a letter to you

{via pinterest}

dear you,

yes, you. you beautiful one, you earth-shaker, you mountain-quaker. you with the feathers in your hair, you with the baby on your hip. you with the tattoos on your skin, you with the long hair and the ankle-length skirts.

you tucked in the corner with the tsk tsk tsk ringing in your ears because you said that one thing too loud when they said to be seen but not heard. 

women of the world, you are real. 

 :: don't let them force you to disappear. 

they're the ones adding millstone to millstone in a necklace of death that will end with a broken-hearted "depart from Me." 

they're all about death, these shadow voices that would rather keep you masked and silent. He was all about life and broken stones with the keys of Hell in His fist.

they made their list and ran off with fists raised high and left Him standing at the table with tears running down and a gentle you left Me behind. 

they don't read the red letters, do they? if they did, they would know that there was a perfume vial --the most expensive, the most precious. and it spilled over His feet as a broken woman with whore on her forehead in invisible ink and invisible fingermarks of men who were not her husband covered her body. and she prophesied to the world of His dying. 

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and that was a woman.

and you are a seeker. 

i wrote it before {here} and i'm writing it again now, word for word.

we are women. we are vessels, full of Him and aching to overflow.

we are brave and strong and beautiful and beloved.

we are more.

///

{this thing of beauty, of strength, of true womanhood has been on my mind these days. i'm praying ceaselessly as a project begins to form in my heart and soul for the coming weeks. would you join me on your knees before the Throne, sisters, for wisdom and grace and so much unceasing might from the Hand of the King?}

real beauty // you are not fat

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i have a formspring. you know, one of those places where people you know and people you don't can ask you any number of questions about any topic they wish.

and today there was a question sitting there in my inbox from that coward, anonymous. innocent words strung together to form something so much more painful.

so you've used pregnancy as an excuse to let yourself go, then?

and my blood ran cold. because in my mind's eye, i saw fifteen-year-old me crying in the dressing room because i felt so fat every time i tried on anything. and my sister could fit into clothes that i never could, because i was curvy. 

and then i saw another little girl.

a little girl whose face i couldn't see clearly, but that i knew better than my own all the same. and she sat there in the mall food court picking at the pile of lettuce with the dressing on the side that she called lunch and sipped at her water while she smelled the burgers and watched the other girls drinking their smoothies. 

i saw my daughter's face. 

and the blood turned to ice in my veins, and some strange mother-bear anger stirred in my stomach right next to the little rolling flutters that mark my daughter's current home. 

this anger was not for me. i'm growing stronger now. words, yes, they still hurt. but this anger was not for me. 

with hand on stomach and face curved toward the sky, my soul screamed

don't you dare call my beautiful little girl fat. 

don't teach my little one to count calories instead of the stars. because she has my genes, the curvy genes with rounder hips and fuller breasts. the ones that might not fit into the teenage carrot stick world into which she is being born. 

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and maybe there will come a day when you come to me with big eyes and slender limbs and say words like carbs and calories...too soon, too young, too early.

and i will pray for grace and i will pray to not break down until i am behind a closed door where i can weep for this world where little girls starve themselves and big girls stare in mirrors and whisper i hate you. 

and this is the letter i will read to her even before she understands the world, in which i have promised to not call myself fat anymore, and i pray that she will see her mama living in truth and not on the scale. 

beauty is not size 2 defined. 

beauty is health, not break-ability. beauty is dressing on your salad and chocolate for desert. beauty is forgiving eyes and kind smiles and a soft heart, and chins lifted with so much peace and warrioress pride. 

because there is a Lion in Heaven that roars with rage when people talk bad about His daughters, and when people whisper lies into little girl ears that are too innocent to know better. there are millstones for people like that, and He has them in a line and waiting with rope for tying.

don't you dare call My little girl fat.

{linking with my dear emily}

daughter rising

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i forgot what this felt like. to write my heart, i mean. i've been so tired and so worn for so long that these words seemed to have faded from me, illusive like grass on the wind. and as beautiful as they were, they were lovely to watch float away, too.

and so i let them float, maybe a little too long for some, but just long enough for me. because this life within me, this little tiny heartbeat that we have since discovered beats the warrioress rhythm like mine, has been drawing much from me, and leaving little behind.

yes, i am carrying a girl-child. another daughter for the world, another pair of feminine hands for the Kingdom's banner. and all i can do is wrap my arms around my ever growing stomach and whisper

courage, my dearheart

you are not a daughter alone.

i am almost afraid to bring another woman into this world. the burden already placed upon her tiny shoulders almost breaks me down to weeping at every thought. for who knew that so much would be required of innocent eyes and fragile fingers?

rain has told me to blurt. to impulsively speak my heart to the wind. and maybe that's what this is, a blurting out of my heart's overflowing emotion that has been building up and flowing through my veins at a pace too fast and to the tune of some music that i've forgotten that i've missed for weeks. 

{me large with our daughter, 18 weeks}

but this much i know well, and i know strong in my soul.

i will not raise a quiet daughter of sewn-shut lips and discreetly bowed eyes. i will raise an earth-pounder, a piller-shaker, and a battle-crier. 

if she is the gentle warrior, let it be and i will love her. ::

if she is the loudest singer with hands raised to broken clouds, let it be and i will love her.::

 i will not dictate her steps; He has that laid smooth without my desperate attempts to push and prod His mighty Hands. 

her path is on Him, and my smile is on her. 

my Marian Abigail. my evening star, her father's joy. 

my little girl growing. my warrioress rising. my unborn champion, my silent voiced miracle. 

my daughter. his daughter. Aslan's daughter 

stand for something // shabby apple

{Shabby Apple -- Che Bella?
from the Roamin Holiday collection

being a woman in this culture is hard.

being a woman of character, a woman who stands for something -- nay, Someone -- greater than herself is pushing the limits of difficult.

exhaustingly so at times.

we fight so many cultural lies that tell us what the measure of beauty is. we have molds in which we must shape and twist ourselves to fit. and oftentimes, we find ourselves wanting and broken from all the attempts to fit, from all the failing.

and there are places that make a difference. that make a change in the culture. that make being a woman of character and being feminine line up and work together.

confident, beautiful women. all shapes, all sizes. all smiles and all curves.

this is why i love Shabby Apple.

their mission statement is simple and straightforward:

We started Shabby Apple because we saw a need in women’s fashion that was not being met. A need to make women feel feminine and beautiful for what they wear, not what they bare. 

We offer flirty, stylish dresses a woman can wear just as comfortably in the office, at a family dinner, or on a date. 

Shabby Apple is a fashion company for women, by women, and of women.

this is why i personally have taken a step forward. 

DramaticElegance is now affiliated with Shabby Apple. 

{Shabby Apple -- Carnival}
from the Carousel collection 

i could not be more inspired, more impressed, or any more delighted with this organization. it's dressing to impress and causing the right kind of scene with your appearance.

 it's about wearing, not baring. 

a corner of the world packed with vintage-styled skirts and dresses for all body types, finding your most flattering fit, and embracing personal style -- including Mama Apple {maternity wear} and Shabby Baby {children's apparel}. there's even a darling Arts & Crafts with rich-toned nail polish, shadowboxes, and more.  

 it's more than just a website to buy adorable vintage-styled clothing and accessories. it's a place to give back and support women and children-targeted charities through each one of your purchases. 

please keep your eyes open for upcoming giveaways on my blog from Shabby Apple. 

being a women can be so hard. 

but doors are opening. boundaries are being pushed. the world is being shown that beauty doesn't mean being a certain size or dressing in a certain style. 

no...

true beauty flows from the soul. 

{i receive a 5% commission for all qualified sales that are generated by DramaticElegance from links and buttons/banners placed on my site.

all opinions regarding the company and their products found on this blog are my own.}

shatterglass

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truth is not always a delicious thing in which to revel.

sometimes truth is harsh. not always in how it is presented, as truth can be laid out in a pattern of love that charms even the sharpest of opposition. but then there are still those who press fingers to ears and hum their childish la-la-la to block out any whisper that might make it past their tight-shut hearts.

and when He speaks and says,

tell My truth. speak this Word. 

and tender obedience follows this whispered command


and the hate comes, the tears can flow and the heart can break.

i pray that is allowed. for it is what i have done, and now i reel in this cold reality that truth is not always sweet to the ear or tender against the heart.

sometimes it cuts, and sometimes it is too much.

and so friends can flee. 

when i wrote this post {a emphatic yes and amen to this treasure by my beautiful friend Sarah}, i spoke what He told me to speak. i wrote His words, not mine. they flowed from my fingers and i pressed "publish" with a sense of trepidation and confidence in what i had just done.

i had obeyed.

and then the flood came.

i began to lose followers. first one, then two. then ten.

i began to receive comments some were rich, laden with power. hurtful ones. sharp-toned emails from women in my life and in this world of blogging. crying out curses on me for the language i used, for the tone i set, and for my lack of pious humility.

did i not want to be a mother? was my "calling" as a wife not enough for me? am i unwilling to stay in the "bounds of Scripture"? where was my silence? my humility? my prudent tact befitting a woman of God?

of course i do. 

of course it is. 

but wife and mother is not the end-all. it is not the end goal for all. some are called to singleness, others to wifehood. some are called to fullness of womb and home, others are handed this task of childlessness.

but that does not mean we are less than one another.

He chose the least of these. the lesser, the outcast.

we all still crave. 

i stand by my original words. and by my King.

i only speak what He speaks.

and this is truth amid the shatterglass. 

woman

{via pinterest}

{note: this post was inspired by this post from the beautiful Sarah at Emerging Mummy. it lit the candle under me. i can't be silent now.}


we are more

these Christian daughters of this world, these women and girls and widows and wives and mothers and sisters and singles and barren and overflowing with love regardless of this cobblestone we stand upon.

we are more. 

we are more than these invented definitions of femininity. we are more than kitchens and apron strings. we are more than decorators and mothers and wives.

we may be these things. but we are more. we are not silent. we are not insignificant.

we crave like you.

we crave voice. we crave depth. we crave more than modesty lectures and reminders to be the weaker ones. we need more than cooking classes and socials.

we do not have to have one extreme or the other.

either sex symbol or wallflower.

this must not be. 

we need more than our silent allotments of stand and sit and worship and listen and nothing more than this.

we crave Him. 

we ache to go deeper.

we want to search His will and see His heart and wrestle with Him in hand-to-hand until we find ourselves undone and exposed before Him.

He chose us too. 

and not only the housewives or the silent servants.


every woman has a calling.

and He chose us ALL. 

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Martha, Martha. 

follow your sister, Mary. for she {this sitting enraptured seeker} has chosen what is right. 

he took those broken women. those defiled women.

those prostitutes at which the world painted whore. those vagabonds with broken homes and no husbands. those eager follows who sat and listened and yearned for Him. those water-bearers and thirsty souls.

every walk. every phase. every calling.

those hem-grabbers. those cross-clingers. those outcasts. those reachers. those tender open hearts who wanted Him and Him alone.

we are women. we are vessels, full of Him and aching to overflow.

we are brave and strong and beautiful and beloved.

we are more.

we are voice. love. power. 

His. 

Let us RISE to the questions of our time. Let us SPEAK to the injustices in our world. Let us MOVE the mountains of fear and intimidation. Let us SHOUT down the walls that separate and divide. Let us FILL the earth with the fragrance of Love.

Let us be women who Love. 

{quote from here -- more words to be read}


{linking with michelle, laura, and jen today}