droplets :: rain

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i love the rain.

some find it gloomy, overbearing. almost depressing when the sun is blotted out with grey and fog, when water pours like tears from Heaven's eyes and there is nothing bright anymore.

but in my experience, tears heal.

and the rain cleanses.

there is no sun seen, but it's still there. it's just waiting for the healing.

driving in the rain is complicated. the roads are slick and damp, and there are puddles that gather in the low points that lead to a skid or a tidal-wave splash. but it convicts me, too, when i drive while the water pours from sky to ground.

but there's that blur when the water patterns the windshield and for that moment, you can't see the road. and then the wipers glide over the glass and all is clear again.

and that's the way it should be. the tears come and for a moment, all seems blurred and unsure. and then the fingers brush the tears aside. the bottle in Heaven fills with a few more drops, and peace descends.

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You have taken account of my wanderings

put my tears in Your bottle. 

are they not in Your book?

{psalm 56:8}

these are not just our sorrows, i think. He keeps our joys in this bottle, too. and i think one day that He will take me into this room, this place where this bottle is stored.

and He and i will talk, and He will take this bottle off the shelf. and He will pour them into His palm where my name is written and smile.

i keep Your tears

of sorrow and joy and Light and pain and beauty and confusion

so that You could see

that I am greater

and I love you. 

so this is why i love the rain. the knowing that while it is unsure, there is beauty. and while the joys overflow into water down my cheeks, or the pain trickles down in the only release i can understand

i can stand. secure and dry in the Light of the Son. 

burning :: sacred

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i'm finding that i'm touching the burning bush more and more.

it's a fine line between the sacred and the ordinary, and it's something i'm daily learning to understand. it confused me at first. the closer to the fire i grew, the more intricate the flames became.   

did i never see Him before, in the ink and the dishes and the silverware? did i just see colour as a visual and not as intricately spiritual? 

perspective can change a life. the ability to step back from a scene and look at the dirt and only see a footprint in the dust where nothing showed before. when you see eyes like transparent glass and tumbled messes as something beautiful to be savoured like art

doesn't that change you? 

someone wrote me and said that they didn't understand. where did i get this pair of eyes that sees something where there is really nothing? am i just digging too deep or trying too hard? 

is there really sacredness in laundry or freshly-laid eggs? or am i painting a portrait where there's really only a blank canvas? 

:: but that's the thing about God ::

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there is no line between sacred and ordinary. isn't that what we celebrate with white lights and candles and whispered stanzas of oh, holy night? 

Heaven became Earth and sacred became touchable. I AM became little boy smiles and tangled brown curls over deep brown eyes and a Israeli childhood with prayers for Messiah's coming. 

this Word become flesh and blood and bone and tears and smiles. this doorway smeared with blood on top and sides opened wide to the sacred and the ordinary melded together. 

this burning bush of glory, of barefoot rejoicing and gentle choruses to welcome Emmanuel. 

fall on your knees

oh night divine. 

warring stillness

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the Lord will fight for you. you need only be still. 

~exodus 14:14

i found my calm this morning.

for a while, i thought i had left it amid hot glue guns and satin ribbons and sand-covered programs, all tumbled together on the other side of the United States. 

the chaos of this entire past week was a breathtaking, beautiful rush akin only to the crash of a salty ocean wave. it swept me under in a glorious swell.

but then i found myself tossed ashore and breathless again. 

this mantra of Love that i have chanted for a week is pounding into my head like a oceanic roar, perhaps to the point of being numbing.

if i'm not careful, i could lose myself in this battle. i feel the hilt of my own sword of self digging into my palms. this fight i'm carrying alone...the one i forbid those i love to undertake with me. 

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i can do this myself. 

i can be strong. 

i promise i can. 

but then i awoke this morning. a strange feeling mixed with the tension that i have and yet still carry atop my shoulders.

i'm still tense. i'm still overwhelmed. but i have found a scrap of calm amid this noise. 

perhaps it is the unstopping of my own ears...letting the chaos trickle out and the silence replace the gaps. 

and so now i will sit and let my Lord fight. my sword is down and my fingers, ringing with battle clash, are shaking with the rest that comes after the storm. 

and i will be still now.

i will drop my trembling fingers to brush against my denim-clad legs and breathe slowly again. 

inhale. 

exhale. 

repeat to survive. 

now let go and fall

into His stillness.  

{linking this imperfection with emily today}

Pose

Judge a man by his questions rather than his answers. ~Voltaire 

I have found myself in a field of questions these days.

Some have been doubts, others have been curiosities.

Each one of them have sent me running to the Heart of my King. And there we sit together, He and I, as I run my fingers over the pages of my Bible. I will never cease searching for the answers that I know are within for me to take and draw into my heart.

Questions are not a lack of faith. Please never let anyone tell you that, because it is such a vicious lie. How can we learn if we do not ask? How can we step forward until we gaze up at the Cross and whisper, "why?"

We just have to be prepared for the answers. If you dare to ask, you must be prepared for the forthcoming answer.

Last month, I opened up my blog for my readers to ask me any question they wished me to answer. The ones I received were beautiful and thought-provoking, and I answered them all about a week later.

I am about to do the same thing again.

I want you all to ask me anything.

Stay close to the surface, or dive deep beneath the surface. Stick to the simple delights of life, if you wish...my loves, my hates, the beauties of life....

...or push into the darker jungles to ask me about my fears, my hardships, my struggles, and my pain.

I have never promised perfection. Not once. 

What I have promised is reality. Openness and a soul bared before the Throne, as well as to each one of you. 

We grow from the witness of others. From knowing we are not alone in our pain. From knowing that there is more beyond this moment of fear. From knowing someone else has walked this path.

The only thing I ask is that you keep your musings free from expletives and appropriate for public discussion.

So please, 

let go

and ask away. 

"To what will you look for help if you will not look to that which is stronger than yourself?" ~C.S. Lewis

Mirror/Reflection

Appearances are not held to be a clue to the truth.  But we seem to have no other.  ~Ivy Compton-Burnett

Reflections are tricky things. It honestly all depends on the medium we use.

If we chose to seek our reflection through the smooth surface of a body of water, we will find that we look more than different...

...distorted features, easily broken by a dropped pebble or the touch of a finger. 

What if we pursue a less easily disturbed method of vision, such as a polished piece of mirrored glass, or even a storefront windowpane?

...dirt and grime can thwart our purpose, and we may not even understand or enjoy what we see. 

For so many, reflections are our greatest enemy. 

In them, we do not see our greatness or our beauties. Instead, we bring emphasis to our multiple flaws and microscopically examine ourselves to yet another detriment to our self-esteem and self-worth.

I am not what the mirror says I am. 

Seeking our only reflection in any sort of clear surface is nothing if not dangerous...heart-breaking...discouraging.

We need to stop looking down into puddles to catch a glimpse of what we think we are...

...we need to gaze upward toward what He knows we are. 

Our reflections on this earth are dim and deceitful. 

It is in Him that we see ourselves in truth...

...beautiful, precious, beloved daughters and sons.

When the world sees me, they should see Him.

I want to stop looking into the dim mirrors of this mortal plane.

I want to become a clear, shining reflection of His glory.

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known. ~1 Corinthians 13:12

(Don't forget -- today is the last day to enter July's Inspired Monthly Giveaway! Giveaway closes at midnight CST.) 

Detailed

The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.  ~Henry Miller

In a recent blog post, I asked my readers to comment with any and all questions they may have regarding me, my blog, my delights, or any sort of random conglomeration they could concoct.

Before you ask, no, this is not the post in which I will be answering those questions. In fact, that particular post is still open and available for more curiosities to be posed, and will be until the end of the week.

This post is a reflection of one thought-slash-question that was posed to me by a dear friend and fellow blogger. In paraphrase, the questioning statement was this:

You see such vastness and reflective beauty in such small, everyday things. How?  


I suppose that the answer is as vast and as simple as the question itself.

I just do.

Allow me to explain.

Ever since I was a very little girl, I have been captivated by this world, and by the small things to be found within each passing moment.

The delicate placement of a golden green leaf against the cracked sidewalk...the way a butterfly's wings feel as they brush your face in a brief moment of on-the-nose landing...the jewel tones of light reflecting through an old glass bottle.

Each of these things exist to be experienced. Any man can be a poet if he would only open his eyes...any woman can become an artist with her words if only she will take off her sunglasses and inhale.

I gaze with chagrin at a world that is lost in cynicism. We were placed here by the Hand of the Mightiest One of all...the most passionate Artist and the most beautiful Poet in this universe.

His beauty is inexpressible. The world only seeks to cast the barest shadow of His glory...and even these things fade into darkness in His brilliance.

I want to soak in His details.

I want to lose myself in His rapture.

That is how I want to live my life....

...as naturally as breathing.

"He loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of the steadfast love of the LORD. By the word of the LORD the heavens were made, and all their host by the breath of his mouth." ~Psalm 33:5-6

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

Time-Turner

It's a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up.  ~J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire


Time is a funny thing. 


It can move as slowly or as quickly as it wants, depending on your own hopes and wishes...


...and yet, it is so entirely reliable all at the same time. Things repeat themselves in the most calm and reassuring cycle. Dates and times moving forward and yet circling in a gradual loop. 


365 days in a year. 28-31 days in a month. 7 days in a week. 


But I will admit...sometimes, I wish I could make time move as I chose. 


I wish I could borrow Hermione's Time-Turner. 


I wish I could freeze moments in time...those moments that make you feel more alive than you've ever felt in your life...your skin afire and your breath tingling like electricity in your lungs. 


I wish I could speed up certain events...passing through the heartbreak of the current moments, silencing the inner struggles and casting away the Dementors in my own mind as easily as though I wielded the power of the Patronus. 


I wish I could rewind...go back to moments in my past and fix them...make different decisions and not act like such a foolish child, and maybe save myself some pain and heartache in the long run. 


But then I realize...what purpose would that serve?


What would I learn if I change my past?


What would it serve to me to feel nothing of pain or sorrow...what growth would I obtain?


And if certain moments were frozen and repeatable, what sort of precious would they be? Would they not fade into something trivial and empty, nothing to be rejoiced it at all? 


As much as I envy Hermoine her Time-Turner...


...I do think that I shall live in the present 


and savor my own moments 


as they occur. 


"So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." ~Matthew 6:34

Timeline

The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. ~Eleanor Roosevelt

It is now 2011.

Wow.

For me, this is almost impossible to believe. I feel as if I blinked and have passed from January to January without hardly a second thought.

Did last year leave me behind?

To be honest, however, 2010 was a year of a lot of changes for me...many of which were beyond fantastic.

I reconnected with an amazing old friend after almost two years of silence, and found myself in a brand-new friendship that picked up as if things had never left off and has radically changed my life.

God answered my prayer for a female best friend, and I have never been more blessed to have her in my life as a sister and warrior on this road together.

I celebrated a landmark -- one year of marriage to my incredible husband, which still continues to blow my mind and delight my soul.

I met amazing people who have loved me and changed me for the better.

I started this blog, which has been a dream of mine, and was a resolution for 2010 that I actually saw through to fruition.

The blessings that have been heaped upon me still blow my mind and draw me to my knees time and time again.

However, this year has also been one of the hardest of my life. I have cried more than I ever thought possible. I lost precious friends for one reason or another -- some because of serious issues, and others over trivialities that I wish I could take back. My heart has broken almost to the point of bleeding -- both for myself and for those I love.

I have made so many mistakes...I look back at certain points over the past year and I weep with the utter shame of it all. In all honesty, there were so many points when I just wanted to give up...to give in to my own insecurities and lack of strength and simply let the world slip through my fingers.

But it takes the bad with the good to give me a reason to step forward.

If this past year had been nothing but good things -- perfect blue skies without a single thunderstorm, how then would I have grown?

It takes fire to refine the dross away from silver; it takes lightning and thunder for crops to grow.

The hands of the clock keep ticking by.

Soon enough, 2012 will be upon us. But that is the future.

2009 is gone.

2010 is gone.

The past is over and buried under the blood of the One who looked from moment to moment and decided that I was worth His ultimate sacrifice.

And so, this year, I begin with only one resolution.

To grow.

To climb further up and further in.

To find my footing in Jesus Christ instead of myself...to allow myself to reach out and take His nail-scarred hand...

...to rise and rise again.

So here's to love and loss, to tears and joys, to passions and disappointments.

To growth and to journeys.

To becoming more like Him.

Here's to fresh starts and new beginnings.

Here's to 2011.

Tumble

I have a lot of thoughts tonight. And my brain just won't shut up.

I'm having a hard time bringing my racing mind and overactive imagination to a calm state.

It's 12:13. In the morning.

My head is a tumble drier, filled to the brim with thunderclouds and rose petals. Tossing. Rolling. Spinning until I'm so dizzy that I can't catch my own breath.

My heart is trying to tango to a jazz rhythm. Conflicted. It wants to dance, but it's forgotten the steps.

This is what happens when you care too much...

...when you think too much.

...when you dream too much.

My mind is beautiful train wreck, a slow dance among a traffic jam.

Why?

Because He holds my soul.

Among the noise of my thoughts and the questions brought on by my own mortal confusion...

...I can hear His still, small voice. He knows my name.

Daughter.

He serenades me with the music of His peace. He raises His nail-pierced hand and speaks softly to the storm raging in my heart.

Peace. Be still.