightly, Bingly, and Brandon, and discovered that Prince Charming dwelled in Darbyshire and Kent.

These lands became part of me.

They sparked the fires of knowledge, and encouraged me to chase my dreams of pen and ink.

It was here I found myself.

Among the pages of a book, I found my footing.

I found my home.

So point me down the nearest path...

...press a book into my hands...

...and let me wander forever.

In memorium of Sir Brian Jacques, who left this world and journeyed to the gates of Dark Forest on February 5th, 2011. May you rest in peace, oh weaver of dreams and changer of souls.

Nouveaux (Novel)

Books can be dangerous. The best ones should be labeled "This could change your life." ~Helen Exley

I spent a portion of my morning at the library.

This might be one of my favorite locations in the entire world.

Granted, I am a huge fan of expansive fields under perfect blue skies, the whisper of a breeze in my hair as I tuck myself under a tree with a brand-new paperback and a soft blanket.

However, if I had to remain indoors for any extensive period of time, I would rather it be lost among the melodious stacks of our anciently elegant library.

There is something hypnotic about this place.

Almost as if a portal to Narnia exists somewhere among the aromatic books, aching to be discovered by an attentive and observant seeker of knowledge and fantasy.

Today, my fingers reached out and darted from one spine to another...

...as if begging my sensitive fingertips to ascertain if the information to be found inside was worth the moments of my time to read.

And indeed, I found several such volumes...

... exquisite volumes flooded with such words as to intoxicate and overpower me with their beauty and worth.

I have met my match.

I have found my weakness.

Who would have imagined that the feeble scratchings of ink upon a bit of parchment would cause tears to spring to my eyes and my world to be changed forever?

The written word is my weakness.

Be gentle with me, oh poet.

Be cautious with my heart, oh composer...

...for you have woven a spell over me

from which I pray

to never

awaken.

Bliss

Now a soft kiss -

Aye, by that kiss,

I vow an endless bliss.

~John Keats

My bliss is vast.

My bliss is leather-bound books...

Volumes of elegant poetry and dramatic prose, rich with the scent of age and wisdom.

It is wide open fields, bedecked with wildflowers of every hue and every type.

It is silver necklaces and delicately crafted earrings.

It's soft rose petals caressing my nose and acoustic guitars.

The scritch-ing of a pen against paper.

The Princess Bride and Chocolat.

A Jane Austen novel and a large leafy tree.

Red velvet curtains and the smell of a theater in those final moments right before a show is set to open.

Fluttering silk scarves and bare toes in the grass.

The feel of a new pair of heels and the whisper of a friendly word.

The tenderness of a lover's kiss and the lilting encouragement of the prophet Isaiah...

...the list goes on.

My toes in the sand as soft waves overtake them, and the twittering of birds along a soft forest path

An arm around me and a shoulder to weep upon, or words spoken in unison and the subsequent laughter.

Windows rolled down and music blasting.

Clear nights with stars that blaze and speak to my soul.

A pile of blankets and pillows in the middle of the floor, and someone with whom to share the snuggles.

A kiss on my cheek and fingers run through my hair.

Flickering candles and painted toenails in ten different colors.

Hot cups of coffee and fairy tales.

Late night conversations with my best friend, laughter that carries across the country.

A text message reminding me that I'm beautiful and that I am loved.

Whispers of Narnia and Hogwarts and secret lands yet undiscovered.

Memories of late nights in Peru and the smiles of brown-skinned children as they cling endlessly to my legs and hands.

On these cold February days, when all seems dead and empty under blankets of snow...

...I cling to my bliss

For warmth.

For light.

For color.

For hope.

For love.

Diary

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it. ~James Barrie

Visiting the library is like stepping into another world. Shelves and stacks of books line the room from ceiling to floor...

...the rich aroma of ink and dusty volumes whisper of worlds yet hidden in bindings of leather and paper...

...but yet, between these seemingly innocent pages, is danger and mistrust and anger.

For these books are more than just words...more than stories...more than records of fiction or fact...these are the thoughts of an author laid bare before our eyes.

Their secrets are no more.

For I have not yet met a writer who was able to strip all hint of personal emotion from their work.

In fact, the thing that makes an author great is their ability to step into the pages and let their hearts do the writing.

For it is an unmistakable truth that, for a writer to allow another to read their work is to expose their soul.

It is as if we have opened the pages of our most private diary, held it out to the world and begged them...

..."come and read my soul. Feast your eyes upon my hidden mind. And please...be gentle with me."

This may be why so many of us struggle with allowing the world to read our work. It is nothing if not a terrifying idea for someone else to take something that we have poured our hearts and souls into and bring it out into the light.

Pieces of the writer themselves have become lost among the words. It's more than just a fairytale or a retelling of a historical event. It's part of our story, a scrap of our legacy, wrapped up in these fragile pages.

The work itself might be perishable, but the dreams, hopes, and fears that are represented there are enduring.

So please.

Be gentle.