Rêve

I dreamed a dream in time gone by / When hope was high / And life worth living / I dreamed that love would never die / I dreamed that God would be forgiving / Then I was young and unafraid / And dreams were made and used and wasted / There was no ransom to be paid / No song unsung, no wine untasted... ~I Dreamed A Dream, Les Miserables

I dream a lot. 

It's something I've dealt with ever since I was about four years old, and I discovered books. 

It was like a door burst open in my soul...I found myself entirely unable to reign in my imagination. 

Since then, I have come to my own conclusion.

Everyone's a dreamer.

We all have our secret longings, whether we're willing to admit them or not.

Some of us are more expressive with our dreams. We write bucket lists, pouring our innermost longings into our imaginings, be they exceptionally easy or intensely complicated to achieve.

They are all different, depending on the dreamer, but every wish and every heartcry has one thing in common.

There is passion locked behind each and every dream.

Maybe it's something we found in the pages of a book, a winding forest path lined with fairies and mysterious flowers found nowhere else.

Or perhaps it's something we were born to explore...a familial heritage that we too seek to achieve. 

 

Regardless of the dream, no matter what the wish may be, there is one thing that remains the same. 

Your way is secure. 

Your path is laid by the hand of the ultimate Waymaker, the One who sets the world to turning.

He sees your heart and knows your dreams.  

So don't be afraid. 

Rest. 

Be still.  

Embrace the silence.

Let go

and dream. 

“Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.” ~Ephesians 4:20

(Also, don't forget about the giveaway. Only ten days left to enter to win some beautiful jewelry.)
(Guest posting here this week!)

Eté

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.  ~John Lubbock

I feel so enraptured with summertime this afternoon.

Sitting here on the couch, my short legs tucked up underneath me...

...shoulders and feet bare to the caress of the wind...

...sunlight streaming in through the partially-opened screen door...

...two very energetic dogs playing beside me...

...sipping at the tart sweetness of a pomegranate IZZE soda and nibbling at the corner of a dark-chocolate-raspberry swirled square of decadence...

...I feel lost in the wonder that is summer.

There are sweet and beautiful memories that I have already made with people that mean the world to me, and those that I will continue to make in the coming months.

There are pictures to be taken, green tea to be sipped, and shady trees to be climbed.

There are new novels in which I must lose myself, and an end-of-an-era premieres at which I must weep until my eyes ache.

There are fresh strawberries to be bitten and savoured, and the aroma of flowers to inhale.

There is so much sweetness to take in before the silvery winter with its peppermint snow comes again.

Summer is barely half over, and there are still one hundred and one dreams to be chased.

Estate.

夏

Verano.

Eté.

Summer.

I question not if thrushes sing,

If roses load the air;

Beyond my heart I need not reach

When all is summer there.

~John Vance Cheney  

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

Time-Turner

It's a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up.  ~J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire


Time is a funny thing. 


It can move as slowly or as quickly as it wants, depending on your own hopes and wishes...


...and yet, it is so entirely reliable all at the same time. Things repeat themselves in the most calm and reassuring cycle. Dates and times moving forward and yet circling in a gradual loop. 


365 days in a year. 28-31 days in a month. 7 days in a week. 


But I will admit...sometimes, I wish I could make time move as I chose. 


I wish I could borrow Hermione's Time-Turner. 


I wish I could freeze moments in time...those moments that make you feel more alive than you've ever felt in your life...your skin afire and your breath tingling like electricity in your lungs. 


I wish I could speed up certain events...passing through the heartbreak of the current moments, silencing the inner struggles and casting away the Dementors in my own mind as easily as though I wielded the power of the Patronus. 


I wish I could rewind...go back to moments in my past and fix them...make different decisions and not act like such a foolish child, and maybe save myself some pain and heartache in the long run. 


But then I realize...what purpose would that serve?


What would I learn if I change my past?


What would it serve to me to feel nothing of pain or sorrow...what growth would I obtain?


And if certain moments were frozen and repeatable, what sort of precious would they be? Would they not fade into something trivial and empty, nothing to be rejoiced it at all? 


As much as I envy Hermoine her Time-Turner...


...I do think that I shall live in the present 


and savor my own moments 


as they occur. 


"So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." ~Matthew 6:34

Tumble

I have a lot of thoughts tonight. And my brain just won't shut up.

I'm having a hard time bringing my racing mind and overactive imagination to a calm state.

It's 12:13. In the morning.

My head is a tumble drier, filled to the brim with thunderclouds and rose petals. Tossing. Rolling. Spinning until I'm so dizzy that I can't catch my own breath.

My heart is trying to tango to a jazz rhythm. Conflicted. It wants to dance, but it's forgotten the steps.

This is what happens when you care too much...

...when you think too much.

...when you dream too much.

My mind is beautiful train wreck, a slow dance among a traffic jam.

Why?

Because He holds my soul.

Among the noise of my thoughts and the questions brought on by my own mortal confusion...

...I can hear His still, small voice. He knows my name.

Daughter.

He serenades me with the music of His peace. He raises His nail-pierced hand and speaks softly to the storm raging in my heart.

Peace. Be still.