permission to chase {page seven}

it came again, the silence. that breathing calm after the storm that often follows a bursting of bravery. the words -- my own words, those from the lips of others -- have been burning deep within me, a fire in my bones.

i've felt a little unravelled and a lot vulnerable. i opened my heart to the world in my last post, gutting myself and pouring out my grief toward the broken Church like a drink offering on the ground. so many thought i was dropping the title of Christian into the mud and making a point to stomp and grind my heels against it until there was nothing left. 

:: but that wasn't it at all. instead, i took the moniker and set it loose on the sea, like a message in a bottle, a page out of my Story. 

i want to reach out and take the hand of every person who wrote me harsh or concerned or confused. i want to draw them into my arms and whisper, i'm scale-shedding. i'm not leaving Him on the sand. on the contrary, He and i are wandering the beach together. He's not afraid of wandering. 

 i am the lover and the loved, home and the wanderer, 

she who splits firewood and she who knocks, a stranger in the storm.

:: adrienne rich 

those words up there, they epitomize this thing i'm doing, this thing i'm letting Him do. i'm letting Him strip me down, bare and scandalous. He knew the scars were there, but i'm letting Him see them. i'm dropping the arm and letting the tears fall. my eyes are closed, yes, but the arm is down. 

i said before i was tired. when i was young, there was this slogan, this little smiling fish swimming the opposite direction of all the other frowning fish. go against the flow. but i couldn't help but look at that little fish and wonder, aren't you tired? 

i always thought the point was that He lifted off the too-heavy yokes, stripped away the heavy chains that were exhausting to drag around. He never wanted to trade one weight for another. 

Mandy etched words in the front of my copy of Thrashing about with God :: to the one who chases Light and makes space for sacred selah. we've never met, but she breathed those truths over my soul like oxygen, and i'm gasping, even though i had no idea just how empty my lungs were. i'm breathing in the Holy, the Wild, the Spirit, the Lion's Breath. it's all my soul can handle. 

i feel like my spirit has dreadlocks, twisted knotted things of beauty cascading down that i'm just starting to appreciate. but the well-meaning Church keeps pressing a comb into my hand, whispering, you're knotted. go straighten yourself out and come back in. you'll fit better. 

but i'm drawn to the One that's beaming Light down into my soul, the One who broke my chains and turned me wild and fierce. i'm running, flitting, chasing after Him.

and i can hear His voice on the wind,

I like your hair. 

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