driftwood

{via stylemepretty}

these days i have felt very unpoetic, very uninspired.

all of my artistic energies have been focused on my NaNoWriMo novel, and all of my strength has been poured into the care of my precious warrior-daughter of now eight weeks.

and then the doctors said i needed more surgery. my gallbladder quit working, as though it wast just as tired as i was. and i went under the knife again two days ago. my body is rung out like a rag in the bottom of the kitchen sink, tossed and crumpled and completely without strength.

i am weary. i am without poetry. i am simply exhausted.

i am driftwood.

lead me to the Rock that is higher than i.

and i am tempest tossed and oh, so forelorn.

i am a ship and the waves are swelling. 

but there is One who calms the waters with a word.

peace. be still.

for I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel.

and He has gone before me, unsurprised by a single thing that has occurred over the past month. and all i can do is whisper "thank you" to the stars that illuminate my night. because the Cross is what i cling to without ceasing these days, or i would be smashed to pieces against the shoals, carved with lies. 

insufficient becomes :: enough

broken becomes :: whole

empty becomes :: filled

and i am driftwood carved to elegance, leaning against the Rock that is higher than i.

lowercase wood

{via pinterest}

i spent some time today going back over some old blog posts, some old work, some old scraps of paper upon which i had scribbled my moments of darkness of whimsy.

all properly ordered.

all with the appropriate punctuation. all in perfect lines. uppercase and lowercase, all where they belonged.

but then i hit a point of real. a point where the mask came tumbling off and shattered against the floor. and i found my crevices again.

i realized that i was cracked and marred, like well-weathered wood. fragments of me have broken off and been left behind. little scratches and cuts where life has left its mark. 

and my lowercase began to appear. slowly, just a bit at a time. as the polish was scrubbed away, it became frightening. painful. 

but the beauty was apparent. the weathered wood was coming alive, telling a story like polished perfection never could. 

maybe it's okay to be wooden. 

{via pinterest}

to be a story told again and again. to wear my life for others to come and read, pieced together by my skin-scars and soul ripples. it's okay to not be smooth all the time.

bumps are part of it all. 

but the past has made me strong. fire burned me hard, but let my heart stay supple to His tender carving. oh the pain that came with each brush of the knife against my soul. this Carpenter knew what He was doing when He made me this way. 

He left a line or two, a reminder of my weathering, lest i forget Him and grow brittle.

this lowercase imperfection is all i need to remind me that He is God and i am not. this dancing soul which He has carved for Himself, this daughter of Light and Love and so much forgiveness. 

He never said he would erase our past. that was never a promise.

only His glory was assured. 

and so these imperfections.

 they do not glare, they glorify. 

they do not scream, they sing. 

they do not humiliate, they humble. 

and they do not disgrace Him. 

they amplify Him. 

{joining this beauty of imperfection with emily and other soul-searchers today}

woodpile

(via Heather @ Pintrest)

i drove by my parents' farm this morning to pick something up from my dad.

took a little wander down to the pole barn-slash-woodshed to check on my numerous kitties. when i moved out, they stayed behind. my daddy has discovered that he actually loves cats, and takes very good care of them for me.

at first glance, the barn was entirely empty

save for the woodpile 

and a few bits of machinery

and then i saw the ears. 

two tiny, fuzzy points sticking up from a small pile of wood

perched above a pair of wide golden eyes and a innocent little pink nose.

it was a stray kitten. scared to death. i could see it shaking. 

i could almost hear its thoughts as it stared right at me. 

please don't notice me. 

go away.

please don't see me. 

slowly, i turned to go. 

little kitty bolted. break-neck speed toward another woodpile, in which it hid. 

i am that little kitten.

doing my best to blend into the woodwork, begging all my fears

(via Natalie @ Pintrest)

please don't see me. 

go away.

just let me hide. 

and then, for whatever reason, i break cover and run as fast as i can. i'm too scared to just wait for the scary thing to turn and leave me alone. 

i get a burst of courage. and i run to safety. 

for a kittycat, it's a woodpile.

for me

it's a wooden cross.

prematurely linking up with The Wellspring.
perhaps not a playdate per se, but oh what joy .