for when there aren't many words left {#Furgeson}

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as far as Ferguson goes, I've been silent. 

I mean that as literally as you can get. nothing on social media. not my Facebook or my Twitter or my Instagram or my blog. nothing. period. 

silence. 

and that, for me, is odd. there are very few social issues that leave me at a loss for words. this one, however, has done exactly that. 

I am at a loss for words. 

let me be very clear here :: I have not been silent because I am white. I have not been silent because I have an unpopular opinion. I have not been silent because I am afraid. 

I have been silent because it has been one of those moments where you are confronted with something so overwhelming that it leaves nothing behind. there have been so many amazing words shared already. {you can find a couple fantastic and powerfully gentle posts here and here.} there have been arguments on both sides, strong words flung and feet planted into the dirt. the Internet is good at controversy, after all. 

what could I possibly say? wouldn't I only be adding to the noise?

because let's be honest :: there's been a lot of noise. madness. tumult. 

all I can do is pray. 

and that's pretty much exactly what I'm going to do here. 

:: 

oh God. 

bring peace. 

oh Lord,

bring comfort. 

oh Jesus. oh sweet Jesus. 

bring clarity. 

Spirit of the living God,

fall fresh. 

oh Lion, 

breathe. 

oh mighty Father, 

sustain. 

selah. selah. selah. 

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.}

taking flight // incense

i've been making observations about this faith of mine.

little by little, i'm stepping deeper and deeper into the Holy of Hollies, the place now opened from top to bottom when He whispered it is finished. and the ground shook with the intensity of how much He desired me. and now i'm shrouded in veils with Him, a tent in the wild.

and i'm seeking, floating like a mermaid with fingers through the seaweed, sinking deeper and deeper in the water until i close my eyes and let myself drown to be risen again with a new name, a moniker of Light.

:: oh let my prayer 

be counted as incense 

before You

{psalm 141:13}

why do we fear the candlelight and the whispered repeated words and the sweet smell of incense rising to the heavens in a cloud of delicate worship? it's so strange when we look at the words and somehow wrap them up in a Church-appropriate package with a bow on top and pass it out as the only way allowed.

because He went to the mountain for peace be still, and i'm following in His footsteps, or at least i'm learning how to walk that way. for now, i'm riding on the Lion's back like a lamb with a broken leg. and i have a warm blanket for those cold winter nights among the fur trees with the stars above singing His glory.

and i'm drawing a circle in the dirt and sitting there with candles lit around me. and i'm worshiping here in my wilder-ness to the One Who Sees, to the Wild-Maker who tucks feathers behind my ear and whispers

rise up on eagle's wings, daughter
and I will teach you how to fly

amen :: so be it

{via pinterest}

i am in awe of the infinite. i am sitting and meditating hard on this word, amen. there is such depth in such a short word, flippantly flying off the tongue at the end of every prayer, at the pause in every causal heartwish.

but every time i finish a conversation with Him, i whisper a final plea.

amen.
so be it. 

and it's a sacred sort of whisper, the kind that resonate like the roots of a tree, solid in the earth but reaching up toward Heaven even still anchored deep in my memory.

because every word i speak He memorizes, and that's a little fearful to know that He cares so much about every letter that passes my lips that He remembers them all. every one.

and He likes me to ask Him. He knows what i need, but daddies like when their daughters come and ask them things, and Abba God wants me to lean on His knee and whisper, "can i please?"

it's the sacred amen, the faith found in the so be it, even in the shaky stillness when words come halting and hesitating. it's crying into the abyss and being caught up safe in the arms of the One who knew the second my footing trembled.

i thank God for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes

{via pinterest}

:: e.e. cummings

and so i'm becoming less and less afraid to reach up and brush the foot of the Cross because i climbed the hill on bloody hands and knees, whispering "amen, yes, and amen, and yes and amen again."

i'm lighting a candle and pressing my face to the floor because there's something mighty about the lowering, allowing Him to wash my feet because i'm clean already except for the dirt of today's road. and it's the infinite of His glory that swallows me whole. 

and i die to live, drown to breathe.

i'm finding myself

at a loss for words

and the funny thing is

:: it's okay ::

{{word of god speak // mercy me}}

{a writer's prayer}

{via pinterest}

if my heart has one ambition

if my soul one goal to seek

this my solitary vision:

'till i only dwell in Thee. 

:: hymn // brooke fraser ::

to the Lover of my soul, the Authour of my story, 

i'm walking a calling, something You gave me. something You pressed into my hands the moment before You sent me earth-bound and whispered, remember to use this. 

and now i use it, or at least, i'm trying. i'm grasping at napkins and ink pens, whatever my fingers can find to  etch the words that stir like snow in the wind behind my eyes. 

so here i am, on my knees with words piling up around me. 

please. 

hear my exhale.

guide my hand to write the Glory

guard my soul to write the Right

grip the pen when i'm too weak to do it myself. 

let my words be mighty, let my words be Yours.

the worlds i invent, the lives i create, may they be filled with Your Light 

and so here i am, just as i am, ink-stained hands raised up. because oh Lord Jesus, i am scared. there is transparency here, the see-through openness that somehow seems to bleed onto the pages. and i am laying myself bare, the deep parts, the aching and beautiful parts. the Glory visible can lead to pain.

this is trusting You with all of me, every corner, even the dust. 

::amen. 

so be it.

circles repeated

{via pinterest}

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

those words, those two simple lines, started a post that i wrote on the last day of January. my circle journey had just started, and i almost want to laugh and then weep at how far i have come.

because all of me has become a circle. and i can say that with laughter as i watch my belly grow and grow and continue to grow. and i watch the mandella of prayer in which i have found myself kneeling become visible and evident on my skin, dark purple twisting lines that create

the most intricate
the most precious
the most beloved
and the most frightening of prayer circles that i have ever witnessed.

i've learned more about myself in these past nine months than i ever could have anticipated. and yes, it has been nine months now, at the dawning of this morning's fingers of rose and pale gold. i've had to release the rigidness to which i have steadfastly clung, because i wake up every morning without a single clue as to what i might encounter.

and this journey of her safely beneath my skin is almost over, and with a scream of mine and a wail of hers, she will be here...and this makes me tremble, loved ones. this makes me tremble in the most sacred of ways, and the most human of ways, as well.

{via pinterest}

i feel like this circle is fragile. like it could break if i press the wrong way, and everything falls to pieces. it's that fear again, that serpentine voice whispering my ear, you shall not surely die, but you shall be like God. 

and now i understand why Eve's temptation was so great, why the first woman reached out for the fruit that whispered lies of simple solution, of knowledge of what is and what could come.

but i'm letting Him guide my fingers from sparkling poison apples to something brighter, something dirty like Carpenter's sandals, something dusty like the hem of the Rabbi's cloak.

grasp Me here. 
and down on your knees is where you will find Me, the most clean and the most pure. 

because faith is found in circles of prayer and blood and freshly cut covenant
where the fire can pass between the torn pieces of me to lodge in the fullness of Him.

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. 

unforced rest :: whispers

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sometimes, it's good to be restless. it's good to pulse and feel and breathe.
but sometimes, you have to close your eyes.

i'm bad at resting.

even when all i should be doing is leaning back, eyes closed to recover, i don't want to stop. i want to keep tossing, keep turning, keep moving and doing until i'm thin as paper and torn into shreds.

and right now i'm sick. and i should be focused on recovering, tucking my chills under a quilt with a steaming mug of tea and a brand-new book. and t i'm snuggled under these blankets with tea and Hell's Kitchen and fluffy pillows, but oh, my mind is fluttering in a thousand directions.

why can't i rest?

so close your eyes

you can close your eyes.

:: it's alright :: 

how many times does He say be still? 

it's important to Him that i rest, that i be still and know. and yet, it's not important to me. is that not such a horrible slap in His face? what matters so much to Him means nothing to me? 

{via pinterest}

it makes me sick to realize how foolish i can be when my eyes go on me and dart to the lists instead of closing to serenity for His whispers of 

courage dearheart

breathe deeply, daughter.

because this Lion's song is what i should be singing, instead of this thudding drum of 

go now 

go now 

go now 

go now. 

it's this restless mind, this broken spirit that aches to overcompensate. 

i strive too hard to fix my own mistakes instead of sitting in His hand and listening to the whispers that linger past the storm, the wind, the fire. 

i must rest

in these unforced rhythms 

of grace. 

in which i have clothespins

{via pinterest

my grandma has an outdoor clothesline.

it's tied from the low eave of the roof and strung across the lawn to the large maple tree that stands in the center.

ever since i was a little girl, she has carried her sheets in her wicker laundry basket onto the back porch. the tin pail of clothespins sits right inside the door.

from the first warmth of spring to the first snows of winter, the linens flutter in the wind.

it still fascinates me.

on warm days like this one, even in this November chill, my thoughts wander back that clothesline and those rippling sheets and pillowcases.

i despise laundry. it is the one chore i would rather avoid entirely.

but if i had a washline like that, i would do load upon load. i would wash my clothes every single day.

because it's a reminder. 

sometimes i feel like a pile of rumbled linens, tumbled together in a basket.

i can't stand on my own.

but i have clothespins to steady me. 

shoulderbearers.

{via pinterest}

my Aarons and my Urs, under my elbows to keep my arms reaching upward.

one at each corner, holding me to the Line so that i don't fall into the dirt and became filthy again. i was just washed. i want to stay clean.

and these people are my accountability. they bear me up. they hold me to the Line to which i must daily cling.

these sisters and brothers.

my clothespins.

and on these cool days, the winds blows my curtains back and lets the breeze caress my shoulders.

it's a reminder, really.

a reminder that i'm held. 

by Him, and by them.

by my clothespins to the Line.

warrior child // prayers for Caden

Crystal holding Caden this afternoon
this Warrior grows stronger daily

my recent posts on sistership echo strong in my heart tonight. 

there is a girl who is dear to my soul, and whose strength inspires me to rise above my circumstances. to trust Him more, to rely on Him fully.

my sweet Crystal Leigh.

and her baby -- her tiny Warrior child -- is hurting.

Caden Mathias: spirit of battle, gift of God. 

his heart was laid bare on Thursday under the skillful hands of surgeons, set on making this small Warrior well again.

and now his mother holds his tiny hand as he lays in a bed so big that his tiny form breaks my heart. she has only been able to hold him in her arms and rock away his tears twice since his surgery.

but he opens his huge blue eyes and looks into his mama's face and smiles and coos as best he can. his little body is stronger today, and will be tomorrow.

but oh, dear ones, he needs prayers.

prayers for healing. for strength. for miracles.

for the comfort for his mother, so full of Hope and faith in Caden's Father.

in the hospital -- far less tubes than yesterday
this strong mother and his Father King to watch over him.
this prince is in the greatest of hands

my heart breaks for this child, this little man i have never held and his mother whom i have never embraced.

but my heart is with Crystal and Caden tonight.

this mother is so strong, it leaves me in awe. raising this little one as a single mother -- relying on his Father for peace and sustenance in ways that humble this heart of mine.

touch the hem of His robe for this child.

please storm the gates of Heaven for this boy. he is so loved and he is so precious to so many.

pray for this Warrior child.

Caden Mathias. Warrior of God. 

wanting need

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i want a lot of things.

things that might make my life better.

things that might simply take up another spot on a shelf and never be used, though i will say

i have that. 

some things are bigger though. some are wants that drive us to our knees, blurring the line between want and need. 

sometimes

 it isn't about material things that we want.  

sometimes, wants are soul aches that strum a chord of longing that only we can hear...us, and those who long, too. 

we all want. 

my wants are vast. i have my Christmas lists and grocery lists and reading lists and all those things i want. 

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and then i have the list that only He and i share, the one where He must hold me as i read, as i shake with sobs in wanting. 

i'm learning to want Him first. 

to want His will when it hurts, to want His timing when it takes so long.

i'm learning to be still, and know, and wait for strength renewed and heartcries fulfilled. 

i'm learning these words:

yes, Lord. 

i will wait. 

i'm learning to ask for the right things. for His will. for His place. 

taking Him at value. that His promises are sure

and His grace is sufficient. 

of all my wants, He is my need. 

 Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

— St Francis of Assisi 

covered

{via pinterest}

what we speak and what we do can often be so very different.


how often have you heard a plea, a heart crying out for something that seems so distant, and murmured 

i'll pray for you.

and then life comes and sweeps this way and that, and takes your mind to other places. and your promised prayer is long forgotten. 

have you experienced this gift though? this one where a tender sister grips your hand tight in hers and begins the whispered words

let me pray for you.

this touch of love that far surpasses. the touch of God of Earth. He intercedes still for me. my King still kneels to His Father and prays for me.


on Thursday, Sarah {Emerging Mummy} a dear cyber-sister who has never beheld my face or drawn me for a comforting embrace, prayed over me. 


precious words from St. Teresa of Avila, for my heart and for all those who have pressed "follow" at her corner of the world. 

{via pinterest

i am humbled by this gift of supplication.

this knowing that i am loved by one whom i have never seen and never shared even a mug of steaming coffee with in this lifetime.  

these precious moments are not just in the comfort of our living rooms. 


we share this friendship -- this sisterhood -- from afar, with those who hold our hearts whom we have never met. 


this knowing that, one day, we shall kneel in praise together in the realms of Heaven. holding hands in love, as sisters, over the coffee and cinnamon buns that i know must be waiting for us there. 


no more lip-service from me now.


you are covered in prayers, dearhearts. from me, and from Him.

as my sweet sister Sarah did two days ago, i do the same now for you.

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May today there be peace within.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content knowing you are a child of God.

Let this presence settle into your bones, and 

allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of you.

~ St. Teresa of Avila

pray

via Pintrest

Lord, teach us to pray. 

simple words. a simple request from humble men following yet another humble Man

Messiah.

and yet, so much weight in this simple appeal. 

teach us to approach. 

it is like standing on the bank of a river. unknown beneath the surface, so much greatness yet unseen. but its power is known. 

a little girl's plea to the father on the other side. 

poppy, teach me to swim.  

i know this cry all too well. 

come to Me, dearheart.

don't be afraid. 

and then i see that bridge. the one He built for me, the way to come to Him. 

that steady path called prayer. 

and i can cross it on my knees to fall at the pieced feet of my Abba who waits to hear His daughter's call. 

sometimes i walk with strongest confidence. other times, it is with trembling hands and unworthy quaver. 

will He take this alabaster jar, full to overflowing with my tears and love?

i fall at His feet.

and i discover 

my carpenter Daddy has laid my way. 

approach with confidence, Daughter. 

you are loved.

But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder. ~Aslan, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader 

Launch

Today is a beginning.

Today marks the launch of an answered dream.

It is the start of something which I have been planning on doing for quite some time, that has now fully come to fruition.

Today is the start of answered prayers.

today, a new writing blog was launched.

In collaboration with my best friend and literary soul sister, Alexandria (Petals and Freckles), we have together begun a writing blog. It is a place to post our thoughts, our inspiration, and our novel-esque ideas for the world at large to enjoy and survey. 

It is also our headquarters for our 2011 NaNoWriMo endeavors. We are writing separate novels, but we will be cheering and coaching one another on, and this new blog gives us the most wonderful opportunity to walk this road together. 

We will both continue to post on our respective blogs as normal. So please, fear not, loves. Nothing is being lost or moved from here to there. 

It is simply an expansion. 

And so, with awe and wonder at the majesty of my King, I am humbled and honoured to present to you

Eat, Pray, Write

Lundi (Monday)

I'll dissolve when the rain pours in / When the nightmares take me / I will scream with the howling wind / 'Cause it's a bitter world and I'd rather dream...Dizzy love turned a star lily pink / And hung above our lids too flushed to blink...I sang my princess fast asleep / 'Cause she was my dream come true...~Owl City, Lonely Lullaby

Once again, another Monday has come around the bend.

And once again, I feel blessed to have awoken this morning.

My decision to keep my Mondays positive (which can be read about more in this post) has been one of the more intriguing aspects of my week. All throughout the week, I've caught myself noting things that I could mention in regards to my "Monday morning blessings."

It's starting to make an impact on more than just the first day of the week.

The rest of my days are starting to catch up...

...for how can I be lost in my own despair when I am continually making note of those gifts which surround me each morning as I arise, and follow me through each movement of the earth around the sun?

• 8. Every single breath I take. (Yes, this one may seem to be rather cliche...however, with the occurances of this past week, particularly over the weekend...this is something for which I dare not fail to give thanks and count as a mighty blessing.)

• 9. Celebrating the end of an era with a small collection of my dearest and most nerdy of Harry Potter-head friends...and even making a few new ones as well...being able to weep openly in a room full of people who know exactly what I'm feeling, as they are all feeling it, as well

• 10. Having one dearest, loving companion in particular who poured themself out before our Father on my behalf...there is no greater honour, and no greater gift that I could receive than to be lifted to the Throne when I myself am too weak to stand.

• 11. The continual blessings I have received regarding July's Inspirational Giveaway, and all those giveaways that are yet to arrive in the coming months

• 12. Finding my missing silver Hedwig earring! Yes, perhaps this is a small thing, but I had been looking for this small treasure for quite some time, and it reappeared right next to my toe after almost two weeks of searching.

• 13. A book read so many times that the pages are worn, and the corners are dog-eared with love. 

• 14. Beautiful, odd, and melodramatic dreams of brilliant colours and unspoken wishes...filling my nighttime hours with sweetness instead of screams.

Yes, perhaps this is an odd collection of beauty.

But these are my blessings, and I will continue to count them until I run out...

...which I know will never occur.

 "When I'm worried / and I can't sleep / I count my blessings / instead of sheep / and I fall asleep / counting my blessings..." ~Irving Berlin, Count Your Blessings (White Christmas)