from me to you :: housekeeping notes

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oh my dearhearts, my sweet loves, 

each one of you has blessed me in such exponential ways. since this place first breathed in 2010, the outpouring has been beyond my wildest dreaming. and now, four years later, each one of you has gathered me into your arms and we have murmured together of Light time and time again.

so rarely do i write a personal note in this place, but i felt the need to step forward with a small bit of housekeeping as June is drawing all too swiftly to a close, and the changes to Google Reader and GFC are coming around the corner as of the first dawnings of July. 

i will still be writing in this place, of course, and the address will stay the same. however, for following and staying connected, i would ask each one of you to follow me via bloglovin. it is so very simple to use, and i will admit readily that i have started to fall soul-over-heals in love with the format. 

this is a quick tutorial as to how to make the switch from Google Reader to bloglovin. 

oh, my bravehearts, this is a new chapter in the blogging world. and i won't deny that i have felt a bit tossed about by these changes. my fingers grasp tight onto the familiar and so often refuse to let go. but He is unchanging despite the ever-turning.

there are other ways to stay connected with me, too, of course. and i am always sitting with open arms for you to sit in my circle with a warm cup of tea or a glass of wine and simply be with me. 

// Facebook :: twitter :: pinterest :: instagram \\

may blessings in His Light abound as we continue, my precious gypsy tribe

:: rachel

rage :: Light

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i heard a poem when i was in the first grade, and it's haunted me ever since.

i didn't know what the words meant, but i knew they had meaning. i knew that i would find out one day, if i just kept searching. 

do not go gentle into that good night

rage, rage against the dying of the light

all my life, these words have followed me. my entire life, i have heard this words whisper into my soul, a mantra of sorts that my soul sings over and over, a battle cry.  

now, i think i'm beginning to know what they mean. 

i always thought that rage meant to be angry, to be furious at the extinguishing of the light. but it means more that just anger, than just angst. 

it's fighting against it all. the fear, the expectations, the trepidation. it's warring against anything that quenches this Light. 

it's about stepping from the shadow into the Light, hands up and fingers parted to let every fluttering beam to slide into every crevice to let oh, so much strength flow into my every pore. 

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it's about finding the power. because the Light, the Son is more powerful than we are. 

rage, rage against the dying of the Light. 

maybe the author didn't mean for this piece to be taken this way, but isn't that what art is about? freedom and expression.

and so i read these words over and over again. they've pulled me forever, and i think they will always weave some kind of spell over me. 

it's all about stepping from broken to Grace, from dust to sovereign. and so that's what this poem says to my heart as Christmas comes and the the mystery of skin and flesh and bone and God and Eternity meld together with stable straw and beating hearts. 

and so as i stand under twinkle lights and white pine trees with silver and red and green, i have a hand raised. 

because i am not going gentle into that good night.

and i will rage, rage against the dying of the Light.  

word // journey

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i marvel at how far i've come.

nineteen months of words.

this process has changed me, more than i expected. because i'm not just writing words anymore, composing my own thoughts into sentences strung together with grammar and punctuation.

i've joined a community...could i even say a family? precious ones that inspired and treasure and contemplate and push me upward and onward. fellow artists and soul searchers, those who close their eyes to boundaries and open their hearts to the King.

i never expected this when i first began.

and now, the new year is a mere thirty-three days away. and more words will come.

but God and i are choosing one word in particular for this coming year.

a word for life

for light and for love

for the sake of soul and inhaling the sacred. 

one word for transformation.

before i started reading Mandy's blog, i have never even considered the idea of choosing a word for the year. but as i read more -- this journey of a woman who stepped from existent to artist -- i found my soul being pulled.

it was a tugging at first, perhaps an inkling of whimsy in the idea of choosing a word. because isn't that what it is, i smiled?

and then the tug became a pull. and the pull became a whispered command.

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:: choose a word with Me :: 

because this was not whimsy. this was mystery. this thing of holding empty hands that so often grip at cluttered nonsense for

more 

more

more

lifting empty palms to Heaven for just one gift. this is radical.

this word is still unknown. my King and i have much to discuss, much to dwell upon, and much to grasp.

i'm expecting change. my journey will be here on this blog, and there in my soul.

i'm following His pull. this still small voice whispering my word to the silence.

my word.

oh, i cannot wait to hear.

Journey

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

Recently, I spent the day with my family in a small, picturesque town. We spent the day wandering up and down the quaint shop-lined sidewalks, popping into those stores that caught our eyes and spending more money than we should have.

Also, we walked. A lot. By the time 2:00pm rolled around, my feet (clad, of course, in my extremely worn out sandals that make those around me shake their heads) had reached their limit.

As I sat on a wrought-iron parkbench placed conveniently on a street corner, I took advantage of my resting place and began to consider the people that were passing along the sidewalk on their own individual journeys.

My brain and my heart began to work together to invent a strange sort of inspiration for my ever-active mind to ponder.

I started to contemplate my own heart's journey. Where had I been? Where was I going? And what sort of steps would I need to take to get to my final destination -- wherever that might be, in the long run?

I allowed myself to drift back in time -- back to those early teen years that, at times, I would just as soon forget.

I remembered my Freshman year of High School, and the dark place of despair and isolation in which my heart had chosen to lodge.

I remembered the successive years -- the journey that God and I had taken together. I remember those nights that I would stand beneath the midnight sky: no canopy save the celestial lights that passed their silent way above my head, and no companion except the One who heard the silent wailing of my broken heart.

The more I thought above these times in my life, and the years that followed, the more I realized that my travels had not been in vain. In fact, no matter how much I wished to forget those times and pretend that they had never been part of my life's story, it would be nothing if not foolish.

For, no matter how painful and devastating those moments had been, they had been vital measures in the complicated and continuous score that compiles the symphony of my life. They were the path, laid before my tired feet.

My journey is not over. I have no doubt that the road ahead of me is filled with potholes, tripwires, and roaring lions. I know that the Valley of the Shadow of Death lies before and behind me.

However, I also know that I have a Guide and a King who is greater and bigger than any of those obstacles that may lie in my path. My feet are covered in the shoes of His peace, and I have been given a map straight from His heart.

...my way is secure.

...my destination is sure.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. ~Isaiah 43:2-3

Butterflies

The other day, as I was driving down my parents' driveway, something caught my eye.

A small cluster of yellow and white butterflies were darting around the wildflowers growing in the ditch.

To most, it might have been small and insignificant...a mere trifling speck on the bigger picture of my life.

But at that moment, it struck me as a more powerful, more dramatic thing than a range of mountains or a grove of redwood trees.

Why?

Because, in so many ways, I am that butterfly. Or rather, I yearn to become that butterfly. In fact, I am currently trapped in the state in which this winged flower had once found itself, perhaps only mere days before.

I am trapped in a cocoon -- a chrysalis -- of my own selfish heart and emotional whirlwinds...I am bogged down, overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding and guilt.

There is nothing I want more than to break free from this prison of self-destruction and broken dreams...

...to spread my wings and spread my fragile wings towards the warm sunlight, and fly as if tomorrow was nothing more than a whisper on the wind.

And it's then that I fall to my knees, lost in the realization of who I am and how far I have fallen from the purpose for which I have been created...

...it is then that the King of the Universe reaches down and lifts me up from the ground.
He breaks my prison.

He sets me free.

He makes me beautiful.
And He gives me wings to fly.

As the God man passes by / He looks straight through my eyes / The darkness cannot hide / Do you want to be free? / Lift your chains / I hold the key / All power of Heav'n and earth belong to Me...~"Set Me Free," Casting Crowns

Outside/Inside

Strength is my weakness.

There is something so imperative, so crucial about strength to me.

I have to be the strong one.

I have to endure things for others that they themselves cannot seem to handle at that moment.

In that split second when your world is falling apart, when your heart is breaking, when you're at the very end of your rope, I have to be there.

I have to be strong for you.

If I love you, I carry stuff for you. It's the way I've always been, and I can't see myself changing any time soon.

But. I gotta be honest.

I'm a coward.

Behind this mask of strength and endurance, I'm shaking like a frightened puppy during a thunderstorm.

On the outside, I'm calm and put-together, focused entirely on making sure that you are alright and that you know that you have someone to lean on during this -- the darkest moment of your life.

But inside, I'm screaming. My mind is going a hundred miles a minute, throwing things together and tossing them out in a split second. Nothing makes sense. I have to keep telling myself...

...over and over and over again...

breathe. breathe. breathe.

Rain pelts my face, blinding me, mixing with my tears of sorrow, frustration, and guilt. The laughter of my own cowardice is shrieking in my ears.

"Afraid. You're afraid. Coward."

I have to allow myself to shut my eyes, wrap my arms around you, and lock out my fears.

Inside, I'm on my knees, eyes closed, hands raised as high as they can go.

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs to the thundering skies...

"TAKE THIS, JESUS! I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH!!! I NEED YOU!"

And then, He comes for me.

In my mind, Jesus has a roll of duct tape and a warm blanket.

The duct tape is for Satan's mouth, to keep the lies away.

The blanket is for my heart.

And for yours.