why sacred :: relationship

if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you will have noticed my fervency for the sacred, my new and hounding pursuit of holiness that has taken over my life in recent months. i've turned my attention toward seeking Him in everything, every breath and every step. finding Him in the rubble as well as in the consecrated.

but that has not sat well with everyone.

i've heard from several different people in my life that what i'm doing is dangerously false and far from His truth. because sacred is in the Church, in the Word, and in the ordained.

isn't that right?

that was last week. and i felt something start to spin off-center in my heart.  wasn't this what He was telling me to do? wasn't i going His way, following His pull?

was i wrong? 

and this week, this video appeared. i saw it posted here and there, on one friend's wall, and then another's twitter. and then i clicked play. and i sobbed.

because it was my answer to these careless-flung words from one broken heart to another. because we've knocked His hands off the cross and hid the bloodstains under the carpet. we've repainted His face and highlighted mismatched sections of the Word until the sacred has been turned into stigma.

it's not a museum for good people

it's a hospital for the broken.

religion says do.

Jesus says done

religion says slave

Jesus says son

and this was my answer to the questions and the controversy. and i felt ashamed of myself, because this should have been my answer all along. 

and i cannot thank Him enough. because this is what i've been trying to say, and couldn't form. 

and so i find myself clutching brave again, like a drowning solider with just a scrap of fight left, unwilling to surrender. no more making Him small because it fits better. He isn't supposed to fit, after all, but change. 

when He said it is finished

i believe that He meant it.

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. 

{a} {b} {c} beyond

{via pinterest}

this thing of Thanksgiving overwhelms me.

this one day in the midst of 365 to sit back and reflect on blessings, surrounded by those whom we love and whom we love to aggravate.

as i said in yesterday's post, today may be Thanksgiving. but so was yesterday, and tomorrow will be again.

even still

my soul loves this day.

and so i will be joining with rachel today to list my gratitude from a to z and all the moments in between.

afternoon walks // best friends  // candles in white jasmine

dates with my Daddy // eggshell white // family {cliche but so true}

grass between my toes // Him // inspiration

 jazz music // kisses and caresses // last rays of evening's sun 

moments shared with my mother // new books // opportunities to breathe again 

 peppermint hot chocolate // quirks // resolve 

secret laughter with my sister // the man i love // umbrellas when the sun shines

victory in Jesus // winter's first snow // eXtra minutes in the shower 

You // zoos {they're my favourite}

writing this list alone was worship for me. 

i'm undone by Him. this incredible life i have, the people that fill my hours, and the overwhelming realization that i am the furthest thing from destitute. 

it's precious, this thing of dwelling in His shadow. my gratitude is endless.

is yours?

happy Thanksgiving and endless blessings from DramaticElegance 

{linking with rachel and so many others in these 26 glimpses of gratitude}

prelude to the grateful

{via pinterest}

every single year, right around this time, i find myself overwhelmed in the crush.

it's this season of preparing and orchestrating and oh, so much family that seems to emerge from every corner of the woodwork. 

for those of us who stand under the banner of red, white, and blue, tomorrow is supposed to be the day we take a few minutes to soak in the gratitude of our lives. 

i need to freeze in place

because i have much. 

it's hard to not get lost in the 

if only i

if we only had

if we obtained

but my soul sings this year. this time last year, i was drowning in self, in circumstances which i would have done anything to avoid. 

but He knew that i needed pruning. i needed pain to find the glory again. 

{via pinterest}

and oh, how my blackened soul rebelled. i withheld my joy, letting it slowly wither from lack of gratitude's water upon the cracking soil of a wounded heart. 

but then He gripped my soul. 

stop this, child.

let go and let Me heal. 

let Me restore your joy.

and then i began to seek again. and i have been unable to stop my hunger, my burning fire for those things that make this heart sing of Him.

and so now i drop the dishtowel and turn my back to the stove for just a moment. and i find that moment on my knees in the corner with His Love Letter spread out before me on the floor. 

because of Him, i stand.

how can i keep from gripping His robe and letting my gratitude from pouring over His feet like some strange perfume. 

tomorrow is Thanksgiving. 

but so is today. 

{linking this imperfection with my dear emily}