craving space

i am craving my own space.

ever since we lost the dream house, the place in which we are tucked now has seemed to slowly be closing in around me. it's begun to feel smaller than it every had before.

i find myself sitting at the kitchen table with my art, merging paint and canvas with dishes and bank statements. it is not my space, it is collective space but not in a communal artist way. it in shared in a life way, a way that doesn't ever stop but simply moves around me. and sometimes, it feels like it is slowly pushing my artistic spirit down the nearby garbage disposal.

mermaids crave the ocean, the wide and the open, the salty spray and the peace of the selah-crashing waves. i am landlocked, in more ways that one, with the nearest water being bottled and chilling in the fridge.

and maybe that is why i have grieved the loss of this house so deeply, in a way that almost seems like a part of my physical self had fled. it has been a rending, a true exploration into that word that has become far stronger than i could have ever anticipated :: release. 

art has become something powerfully present in my life in recent months, especially as my own faith journey has taken unexpected twists and turns. it's that demolition, as my husband calls it, the breaking down of all i once knew save for the foundation of the Lion to whose shimmering mane i cling. i'm relearning the sacred, finding my soft Psalmist voice again. it's release. 

:: and even in the crush, releasing myself might be part of the grand scheme of the things after all. 

because i'm past the point of being able to find a corner of my own in this tiny little place we currently and i reluctantly call home. though home is where your heart is, and my loves are here. so this is home. i am creating in the midst of our life, where the Light shares between my ink and paper pages and the aromas of home-cooked food and laundry soap.

and so i'm laying out the brushes and opening the journal, a new blank page in the middle of my worship place at the kitchen table. i light a candle and exhale the holiest of God-Light to the tune of stillness in the midst of the household busyness. i'm learning how to find my warrioress self amid the pulsing thrum of vacuums and pasta water boiling.

finding my space which i crave so desperately.
even if it means this mermaid swims {for now} in the kitchen sink.

{linking with dear emily for imperfect prose}

passion seeker :: finder

{via pinterest}

but how do you find your passion?

no, really. how do you find your passion?

:: the sacred life of rain

it's a simple question. isn't it?

i'm an artist, a dreamer. i'm a passionate person with overflowing dreams and an electric surge under my skin. but how do i find my passion? 

i feel like my passion hit a wall this week. we had something in our grasp, something i didn't know i wanted quite this badly until it fell apart. it was a home, and it was beautiful and green, and i heard our future in those walls and planned moments in those rooms. 

but then, it went away. and then i wept until my body ached. i was on fire for this dream. 

and now, i feel swayed by this wind that has gushed through my body and whispered i wanted this so bad. and i wailed to my husband,

this is why i don't get excited

and i opened my mouth and dared to wrestle with the Lion like Jacob.

 why? 

i don't understand

why did you let us get this far?

and i sobbed for all the memories that could have been, and i broke for the passion that i would have possessed there. i stared at drab brown and white walls that i am not allowed to paint, and the too-much-stuff that crowds my corners with not even room for an easel, and i felt my passion compressing down into a cube that barely fit in this tiny place. 

i felt squished. i felt grey, like all the colour had been rung out of me. i felt limp and helpless and empty. no more passion, because i left it in the foyer of this perfect dream.

{via pinterest}

:: and so we wrestled, He and i, until the dawn.  

and then somehow, i dried my tears. my soul woke up and looked around this place, this little corner where he and i and soon our daughter have been placed. and i started to see dark bookshelves in a corner, and swooping dark purple fabric hung like bunting from corner to corner in the back room now-turned nursery. 

we went and bought new sheets for the bed. soft gold fabric to match the flowers on our midnight blue bedspread. and we put down the corners and made up the bed with the gold hidden inside until the blanket got pulled back after midnight. 

i slid my body between those sheets and let out a breath that was more of a prayer than a sob. because my passion isn't dead, it isn't gone, and it wasn't left wrapped around the perfect hardwood banister. 

it never left. i just forgot where it was. i didn't have to find it after all, because it was never lost. my focus had just become blurred. my passions aren't controlled by where i am, by what i have, by what i experience. 

they just are. 

they are in a two story dream, and they are here, in a four room canvas that i just haven't been bold enough to embrace. 

they don't need to be found.

they just are. 

winter pot pie {recipe}

{via pinterest}

there is something so comforting about warm food in the wintertime.

amid the turning leaves and whispering snow, there is something wonderful found in a steaming bowl of soup or something equally warm and inviting.

chicken pot pie is, for me, one of those edible bits of cooler weather. until this year, i had never attempted to make it myself, relying only on my mother-in-law or pre-prepared offerings from the local grocery.

this year, however, i have delved into this particular recipe myself. and it has been proved delicious and incredibly easy to put together.

i share so many words with you all, so many mental and musing treasures that flood my mind night and day. but this simple bit of cooking is something that i could not keep to myself, and felt that each one of you might enjoy having yourself.

• one medium onion, diced 
• 2-3 moderately sized chicken breasts, diced
• 1 tablespoon butter
• 1/3 cup flour
• 2/3 cup milk
• 1 small can cream-of-whatever soup {chicken, celery, mushroom, etc.}
• 2 cups broccoli florets
• 1 1/2 shredded cheddar cheese
• 2 nine-inch unbaked pie dough rounds {either your own favourite crust recipe or pre-made}
• salt, pepper, garlic powder, and herbs to taste {i use parsley, oregano, basil, and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper, mixed in with the onions before sauteeing, but you can wait and mix them in with the cream mixture later}

{via pinterest}

sautee the onions and herbs together with the butter just until soft. add the chicken and cook together until cooked through. 

in a separate bowl, slowly combine the flour and milk until you form a smooth batter. add the soup and whisk together until smooth. add the broccoli, cheese, chicken, and onions; mix well together. 

line a 9" pie plate with one of the circles of pie dough. pour in the filling and spread it out evenly. 

top with the second round and crimp the shells together to make a trimming crust. 

cut slits or simple designs in the top crust to vent. 

bake at 425 degrees F or until the crust is golden brown.

allow to cool for a few moments and serve warm. 

this dish is so wonderfully easy and quick to prepare. try other kinds of vegetables to suit your family's tastes. we have done corn, carrot, and green bean as well, which is equally delicious. 

yes, in all seasons, we relish in the taste and goodness of delicious food.

 but in winter, there are certain culinary delights that pique our fancies and hold us captive in an embrace of warmth and reminders of childhood homes. 

step into your kitchen. 

take a moment, 

and bake yourself a memory. 

casa

{via pinterest}

i'm home again.

it's a weird feeling, being back in my little apartment with all my own trappings and comforts of life.

traveling seems to transform my view on the world a bit more each time. showing me new corners, but then reminding me of the comfort of my home when i finally do return.

currently, it's freezing outside. it's the kind of day where i want to just curl up with a mug of soup and a really great book. perhaps even close my eyes and tuck myself under a quilt for a little winter's nap.

florida was warm and tropical. waving palms and crashing ocean waves onto the sandy beach. sand everywhere, wind in my hair.

in that place, my best friend became a wife. family was bonded and friendship for all of life to come were forged amid the dunes and ocean spray.

now the Midwest winds are blowing and the skies are so grey that the blue of summer is almost forgotten.

but my travels brought me back to this.

there is not home. there is a moment away.

{via pinterest}

this is my place. 

this is my corner. 

blue skies and sand are for some, and i love it when they bring me in and share their scrap of glory.

but cold winds and winter's swift coming

this is my place now. 

so i will find my comfort in worn novels and steaming mugs of tea. in patchwork quilts and bubbling tureens of soup. in the fall lineup of television shows and the caress of familiar laughter.

this is my corner 

my dwelling.

and i will grow here. shiver here.

love here.