SpringShadows

Beauty deprived of its proper foils and adjuncts ceases to be enjoyed as beauty, just as light deprived of all shadows ceases to be enjoyed as light. ~John Ruskin

Groundhog Day.

The one day of the year that thousands of people base their futures upon the simple shadow of a fluffy little animal.

Normally, I ignore this day, passing it over as silly superstition or a nonsensical dose of wishful thinking.

Not today.

Today, the groundhog did not see his shadow.

Spring is soon.

With all this snow covering the ground and seeming to crush away even the faintest traces of life, I'm willing to turn a blind eye to the foolishness.

Maybe it's spring fever. Snow sickness. Whatever name you wish to give it, whatever title it has inherited...

...it's real. And I have it.

I ache for the whisper of warm breezes over my face.

My heart yearns for the scent of cherry blossoms, and for the ability to drive down green lanes with the car windows rolled down, singing aloud to the lilting melody of Ingrid Michaelson or Imogen Heap.

My nose twitches for the scent of fresh-mowed grass and dark fresh potting soil.

I want to snow to melt. I want the white to disappear.

I want the green to appear.

I want the curious heads of tulips to peep through the moist earth.

It's coming soon.

I believe in springtime shadows.

February

In the coldest February, as in every other month in every other year, the best thing to hold on to in this world is each other. ~Linda Ellerbee

There's something oddly magical about this month.

Maybe it's something about the length...

...the magic of how all the other months are held in a strict requirement of days, while in this month, time rebels and the month makes up it's own mind as to how long it will be this time around.

Maybe it's the cold...

...the point in the winter season that the winter seems to grip the hardest, sending the world into a shimmer of whirling white, as though trapping it in a icy snow-globe.

Maybe it's the romance...

...something about the impending whisper of Valentine's Day that transforms every lover's heart, weaving some sort of delicate spell and slipping stars into their eyes.

Maybe it's the magic of the second month. The point where we all begin to breathe...begin to believe that maybe...just maybe...this year won't hurt as much.

...won't be as hard....

...does February give us hope?

Or is this just wishful thinking in the heart of a dreamy poet with her head in the clouds and her heart sewn to her sleeve?

I guess we'll see.

Over the next twenty-eight days, I will seek to write on this blog every day. Again, it must be the magic of the month. Who knows what I'll discover...what treasures I'll uncover or what secrets will unveil themselves...

...February, spin your spell over me.

Ignite the poet in me.

Cast your shadow, long or short.

I'm curious now...

चाय (Tea)

tea leaves
tea loves
loves tea
lives tea
leaves tea?
never.
~Uniek Swain

Tea is the most artistic drink known to mankind.

Yes, this might be a bit of an objective statement open to a great deal of personal opinion.

But think about it.

Tea is the drink of the thinker. Of the poet. Of the author and the painter.

Thoughts of tea conjure up ideas of leather-bound books, whispered lines of Tennyson and Keats, and pens resting against antique inkwells.

Whisps of steam floating from fresh-poured cups fill winter days with images of fluffy quilts and classic novels, set to the soundtrack of Ingrid Michaelson and Joshua Radin.

The clinking of ice cubes in tall glasses bring to mind idyllic Southern summers, floppy straw hats and soft cotton sun-dresses, and walking down sidewalks hand-in-hand with the one you love.

Tea is the drink of the dreamer. Of the dancer and the wisher. Of the one with her head in the clouds and her heart tied up in pale pink ribbons.

It's the drink of the old soul hiding behind young eyes, thinking back on the past and wishing for change without change.

It's such a simple drink...just leaves soaked in water.

Why does it have such a way of unlocking hearts and whispering secrets, of telling old stories and painting new pictures?

Maybe it's magic. Maybe it's a mystery.

But I am a dreamer. A poet. An artist, a writer.

And I am made of dreams and thoughts and whispers.

I am made of tea.

You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me. ~C.S. Lewis

Grâce à la Garde-Robe (Through the Wardrobe)

"I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia." ~The Silver Chair, C.S. Lewis

I believe in lampposts...

...in snow-covered forests and the hoof-beats of fauns stomping on the Dancing Lawn...

...in the sparkle of the Eastern Sea and four thrones set in Cair Paravel from the beginning of time, waiting for their destined occupants to arrive.

I believe in wardrobes, in locked greenhouse doors, and paintings that come to life.

I believe in the Lion.

The Son of the Emperor across the sea.

He's not safe, but He is good.

I don't know Him -- I'm not worthy. But He knows me, deeper than I know myself.

In His presence, I am a dragon in need of His claws to strip away my scales back to purity again.

I am afraid to take a drink from the spring He offers, but I know I have no other choice...I know He demands everything in return.

He knows my name.

His breath is healing. His breath gives strength.

He took my place. My curse. My death.

He gave Himself up for me -- from life to death and back again.

He forgives me.

He loves me.

He fought the Deep Magic and caused the Table to crack.

He draws me further up. He calls me further in.

His land is perfect. His land is waiting.

He is waiting.

I believe in Aslan.

I believe in Narnia.

"...He won't say the words you wish that he would / Oh, he don't do the deeds you know that He could / He won't think the thoughts you think He should / But He is good, He is good..." ~Aslan, Kendall Payne

Release

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. ~Anatole France

After almost six months of having things the same way, I have finally changed the layout and feel of my blog.

It took me a long time to convince myself that it was a good thing to do.

I liked my old layout. It was deep, dark, and beautiful...and it had been that way almost since the very beginning of this blog.

It took my best friend and a lot of convincing for me to finally accept the concept of changing the blog's look. The color's are lighter, the feel is romantic, and the look is open and fresh.

I love the way it looks now.

It's funny...even the very idea of changing something as simple as a blog layout was almost too much for me to handle. As I've said before, I have somewhat of a hard time with change. I like things to stay familiar -- comfortable, in a way.

I guess I've become stuck in my own rut. Sometimes, it's as simple as the layout on my blog. Other times, it's more intense. More frightening.

Because it requires letting go.

I'll admit, I like holding on to my life. Keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel on my own plans and agenda, not letting anyone else run the show except for me...

...but when I take such strong control of my life, I push the King of Kings off the throne.

I break His heart.

It's not my job to be in charge.

Letting go doesn't make me weak or less of a strong woman. It makes me strong, powered by grace and wisdom from the One who sees better than I do.

So I have to embrace the change.

I have to let go...

...and trust that He will catch me.

Mere change is not growth. Growth is the synthesis of change and continuity, and where there is no continuity there is no growth. ~C.S. Lewis

الفردية (Individual)

"‘Cause I got a couple dents in my fender / Got a couple rips in my jeans / Try to fit the pieces together / But perfection is my enemy / On my own I'm so clumsy / But on Your shoulders I can see / I'm free to be me." ~Free to Be Me, Francesca Battistelli

I'm sick of not being me.

Actually, I'm sick of the entire world not being "themselves." I think we've lost the definition of identity in this day and age.

Being an individual has come to mean, "look and dress like everyone else does, but act like you're something special anyway.

I beg your pardon?! That's not being an individual. That's blending in and doing it proudly.

I'm not okay with that. Not by a long shot.

So, from now on, I'm going to me. I'm not going to be what "they" want me to be...whoever "they" might be.

I'm not going to dress to get attention. I'm going to dress like a strong woman of God, with grace and confidence.

I'm not going to give wishy-washy statements or mumble some strange sort of excuse to escape defending my beliefs. I'm going to speak out, to be a light for Him in this world.

I'm going to stop hiding my smile behind my hand or biting my lip to avoid eye contact. I'm gonna look you in the eye and smile with confidence.

I'm going to laugh. And no one can stop me.

I'm going to cry when my heart is breaking, and no one can tell me it's weak to do so.

I'm going to dance in the rain and sing out-loud to my iPod while driving with the windows rolled down.

I am going to wear my penguin earrings and let my hair hang long over my shoulders.

I am going to start taking pride in being short.

I'm going to stop hiding. I'm going to stop blending in.

I'm going to be me.

After all, He made me as me.

And He doesn't make mistakes.

"You make everything glorious...and I am Yours....what does that make me?" ~Everything Glorious, David Crowder Band

{seasons of love}

...in daylights, in sunsets / In midnights In cups of coffee. / In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. / In five hundred twenty-five thousand / Six hundred minutes / How do you measure / A year in the life? / How about love...seasons of love... ~Seasons of Love, RENT

It's a new year. In fact, we're about four days, and things already feel...different.

I think I was more ready for a change than I realized.

For me, I understand why God planned that the new year would start with the ground being frozen and covered in snow.

The snow will melt away before we realize that spring has come. The green of the grass will reappear and the whisper of gentle breezes will carry daisy petals and the notes of a robin's song over the once-frozen land.

The land will be renewed again.

The very thought makes me reminiscent for the land where a Lion's roar melts the snow and causes cherry blossoms to appear again through the barren emptiness of winter.

It's a reminder that so many things can come in my way -- betrayal, mistrust, mistakes both big and small -- and the ground will still thaw.

Restoration will still come.

The seasons change. Love renews.

So how will you measure this year?

Will you let the snow melt on your frozen heart?

Will you let the whispering call of the mighty Lion bring spring again to your soul?

This is the season of love.

"Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,

At the sound of His roar, sorrows will be no more,
When He bares His teeth, winter meets its death
And when He shakes his mane, we shall have spring again." ~ The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe