Don't wait.

The sky is slate gray and harsh. Blood red trees reach dying leaves up to the sky, death never more alive and beautiful than now. Gold and orange, copper and salmon, reaching high, making one last stand before falling still, silent, forever silenced from thin arms left naked.

I sit here, staring out at ever changing shades of gray drifting across the sky, and thoughts come quickly, slowly, and I am filled up, longing to be poured out.

Someone asked me last night what I was doing. If I was in a season of waiting. My knee jerk response was, yes. Actually I am...But then, it came quickly. That gentle wind and whisper, the Spirit moving across the soul dwelling inside of me. You are not waiting. You already know. Yes. I know. There I was, sitting in a room full of others who use words because they are gifted in this way, and I had the audacity to tell this beautiful lady posing the question, that I am waiting. Waiting. I am not waiting because I don't know what I'm suppose to be doing. I am standing still, not moving, almost holding my breath, because once the breath comes out, once the dam breaks, once the arrows are pulled taught and sent flying, there is no going back. There is no going back once you hear the Call that has been placed on your life...and you answer. 

I listened to others talk about how they lack confidence, or time, or words, or whatever it was. I sat there, almost wishing I could come up with some of these same reasons...except I can't. Literally. I cannot lie and say I lack time, for I am in a season where time is available. I cannot lie and say I lack confidence, because I have heard the Call, as if the very blood in my veins runs black with ink, I know that I was literally created to write words that are not from me but Him. Whether this is in the form of lyrics, notes, or words upon the pages of a book, or across the screen of a blog, this is what I was created for. I cannot lie and say that what I write holds no value because not enough people read the words penned, for long ago, when the words were taken away for a time, I learned how valuable even one person reading what I say is. It's not about the numbers. It's about you. That one person. So, I gave up writing with the aim of having many followers, or many readers, but simply write for you and for Him and because I literally can do nothing else.

So, there is no going back once the Call is answered. We lose our lives, we die to all we first wanted, that we may find all we are in the One who sends forth the Call. It is beautiful and terrible and scary and it makes us brave all at the same time. We are Called. Chosen. Yet, the hardest part is not hearing the Call, but answering. Making the first stroke upon the canvass, penning the first words, seeing the first vision of what we can create, being the one that takes care of children, being a parent, or guardian, a singer or carpenter, banker, doctor, lawyer, whatever it is, we are all Called. We have been Called. How we answer, this is the crux of it all. This is what will determine where our joy flows from. What will the path laid before our feet look like. For there will surely be a fork along the path where our feet may walk for the One who Calls or where they may walk for us and us alone. Which fork will we choose? Where will we go? For to answer the Call, whether for the One who calls, or for ourselves, this will make all the difference.

Sitting here, watching red leaves reach high, I wonder what it will look like. What the answer to this Call will do to the life I have been asked to lead. I know one thing- it will be an adventure! It always is when I smile and grab hold of the hand reaching out to help me along this road. It will be joy filled, Spirit lead, hard, amazing, and everything I could ever dream. 

Listen. There is a gentle whisper, a moving of the Spirit across the soul dwelling in you. It is calling forth the flame that has been placed there to change the world. What will you answer? Will you go on this adventure? Where the most ordinary of moments are exchanged for the extraordinary? Where the most simple of lives is transformed into that which makes a difference? What are we waiting for? Life is too short...oh darling, let's be adventurers!

for you in this moment.

(not my picture, I just think it's beautiful)

It's late. The night is black and dark and deep. Sitting here in the stillness, the words come easier and all that is felt becomes that which can be held, examined, and looked upon closely. Feeling slightly drowsy, hauntingly beautiful voices drift in and out, woven ever so perfectly with strings played, like silken dark chocolate, bitter and wonderful all at the same time.

Crickets sing an ancient song and stars gaze down. Alone in the dark, here in this moment, I take into my hands the words that will capture the shadowlands alone of what is felt. Gazing up at silver lights dancing, there is this achingly sweet knowing that though I cannot see all that is laid out before my feet, the One who holds the lights in the deep of the night does.

He knows.

Notes drift, strings sing, crickets speak, all in the dark and deep, all in the heart of the night. Stars gaze on, and thoughts come slow, waltzing in and out, lilting back and forth. Slowing sweetly as the dim beginnings of lyrics form. Oh life, how strange and wonderful, bitter and sweet, aching and lovely you are. Continually twisting and turning, yet, beyond all, so worth the living. So worth the breaths drawn, the songs sung, the moments captured in the deep of an ever fleeting night. Stars still gaze on and crickets still sing of the One who holds the silver dancing lights in the ink black canvass of this night sky. And what I know to be true beyond all else is, He knows. He knows and this is enough.

He knows.

All.

I am small, and all I worry about is smaller still. I am human. He is not. There is a sweet joy that flows from this thought. He is not. He is faithful. He holds silver, laughing, dancing, lights in each night's sky and has for every night that has ever been birthed through all the ages of this small world that has never been my home. He is faithful. Faithful unto the stars and far more faithful to this one daughter of His. It has been so for all of my days. This thought, this is joy. And a smile breaks across this face He thought up as He created the foundations of the world.

So, here in the deep of this night, He knew you would read words penned across a screen. He knew that one small child of His would take words felt, writing out the rhythm of a night breathed into a heart held by Him, sending them out and beyond to be read by...you. Now. For all He does is planned and done when we need it most. So read now the words He would have you know. You are His. He has a plan that was set in motion for you when He created the world, and He will be faithful to see it brought to completion.

The war is real and the fight is hard. Often we want to give up. Don't. Keep fighting the good fight, knowing that He is with you. Every step and moment lived, you are not alone. And you will know Him by His voice whispered, perhaps heard clearly through words written on a very ordinary night...

....you are loved. Child of the Living God, you. are. loved.

This is enough.

let's talk.

Let's just go out for coffee. Or better yet, let's meet for breakfast. Let's talk about Jesus and Ireland and how good really good coffee is, and how music is like the air we breathe and how if we couldn't write it or play it or sing it, we might be in serious danger of losing ourselves. Let's talk about movies and books and writing and photography and how life is really weird, and kinda insane, and we're really just trying to somehow make it through. Let's talk about adventures and how we really want to just whisper, "Oh darling, let's be adventurers." But, then we don't, and we're not really sure why. Let's talk about how we absolutely couldn't do this thing called life without our Savior. Let's talk about how we're pretty sure our friends could be legitimately nuts, but we wouldn't have them any other way, because at the end of the day they color our lives like the strokes of a paintbrush across canvas. I mean, let's just really see each other. Why? Well...because...I see you. And I want you to see me too. I want to know your story, and my heart really wants to share mine. I want to laugh with you until our sides hurt for no other reason than we simply can! Life is beautiful and crazy, but it gets too serious and I want us to be that bright spot in each others day. Like....a sparkler lit:) Would you be my sparkler?

It's just...I saw your face, and I really wanted to know you. 

Coffee? Maybe? 

Or breakfast? 

Because, I think I might change your life.

And there's this kinda amazing and beautiful chance that you could change mine too...

dedicated to all of you who've seen me. you know who you are. 

because of this.

There is this beauty that I'm discovering. This unimaginable, soul stirring, breath stealing, life altering, I can't imagine anything "more" kind of beauty.

Here. Because of this. It's all because of this.

Morning light. Glass shattering. Fragments scattered across floors bare. The room is unfurnished, golden beams glistening off pieces strewn. Murder deep, remembered. On a tree...how do I realize the scandal of the beauty all around me? The scandal of grace. Forever shattering the mold fixed and set. The hour glass was altered, the glass shattered, and the sands of time through the room contained in earth, changed.

Here. Because of this. It's all because of this.

Hands palm up. Heart flayed open, mortally wounded. Dear God, here it is. Surrendered forever, held close by this scandal that is grace. This scandal that called out, voice piercing time and space. Eyes gazing down through the ages. There. I feel them on me. Gazing deep and calling forth the fire within.

Tempted. I am often. I am weary and tired of the fight. I want to give in, drop my sword. Jesus. I cannot bear up under it anymore. Let me create what I want, be what I want, do what I want. No. STOP. These words given are not my own. This life bought is not my own. It was bought with blood running down, with the murder of the Man who has captured this heart so many ages later.

Here. Because of this. It's all because of this.

Love reaches out. I am stretching forth arms grown weary. Soul longing to know ever deeper the Author who pens the story of this life. The One who shattered the glass. The Creator who changed all that should have been. The Savior who reaches back, grasping onto hands reaching up, smiling deep, eyes pouring forth love that is beyond anything I've known. It's because of this. This is why the sword is grasped tighter.

Let me not forget. I am weary and time runs short. Yet, He is greater still. May He call forth Lazarus in our lives, where hope is dead, bringing forth from the grave a radical new life, crying out like a trumpet blast:

"I am HIS. I am LOVED. I would change the world by losing that which I cannot keep, gaining that which I may never lose!" 

Here. Because of this. It's all because of this. Because of Him. He is enough. 

Always.

Send forth a trumpet blast through the land of the Living and call forth those whose hearts burn with the fire of the Living God. Elohim sits on His throne and you are loved by the One whose face shines like fire! 

"There is no fence that can keep the advancement of the Kingdom of God from pressing forward. Therefore, I will strive on, until the world is brought to the feet of Christ." ~Charlie Cederberg

I find myself here again, heart burning, eyes piercing, standing with sword drawn...

scars born and hearts wandering.

Today…is slipping by, silently, slowly, quickly. These are words that pour forth from the cracks where light leaks out of a soul sitting. Sitting. Thinking. Pondering. Aching. Hurting. Longing. Knowing.

And today, it is slipping by.

Coffee steams. Milk and honey float and dance, gently becoming one. Sipping slowly. Thoughts swirl and dip, diving deep into a place where you pull them back. Thoughts of beautiful faces. Kindred hearts spread across a country large…Alaska, bringing visions of winter and somehow, warmth. Of kitchens and laughter, wrapping scarves tight and holding coats closer, laughing and running from one house to the next with a beautiful friend who captures and holds stories close to her heart. These images float and drift about, like the snow that is sure to come soon to this Narnian world in which she lives. Northern lights will shine bright, stars with look on with laughter, and this place will heal that which needs to be healed, and scars will form where once were wounds, and there will be beauty and joy from ashes. For scars born are reminders of hurt, but scars also prove that healing has been done. And for this, I am thankful. Learning now, finally, at the very end of my twenties, to bear my scars proudly. They make us who we are and remind our hearts that our God still knows what will make us more beautiful than even we can imagine. Scars. Imperfections that show we are perfectly capable of running hard after the One whose past is our future.

And today, it is slipping by.

Hearts across the miles. It's beautiful and strange how distance can be breached. How conversations had can close the caverns that stretch out. A Wisconsin morning and today started off with her voice, sleepy and waking, sipping something from a cream colored mug. Down comforter bearing warmth and still holding her close. Laughing and talking about a summer almost gone, catching up and shaking heads at how things are never what we anticipate. Oh, life…you're….strange. And beautiful and terribly hard and we know this. She and I, we know. We have laughed and cried in the deep of the night, hearts breaking and texts reaching out, asking if the receiver is still awake. The receiver opening heavy eyes to simply text things like "I understand" and "I'm praying" and "It will not remain this way forever." We know. Across the miles that feel large and small, we have reached out hands and found that, we are not alone. Morning light has broken many times over after these sorts of nights. With the light we remember, He holds all. He is all we want. We want only Jesus, and light creeps through the cracks of souls which are weary. But still, we would have it no other way. Let scars born bear forth that He is all we need. Let hearts shattered into a million pieces cry forth unto the One who bends low to hold us close. We can whisper and cry out about these things, sharpening iron upon iron, because there is no room here for the other to simply stop because it is too hard. So, we push and pull and tug each other closer still to the One who has captured our hearts.

And today, it is slipping by.

Tennessee hills have welcomed her laughing eyes and sweet smile. She was for so long, just the author of letters that came when the soul within me was bent deep in night. Pressed down and unmoving, feeling alone. Somehow, out of this, gentle words found there way through her beautiful heart to mine which was broken. Her heart that had been shattered before mine, it shone light through cracks made and reminded my own that it too would one day shine out again. Jesus drew near and knitted us, smiling at His story, authored into a beautiful friendship. Smiling now, at miles spanned, until there she was. Waiting at the train station. This soul that mine knew though we'd never met. Eyes shone bright, smiling and shining forth the love she bore for the One whom we both love. And we walked. Talking and laughing, feeling how surreal it was to finally meet, yet knowing, even if we never had, we'd still be the dearest of friends still. We talked. About life and hearts and souls and scars. For she too bears scars that bear evidence of pain and healing. We smile. Knowing. She and I, we know. That faithful is the One who allowed the scars, and He will bring all to a beautiful end, though we have no idea what the story will look like between now and then. More scars? More pain? Probably. But, we know. He is faithful. So, as iron sharpens iron, we remind and push and tug each other closer to Him.

And today, it is slipping by.

I am reminded again, how blessed I am. Not materially, for I don't boast a large bank account or nice car. Yet, I am rich beyond comparison. For I have souls in my life who constantly remind me how beautiful each and every day that slips by truly is. However, these three souls, they understand what it is to be a wanderer. A creative. A musician, photographer, writer, a soul that constantly craves the movement of the sea and tides, sweeping us out to lands unknown. Stirring up our creativity. They are the ones I could whisper to, "Oh darling, let's be adventurers" and with no hesitation or questions asked, would simply pack up bags and cameras, computers and journals and reply "When?" They understand the war inside that constantly craves adventure, change, no ties, and yet would have roots that run down deep at the same time. They are the gypsy souls that my God knew I'd need in order to not feel alone. They are the ones that care not for logic and rules and plans, but love all that is within the reaches of imagination.

And today, it is slipping by.

I am not the woman you will ever find coloring within the lines of this life. I fear nothing more than a gilded cage, made beautiful with white picket fences. Let me smell the spices of India, the blue of a Mediterranean sea, or the quaint gardens and moors of England. Let me find the hidden and enchanted beauty of the Oregon coast, the haunting sweetness of the Lowcountry of South Carolina, the colors bright of Colorado. Let me see all this. Let me be a storyteller always. I am the one who will not be tied down, but loves the deep conversations of long nights spent under stars in tents pitched high.

And today, it is slipping by.

Oh darling, let's be adventurers...

things remembered.

The mist hung low and wet each morning, caught between densely covered mountains reminding one of The Lost World. Stare long enough and they will almost convince you that at any moment, a t-rex might step out from among the trees. Those grey mornings, hauntingly beautiful, hold memories turned to ghosts that float here and there, quiet reminders of what was. The coffee on these mornings was hot and strong, removing the fog inside and leaving only that which clung to the mountain tops, not wanting to leave, yet unable to stay. 

It was all like walking back in time. Everything stood unchanged...or, at least, as unchanged as something can stand in this ever changing life. The river was beautiful and clear, running slow and quiet, whispering of a little girl who believed in fairies and Prince Charming, who believed in happily ever after, because what else could possibly happen? What other ending was there? So, with no other option set before her in this life, she hoped for all things, dreamed of much, imagined a far different life than the one this woman has found. 

Different. Not bad. Just different. 

Entering childhood once again, places almost forgotten, were revisited. Worlds imagined, beings unknown created, creatures that were as real as the wet mountain air around me, were somehow rediscovered. Dancing through each day so long ago, imagination was cultivated and the path to fairy land known, its path worn deep with each step taken into its realm. 

Standing once again on that path, surrounded by the ghosts of memories passed, they floated down once more. There, flitting back and forth, were gossamer winged fay, laughter bubbling up and out of beautiful rosebud mouths, asking where I’d been, exclaiming over how much I’d changed. Like Wendy reunited with Peter after she had dared to grow up, it’s hard to explain to memories that do not change, beings created in childhood that, you can’t much help it all. You have to grow up. Father Time demands it and leaves no other choice than to change with the passing of each moment you draw breath. 

How do you explain life? How do you explain to childhood creatures who are unchanging, that each moment you live changes you? Life recreates you. A young heart that is pure and unknowing brings to life those which are as well. Yet, unlike that young heart, which will be broken many times over, cracked and shattered, but then rebuilt into something new and older, something stronger for all the cracks and shatters, these little created hearts beating inside imagined creatures, will not change. They will forever remain like their creator’s heart, staying in the place she was when she created them. 

So, revisiting hurts. Reminding creator and created that though you may remember, things are not the same. Here is where a choice is placed before you: Will you choose to walk away because the explaining is too hard? Will you choose to not tackle the change with an older and wiser heart? Will you walk back down the path and leave behind forever that which you imagined so long ago? 

Or...

Will you stay and explain? Will you look around and remember the place the creatures came from, the place created in a different, but beautiful heart? Will you stay? Will you take words and craft from that deep well, new worlds, new creatures, new memories, from a stronger heart that remembers? From a heart that walks the path to fairy land often? Who still dreams of happily ever afters? Who can remember what being a child was like, reminding those who have decided to leave what it was, and capturing the young hearts of children who still live in this place? 

Is that even a choice? For as much as life has changed me, as different as I am, as much as I’m reminded of who I was so long ago, and see it contrasted against all that I am now, I still remember. I have not forgotten the way back. I hold in my heart the key that unlocks the door of the secret garden, where ogres roam, unicorns are real, and fairies dwell. Where knights save damsels in distress, princesses are strong and brave (occasionally rescuing the Prince), and trolls live under bridges. Where waters are crystal clear, castles reach for the sky, and where the rules of logic and reality are defied in order to imagine all the wonderful things that are possible inside this realm of imagination. 

There is only one choice for this heart. The life I lead is incredibly beautiful, not because it is extraordinary, but simply because I see with each day that passes how to find the extraordinary beauty in the most ordinary of moments and places. I have truly found that from which it all stems...the one place where imagination is created and cultivated, where worlds are imagined that point to the One from which all stories are told. I am a Storyteller, a dreamer, a lover of life and imagination, because the Living God dwells within me, and at His feet I have found the way back to childhood. 

This life, the current one I have, it has been filled to overflowing with pain, with the reality of what life on this earth holds, but I am constantly reminded that this is NOT my home! Oh no, there is SO much more to come than anything we leave behind, as C.S. Lewis said. So. Much. More. But, while I am here, let me be a Storyteller who creates worlds that taste of Heaven. That forever press you to gaze forward, always with eternity in sight, and longing for your true home. Like Narnia did for me so long ago, may all that is imagined from this side of the screen create a longing in your heart for that which you did not even know existed within you. For Jesus is more than enough and being home with Him is what we should crave above all else. While we are here though, while we are still on this business trip on earth, let’s enjoy every, single, moment that is gifted from above. 

This is the path I choose. And this path is worth it. 

we're fine.

I'm fairly talented at being able to box certain things up. Putting them on a shelf, tucked far back and out of the way. There are times when I might glance over at the shelf and the box and reach out a swift hand to push the box further back on the shelf, where less is showing, where reminders can't be given. I try to keep this to a minimum. Because even one glance, even one look, and everything I have so neatly boxed away might come spilling out.

I simply have no time for this.

I don't have time to unbox and lament over every moment that hurts. I don't have time to regret and feel like I wasted these beats of my heart. I don't have time. So, I keep them boxed away. Neat. Unseen. Because that is what we do, right?

"How are you?"
"I'm fine," I smile.

Boxed away, the beats tug and tighten. I'm fine. Fine.

The day is warm. Whispers in its air breathe the distant promise of autumn. Light streams through thick leaves, filtered and bearing green warmth down through reaching branches. It dances across the forest floor, heating the ghosts of leaves past, coaxing them to release their woody smell of days gone by. Face turned up, I breathe in. Breathe out. Thoughts float about, lingering and fleeting. If there had been a different choice, if there had been some way to see and know and act differently, would I? Would we?

"How are you?"
"I'm fine," you smile.

Boxed away, the beats tug and tighten. You're fine. Fine.

The horizon stretches out, endless and wide. Sloping down, a slate grey sky gently reaches out, deeply kissing the horizon's upturned mouth. Salt and sand and the cries of gulls fill the air. A song sung from ages past, it fills up and spills over the thoughts swirling about. Waves crash and pull back, beating the box inside. Bare feet sink down in soft sand, deep and comforting. Stillness. Would I change it? If the pieces had been placed out before my feet, seen and understood, looking down years and months and days to come, would I choose different? Would you?

"How are you?"
"I'm fine," we smile.

Boxed away, the beats tighten, tighten, tighten. Demanding to be taken out. To be felt. To be examined with the magnifying glass of experience. To be dealt with. We're fine. Fine.

Here we are. We stand in the forest or on the shore. Thinking, wondering, longing, aching. Would we change it? Would we do it any different? But…

…if we did, what else would we change? Like the ripples on the surface of a glass pool, they carry out and change every, single, moment. If we could, would we change the outcome? If we did, the outcome, our lives, every moment would be completely different.

Would we risk it?

Would it be worth it?

The box is frightening and deep, resembling a black cavern that may swallow us into its belly. Wait. Step into it and shine the light of experience. Let's shine the light that pierces the doubts and say to it, we know better. We cannot be swallowed or overtaken or stopped. We stand on the other side of what's inside of that box. All that's left now is to open it and deal with what we've placed there.

At the end of the day, where we are, this is exactly where we should be.

No regrets. No longings to change. Just now. Here. Let's live this. Let's deal with this. Let's move forward.