this and that.

i have felt it for most of my womanhood
the pressure that wells and demands to be felt
the pressure that comes from a society deeming a woman beautiful
too beautiful to be with this man because he is not your equal in face or body
but not beautiful enough to be with that man
because you will not be able to keep him
that man will leave and cheat and break your heart into a million pieces
and they will shatter like broken glass
left scattered across the floor of your soul

but you see this man over here
you will grow tired of him yourself because your face and body outshine
they eclipse all substance
they have no thought for what is deep or good or true
and this is somehow our fault as women
with faces too beautiful to attain our equal
but not deep enough to hold that which matches our soul

and i am left between being damned either way
choose wisely the voices whisper
choose what is perfect in our eyes
but no matter what you choose
you will never be right
you will never satisfy what we demand

so the choice is left to me in the end
with the illusion being it was never mine to begin with
never mine to know what i would seek if left to my own devices
if left out of the brainwashing and trend setting
if left out of the cookie cutter madness that teaches us what is attractive
but the voices still tell me i may choose a cookie
reach your had in the cookie jar
as long as it is our doing that caused the drawing out

and i believe for a moment the lie and reach my hand in grasping
until i remember i do not have to choose
damn the voices and damn their demands
i am unto myself happy in where i stand
cookieless, with what they tell me is a pretty face
and a soul too deep to buy into the lie that my face will last
for i know this to not be true
so let me stand alone
rebelling against what you say i must choose

tell me i must choose a man to be happy
and i will show you a life content in where it is
happy to be alive, breathing the sweet and wild air given
tell me i must make a choice and be damned either way
and i will show you a choice does not have to be made

life must simply be lived
moment by moment
one foot in front of the other
one step taken at a time

and the words are written

it's taking hold of the words and pulling them down, 

forcing them to submit and bend and beat to a drum

a drum that is yours and no one else's

it's looking around and realizing that this is it 

this is all we've been given 

there is nothing more than right here and now

breathing in and breathing out and waking up

drinking dark coffee and making feet walk paths

paths we're told to walk to be responsible

to have success

to have it all

and the screaming inside starts from deep within

and the panic wells and is a living thing

pushing, pushing, pushing against the bell jar

banging and demanding to be freed

because it is all consuming and familiar

it is building walls high like a master brick mason

whispering words in the dark of the night

whispering, whispering, whispering, truth and lies

waltzing together, one thought after the next kissing in passing

and we allude to the nightmares that scare us most

to fearing the commitment and dying at the thought of being alone

and the panic is still there, threatening to choke and never leave

yet we still do that which causes the panic to grow

why?! 

to please the voices around us that scream not to live

to forget that we have one life and no other

that this is all we have here and now 

so what is the answer...

to do that which we fear

that which makes us panic, for only then does it shrink

only then can we breathe and remember

one life, one life, one life

why are we not running like we are on fire

towards all that we were created for...

and the words are written
for i fear them the most

and I swallow the fear

for what other choice do I have?

for my generation...

I read an article the other day about my generation. It talked about how we value experiences over possessions. We value that which connects us with those around us more than with what we can or might in the future, acquire. And, for the first time in a long time, I appreciated what we have brought to the table. I more than anyone have been hard on my generation...but, reading those words, thinking about who we are, the people who make up this great mass of humanity that I get to call my own, I was damn proud to be, for the first time, born when I was.

Do you know what we've done?

We have stood up and bucked the system.

We have said, no, I don't really dig this whole 9-5 thing, or in most cases, this whole 8-7 thing. I don't particularly want to be chained to a desk, so I won't be. I don't want to waste this one life I've been given, slaving away for someone else's monetary gain. I want to use my body as a canvas, painted with who I am for all to see. I want to grow my hair long when others think it should be kept short because of my gender. I want to cut my hair short when others think it should be long because that's what appeals to the opposite sex. I want to love who I love without boundaries or stipulations, despite gender or color or culture.

We have screamed that we just want to be us. Not boxed in or held back. We have proven we do, in fact, have fantastic work ethic, we just want to break the mold handed down to us of what traditional work looks like.

We are your facebook, instagram, snapchat, and social media creators. We are your designers and freelancers, forever pushing social norms and redefining the game. We are the ones that run wild and free. We are chasing the back of the north wind, because we have somehow tasted the elixir of a short life, and want to cram as many memories, connections, and experiences as we can into a single day.

We have sought out mountains and valleys, oceans and lakes, choosing tents over hotel rooms. We have composed music that shatters normalcy, connecting us with those listening, if just for a moment. We have recognized the beauty in written and spoken poetry, in pictures posted for the world to see, and we have somehow, magically, created ways to support ourselves through our crazy ideas that no one thought would ever work.

This is who we are.

We are your extreme athletes, extreme philosophers, extreme writers, artists, mathematicians, parents, daughters, sons. We are striving each day to live out what we are passionate about.

We are....millennials. For better or worse, this is who we are.

And I am finished. Finished with being ashamed of the generation I was born into and grew up with. I am finished beating down those I stand shoulder to shoulder with. For we are so. much. more. than others give us credit for. So, for those who are mine, for those who walk with me here and now in this  small space of time and humanity, I am proud of us. Of you. Of who we are.

Let's keep striving. Let's keep fighting the good fight. For love and hope and all that sums up who we are. Let's pass on to our children the value of memories made and lives lived well, filled to overflowing, and drunk of deeply.

We will only walk this way once. We cannot walk it again. Let's make it count.

~Jade

For the girl with the broken heart.

For every girl whose heart has been broken...

It's the call that vibrates out of your phone, when you push that green circular point of glass, allowing sobs to be heard and transmitted from towers into time and space. It's the sound of wounds opening up and bleeding, tears and pain echoing out of this small rectangular object, wishing it was not the messenger between worlds. It's the listening and uttering hollow words in return, about how this heart pain will not kill, even though she truly believes in this moment it will. It's letting tears slide down your own face remembering a night long ago, when the pain was yours to bear and when you too thought it would surely suck the life out of you in the deep of the night. It's sitting here, sinking deep into this couch, and just being the one who listens as her heart breaks open.

Slowly, the sobbing subsides and the dull ache settles in. Hello old friend. Visiting others now, are we? Like a living thing, walking heavy steps over shattered bits of heart, you stroll into the soul as if you own the place.

Trying to convince her she'll always be yours, are you? Trying to tell her your ache will always remain and she is too broken to be a whole being again. Ah, but I know this isn't true. You are not the owner and possessor of who we are as women. Our hearts do not remain here in this place, in cracked pieces on the floor of our souls. No, they will be gathered together again, placed back in the fire and reforged strong and sure. And where once a wound was cut deep, a scar will eventually settle in.

Don't hide the scars, dear girl. Wear it proudly. It proves that you came into this place, you showed up and gave it your best, and it does not define who you are, but bears witness to who you will become. There is something beautiful in the pain, though you may not be able to see it in this moment. There is a knowing that will come out on the other side of all this, a deeper understanding of who you are and what you can withstand. Yes, you'll carry the scar forever, but not this all consuming ache that is here now. It is this and so much more that is creating the strong woman who will take the place of the young girl. This is what makes our roots run deep into the soil of this great life we've been given. This is what anchors us in and lets us know that the storm will not drown or kill us. This is what turns us into women: embracing the pain, but not letting it define us.

You see, we don't get out of this life unscathed. Though there was a time that I once bought into this lie. No matter who we are, no matter where we live, no matter what we believe and even if we think there's some magic formula that will prevent it, there isn't. Life is simply hard, in all its beauty. It's really, really, hard. Pain is just a part of it. Baggage is also part of the bargain, BUT, the pain and baggage and really hard stuff, if we allow them, they can be the best of teachers. So no, while there isn't some magic out, some big red easy button to push, you wouldn't want to take the easy way, even if you could. Because gold is forged in the heat of the fire, and if you let it, the fire can change you into this as well.

You are learning this lesson, deep in the night and by the bright light of the morning after. You are not a timid mouse, cowering back and hiding in dark holes. You are a fierce young lioness, learning to stand tall and push forward. You are growing into a strong woman, a woman who will change the world. So, in this morning, drink dark coffee and let the tears slide down, but know. who. you. are. Not the pain. Not the ache. You are more, so much more, than this situation can ever try and convince you of.

So these are the words spoken back, echoed from a heart once shattered: this too shall pass, sweet girl.

You've got this.

Love and stuff, 

Jade.

Honestly.

One of my best friends in the whole wide world asked me why I hadn't been writing lately...she then said she felt like there was a very distinct difference between who I portrayed myself to be over social media/my blog, and who I was in real life. Ouch. I'm a HUGE fan of people being who they really are on every level, so to hear her say that there was this disconnect she could see in me...well...I don't think there are many other words that could have been said which would have hit their mark with such a clean and unrelenting death shot.

After retreating to a corner of my soul that I could access with relative ease, to lick my wounds and reevaluate those obviously untrue words, I started the seriously painful process of reading back through what I've written in the past. Ok, here's the thing, what I wrote, it was absolutely true at the time. I don't think I've ever been able to write things I didn't believe to simply portray an image. However, and this is a REALLY big however, I've definitely gone through some emotional mess lately, and through the process, something merged together in the best kind of way inside of me. It was as if there had been two of me all along, one who wrote and believed everything taught, unwilling to question, wanting to be the sweet, calm, beautiful, self assured woman who was strong and willing to want the simple and uncomplicated side of life...all definitely true in one sense. BUT then, outside of the screen and the blog and outside of the inside of my head, there was this real person who lived and breathed, was messy and SERIOUSLY complicated (still am), who journaled in a totally different way than she blogged, who was afraid to let anyone know the questions, the doubts, who craved the wild, to break free and live big, whose dreams over took nights, and who had been struggling with some serious anxiety (a kinda new development), who was relating to the mess and questions more than to the simple answers and quaint pictures she'd painted. And somehow, just like that, the two selves merged into one...well, it wasn't exactly THAT easy, it's been more more like a hurricane sweeping through my soul and leaving some serious mess in its wake...BUT, still, the two that I'd always felt warring against each other, were suddenly still and here I stood at thirty, head spinning, trying to figure out how to navigate life as just me. This one person.

Then, I had to admit that you were right, friend. You were right and I've been wrong in a way, but really, I've just been trying my damnedest to figure out who I am. And maybe I'll have other battles, and maybe I'll still suck really bad at being super honest with myself (and you). But, this is me trying. Because, at the end of the day, no matter what else I am, the writer still surfaces. So, when you asked me why I hadn't written anything in so long, this was why. I had to let the dust settle, and THEN I had to work up the courage to be honest enough to write this post first. I'm trying, I'm trying really, really, really, hard to just be me. All of me. And it would seem that since I can no longer compartmentalize myself, this is what the future looks like...;)

So, here's to taking a giant breath, to not freaking out at being honest, to admitting that I'm a dang mess, who has been battling with some MAJOR anxiety, who wasn't being honest with herself about who she was, who questions everything, religion, who God is, people, reality, dreams, life, death, all of it. All the time. Who has ALWAYS done this, but who, until now, never had the courage to admit it. Yeah. Here's to all of that. Here's to no longer just painting pretty pictures, but to realizing that while some pictures painted about our lives are nice, the reality of who we are is always more helpful than when we edit stuff out.

And hey, thanks for being the one who pushes me, who makes me so stinkin' mad about being forced out of my comfort zone, but is always right there to listen even though you always feel like I'm being enigmatic...I don't do it on purpose. Promise.

And to everyone reading this...thanks:) Thanks for reading and...yeah...hopefully there will be more to come as I learn who this new writer self is. Here's to hoping that you'll have the courage to just be you too. Because, there's only one you. And the world doesn't need us to be carbon copies of someone else, but to be who we really were originally created to be.

Love and stuff,

Jade. 

What it's about and so much more.

There's this thing that grows strong inside of me, longing always for what is authentic and raw and open. I have the hardest time cracking open the doors locked tight in walls bricked high around my soul, but I crave that which is open constantly. I think that's called irony;) So, there are times when days turn to weeks that slip by while I push away the words and really just don't want to sit at the computer and bleed out what I know will come. Funny thing about being a writer, you can't "just write" but instead, we simply slice open whatever place we might be in life at the time and wait to die from the words bleeding freely...we are also dramatic...that was me being dramatic. Seriously though, it's never just writing, but it's as if we wrench out a piece of our very core and expose it to the world. I'm convinced it's far more difficult for writers to write than it is for other people. We write instead of talk. I do this a lot. I don't want to talk most of the time, but I allow the words to build up and swirl around until out they spill...and relief follows shortly after...somehow.

I turned thirty somewhere between the last post I wrote and this one. I have a whole lot to write about having slipped quietly out of my twenties and into this new decade, but that is a story for another time. Here and now, I am finding it to be more true than before that the writing does not become easier. However, I am done with the pretense and facade that different years in my twenties held. That craving for authenticity is stronger than ever, the longing for a life that snaps and crackles with bright star light and dark red wine, with strong coffee and sweet conversations, deep and real and truer than true, that is stronger than ever. I am done with glossing life over, always trying to make it seem perfect and beautiful, for more than ever I am truly understanding that the beauty comes out of the ashes, the broken, the words spoken when things are hard and just plain suck. More than ever I'm understanding just how much I'm stripping the beauty and authenticity away when I don't admit that I am not always being honest with the words crafted. Often crafted to form a pretty picture of perfect spirituality, and a sticky sweet life. That's not my life. Oh, sometimes it's pretty dang close to being amazingly perfect...for like half a second...and then reality comes crashing back in and I remember just how imperfectly perfect this thing we call life is. And I am not immune to the imperfection. I wouldn't want to be.

I haven't been, the last few months especially. I have felt like my feet bore weights as I trudged through knee deep quick sand that was trying to suck me under. My soul felt as dry and cracked as the sahara, and the grit filled my mouth. I have trudged through soul deserts before, but this time felt different, and I have ridden the roller coaster of emotions, giving in and letting the anger wash over me. I'm still pretty dang angry about a whole lot...and I'm finally allowing myself to ask some really hard questions to a God who is bigger than the answers that I may never get. And that's ok. I get this whole thing about Him knowing me inside out and working all things for my good, but for the first time ever, I'm not glossing this thing over, and I'm allowing myself to really deal with the nasty stuff pushed down deep. For the first time I'm beginning to understand that it's really, really, really, ok to be angry and let myself feel that...but, the trouble comes from staying in that place too long. That's not what the journey is about. Hence why it's called a journey, right? It's a constant push through deserts dry and valleys lush and green, a constant forward movement up mountains surrounded by sweet, crisp air, and down again into jungles deep. It's all about the journey, never stopping to settle in the dry desert (good grief, let's not do that, this place suuucks) or any other place we may pass through. It's about keeping up the whole one step at a time thing, the whole never give up, fight the good fight, run the race set before you with eternity in sight, thing.

It's about all of this and so much more.

Sitting here in this little cabin on this great big lake, these are the thoughts that swirl all around. Surrounded by trees reaching long limbs to brush against this tin roof, all I can think about is how important it is to be authentic about where I am. Where we all are really. It's about connecting and remembering how much it matters to crack open our souls. To remind each other that the journey isn't perfect, and dang it hurts sometimes...but, at the same time, it's the most incredible thing we've been given. It's about being reminded that this God who knows us is greater than any box we try to force Him into and He can handle the questions. He can handle the doubt. He can handle us. And me. Most of all me.

Yeah, it's about all of this and so much more.

Sometimes.

So many thoughts. So many things dancing and diving, swirling and spinning. Sometimes I want to borrow trouble, to let what could have been, what could be, the "what ifs" of life, to let myself drown in them. Sometimes I want to run far and deep and long and get lost. Without a name in some distant place. Sometimes life twists in a knife, knowing where the scars lay hidden, pressing down just so, right there, releasing pain that radiates and steals the breaths taken.

Sometimes I want all of this. To bow my head and drown in defeat.

Sometimes.

And then.

Then, I am reminded. Gently, like a whisper through my soul, I am reminded. I hear His voice. There it is, riding on the stars and wind. Striding into the broken places, shining Light through brokenness. I am met where I am, lifted up, bound tight in grace, and poured through with strength and confidence. Lifted head that was bowed is now met by His eyes unwavering...and this is enough.

There are times in my life when I wish I could walk away from this Calling. There are times when I wish I could pretend that my soul doesn't cry out every second of every day to the One who created me. There are times I want to  just...live. Yeah, I have those times. But, and it's a really big BUT, as Jim Elliot said, "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." Whew. I want to give all of this life that is so temporal, because...because...I have nothing to lose by giving this one life and I have everything to gain with eternity in sight. I want that. My spirit wants that, but everything in this world screams loud with voices lifted high, that I should give up. That this will never be enough.

The voices lie. I have tasted and seen that He is enough. I have witnessed the faithfulness of my God in the land of the living. I have seen Him prove over and over and over again in my own life, that no matter what comes, no matter the pain, there is still joy that runs deep beyond all of this. There is a gold cord that testifies to joy unending despite all this world can create.

I am one woman, and I am no one really. I am small and insignificant. Or so I've believed most of my life. However, I now know this too is a lie the enemy would use to keep me still and silent. Yes, I am only one woman, but the very breath of the Living God abides in these lungs inside my chest, the very blood of His son flows through my veins, and I am His daughter!

And you see, I have found my voice. So, while this world is plunging in the knife, pressing down on scars, letting pain flow, I would lift this voice high and proclaim: I have seen the goodness, the faithfulness, the joy, the great love, the astounding strength and power of the Lord in this place. I have caught a glimpse of the face of Jesus, and while I am waiting, longing, to see Him face to face, may this one life of this one woman be spent in whatever way He sees fit. Because He is enough. He is always enough.

No borrowing trouble, no giving up, no bowing in defeat, oh child of the Living God. You are His. Yes you, the one reading these words in this moment. I know you are no different than me. You carry scars, you have pain snaking through your life, you hear the voice in your soul telling you your God is not enough. None of that, oh Child of the Living God. You have His voice abiding in your soul, so lift it up to fulfill the Call that has been placed upon your life, whatever that may be. He is faithful. And you...you are so greatly loved by Him.

of days and stars and bleeding out.

Days slip silently by. Moving quickly, one after the other, propelling forward all that this thing called "future" tugs us towards. It's that thing that happens, when you feel like nothing is changing, and then, without being aware of it in the least, you look back and everything has changed.

That has happened a lot for me over the last seven months. This constant shifting and changing, it would seem it's the only consistent thing in this life. It's good. Really good. You know, the further I get, the deeper I go, the more I understand that to not change is death...this life is about the journey. This journey is ever changing. There is an end, but it's definitely not on this earth. The further I get, the deeper I go, there is one thing that keeps resonating through every fiber that I am made up of: You are a child of God. You are loved. Your identity is found in Him, and in Him perfect love is known. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

When did it become a cliche? When did radical love become something we decided to push aside? When did our Savior become the cause of every bad thing in our lives, instead of the reason for all the good? I'm really guilty of this. I've blamed Him, I've screamed in His face that I'd done my best and none of it mattered...except, I screamed and believed lies fed from the deepest pit of hell. I held them close, let them fester, and spewed out of my heart things that could simply never be true.

Here's the thing: I don't have all the answers. I can't explain why certain things happen in the way they do. However, I am absolutely 100% certain, that my God, my Savior, He is good. And I actually don't even like the word "good" because using it to describe all that He is seems incredibly shallow. He's not just good, He's AMAZING, INCREDIBLE, STUNNING, BEAUTIFUL, FAITHFUL, all of these words of which none can accurately capture the fullness of all He is. I don't know...the older I get, the more time passes, the more I feel and taste and see what this life is made up of, the more I'm convinced He is worth it all. The more I yearn to go deeper still. The more I want to be in over my head, surrounded by all He is. Because, if I'm over my head, lost in Him, to sink or to swim, to flow with the rushing river, tugged out on the current of an ever changing sea, if it's all in Him, what does it matter if I sink or swim?

Truly, I'm at the point in my life that I'm full to overflowing with Him, but I'm not satisfied yet...I think that will take an eternity. An eternity to pursue and know and fall ever more in love with the One who has pursued me all my life.

So, here we go again. When words break forth from a dam cracked open. When what I was created to do comes forth, called out, because words flow through my veins thicker than blood. This is who He created me to be. One who willingly rips open her heart and bleeds across black keys, while drawing a bow across strings pulled from a crying soul. Writer or musician. Musician or writer. Both.

Writer first. Here to proclaim one thing alone: You are loved more than you can possibly begin to imagine.

Tonight, know this.

Tonight, this is for you. So read the words, let them seep in deep. He loves you. You are not alone. You are His. And you are loved.

My boxes are constantly broken open. My God constantly pushes me forward, teaching me that I can surly know that I know nothing. But, there is one thing I DO know, beyond all that I am, beyond the borders of all I feel or the boundaries of all I want...He is enough. I have wanted much in my life. I have yelled and screamed at the sky when I was not given what I wanted when I wanted it. Oh, I can now exhale a breath of thanksgiving to the One who knows me far better than I know myself. Who waits to fulfill the desires until I begin to see them move across my heart.

Take heart.

Even if you don't believe it.

He knows you. He loves you. This is enough. Yell and scream if you must, because He can take it. But, in the dark of the night, when the stars burn brightest, know that He has you exactly where you are meant to be. In the deep of the night, even the stars shine down love from the One who created them to sing brightly a song born from fiery depths.

This song...it is for you...

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.

reminded and found.

I found it on this hot, humid, almost unbearable August afternoon. I found it in the ordinary moments that drummed by, beating, beating, beating. Slipping past with micro pearls of water hanging thick in the air. I found it deep in the coffee steaming, in the laughter of those around me, in the clang and clatter of dishes being picked up and used. I found it in the whirring of fans, circulating air that hung hot and heavy, reminding me how this heat would condition me to itself if I stay in the South very long. I found it in the little local book shop, where a sign hung, hand written and unpretentious:

I found it here. I wanted to run, but there it was, reaching long arms out and around me. It came with the text that reminded me of another sent by the same sender months before. That text that had come when I needed it most, when the words seemed to jump off the screen and hold me close, reminding me that though it didn't feel like it in that moment, everything was going to be ok. I thought about that text, saved in my phone, somewhere amongst quotes and lists of things to do:

"Jade. He may be the best guy to ever draw breath. It doesn't mean, however, that God meant him to be with you. Other people cannot see what's going on in your heart and mind. Only you can and if it feels wrong, then don't force it."

I found it in a thin gold band, tucked away in a beautiful local art store. A delicate gold band that now resides on the middle finger of my left hand, just above the middle knuckle. One that I'd been keeping an eye out for months. The woman behind the counter smiles at me, gently saying:

"Oh…I made that. I just love those!"

"Yes, they're lovely," I murmured back.

"What's your name?"

"Jade…"

"Well, that's a beautiful name. I won't forget that soon! Where are you from? Not here…"

"No…South Carolina, but Colorado just recently."

"Well, welcome to our town!" Smiling, she seems to search my face.

"Thank you. It's wonderful here."

"Yes, we think so," and then, "My dear, I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for." 

"Ah, thank you. You nailed it." I think to myself. I place the ring on the glass counter, paying and turning to wave as I walked out of the old door that's chipping white paint. 

It came knocking again, standing in line for coffee. I took the steaming mug from the smiling barista behind the counter, handing her my plastic light blue card, when suddenly the voice behind me said in a slow southern accent: 

"I'm ordering something too, and I'm going to get that for you. Someone did that for me last time I was in here, and it'd be my pleasure to pay it forward to you."

"Oh….. [trying to hold back the tears]….thank you." 

"Now," he said, "Could you recommend something to me that's iced?"

I smiled, pointing to something written in bright colors on hanging chalk boards above our heads.

I found it hidden through the doors of a little cabin, tucked away beside the lapping waters of a large lake. Where wooden stairs lead to a quaint little dock and private beach. I found it. I saw. I am seeing. 

Beauty. Purpose. Moments. These are what matter. 

Music drifts into my ears. Slowly. My mind wanders. I think about the people that unknowingly helped me to see today or who reminded me to think back, of moments when they touched me. Not in a way that is shallow or easily forgotten, but in ways that truly struck down deep in my soul something that resonates. And that resonating sound reminded me that people are beautiful…just as beautiful as sunsets across the water, if you allow them to be. 

These moments, small and forgettable, I collected them and I found it. For it is not about the place, but the people. Those that help you remember and find...

…Home.

doubt and streams in the desert.

Just write. 

Sometimes the words dam up inside. They push and pull, wanting to break free…but, like chains, something holds on tight. Strong. Not letting go. 

Just write. 

Lately, I've worried a lot about what I'm doing. Like waves crashing down and scooping me up again, I've thought and pondered and contemplated what's next. Because, obviously, my God cannot handle my problems. So, I look up at the sky and let Him know not to worry cause, I've got this one. I'll handle it. The feelings push in that I've been left out to dry…I'm tired of this up hill, dang hard, I can't seem to get my footing, super long hike I feel like I'm on. And have been on for my entire life. 

Just write.

Clearly, everyone else my age has their life together. No one else is questioning what they're doing, they have a plan and that plan is working out exactly the way they wanted it to. Yep, this is just me. I'm the only one caught up in the current of uncertainty, of wondering, of freaking out, of thinking about what's next and longing to simply know. :drama:

"For I am the Lord your God, who upholds your right hand, Who says to you, 'Do not fear, I will help you.'" ~Isaiah 41:13

The words whisper, swirling all around my heart.

Doubt. 

Just write. 

Fine. But it doesn't make me feel any better. :stamps foot: I feel unseen. Did you lose me in all the masses, Father? Did you forget that I'm over here? :waves hand wildly in air: Jesus, we had a plan. Did you forget about that? Don't you remember what it was??? Security! Certainty! A future! You've left me out to dry. 

"Say to those with [an] anxious heart, 'Take courage, fear not. Behold, your God will come with vengeance; The recompense of God will come, but He will save you.'" -Isaiah 35:4

Hey! Are you listening to me?! What am I suppose to do? 

Just write. 

I AM WRITING. :shouts:

No, write this. Say this to those with an anxious heart. 

BUT WHAT ABOUT MY HEART?! Did you forget about MY heart?! I CAN'T write when MY heart is anxious! :wails:

Ah, am I not enough? Am I not greater than your heart? I AM that I AM. You will never be certain until you speak truth. I AM that I AM. You are who I have said you are. Be. Still. 

Tears. I am small and I am doubtful. I talk big, but when the fire comes, I scream at the heat. I ride the waves that my emotions send. Yet…..

…..yet. He is greater still. This I know. I don't have to feel it, for I know. 

"…for waters will break forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert." ~Isaiah 35:6

Then break them forth in the wilderness of my heart, Jesus. Let the message stream forth that courage is near and there is nothing to fear. Behold, your God will come. He will save you. 

This is what I am to do. Write. Worship. Let my life forever be a worship song unto the One whom my soul loves. Let my words send forth a sweet aroma of Jesus. Because He is worthy. He loves you. You are seen by the One who created the stars to shine forth. You are loved by He who looked down through the ages to gaze upon your face and said, it is good. Man, I can't think of anything I'd want more than for you to sit on the other side of this screen and understand that, though there are times I feel unseen, though there are times you may too, we. are. seen. He loves us. We are His. 

"You whom I have taken from the ends of the earth, And called from its remotest parts and said to you, 'You are My servant, I have chosen you and not rejected you. Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.'" ~Isaiah 41:9,10

heartstrings and all.

It's having a moment creep up on you unexpectedly. Like a string snapping, bouncing back and just like that, the heartstring is cut. Or at least one of them. Your chest aches a little less, your breath fills your lungs a bit easier, and for a moment, you feel weightless. Just like that. They are few and far between, these moments. Maybe you're one of the lucky ones who has no heartstrings tied anywhere…and in a way I suppose that's a good thing. No worries about them being tugged on, pulled tight, the tension aching and the pain more than you could have imagined possible at times.

I have two ways of looking at the whole business of heartstrings:
1.) You have loved someone.
2.) You have loved someone.

Simple;) Except, not really. Sometimes, there are heartstrings attached from disobedience to what the Lord has asked. Heartstrings attached to those that could have been avoided. But, then there are heartstrings in place to teach us how to love the way our Father loves, hoping for all things and expecting nothing in return. Because honestly, loving someone does not give you the right to their heart. It does not give you a right to their life. Loving someone, having your heart attached to them, this is tough, but it's ultimately wanting the very best for them, above all you may "feel" in the moment. Period.

So, no matter what kind of heartstrings we have, the bottom line is that they prove we have loved. Yeah, maybe they hurt or maybe they're being fulfilled (so happy for you if they are!) but, either way, they prove that we have, indeed, loved.

And you know what? I think that's pretty incredible actually! We have had the privilege to love someone, no matter what the outcome has been or is going to be. It's such an honor to simply love. Isn't that what we're called to anyway? To love? Love without the complicated mess we attach to the word, love beyond all we feel, love in action…yes, it's an honor. To see people for who they really are, to not just talk to them but, to see them. Looking deep and seeing their souls, that this person is a child of the living God, and knowing beyond everything we feel, we are called to love! You and I, we are called to this.

You know what else? If we can get to the point where we live with no strings attached, simply because Jesus demonstrated this and called us to do the same, it is the single most freeing thing we'll experience after the Cross. Seriously. To love in a way that flows directly from His heart, like a fountain of living water that drenches everyone around us, this is like water in a desert unto our souls, or it can be if we allow it.

Today is…indescribable. There are some seriously huge inner struggles that I've dealt with for the past two years and today, today, one of those heartstrings that was pulled tight was released. Whew. You don't realize how good it feels to have it release! Do you know what I felt first? This amazing love for Jesus. This echoes over and over and over through the corridors and rooms in my heart, "You are all I say you are!"

I am all He says I am. I am ALL He SAYS I AM! 

You and I, this is what we are! We are all He says we are! His children, redeemed, loved, adored, royal! Let's love straight from His heart, no matter the hurt, no matter the scars, no matter the heartstrings pulling tight, and let's be all He says we are! Let's live today aware of this beautiful God who gave it all that we might be all. All.

All.

this day.

There are many things I'm trying to figure out in this thing called life. There is much I don't know. One thing, however, that I've been thinking about a lot is, how truly interesting and complicated and beautiful and terrifying and wonderful, people can be. I love watching, observing, looking deep within and catching the light glint off that broken window pane down in someone's soul.

Fact: We all have broken windows within us. 

I don't want to just talk to those around me. I don't want to simply swim in the shallow pools that we so often are content to swim in with others. I want to dive down, to listen and know, to be still and have another's soul slowly be revealed. We are fragile creatures. We build up walls around our true selves, determined to not let anyone see who we really are.

Fact: What an incredible waste of time this is. 

Instead of expending all our efforts on building up walls, what if we tore them down. What if instead of walls, we erected a beautiful fence, covered in vines and blooming roses, with a gate that swings easily open when the right person walks through. Boundaries. Boundaries are different than stone walls erected high. Boundaries don't allow just anyone to walk through, but if the right person has the key, they allow the gate to be opened to the garden where our souls thrive. There will probably be many broken things within, because no matter how hard we try to do it all "right" life in general carries and hands out situations that are simply broken. We cannot expect to get through this life without brokenness. Yet, even in this, even in the shattered glass, there is beauty.

Fact: We are not made to be infallible. 

We are allowed to get it wrong. We are allowed to not always have the formula that gives the perfect answer. There are no perfect answers in this life. That's just not how it works. However, the beauty remains that, through the imperfect, the flaws, the shattered and beat down, there is beauty that would not be there otherwise. If we were perfect, always right, never stumbling, the robots we would become could never compete with the imperfect, living and breathing creatures that we are. We are not perfect, we are often wrong, but our broken need of our Savior is truly beautiful beyond compare.

Fact: We get one life. One life to live fully. 

So, what are we doing? We have one chance at this thing called life. Today is the only day that the clouds will hang in this day's sky. This day will not come round again. This day's sun will not shine again. This day is the only one of its kind ever in the history of the world and throughout eternity. Breathe in. Breathe out. Smile because you will not have a chance to smile on this day ever again. If today calls for tears, then cry them well, for they will not fall from your eyes on this day at any other time in your life. Kiss someone deeply, hug someone like never before. See those around you for who they truly are. Do not be fooled by walls and false facades. Live. Because you will not have the chance to live this day ever again.

Open your eyes and see.  

Open your eyes and see. 

let me show you.

not my pictures and not claiming them, but they sure are pretty;)

It's beautiful, you know. It's waking early, after staying up too late, your bed unwilling to relinquish your body, sucking you deeper into its warm depths. But no, you push away the down comforter, being hit by what seems to be air straight from the arctic. Quickly then, you jump up, hurriedly walking towards the kitchen, trying to navigate stairs that are still a bit off kilter from the haze that still envelops you. Through the fog that is thick inside your brain you look for coffee, wondering why you didn't just get the dang machine ready the night before like you always say you will and never actually do. One day, you will get the coffee ready the night before, so you can be that well organized person who greets the morning with the simple push of a button. Heh, yeah right. The fact that you remembered to set your alarm is cause for some serious celebration. And you will celebrate! With coffee! If you can ever find it. 

Finally, those dark grinds make a contrast against their white bed and that beautiful morning drip has begun. Glancing out the window, the morning light is pushing down through leafy green filters, softening it ever so slightly, and allowing its golden fingers to gently caress the silver dew that blankets the ground. Mist hangs here and there, scattered through pastures surrounded by white picket fences. Like a gentle breath breathed into newly formed lungs, the day takes shape around all of this, made up of salmon colored, golden air, kissed by the mist that is dissipating all around and in it. The light grows ever brighter, awakening a day that has never been, reflecting off of dew soaked, silver window panes. Gently, quietly, a beautiful ballerina gracefully entering the stage, the morning comes, sung into being by sleepy birds and the drip of dark liquid from a gurgling machine. 

That ache deep within begins. Knowing you've caught something unaware. Something hesitatingly beautiful. Moments forged deep and long ago to simply be this…just ordinary and simple. Still, they were thought of and gifted to this warm, dew soaked, golden morning. The risk taken was that they would never be noticed, that they would pass into oblivion lived and breathed, but never seen. Ah, but they were seen. They were seen and caught up in the imagination of a writer who noticed. They were formed into words upon a page and immortalized for others who were gifted this kind of morning, yet didn't see. 

It's beautiful, you know. To catch these simple moments unaware. They go about unassuming, believing they will never be found…stunningly beautiful in how ordinary they are. Ah, but beautiful things do not have to herald and cry forth that they are beautiful. They do not demand attention. They just simply are. 

This is my gift to you. I can notice and catch up the life that has been gifted to me. I can pull you into my morning, my moments, my beautiful ordinary life. I do not want to simply tell you what I've been given, I want to show you. Did you see it? 

It is still morning…open your eyes and see what you have been given by the One who created this morning for you before the world ever spun upon its axis. Look. See. Breath deep of this one wild and sweet life you've been given. Capture this morning and never look back.