burning Real

{via pinterest}

i'm twenty-two. and i'm just now starting to understand what it means to be real.

it's more than just existing, brushing my hair and putting on the same pair of shoes every day for a week. it's more than breathing, the inhale and exhale that i don't think about, i just do.

it's about that giving up and that allowing for ashes on the face, from clinging to the Fire that burns like white-hot glory in your soul. it's about the understanding that He is greater, higher, stronger, than i could ever be. and that's okay, because He is the Lion and i am His lamb.

once you become Real, you can never be ugly

except to people who don't understand. 

and i'm okay with being barefoot in the sand, because i'm treading on holy ground and there's nothing i want more than to be in this place of sheer and complete emptiness, full of Him and empty of me.

there's a sweet silence in the mantra spoken under my breath in the candlelight when He and i meet. it's precious, Abba God teaching me how to roar. and i'm still soft and squeaky and tumbling over my own tail at the snap of a twig. but we start again, and again, and He's patient even though i break His heart.

it's in pursuit of Real, of the nail-pierced hand on my cheek, guiding my tears into the bottle He keeps on His shelf.

it's about realizing that you're small, and that's okay, and you're worn, and that's okay too. because through the soot and the tumbling and the ink-stained fingertips, He's making you new.

and so i'll sit in the right place, tucked at His feet. it's all the dance, this step right and step left and settle in here.

with Your arms around me
i'm home. 

{linking with dear emily where we rejoice in imperfection} 

Never Obliviate {Spoilers}

"...and you, if you have stuck with Harry until the very end." ~J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows


I don't even know where to begin right now.

I'm still emotionally overwhelmed. I am full of magic.

I know that I don't normally do "play-by-play" posts, but I think for this, I will make an exception.

Arriving at the theater at 10pm put my friends and I right in the center of a madhouse of costumed fans. The fandom was intense and beautiful.

There was a Malfoy lookalike...same blonde hair, same facial shape, same wardrobe, and same excessive attractiveness...along with Lucius, Bellatrix, Dobby, and a small Death Eater.

There was an enormous Hagrid, a devilishly handsome Sirius, a witty and outlandish Rita Skeeter, three plumply pink and cat-laden Umbridges, and numerous escapees from Azkaban Prison. There was even a pig-nosed Tonks look-a-like with hot purple hair and long beautiful robes.

And there are photographs galore to prove it, which will be coming soon.

Amid my party, there were two Slytherins, a Hufflepuff, five Gryffindors, and a Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw mix, as well as my Bellatrix'd costumed self...but I count myself among the Gryffindors, for that is my house and my home.

After two hours of laughing, photographing, and general all-around giddiness, we went our separate ways into our respective theaters. The previews seemed to drag forever. Even the sneak peak at The Dark Knight Rising seemed to do nothing but annoy as our hearts began to beat faster with anticipation.

Finally, the theater went dark.

The grey stone WB logo appeared on the screen.

Tears began to trickle their way down my face.

Barely fifteen minutes had passed before I, my friends, and the rest of the fully sold out theater were sobbing as though our hearts would break.

Professor Minerva McGonagal raised her wand and the war began. My heart began to throb.

Snape gasped out "you have your mother's eyes." I sobbed.

Ron and Hermoine shared a kiss fourteen years in the making. There are no words for the way my heart leapt.

Fred's pale form lay still and dead on the Hogworts commonroom floor. I wailed.

The bodies of Lupin and Tonks lay together without a breath, fingers barely brushing, blood on their faces. That is "til death do us part."

The battle was waged. Lives were lost.

Snape cradled the slain form of Lily Potter to his chest and wailed in anguish. I joined with him.

The doe Patronus leapt, and the ghostly forms of Sirius, Lily, James, and Lupin gave Harry the courage to do what must be done.

Bellatrix was slain by a gleeful Molly Weasley. I cheered.

A now exceptionally-attractive Neville severed the serpent's head. I could not speak for weeping.

Voldemort was defeated and scattered to the wind. I raised my hands and cried with joy.

The credits rolled. I screamed and cheered and clapped until my eyes, throat, and hands were sore.

My emotions are beyond my comprehension.

The end of an era.

Seven books.

Eight movies.

Fourteen years.

Three Kleenexes.

Thank you, J.K. Rowling, for my magical childhood...

...and for my continuous magical adulthood.

For I will never Obliviate. 


I will never forget.

When I am 80 years old, I will be sitting in my rocking chair reading Harry Potter. And my family will laugh and say, "still?"

And I will say...

..."Always."

"It does not do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Remember that." ~Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone


"Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home." ~J.K. Rowling