inked :: tattooed :: inscribed

{i am left, she is right}
photo by dramaticelegance

today, i crossed another item off my bucket list.

i now bear my first ink. a small kanji on my right wrist whispers two unknown words that beat with my heart.

:: elder sister ::

they match, her ink and mine. as much as two sisters, so different, can have eternal art on their skin, and it be the same. 

hers is thin, almost airy in its strokes. mine is thicker, bolder, with lightly feathered ends. they're different, like we are. 

but there's still one part that is the same. that one word, six letters that makes them the same. 

sister. 

i find profoundness in the marking of one's skin with permanence. it's a sacred act, a mirroring of the marks that my Father bears on His palms. 

the Son is pierced, the Father is tattooed. 

behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands; 
your walls are continually before Me.

inscribe: to write, to carve, to engrave. 

{via pinterest}

there is permanence in this, this thing of marking love on the skin. of speaking volumes to a world that might not understand these strange words we speak of "born again" and "redeemed" and "sanctified."

but they understand ink, and blood, and eternity. 

never erased. 

always there. 

and so i wear ink. it's not my last, not by far. it's beautiful and powerful and so sacred. i'm overwhelmed and undone, almost feeling unworthy by the beauty, the reminder. 

because i'm inscribed on my skin, and i'm inscribed on His palms. 

eternity. engraved.

prisoner of hope :: always

{via pinterest}

i am hope's prisoner. 

i am Light's conquest. 

and i seek no freedom. 

sometimes i wonder how people muddle through this world without the glimmer of hope behind their eyes. i see it, you know...that look that slips across their face when i meet their eyes with a smile. 

that look of want. of plead. of empty. 

and then we pass and they are gone. but they stay with me even after i've passed and am home under covers. because that look of hopelessness coats my soul with the grief that only loss can bring.

i want to go back and touch their shoulder and draw them back to the place i call Home and the One i call Father. 

but as for me, i will 

:: always :: 

have hope

for You have been my hope.

i cling to Him tightly in those moments when the world rocks and i have nothing but the pounding cries of uncertainty. what do they do, when the waves slam them against the rocks until their grasp loosens and their dreams flow from their eyes like water?

{via pinterest}

in my nights of darkened grief when all i can do is weep until my pillow floats and my hair is moist with salted sorrow, i know that my fingers can upward reach and grasp those of the One who holds me close.

this tangled kiss of hope that binds me against His chest. 

hope stays perched on the branches of my soul, singing like the uncaged bird, this phoenix of hope rising from the ashes of Death, killed and conquered and fingers sliced from off my shoulders. 

in the dark, i have hope. 

i'm running to Your arms

the riches of Your love

will always be 

:: enough ::


i hope you will forgive me, but again, with the holiday rush, i am simply going to reveal the winners here instead of in a full post. 
item no. 1: Ashley
item no. 2: Jennoelle
item no. 3: Ashlyn Nicole
item no. 4: Lucia
just shoot me an email, beautiful ladies.

Step

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. ~Nora Ephron, When Harry Met Sally

My best friend got engaged on Tuesday.

I still have a hard time believing it...after all, it's something we've both been dreaming of for the past two years of our best friendship.

I guess the reality of the whole thing is just a little hard for me to grasp -- I can only imagine the thoughts racing through her head and heart at this moment!

There's something about the first step a couple takes together...something so incredibly intimate about the lowering to one knee, the stifled gasp as she presses her hands to her mouth, and the stammering of that single word that will change their lives forever.

An engagement is so much more than just a sparkling diamond ring and the giddy smiles of two people in love.

It's a vow of its own.

It's the voice of a young man as he gazes into the eyes of the girl of his dreams...the whispers of his frantically beating heart, saying:

"Baby, I'm not going anywhere. And in a short time, I will give up EVERYTHING and take you as my other half. My perfect fit. My missing puzzle piece. I want to love you as Christ loved His church, how my King loves His bride. So be with me forever."

The wedding is the woman giving of herself -- the passing from girl to woman, the taking of another name, the change from "Miss" to "Mrs."

But the engagement is the man's surrender.

The lowering of himself. The ultimate humility.

And so, I have words for two of the greatest blessings in my life:

Firstly to my beautiful Alex:

Babe, you are the most incredibly strong, beautiful and passionate young woman of God I have EVER had the honor of knowing.

You blow my mind every day with your drive and your willingness to do anything for the Kingdom of God. You are the most wonderful best friend I could have ever asked for, and you bless me more than I could ever begin to say.

Also, you are insane. You are my Heathcliff, my mad little gal-pal. You make me laugh. You listen. You have this amazing ability to laugh with me and then cry with me, all in the same conversation. You write songs with me, and you manage to keep my head on straight.

And I love you.

You truly are the Jane to my Lizzie; you better know this by now. I could not be more honored to have you as my best friend...and I look SO much forward to undertaking this journey with you. I love so much, dear one.

And to Zach:

I have been praying that God would bring someone like you into Alex's life ever since she and I met. She deserves an amazing man of God who loves her with everything that he is, and is willing to give his life for her, if the need arises. Someone who will treat her with tenderness and adoration, and still manage to bear with her complete and utter insanity.

And I believe more than anything that you are indeed that man. Thank you for bringing a smile to her face and love to her life again. Thank you for loving my best friend with such a pure and selfless love. You are indeed her Mr. Darcy. You have wooed and romanced her in ways that continue to blow my mind. Your selfless and strong care for her touches my heart daily. I love you, and I cannot wait to get to know you better and better in the many insanity-packed years to come.

God bless you both.

Stay strong in love, and stay true to one another.

Alexandria and Zachary -- March 8th, 2011 -- Just the Beginning

Labor of Love

Tonight, I spent some time with my mom's side of the family, planning for my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary celebration this coming fall. If you were looking at us from a distance with no knowledge as to who any of us were or what we were doing, you would think we were an odd little group.

There were eight of us, clustered around a small crackling fire enclosed inside of a large metal dish.

My aunt and uncle, not quite two years married, holding hands in two separate deck chairs, looking at one another as if their entire worlds revolved around their beloved partner.

My mom, sitting in her chair with her day-planner in her lap, her red hair glowing like a sunset in the light of the flickering flames.

The three teenagers -- Abby, Rae Marie, and I -- sitting in age-order on the padded porch swing, giggling and waving the smoke out of our faces.

And then there was my grandma and grandpa, the origin of this tiny cluster of loving people. They were the ones that drew my closest inspection.

Grandma, with her little basket-purse and crown of carefully styled grey hair, her smile and laugh more familiar and warm to me than a summer sunset. And Grandpa, with his fading grey comb-over and his unmistakeable sense of humor that reminds me of little girl sleepovers and snuggles around the iron stove in their basement.

My grandpa is in his early 70s. He grew up on a small farm in Illinois in a tiny rural community where he milked the cows at 4am and walked to school in the winter. He loves Jesus with all his heart, and is determined to bring as many people to know Him as he possibly can. He is the humblest, quietest man I know.

This is the man of whom I possess my earliest memory. The man who sang silly songs to my sister and I, and told us jokes that made my grandma shake her head and say, "Oh, Kyle!" The man who taught me that early morning breakfasts of "gobledy-gook" and orange juice was the secret to a happy morning. The gentle hands that swung a wood-splitting ax and poked flaming coals to warm the house, but that were always eager to hold the Bible and remind me of the goodness of God. The man who showed me that ticking Grandma awake at 6am was fun, and that "sleepin' at the foot of the bed" was a secret delight. He took me to my first movie in a theater -- Chicken Run -- and promptly fell asleep twenty minutes into the film...but that's not surprising, considering his ability to "drop his marbles" at any time and through anything.

My grandma is in her late 60s. She attended the local high school, and can still sing almost all the words the fight song. She married young, just like I did, and still loves her husband with all her heart after almost 50 years of marriage. I've seen the way she looks at him...I want to love my husband the way she does. When I was little, I used to stand next to her in church and listen to her sing the hymns; I wanted to sing about Jesus as beautifully as she did. She is an amazing woman who loves Jesus with all her heart, and has taught me so many things about being a godly woman and a godly wife.

This is the woman who read books to my little sister and I, recording them on cassette tapes that I still love listening to, even today. The woman who made me tiny models of all the characters from Winnie-the-Pooh (my favorite since I was a baby) by hand, and played the record of the same name when she changed my diapers or bathed me in the metal sink in the basement. The woman who made me dresses, quilts, and jumpers, hand-made with love poured into each stitch. She taught me how to sew; even though I didn't show a lot of appreciation for it then, I look back on those moments now and wish I could get them back. Grandma made us puppets out of brown paper envelopes and various bits of bric-a-brac, recorded Shirley Temple movies when they came on TV, and watched Milo and Otis with us over and over and over again.

Grandpa took me on my first missions trip to Costa Rica when I was 13.

Grandma held Hawaiian tea parties on the back porch with our American Girl dolls and Macadamia nut pancakes.

My grandparents are my heroes. Two of my greatest examples.

I want them to be proud of me.

Because I am proud to be their granddaughter.