graceful star :: father's joy

{via pinterest}

we're naming her Marian. 

grace's star. graceful star. 

we're naming her Abigail.

joy of the Father. father's joy. 

:: :: :: 

i'm painting her legacy into her name. the legacy of a woman, sister to my father's father, who prayed for me when i was as she is now. a woman who now sings with Jesus and dips her toes in the pools of stars and inhales pure grace from the lips of the Saviour. 

the legacy of a blonde haired sister who shared my room from the moment we brought her home, who became my worst enemy and my best friend, who became more connected to my heart through drying ink on a legal document than blood could have ever provided. 

she is named after two great women. one older and passed from earth to greater Life, and one younger and still inhaling every second of oxygen that she can while her feet are still just barely pressed to grass. they are both full of Holy Light, though one is in the presence and one is still striving forward. 

some shake their heads and say 

{via pinterest}

it's just a name.

she'll be who she is all on her own. 

and she will be herself and no one else, because i plan on pressing the paintbrush into her fingers from the moment she inhales earth's air into her tiny lungs for the first time.

from the time she is born, i will whisper into her ear of her self-worth and her beauty, and i will show her little feet how to walk His path instead of theirs. 

but i'm still painting that legacy into her name. graceful star, her Father's joy. woman of God, girl of grace. warrioress and soul poet, whether she bathes in ink and old parchment or revels in grass stains and basketball courts. 

and she already is a graceful star. i feel her dancing beneath my skin in a rhythm that only she hears and understands with my heartbeat as her cadence, as her tribal drum to start. 

and oh, she already is her father's joy. here on earth as he presses lips to my stomach and tells her that he loves her already, as his eyes fill with so much pride that i know he would rip lions to pieces and place them at her feet, that he would bear the moon on his back for this tiny girl-child. all before she is even his to hold. 

and that is just her earthly father's pride, and the joy of the man whose blood she has. she will still bear a name that He knew -- her heavenly Abba -- before it was pieced together in my soul. 

a name He knew, a name He treasures. a name that makes Him laugh and whisper, 

yes, I know her. 

she's Mine, and I know what's Mine.

linking with emily and the rest of the imperfect prose team

name-seen

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we are all soul creatures, made to be seen; we are created to be cradled and tenderly adored. 

:: and yet we tremble at the thought of it ::

{the sacred life of rain}

the above passage from the lips of my bohemian sister have been haunting me since i first read them. i knew they were important, i knew they were resonating with me for a reason. 

i just didn't know why. 

but i do now. because now my warrioress spirit is churning up and my fingers and tangled with grief into thick dark curls and i feel like breaking down into two kinds of weeping. 

once for the joy of truth known.

twice for the agonizing grief of truth kept hidden.

dear Christian women of the world, stop. please, please stop. please put down the measuring cups and brush your hands down your aprons for just a moment, tip your heads back, and cry your name to the skies. i dare you. wherever you are, wail those beautiful syllables from earth to Heaven. your name, the one given by parents, the word known before the creation of the earth. 

the one etched in blood and ink on the pierced palms of the One who died for you, too. 

whoever told you that you had to blend into the woodwork, to be a wallflower and wait with lips pressed together in the silence and shadows...oh, sweet sister, they lied to you. 

because you are seen. and He craves to see you. 

did you know that? 

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did you know that your name is beautiful and that He speaks it with a smile? have you ever been told that His heart sings when He looks down and sees His daughters with open palms raised to the skies and a warrior-beat thudding between their ribs?

the introverts who peer up from swooping bangs and sing in the silence, the extroverts who leap to bare feet and dance up one aisle and down another. you are warrrioress, and you are too, sister. 

the veil was already torn, dearheart. why do you crave to cling to shredded fabric and hide there with your face shrouded and your eyes down to the stones by your feet. 

He is not down, He is up! He is risen, and you are raised to glory. so tip back those beautiful faces and speak that name to the sky. speak for your daughters, those ones who need a hand to guide them down the bravery path just for now. their feathers are still forming, these dove-daughters, and they need a map to follow. and He made it, and you speak it to their little ears. 

this is truth. open, honest, raw, beautiful truth.

you were made to been seen, to be heard, to be known. 

leap in the meadows and roar with your Daddy Lion. cling to His mane and sing His song at the top of your lungs. 

you were made be to loved this much. 

{linking this warrioress soul prompt with rain and emily}

Yearner

Yearn–verb (used without object)

1.to have an earnest or strong desire; longing

2.to feel tenderness; be moved or attracted

I rarely follow Facebook status trends. 

I'm one of those people who posts Owl City song lyrics, random thoughts that interest me, my blog posts... miscellaneous things of that nature.

I don't generally follow the stream of "re-postings."

But today, I saw a fill-this-in status that I just couldn't resist passing along to my friends. It was something along the lines of picking one word that best described me using the third letter of your first name.

Cheesy? Cliche? 


Yes, perhaps...


...but it was worth it, for reasons you will soon understand. 

Friends posted words such as "blogger" and "elegant"...even some complimentary words that I would blush to post in my own praise. 

But the answer I got from my mother, Joyce, inspired me more than anything. 

The word she chose for me was "yearner." 

They say that your mother knows you better than any other person in the world. 

In this case, I would have to agree with whomever "they" are...which I do have yet to figure out.

My mother knows that, ever since I was a little girl, I have been a yearner...

...filled with passion for everything I undertake, hitting everything head-on and never letting go until I see my dreams through...

...a heart flooded with love and tenderness for others, one that breaks when people hurt or when I am the cause of their pain...unwilling to let go until their tears dry and their hearts begin to mend, regardless of the detriment to myself. 

 

This can be to my benefit...but it can also result in my own heartache. 

It's part of who I am, really. 

I hold on tightly, and I never let go. 

I love as hard as I can, and I refuse to let anyone suffer alone. 

Yes, my mama does know me best...

...because I am indeed a yearner.  

I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always offering prayer with joy in my every prayer for you all, in view of your participation in the gospel from the first day until now. For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus. ~Philippians 1:3-6