prayers of the people {guest post for Osheta Moore}

{photo by Jennifer}

oh Mighty King,
step down and see.

oh Creator of all,
reach down and hold.

oh Daddy,
help us.

we are living in a land of divide, of lines drawn in the sand to keep the colours from blending together when they bleed, except when a boy of darker colour is bleeding on the pavement from a bullet fired from pale-coloured hands. and that's when it merges into shades of grey fog, and there's so much staggering, and so much confusion. and there's so much weeping, Jesus. there's so much weeping.

because there's hands up, clenched fists pounding against walls that should have been knocked down years ago, that should have never been raised at all. we're shuffling back into iron chains that You bled Yourself dry to corrode into flakes of rust.

{dear ones, today I'm over at Osheta's place, pouring out my prayers like water on the ground. read the rest of the post here, and then join me today in prayer for eyes to be opened, hearts to be healed, and peace to consume all.}

a question :: selah cottage

{via pinterest}

today is the birthday of my dearheart soul-sister, Beth. she's having a giveaway over at her place for her precious art awakening e-course, MADE, which begins in four days. my own heart cannot bear the excitement of stepping beside amazing artist-souls and merging in community with them. but there, at her place, she asked a question.

:: what question has been pressing on your heart lately?

we closed on our new home on Monday.

we got in the car after the papers were signed and i cried. i still don't know why. there was a lot of emotion in this entire process, more than i could ever hope to sort out into the neat little piles most prefer when it comes to feelings. i'm okay in my jumble right now.

in the jumble, there comes questions. beautiful, wild, frightening questions that i honestly don't know how to answer. but there is one that comes up and holds my hand, nestles in the crook of my neck and whispers softly,

what are you going to do with what you've been given? 

i've been handed a precious gift. a new space, wide and untouched yet by our hands. we've smeared paint on the walls, covering over the cracks and spaces left by previous owners, changing pale blue and white to dark purple and slate grey. we've carried in cardboard boxes with hand-scrawled words like cookbooks and fragile and DVDs and placed them in each room where they belong.

i've been given a canvas of wood and stone and cement and plaster. now what am i going to do with this space i have been given? it comes back to that word i chose for 2013, before i knew what was coming, before i knew the way this road would feel beneath my feet.

{via pinterest}

// release //

every year i pick a word. and every year it changes me, powerfully, in a sweeping strange way that i can only equate to fingers dipped into paint and spread wide to change the very depths of my soul, as though a wall needed repainting. 

and so i'm packing up each thing i own, shaking off the old dust and leaving in this place. i don't want to take it with me to this new place. what am i going to do with what i've been given?

i'm going to release the old. i'm going to smear the new on my canvas, dipped straight from my soul. i'm hanging the portrait of the Dawn Treader on the bedroom wall and whispering close, Aslan, Aslan, Aslan...

we named our new home selah cottage :: the little home of peace. and that's what i want to find there. i want to reach out my hands, open and waiting, and let the Peace beyond all i can know rain down and fill me up. i'm laying down art here. i'm making an altar, a monument to Glory, in the selah of my new space. 

i'm being made new. 

You make me new

You are making me new

You make beautiful things out of us. 

{beautiful things :: gungor}

woman ablaze

{via pinterest}

i am the girl on fire. 

i am the woman ablaze.

or at least, i want to be. i want to walk a path once dim and watch it glimmer as the lights flicker into being and line the steps so that others can come after and not trip on the stones. 

i love the moon and the stars 

almost more than the sun.

it's a softer light, not blinding. i can gaze upward when the moon shines gentle and whispers hope better than when the sun leaves spots behind my lashes, even when they're closed. 

and that's what i want to be the world. soft light pointing to the Son that comes in the dawning, not a second sun that comes where it shouldn't and speaks too loud and too blinding for the world to understand. 

there is beauty in the soft light. beauty in the candlewick as it flickers in the night, the softest glow that illuminates the eyes and the heart and the soul. the Word was penned by light of wax and string dipped and twisted together, gentleness on fire. 

{via pinterest}

because we're all about the megaphone these days. all about the fist-banging to startle the sleepers and frighten them from their daze. 

but don't you rather it when a hand gently touches your shoulder, a soft shake to rouse you and guide you from pillow to daylight? there is a time and a place for the brightness that overwhelms, and there is a time for the caress of tenderness. 

we forget. yes, He toppled tables. but there was soft weeping, too. 

oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem. 

how I longed to gather you to Me....

i am the girl on fire. 

i am the candle ablaze. 

and oh, i long 

to be the moon that heralds the Son. 

breathing mama :: practicing peace

{via pinterest}

i'm loving this freedom i'm feeling.

this freedom to just be and not do, to focus on my overwhelmed heart and not dwell on the placement of the words on the page. it's truly freeing to be like this.

i understand why Mary kept each thing close and pondered them deep within her heart. there's so much that floods my mind every single day, and i feel so close to exploding.

:: and i am practicing peace :: 

i'm not a mother, yet...am i? is it alright to have practices of parenting for something the size of a green olive that only makes its presence known in lack of sleep and overpowering nausea?

but i do. and i'm practicing peace.

because i want this child to know what i have learned, and i ache that it might not take so long. and i fear i might forget when this silence is replaced by screams and this beauty is replaced by sleepless nights and the desperation for just a moment of rest in the chaos.

but i want to wrap my arms around this child as i wrap my arms around my stomach now and whisper

peace I bring you

{via pinterest}

not as the world gives. 

because i'm birthing into chaos and madness, a world that wants to pull my little one under with every lust and doubt and fear and loss.

this wants to turn my beautiful daughter into a stick figure, never thin enough but slowly dying inside and out. it wants to turn my strong warrior son's eyes into mirrors for disrespecting the women he is born to protect.

and that is almost enough to turn me to fear and tremble, and not the kind i should possess.

but i am striving, i am aching, i am seeking peace. my first practice of parenthood, even while my child is so small and knows nothing but love within.

in a world of dark, i want to whisper Light into this yet-forming ears. i want to sing the lilting notes of Lion's song into the silence.

in His presence, there is peace. and i am kneeling here with hands pressed to belly and eyes wide to bloodstained cross.

and i'm practicing peace.

am i overstepping by being this passionate already? 

prayer circles :: rising

:: i am drawing circles in the earth.
i am marching around my Jericho.

because i believe in once, in twice, in seven times and a ram's horn blast.

i believe in the power of prayer. not magic or myth, but so much truth.

prayer, as strong as it once was when prophets raised hands to the skies and cried, and fire fell from Heaven and rain flooded from barren skies.

when warriors drop spears and march instead in circles around and around the massive walls, and a stomp and a trumpet and a shout collapses the wall, save for the place where the former prostitute knelt with her dear ones and believed that she and they alone would be spared.

it's not asking for the solution to the maze. it's holding out the hand and whispering

i'm lost and confused.

guide me?

it's the stand at the cliff's edge and crying to the skies with more joy than one soul can contain. and all i can do anymore is sing, not a dirge but a dancing rhythm. 

i rose, the dungeon filled with light.

my chains fell off, my heart was free

i rose, went forth, and followed Thee. 

and i'm kneeling in the center of this circle, hands raised to Heaven to receive the coming rain. the ground is dry, but i have marched, and now i wait. 

amazing love

how can it be

that Thou, my God, should die

for me. 

oh, glory is my song. and barefoot, this circle is my home. 

glorious emptiness

{via pinterest}

i feel empty. but in a good way.

as though my self has been rung out, and tenderly folded over the edge of the sink. it sounds awful, i know. but it's a beautiful kind of emptiness.

morning by morning, He's filling me anew, and showing me that it's alright to be silent for a time. and i know that my blogging voice is has been quiet in recent days, but i feel like it's the break i've been needing for months.

since July, i've been blogging every single day. partially because of the inspiration flowing, but also because it's felt like a requirement. something i needed to do to keep myself in line in order to feel connected.

but now i'm learning to relax. i'm enjoying being pregnant, for all the discomfort and exhaustion that comes alongside this journey. i'm overwhelmed, and that's more than alright.

oh, this is a dance, steps that i have never learned before that i am now starting to understand. these slow movements turned to a pounding beat of resting...resting...resting...

and i'm standing here with hair undone and loose, and eyes wide open to see what lays before my bare feet. this is a good journey.

oh, so much glory.

overwhelmed in love. toes pressed against the base of the cross.

bear with me, friends, as i learn to juggle this exhaustion and temper myself with glory. 

and pray for me, as i measure out and find my new center. 

reaching moonward

{via pinterest}

do you know how often i wish i could touch the moon?

it's the way i feel when a worship song slides down my spine and nests in my soul, as guitars strum and soft voices lift a single Name from Earth to Heaven. and all i can do is reach upward, fingers stretching out as though to grip the rafters and rise.

it's especially true on nights like this, when quilts and pillows comfort the sniffling and the sneezing. on oddly warm winter evenings when the sky is purple and orange and it's like watching the Saviour take a sacred moment to fingerpaint the sky.

and i reach out trembling hands, overcome with awe and wonder, up toward the mast where the albatross in the windstorm has roosted just long enough to roar in Lion's tongue

you are safe

you are loved

and you are Mine.

it's then that i ache just a bit inside. because like a wife who misses a husband gone with only telephone dials and cyber connections to keep them joined over seas and county lines, i ache for my Jesus. 

:: and so my fingers reach moonward ::

and i feel that overwhelming peace as moonlight shines down and i cry, oh, how i want to be brave. how i want to understand. and i am, because that's what He promised. we linked fingers, He and i, over a glass of merlot and black ink promises of lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. 

He promised me brave. He promised me warrioress. He promised me daughter. 

and so i still reach moonward and sing to the darkness where my Saviour lingers

oh, i'm running to Your arms.

Light of the world,

forever reign. 

bedtime stories :: peace

{via pinterest}

some can look back to little girl moments and think of stories read. they can remembering hearing whispered once upon a time from parental lips and smiling with fairytale princess pride.

but me, i look back at one story that was told me over and over. because it was my favourite. and it was not the one with glass slippers or spell-breaking kisses or even tumbling rose petals. it was the one where the little girls died, and their daddy wrote a song.

i can still hear my daddy's voice in my head, even now, as he told the tale at bedtime. the storm that rocked the vessel that sent three little girls to the bottom of the ocean, a wife's broken telegram of three words that screamed of a whispered broken heart.

:: safe but alone ::


and a broken father who boarded a ship to the place where his daughters passed the veil and entered their Father's arms. and the words that melted together with the tears that splashed into the salty tomb that bore his children.

when peace like a river attendth my way

when sorrows like sea billows roll

whatever my lot, Thou has taught me say

it is well.

it is well 

with my soul

this was my bedtime tale. and i never felt safer when told this story of the little girls' drowning and their father who found peace in the storm. because when Daddy kissed my forehead and turned out the light and i snuggled beneath my bright blue tye-dyed duvet, i would smile.

{via pinterest}

because Jesus loved little girls, and He loved their daddy too. and i was a little girl, and i had a daddy. and if something happened to me, i would be with Jesus. and if something happened to my daddy, i would be okay, too.

and now i'm all grown up, with a patchwork quilt and a dark blue and gold duvet of my own. and sometimes when the night feels darker than it ever has, and the world seems empty and so much like a billowing storm, i go to the window and look out into the frozen night.

and my lips form the words that my daddy taught me.

when peace like a river

and when the notes are formed in church, the tears drip down. because it's still my favourite hymn. i still feel safe when the melody fills my ears and i mentally take my daddy's hand and squeeze it the way he used to do, and still does when we are together.

because i'm a woman now, not a little girl. but i still love my daddy. and so does Jesus.

and i need to call my daddy and thank him for teaching me this song. because my eyes are full of unshed tears as i write this.

because this is not a fairytale with happy ever after. 

this is truth with eternity like a cloak for my shoulders. 

this is peace like a river.

the fourth page :: peace in glory

{via pinterest}

{to read the first page, visit here}

{to read the second page, visit here}
{to read the third page, visit here}

i almost didn't blog today. between packing our suitcases for the yearly family vacation and attempting to get my Christmas-tousled house in order, time for reflection was pushed too far behind. the press and crush of time almost did me in again.

it's a flaw i have, letting time overwhelm and to-do lists dictate my sitting and my standing and my breathing and my living. i forget to stop and rest.

silent night. oh holy night. 

behold your King

for all this crush that spells the mas where it should be Christ, we forget that there was no pomp and circumstance to herald the entrance of Christ, as God and man blended into the mystery of one flesh. 

it was as silent as a birth can be. 

there was no cluster of red carpet admirers, no throngs of people with anxious hearts and fingers stretched out to caress the cheek of this Saviour child. there was a frightened virginal couple, not even a midwife to attend them. there were animals gathered around in the stone shelter where the Prince of Peace was born, with dung and straw and nothing but strips of cloth in which to wrap the Son of the Most High. 

she called Him Emmanuel. God with us. 

{via pinterest}

do you feel this like i do? 

:: God with us ::

:: God with us ::

:: God with us ::

and this woman, this new mother -- even a child herself -- treasured each one of these things deep within her heart. there was silence that flowed purely alongside the angelic chorus of oh, glory, glory, glory. and on earth, peace.

oh, behold your King. 

hail, hail, the Word made flesh.

so we celebrate, and we gather. 

but last night was that moment in this holiday season for me. that moment when our church was silent, save for the flickering of two hundred lit candles in the darkness, and two hundred voices rose to greet this God-made-man. 

oh, come, let us adore Him.

we'll praise Your Name forever.

oh, behold your King.

peace in the soon

i'm at peace with wanting.

{via pinterest}

i have my little list, tucked in a place where only He and i can find it when the time is right. and sometimes, we pull it out late at night, my King and i, and we laugh and we weep together over this little scrap of paper. 

my Love knows my list, too, but he doesn't understand it fully. he listens when i can contain it within myself no longer, and i pour my soul like water over us both. and he comforts me then, as best as he knows how.

but i think no mortal can understand another want unless they want it too, and just as badly. 

it's tricky to find this place of wanting and having without stepping over into this dangerous place of 

my will be done. 

there is a strange darkness in this place where we blow out the Fire and shiver by self's candle instead. and i've learned that it's not worth it to cross this line. 

and so i learn to wait and cling to the hem of His robe, knowing that i am safe when i stay at His feet and softly whisper

Thy will be done. 

who knew it was so hard to wait? 

and sometimes i find myself looking into that mirror and beating my fists on the walls and begging for the now and not the then. and then i must stop, because i am waiting on me and not on Him anymore. 

because His wait is not as hard as mine. because it's strength renewing and wing-giving. 

{via pinterest}

and He takes delight in blessing His children with good things. 

wait is not never. wait is only this -- wait. and soon. 

and so i find my place in this thickly woven cosmos, and remember that i am seen and i am known by the One who made and placed me here. 

 and i curl into His arms and wait for the rain. 

i am at peace with this thing of wait. because wait doesn't mean never. 

it means someday. it means soon. 

for He calls all time soon. 

{linking this moment with my King along with Laura; also, over at the "Write It, Girl" project}

clutter

i am a very organized person.

i require neatness and tidiness wherever i go.

however, those of you who have had the rather facetiously-stated pleasure of seeing the interiour of my apartment know that i have trouble taking this concept from shelf to floor.

i have extremely organized cabinets. 

bookshelves. 

DVD cases. 

tabletops and counters. 

however, the rest of the place is a bit

well

lacking in order.

i suppose a good and far more appropriate word is clutter. 

something i hate, but something i have trouble getting rid of on a regular basis.

cleaning isn't the problem. really, it's not. i can clean in a matter of a half hour, and the place looks brilliant. it's keeping my home in this newly tidied fashion which becomes the issue.

honestly, though, i think our lives are crowded with clutter. if not our homes, then definitely our minds.

date books.

events.

 calenders. 

family life.

 education. 

the daily grind of work. 

so much 

noise. 

so much 

shuffle. 

so much 

confusion. 

it's enough to make one's head spin completely off and run away to a darkened closet for shelter.

but even the closets are full of so much stuff.

there is no place to hide. no place for quiet and stillness. at least, not in ourselves.

there is peace, though.

it's waiting on our slightly uneven living room couch. at the foot of our unmade and tousled beds. at the kitchen table that still holds far too many piles of paperwork and charcoal pencils.

it's waiting at the foot of the Cross.

so much peace crying out so loudly.

come to Me, heavy-laden daughters. 

come to Me, worn and weary sons.

rest in Me, beloved ones. 

in Him, there is no clutter.

only perfect peace. 

Voice

Freedom has a thousand charms to show,
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
~William Cowper

I was recently given a very great compliment by a blogging friend of mine. She commented to me that she loved how I had "found my voice."

It broke my heart and yet gave me such freedom to have to tell her that she was mistaken.

I don't have my voice yet.

Every post is an example of over-analysis...self-deprecation...doubt that allows nothing but perfection to escape into this blogging world.

Or into any part of the world, for that matter.

There is a tiny voice in my head that points out my every flaw...makes me feel guilty for mistakes I have not even made yet...for posting things that might offend my readers.

No, I have not yet found my voice.

Posts like skyeyes and grace alone. are slow steps of bravery.

Slow steps to freedom.

I won't even begin to pretend perfection, as much as I wish I could. Even as I wrote those above posts, my fingers shook at the idea of releasing just broken imperfection to the world at large.

I'm a broken mirror...I don't want my fractured reflection to ruin me.

I don't have my voice yet.

I'm currently undergoing vocal surgery.

I'm under the knife...

...it hurts as each cleansing pass of the blade cuts away more and more of my self-shame and indescribable fear.

He's changing me. He's mending the mirror.

I won't be the same when He's done.

I'll finally have a voice that I will be unashamed to use.

I never want to go back to prison.

To bondage.

To silence.

If I could hear Christ praying for me in the next room, I would not fear a million enemies.  Yet distance makes no difference.  He is praying for me.  ~Robert M. McCheyne

Not

When you come to the end of all the light you know and it’s time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly. ~Edward Teller

I am utterly tired of being defined by what I am supposed to be...

...who am I am as a woman, as a Christian, as a sister or daughter or wife or friend.

Everyone else has an idea of what I should be, who I should be, and what I should eventually become.

My heart regarding this was pushed over the edge by this post written by my beautiful blogging sister, Rain.

I will no longer be defined by what I am not.

Because I am NOT so many things.

I am not a falcon. I am a sparrow in His hand, just learning to fly.

I am not a messy apartment or a pile of unsorted papers. I am an eclectic artist with a head full of life.

I am not a mountain climber. I am a kitten, putting out a paw to ascend a sapling.

I am not a lion. I am a lamb learning to roar.

I am not silent. I am a fighter learning to be a lover.

I am not a perfect friend. I am a shoulder on which to cry, and a heart with which to laugh. And I am here for you.

I am not June Cleaver, with coiffed hair and perfect pot roast. I'm my own definition of a domestic goddess and housewife...because I can only be me, as it is.

I am not the owner of a college degree. I am a self-educated woman who lets the King direct her pen.

I am not rational. I am a dreamer, un-caged and full of faith.

I am not a size 2 blonde-hair supermodel. I am a size 12 brunette with uneven green eyes, and I am beautiful.

I am not perfect.

I will never be perfect.

I am striving. I am learning. I am growing.

That is all I can ever be, all I can ever do.

Because I am His...

...and He loves me

arms spread this much

this way.

Certain thoughts are prayers.  There are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees.  ~Victor Hugo

Wave

In the quiet, in the stillness / I know that You are God / In the secret of Your presence / I know there I am restored. / When You call I won't refuse / Each new day again I'll choose...There is no one else for me / None but Jesus / Crucified to set me free / Now I live to bring Him praise...~Brooke Fraser, None But Jesus


I am a chaotic human being.


I stress myself out more than I would like to admit. 


I'm very bad at remaining calm when it comes to myself. When my friends are struggling, I am a steady rock for them, keeping my head to ensure that they remain calm and level as their world shakes around them. 


But when it comes to myself?


I'm a hurricane. 


And eventually, I entirely collapse under the weight of my own confusion, heartache, and overflowing coffers of stress. 


I need to stop.


I need to remind myself that it's not a sin to breathe...


...that the entire universe won't crumble to the floor if I don't take a few minutes for myself...


...that there's Someone bigger than me who runs the universe. 


I need to give Him back the wheel, because I'm starting to skid off the road just a little bit...and this lack of my own control is starting to scare me more than I'm willing to admit. 


I need to let Him take over. 


I need to remind myself who my Father is...who my King is...who my Savior is.


I need to let Him use His strength to carry the world...


...and to carry me.


So I'm sitting on the lawn, waving goodbye to my worries as they take off toward the sunset with the birds.


It's on Him now. 


He's never let me down so far. 


And I don't think He's going to start now. 


In the chaos, in confusion / I know You're sovereign still / In the moment of my weakness / You give me grace to do Your will / So when You call I won't delay / This my song through all my days...~Brooke Fraser, None But Jesus