the year of the Lion

{photo by Rachel}

I started 2014 with a bang. literally, as that is a very good emulation of the sound made by my knee striking the corner of our coffee table precisely at midnight. the pain was enough to reduce me to tears as my husband put his arm around me and spent the first minute of the new year kissing away tears.

the irony of that hasn't escaped me. it was a burst of pain that brought this new year in :: this precipice year, this year of big things. I am fully aware that birthing requires pain, and this year is already brimming with the anticipation of pain.

this year is precipice. that is the word He gave me, once against without consulting me, as He so often does. and it's a good thing that He buried this seed so deep within me, because I might almost be tempted to dig it up and throw it away. because this is so damn big. so damn big. 

this is the year of letting go, of falling because there is nothing holding me back anymore. I'm anticipating some stumbling and some bumping, some air currents and the occasional thunderstorm. to say that I am expecting smooth sailing and an easy ride in this coming year would be a lie.

if anything, I'm expecting things to be hard. 

I wrote this post in the early days of December for the new Story Sessions internet home. I didn't have any idea what my word would be for 2014. I had barely an inkling of all the things that I would start to understand, that I would resolve to write a book in this coming year, that some of my words would be accepted for publication right at the cresting end of 2013.

she whispers at my core, deep inside me,

“I am midwife to freedom.

now push.”

{shifra :: featured on Story Sessions}

but I think I understand now. I think I'm finally grasping this impossible thing that I've been feeling since before this year truly began. it was pressing against the seams of the old year, like a wild thing, a wave that knows the sea awaited behind the wall. and it wanted to go home. 

{photo by Rachel :: art by Mandy}

now we are here, eleven hours into this new year. eight days away from publication. already pouring through and attempting to understand how to expand myself, how to make the needed changes, how to write this book and spin these stories. 

it's all about embracing a calling :: about figuring out what is it, exactly, that He and I have been struggling through and warring about for the past twelve months. it's about being a writer, a mother, a sojourner, a wife. it's about being a wild one. it's about falling. 

it's about letting the roaring :: His roaring :: soak into my skin like salve and smear across my cheeks like war paint. it's about saturating myself in faith, not religion. it's about letting go.  it's about understanding that I will most likely be completely vulnerable, that I will be putting myself out there this year in a way that is borderline terrifying. 

it's 2014. the year of precipice. the year of big things. the year of holy days. the year of sacredness, of continued thrashing.

the year of the Lion.

{one of the big things that is happening this year is my all exclusive content newsletter. you can subscribe here :: also found on the right side of the blog in the sidebar. the first issue goes out on Monday, January 6th. I plan on writing more about this in detail in the coming days. I deeply hope that you will join me on this sojourn} 

Narnian almost-newborn

{via pinterest}

i am Reepicheep.
a mouse who must be held back from attempting combat with a dragon.

i'm marveling at the grace and joy that this life brings, to inhale and exhale courage that never seems to let up these days.

there is a kind of happiness and wonder 

that makes you serious. 

it is too good to waste on jokes. 

:: the last battle  // c.s. lewis

and that is where i am right now, right on the cusp of so many things, so much change. and i am breathless with excitement.

i understand that Narnian wonder again...i think i had forgotten what this feels like. it used to be my passion, to leap into the pools and come up to the tune of Lion's breath and steel growing alive from the ground.

because that's what this time is for me, a transition from summer to autumn, the time when the earth comes so alive and grace overflows so that the earth brings life from nothing.

{via pinterest}

it's hot cinnamon apple cider and burning leaves coupled with soft pink sheets and hand-crocheted booties in purple and mauve.

it's mustard yellow sweaters and chunky knit scarves with fresh-printed books by candlelight...Goodnight Moon and I'll Love You Forever take up the shelves where Austen and Bronte used to reside.

this is where it starts. this is the begin.
she is four days late, but i know she will arrive.

and then we will tip over the wave and catch our first glimpse of Aslan's county in her newborn eyes.

and i will teach her to being a roaring lamb
a dragon-fighting mouse.

the first page :: havah

{via pinterest}

i've been reading a book.

it's not all that uncommon for me to be found reading a book, actually. i'm an avid reader as well as an author. can you be one without the other, really? can you write well without the example of fluttering pages and the comparison of knowing where one has gone before you, and soared?

i'm reading Havah. this volume gifted from the heart of a sister to my mailbox this week. and i cannot put it down.

Tosca Lee put pen to paper and wrote this book, her own heart's picture of the beginning and end through the eyes of the first Woman.

Havah. 

Life. 

Eve. 

and as i pour through these pages, overwhelmed with the beauty of the first portion, my heart swells. this connection to the Creator they feel, their bonding with the One who Spoke them to life...it makes me crave this same communion with Him. because the beauty is almost overwhelming to my soul.

and then the anvil drops. and i can see it coming in slow motion because i know the story and i know what's coming and i know, oh how i know what the cost will be, and i want to scream at her to stop and open her eyes because how could she not know?

but then comes a bite. and a second. and feminine hands outstretched toward husband's lips, and another bite. and with simple movements of lips and teeth and throats, their fate is sealed in darkness. but not just theirs -- ours. every last breath becomes thicker, harder, and every last heart is now blackened with sin.

but there is hope. there is Light.

for with darkness comes a glimmer of Hope. for with the disconnection from the Holy One comes a promise of reconnection.

you will bruise His heal 

but He will crush your head. 

even in anger, God knew. and God would not let His people, His newly-broken ones, go without a hope. do we forget this part of the story? we weep with horror and wail if only if only. 

{via pinterest}

but in a week, we celebrate that hope. 

the hope of all things new. 

for unto us a Child is born

unto us a Son is given

and the Government will be upon His shoulder

and His name shall be 
Wonderful Counseler, Mighty God, 
Everlasting Father

Prince of Peace.

and He came to save and live and walk and die as one of us, so that He might rend the curtain and let the Light in again. 

this is one of the pages in the Christmas story that we forget. the darkest of pages that we swiftly attempt to overturn in our hurry to get to the angels singing and the Child coming into virginal arms. but it's a big picture story, this thing of Jesus' coming. 

because even her name -- Havah -- it means Life. a promise from the beginning, a hope so sure as to not be shaken. 

and Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight

the clouds be rolled back as a scroll.

the trump shall resound and my Lord shall descend

praise the Lord, praise the Lord

oh, my soul.

Stitch

Take your needle, my child, and work at your pattern; it will come out a rose by and by.  Life is like that - one stitch at a time taken patiently and the pattern will come out all right like the embroidery.  ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

I am not a seamstress.

Not by any stretch of the imagination.

People often ask me why I don't have a shop on Etsy. While I do have an Etsy account, I tell them that I could never have a shop because my gifts are not something you can sell.

I cannot bottle my voice, sell my poetry as a garment, or send some moment in theater baked into a lump of divine chocolate goodness.

All of that to say, I cannot sew.

I was not one of those homeschooled girls who threw herself into the world of fiber, needles, and intricate stitching. It just never interested me all that much, despite how hard my grandmother tried to lure me into the magical land of her sewing room.

I wanted to like sewing...it fascinated me, but i never found myself called into this world like so many others.

But yesterday, all that changed.

I went to the store and made a few small purchases: five yards of red and white satin, needles, pins, two spools of thread, and a small spool of black ribbon.

I sat down on the floor, took a deep breath, and proceeded to spend the next eighteen hours in the world of the seamstress.

And finally, from the ashes of well-poked fingers and sore hands,

...from staying up until 2am to the welcome accompaniment of the fourth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer...

...a beautiful two-sided superhero cape was born.

I could not be more proud of my pattern-less creation...for all of its lopsided and crooked stitching, random moments of gathered lumps, and maybe one or two blood drops from my own battle wounds.

And as I stared at this creation...once only a pile of fabric and miscellaneous materials, now something wonderful and beautiful...I heard the whisper of my King.

See. I am making all things new. 

See, I am making you new. 

You are My creation. 

You are beautiful. You are perfect. You are Mine.

And oh, how I love you. 

I am His creation. He poured labour into me. He poured all of Himself into me...yes, even His blood. 

And I am His. 

And He gazes on me with pride. 

I see crooked stitches.

He makes my way straight.

Stitch by stitch.

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland." ~Isaiah 43:19

Graduate

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go, instead, where there is no path and leave a trail. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

My little sister's High School graduation was on Saturday.

It was a day of emotion, family, and the passing of the baton from one generation to another...watching the graduation of my baby sister flooded me with pride.

As I watched her and a small cluster of my younger friends walk across the stage and receive their diplomas from their fathers, it was quite the flashback of my own graduation two years ago.

I remember standing against the wall with my closest friends as we prepared for the processional, slowly realizing that my life was about to change forever.

I remember the commencement speech and the mountains of advice given that day from teachers, parents, family, and friends to the class of 2009.

I remember giving my speech, fidgeting with my tassel, crying as I hugged my dad while my diploma passed from his hands to mine.

I remember smiling for endless photos and laughing through my tears as I shared final moments with the people who had shaped my life for the past five years.

But above all else, I remember being gripped by a combination of terror and passionate excitement.

It was the first day of my future, and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. At that moment, all my dreams seemed so huge...so wonderfully wide and frightening massive.

So this is my word to you -- to HHSW's Class of 2011...to every graduate who has turned their tassel this year...

Be.

Be a man of God. Be a woman of grace.

Be a radical changer of the world.

Be strong and of courage, for the Lord is with you.

Be mighty men and women of valor and love.

Be dreamers. Be faithful. Be passionate.

Be yourself.

But above all,

Be His.

Congratulations Class of 2011.

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings