hush-holy ::

{via pinterest}

a phrase has been trapped in my mind for about a week now. two words strung together, innocently enough, make something soft and precious and so profound that it has woven itself into the very essence of me and is resting there.

hush-holy.
{phrase coined by rain}

there is sacredness nesting inside me now, building up and making something great and beautiful in a way that maybe i didn't understand before.

this word {YHWH} is the sound of breathing.

the holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator

 is the sound of your own breathing.

and so i sit and ponder in this time of spring, the epitome of hush-holy and silent glory and the majesty of life appearing in the gentlest of ways.

but there are storms, grey-skied things that sweep in with wind and rain and thunder and lightning. and oh, how the glory of God is found in this grand display. 

:: but then comes the calm.

and the wind and seas obey His voice. and all is still when He and i step back into the boat, and i find myself on my knees in the hush whispering, truly You are the Son of the Most High God. because His very breath is this thing swirling around me, even here on my yellow couch with Old McDonald as the soundtrack to this moment of worship. 

{via pinterest}

but in my head i'm singing soft words familiar to my tongue, words i have sang over and over in my soul from the first time i heard them. a tender melody found here in the hush-holy, in the calm draped over my shoulders like a warm blanket of Life from the fingers of the most loving Father.

oh the deep deep love of Jesus

vast, unmeasured, boundless, free

//

and it's not a solo, but a duet, because the Lion is singing soft in my ear, harmonizing in the most beautiful way, crooning, see, I am doing a new thing, all things made new. and the Song of the Lion has become the sweetest backdrop to arms outstretched and glory whispered from my mortal-turned-immortal lips. 

now you are a Lioness

and all...will be renewed.

{prince caspian, c.s. lewis}

Reflétant

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?  ~Winnie the Pooh

Tonight, I am taking the time to think.

I'm not sure what it is about tonight that is causing my mind to become lost in thought.

Perhaps it is the fact that the sky is finally calm...after almost three days of storm-churned clouds and pounding rain.

Or that I had my second dose of the final Harry Potter movie tonight, and was reminded yet again just how much my heart belongs in the stone corridors of Hogwarts.

Maybe it was the taste of the entire pack of strawberry Twizzlers I slowly nibbled through this evening until the wrapper was empty and the fruity taste of the only member of the licorice family that I enjoy lingered gently on my lips.

Might it have been the growing list of questions that have begun to collect on my blog...brimming with untouched inspiration, awaiting  my answers in the coming days?

Perhaps it was the way I spent my day...curled on the couch in the company of three other women whom I greatly admire, laughing and weeping and learning together amid plates of summer salads and fresh-cut fruit.

Whatever the cause, my mind is lost in itself tonight.

I'm not even sure what I'm thinking about, to be honest.

I'm simply overflowing with the beauty of life.

My thoughts dazzle me, as though the stars had melted with my dreams, calling me to waltz with them tonight.

There is much to be said for the beauty speaking...

...but there is much unsaid for the elegance of secret thoughts.

And then, when the Empress ran aground / And my eyes turned blue and green, / I heard a gorgeous sound, / And that's when it became a dream / When the sky fell in, / When the hurricanes came for me, / I could finally crash again, / And that's how I became the sea. ~Owl City, How I Became the Sea

Inspire

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes.  Art is knowing which ones to keep.  ~Scott Adams


One thing that I get asked more than anything is how I get so much inspiration...how it seems like I have an endless pot of artistry, and it flows from me in a copious amount.


I will be honest...I really have no such thing.


I run out of inspiration on a regular basis. I start posts constantly that never find their way to being published onto the blog. 


I try to write pen-to-paper, or rather, fingers-to-keys...not letting my overly-analytical brain to get in the way of my dreamer's heart.


But, to my own deep regret, I turn my nose up at my own work and allow it to sit without ever seeing the light of day. 


There are so many things that inspire me, though...so many things that move my fingers to dart a new path across the keys. 

• Summer days, complete with lemonade and fresh-picked orchard fruit
• Those people in my life who love me, comfort me, and reassure me...who bless me beyond compare. 
• Rainy afternoons, the chorus of raindrops beating against the windowpane, the percussion of thunder acting as the perfect accompaniment. 
• The melodic streams of Owl City and Imogene Heap flowing out from my rolled-down car window into the humid summertime air. 
• The sweetest scents of vanilla, white jasmine, and lilac...the kiss of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and cinnamony peach cobbler...the natural scents of damp soil and blossoming tea roses. 
• The words from my favorite book...reminders that there is more to life than facts and numbers...parchment letters from Hogwarts, back-of-wardrobe fancies that may just lead me to my long-chased Narnian home, and the floral gardens of Jane Austen romance.

These things are my bliss...rich and sweet, strong and deep

These are my inspiration...full of light, rich with power.  

These are the gifts of my loving King...the soft whisper of my Savior reminding me that He cares for me closely.

This world is hard and strange and can feel, oh, so empty. 

But there are gifts here. 

There is love here. 

There is glory here. 

There is inspiration here. 

Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better.  ~André Gide

Las Gotas de Lluvia (Drops of Rain)

Don't you fret, M'sieur Marius / I don't feel any pain / A little fall of rain / Can hardly hurt me now / You're here, that's all I need to know / And you will keep me safe / And you will keep me close / And rain / will make the flowers grow. ~Les Miserables, Little Fall of Rain

It's raining.

Again.

While I can't say that I don't love the soft kiss of rain on my face or on the pattering of moisture on my windowpane...

...I'm starting to be a bit fed up with all this rain.

The weather has been nothing but unusual in this part of the world...raining one moment, beautiful blue sky the next.

I think it's feeling as off-kilter and strange as I myself have felt recently.

One minute, my skies are grey...broken...tears flowing as steady as Midwestern rain.

The next, the clouds break and my soul is flooded with a strange sort of joy, as though the windshield wipers of my heart have been turned on, and my vision clears again.

It's odd, to be sure.

Maybe I should go to Narnia, as I've always planned...

...and ask Aslan to turn me into a nyad or a dryad, one of the tree or water nymphs.

It might be a nice change...

...to weave my hair with rose petals and ivy vines...

...or to wear water droplets like nature's diamonds about my neck...

...to clad myself in a gown of clouds...

...to wander barefoot through the softest grass that merges with my soul.

Perhaps I shouldn't complain about the weather so much.

Maybe I need to just embrace it.

Love it.

Wear it.

Take it into my soul and breathe it into my lungs.

I think I shall leap into puddles,

and make a necklace out of raindrops.

The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain. This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you'd just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency. ~Susan Allen Toth

Still

There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. ~Anaïs Nin

Life is complicated.

There are so many things that play into every day life, even those things that we primarily take for granted.

...even when we don't notice, things are complex.

It takes more than just the passing of time -- the turning of moments into years -- for someone to mature.

It takes the rain. The heat. The storms. The pressure. The pruning. The pain.

These things are not always realities that are easy for us to grasp. We want things to fall into place without any work or discomfort. We just want everything to be perfect right away.

And so we push away the pain. We shy away from anything that could possibly be the slightest bit uncomfortable...that might be hard.

We shut down the growth.

We settle into a pool of stagnant water...unmoving and unchanging. It may seem still and serene for the moment, but it eventually grows foul and rank, filled with impurities that cannot be swept away.

The foulness is trapped...we are imprisoned by our own good intentions.

...except Him.

...we hit rock bottom.

Sometimes, even the little things like breathing are almost too much to handle.

So many times, it feels like the entire ground is just shaking...nothing is standing still...

Sometimes, all you can do is reach up and take His hand, trusting Him to not let go.

I promise you -- He never lets go.

The world is unsteady sometimes.

He never moves.

When my world is shaking, Heaven stands. When my heart is breaking, I never leave Your hands. ~Your Hands, JJ Heller