freedom :: press send {220-227}

no one told me it would be this hard.

barely two days, and this thing of brave already has my fragile fingers shaking. and all it took to make my heart beat faster was pushing that button. 

:: send ::

because the first thirty pages of my book just went to an interested publisher. it took a precious one in my life to get me to get the courage to click that mouse and let it fly from security to unsure. it's my fragile soul, a month of bleeding onto the paper and turning thought into word and imagination into fiction. 

and now it's out of my hands. and i'm petrified. because i don't do rejection well. 

really, does anyone? 

but i'm bad at counting blessings etched on my soul when i'm too busy shaking in the corner with fingers draped over eyes whispering

please don't let me fall

i can't do this.

but i count anyway, one and two and three and four...

• 220. courage. knowing that courage is more than doing, it's being. 

• 221. vulnerability. 

• 222. the voice of a precious friend, urging me to be brave and leap. press send.

• 223. grace. so much grace when i deserve it not. 

• 224. warm soup on a day so cold that noses go numb and fingertips shiver. 

• 225. fresh starts and clean slates. brand-new year, 2012. 

• 226. puppy kisses and The Bachelor on winter nights. 

• 227. healing tattoos, eternal reminders of my place on His palms. 

so i still count. because nothing stops my racing heart more than drowning in eucharisteo, in letting the focus slide away from fear and up further, in further. 

because it's being brave. it's being, all on its own.

it's surrendering in the darkness, waiting for the Light to come again.

{linking with Ann and my sisters in gratitude today}

turning Christmas pages {207-212}

{via pinterest}

it's less than a week to Christmas.

i'm having a hard time believing that Christmas is really this close. i'm one of those people who peaks ahead on every new calender, pressing my finger to the 25th of December like a little child and whispers

how many more days are left?

the blessings that flock among these days are more than i can ever begin to comprehend, more than i could ever share in one place at one time. this season seems to be wallpapered with eucharisteo, from head to toe with grace.

but as always, i'm going to raise grateful fingers to heaven, and count...

• 207. this first year of being a family of six. Kyle home for Christmas from the US Army, laughter shared and memories exchanged until our sides split. 

• 208. live pine in the living room. imperfect just like we are. 

• 209. the overflow of love from sisters across the nation found in my mailbox over the past week. books and notes of love, reminders that we're connected, that we're a sisterhood here. 

{via pinterest}

• 210. our first sprinkling of snow. short-lived, but it was here. 

• 211. the sacrifice of a Father to share His Son with the world. the sacred blended with the earthy, Holiness clad in flesh. 

• 212. warm quilts and fluffy pillows and White Christmas. there are some traditions that i will never cease to adore. 

i love Christmas. but to me, there's more to Christmas than just the story found in the second chapter of Luke, more than we see or comprehend with our mortal minds. there's a big picture, a book with more than one page.

so i'm doing Christmas differently this year on my blog.

i'm unfurling those forgotten pages, showing the other sides of this time of year when Love came down and virgin arms cradled Emmanuel against her breast.

to read the first part of this sacred saga, visit here: the first-page :: havah.

because there is more than first glace can reveal. that's the mystery of my Jesus.

there is more. 

He is more. 

and i ache to drown in this mystery.

{linking my blessings with Ann}

morning :: finding Light {200-206}

i'm not a morning person. not by a long shot.

maybe this is a negative aspect of my life. perhaps i should enjoy rising before the birds begin to twitter or the sun paints the world gold and pink and pale shades of blue. but i don't, honestly.

but these past several Mondays have been mornings of rising at half past five and stepping down from warm bed to pre-dawn chill to meet the Chicago rush of commuter traffic. i'm having to learn to change my views on life, on mornings.

it's not something i enjoy, but it's something i'm embracing. and isn't that what eucharisteo is about, this thing of grasping the mystery and soaking in the unknown? even this time of year, these moments of Christmas celebration with the green and red and flickering candlelight

isn't this all about surrendering? 

about following and stepping from comfort zone to holy ground? 

and so even among the commutes and the too-much noise so early, i continue to count one by one by one.

• 200. peppermint hot chocolate 

• 201. the blend of sacred and Earthy found in this month. the way He paints my path with gold and dust and speaks "know Me here by this name, dearheart."

• 202. a father's laughter and stimulating debate as we drive too-busy roads and play the music just a little too loud

• 203. love found in the tiny wife guiding her tall, blind husband to his seat and the tenderest caresses when only touch communicates her face. 

• 204. children's innocence with their off-beat clapping and their misstep dancing and the way they speak of "gold, Frankenstein, and myrrh" before giggling with blue eyes dancing. 

• 205. feeling my characters become real, taking flight under my fingertips as paper becomes blood and ink becomes breath. it's intoxicating. 

• 206. finding Sarah Kay again and finding my spoken word again. it's strange and raw and so frightening. i could not love it more. 

and so amid the bustle of the Japanese sisters sharing coffee and too-loud laughter, and the Italian cluster of gentlemen arguing with hand gestures and rapid tongues in a language i wish i knew, we're conversing.

He and i. 

we have our silence in the noise, the moments i can feel the silence. it's a kiss, an embrace.

it's the ending dream, and the touch of morning.

{linking the count of gratitude with Ann}

barefooted :: painted one {191-199}

{via pinterest}

there are times when i feel like my life is a painting. strokes on a canvas, some soft and some harsh. like standing back as i watch the artist compose the piece in front of my eyes, unable to see the final product until i touch the shoulder of the concentrating painter, and ask

show me what you see. 

this has been a brushstroke canvas week for me. i've felt peace and war, even at the same time, pressing me inside and outside. this has been a week full of laughter, oh, so much laughter until my eyes streamed and my sides ached for mirth. 

and then there were the moments where the floor and i were companions, fingers curled to my palms as tears coursed their way down my cheeks in unison with the silent sobs where no voice could give way to the

why // why // why?

this is why i love my God. because there was always joy. always eucharisteo found in the midst of the sobs. because of Him. this grace, this promise. 

• 191. His grace which is sufficient. His promises which are never returned void. 

{via pinterest}

• 192. music. that kind that makes you leap and spin and toss your hair until you drown in melody

• 193. blackberry merlot and the company that comes alongside as you sip and laugh and confide and plan and grieve and exchange those knowing looks. 

• 194. raspberry tea and Adele beside the flickering Christmas tree

• 195. this expectation, this anticipation for this coming Salvation. 

• 196. counting down the days like an eager child. we're down to twenty now.

• 197. strawberry Nerds and a tow-headed lad of barely six years giggling, "you're a silly nerd, sister!"

• 198. these brothers and sisters, not by blood but by love.

• 199. the picture of freedom in a day-old baby girl, the symbol of freedom between two freed ones. even her name echos with life: ariadne grace {very holy one with grace}

i have much. i am flooded with His brushstrokes, from head to toe with the soul unforgotten. 

oh, my God holds me close. His arms are sanctuary, His blood is life. 

i cannot rise from this bare-footed hallowed ground. this burning bush of surrender and gratitude and sacred.

barefooted and paint-streaked at His feet. 

{linking with Ann, sharing my gifts as they grow}

gratitude via canvas {183-190}

{via pinterest}

this weekend has been soul-stirring.

i wish i could open the shutters of my heart wide. i'm eager to show you what i've found, what treasures this weekend of pure eucharisteo has imparted to my soul. 

i've come to view this lifestyle of thanks, of grace, and of light as a work in progress.

:: a painting of a thousand strokes ::

it's artwork that will never be finished, growing eternally. but then come those times when we take that slight step back, to view and remember where we've come. to touch the strokes that have dried, reminders of our past steps. 

that's what this weekend has been for me. this time we in the United States call Thanksgiving. these weekend for laughter and family and too much pie. 

• 183. fifty thousand words and a completed NaNoWriMo challenge.

• 184. week-old puppies that whimper and make their little feet run with small, unknown dreams, tucked beneath your chin during football cheers. 

• 185. soft plum scarves and sock-less feet tucked into shoes. winter comes soon. 

• 186. the promise of snow in coming days. 

• 187. the countdown to Christmas beginning already with my parents' long-decorated house and Advent calender anticipation

• 188. returning promises that come back valid. a Word that does not return void. 

• 189. earthly tragedy turned to Heavenly triumph. 

• 190. art. the rawness, the promise, the haven for our ink-stained souls.

these have been my ladder moments. the times where the brush gets tucked into the messy bun and the eyes traverse over the canvas, if only for a second.

it's remembering

the grace

the glory

and the gratitude. 

it's soaking in the Light where darkness wars to prevail. 

it's embracing.

{linking my multitudes with Ann and my fellow gratitude seekers}

thanks in the strings

{via pinterest}

i almost didn't blog today.

it's the day after Thanksgiving, and i still feel weary from the length of the day and the busy swirl of family and laughter and oh, so much food.

normally, this is the day of five minute fridays with the gypsy mama. but somewhere between my waking and my resting, i have forgotten everything.

this thing of gratitude -- eucharisteo -- this instrument that i grip between my unquestioning fingers, knowing each twist and curve of the smoothly polish wood...

...it's familiar. i can speak of it with knowledge, share with others in times of need and emotion, feeling truth spring to my lips in the appropriate time.

but somewhere during the year, the violin finds a place in the back of my closet. the curving head cracks from lack of caresses.

i rationalize within my ever-hardening heart

it's only to protect the music 

to make this thing more precious in the 

right time.

and so i forget until the fourth Thursday in November. and then the sheet music lays on the stand again, and my fingers trace the familiar strings so that the music kisses the air again.

my soul floods then, with recollection and resolution to not let things go as they were before, to always dwell in the miracle of gratefulness. 

{via pinterest}

but then comes the conflict that only family closeness can bring. there is some sort of push and pull that eventually tears the music and sends the bow crashing to the floor.

and the music dies 

unfinished. 

is this what i want? year after year after year of the same old broken dance, the same old shattered moments that never reach the finish line?

because each sour note hurts His ears. 

i slap His face when i withhold my thanks.

 when i play my own frenzied melody on broken instruments that no longer hold value. 

there is nothing so great in holding onto all my grateful thoughts until a certain day, and then letting them pour out like water onto the parched ground. 

where is the blessing here?

i refuse to touch the finale's score. i will live in the now, in the yesterday and the tomorrow.  

these melodies. 

these drops of eucharisteo. 

time // gratitude {160-164}

{via pinterest}

i'm slowly reading A Thousand Gifts.  


i started it on September 10th. i only just finished the fifth chapter.

and i'm never wearing shoes again.

everything urgent about this life is starting to fade away into something manageable. people complain that life is too short and that time moves too fast.

i disagree now. life moves the same length, the same time. we're the ones moving too fast and being far too short in our sight. we've stopped savouring this sacredness of life, of eucharisteo.

the most urgent necessitates a slow and steady reverence.

--Ann Voskamp

she's right. 

He's right. 

this is holy ground, this place of thankfulness. this place of finding communion and eucharisteo with the King of Kings. have we forgotten who He is? 

time the essence of God. I AM. this need to consecrate time. 

i may never wear shoes again.

--Ann Voskamp

this is a place for shoeless wonder and for eyes that blink in awe against His glory. this is not the time for traffic jams and to-do lists that stretch for miles.

{via pinterest}

this is the time for slow sips, slow breaths, and slow-growing lists of all those gifts from Heaven to earth. 

• 160. time. this gift of seasons and time, preordained but loose and free 

• 161. community with artists who love to write like i do, sharing words and coffee over hardwood tables.

• 162. so many smiles from freckle-faced children as they bury me in hugs and bring me orchard-sliced apples with autumn-flecked grins. 

• 163. one extra hour of rest. something so small, but so needed for this weary one who seeks until the stars have been out for hours. 

• 164. truth spoken twice, confirmed. 

i'm finding peace in this place of gratitude.

reaching out to touch the hands of the clock, old friends learning to tick-tick-tick slowly. to savour each moment that comes our way.

to be covered with this essence of God.

shoes left at the door.

{continuing these steps of gratitude with Ann}

writing eucharisteo {152-159}

{via pinterest}

this is my last Monday of rest, in a way.

at least for the next month.

each day comes with its own level of responsibilities, its own little list that softly whispers take care of me, check me off. 


but as of tonight {or rather, tomorrow morning} at 12:00am, i will officially be launching into my third year of NaNoWriMo.

 this will mean i will floundering in word counts, coupled excessive amounts of tea and coffee to keep my tired, wrung-out brain from sputtering to a halt.

this is one more thing on my self-imposed to-do lists. and i bear the slightest fear of burning out.

but i know i won't.

because i have written eucharisteo on my wrist.

 i will weave this thing of gratitude, grace, and joy deep into my soul as i compose each word. i will not grow weary, nor give way to frustration or despair of completing my seemingly daunting goal.

and even in my chaos of daily life and 50,000 words, i will continue to count my ever-growing blessings, one at a time.

• 152. the support of family and the one i love as i embark upon this {perhaps a bit insane} mission

• 153. people in my heart who bear me up as Aaron to Moses, lifting my arms as i grow weary in doing good, never letting my passion drop. 

• 154. the voice of God, clear as knell in my soul. 

• 155. contentment in staying home when i would be rather have been at Relevant11. finding my place, my corner as i wait on Him. 

{via pinterest}

• 156. the cutting comments regarding my most recent post, and being featured on a site that rips apart Christian writings. Matthew 5:11-12 has never rung so deep and true in my soul. i cling to Him alone. 

• 157. trees decked only in orange and red leaves that line the block outside my window. the artist that paints my soul has not ceased her singing. 

• 158. my new affiliation with Shabby Apple. standing for beauty and modesty, and knowing that i am not compromising. this is a blessing beyond words. 

• 159. refreshment for my heart. freedom for my soul. this is Love, dear ones. 

and so i will be writing. i will be finding my moments with the King amid the black and white scratches upon the paper. i will be delving deep with Him this month. November will be beautiful. 

wallpapered from door to window with blessings. 

{linking with Ann today}

{the giveaway has been extended until November 1st to give me some time to balance myself out 

winners will be drawn after midnight and posted on the 2nd, along with November's giveaway}

eucharisteo {84-91}

i bought the book.

after almost a month of walking down this path of a thousand blessings and more, i finally took this volume in my hands.

one thousand gifts. ann voskamp. 

what i found, i did not expect.

but then again, i don't honestly know what i was expecting.

i think i was expecting a book. but this volume, this thing of paper and ink and cardboard cover...this is no book.

this is love flowing as through veins. this is mystery to be taken in and slowly, ravenously savoured like some rare and precious savory treat.

this book has lost me and gained me. emptied and filled me.

i see now what i did not see. 

and i'm barely touching chapter three. 

i wish you could see my copy. so full of markings, pen scribbles of my own floundering heart poured out to mingle with her poetry and truth.

the list has begun to form on the inside cover. each time i pen a blessing here, i will now write it in the book. making my own Gift List within the book itself.

and oh, how my blessings grow.

• 84. freedom in Christ. freedom in country.

• 85. this book of mud-straw nest and sky blue eggs. this dare to be different. this life-changer. 

• 86. forgiveness. 

• 87. sister's fingers through my hair, soothing as she combs and talks of things we missed.

• 88. cooking, chopping with the new knives from father to mother, laughter amid sisters and mothers and daughters. 

• 89. little boy arms around my leg, clinging. love you, rae-cho. 

• 90. the perfect theatrical finale, coming together to make something so harmonious. this show will be a good show.

• 91. rest. oh, the sweetness of rest after the arduous tousle of days packed full and nights of dark-laden screams. my God is good. 

i will never cease to praise. i will never cease to find this word of life. of joy. of grace. of every day steps. 

how they rise. a thousand lanterns brushing against Heaven's waiting fingertips. a thousand moments of perfect praise, gifts to Him from earth. 

finding this daily thanksgiving. 

this grace of living to live. 

"Eucharisteo—thanksgiving—always precedes the miracle." ~Ann Voskamp

linking up with hundreds of others
with Ann
as we walk this path of multitudes together