Good Things.

Trees bursting with brilliant color, lining the streets of Rea Road and Colony, and sprouting out my morning window.

Tank tops, camis, layers, color. Frills, feminine etchings. The revealing of beauty through soft shoulders and silky necklines.

Writing. Process. Words. Bringing reality, the real, and truth through the love of language.

Coming heart to heart with friends. Being in their grasp and love, no matter the area, the distance, the time between talk.

The words my mother has given me, taught me, bleed through me. The example of nothing short of her goodness.

Snuggling children, quiet smiles, silly laughter.

Coming into a home smelling of wreaths and pine and cinnamon and mulled spice. Of Christmas and love and hope and joy all mixed in the form of trees and bulbs and candles and joy.

Music. Mellow or moving. Calm or chaotic. Joyful or joining. Whether it raises hands in worship or applause, in cheers or artistic expression. Music is good. Music is life.

Quiet mornings home. Nights out with friends. Invitations to dinner. Shared meals at the table.

Food. Thought out, set out, spread out. Gourmet with ingredients hard to spell, and tastes learned to discern. Good. Food.

Sara Groves. Lady Antebellum. Wailing Jennys. My urban mix of Shontell, B.o.B., Eminem, and Beyonce. The voice of Jennifer Knapp "Sing Alleluia" on the morning commute. And Colbie Calliet fluttering through date-night prep.

(more to come)

Uncover Hope.

"Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5

What if hope does disappoint?

What if hope does seem to 'put us to shame'?

Some days, I hate hope. I know, sounds critical and cynical, but lets be honest -- it's also hope that brings disappointment, discouragement, etc. Because we allowed ourselves to long, to yearn, to hope for better, for dreams, for life... and then, splat. Empty wallows, or unkept promises, or sadden souls at the luring loss of hope.

Now truly, I understand, it's a hope for all things better. A hope for eternity. A hope for heaven. It is hope that does develop perseverance, character, etc. But in the process, I find myself having to be also pruned of the jaded-ness that grows when hope comes up short.

Perhaps that is the development of character. Allowing to be pruned and still keep pushing ahead, hoping, rejoicing in all things.

Now, lets put this into perspective, so you, as a reader, can grasp what I'm getting at, and why this long entourage of cut thoughts bleed out... So I'll shift my perspective from my own heart eyes, like a zoomed in Google-map, to seeing the broader so others can see the map that's painted.

I hope. Deeply. For this portrait of home and life and goodness that is etched inside. It breeds from my own experience, living with candlesticks and boats and good-night prayers and encouragement at every turn. It breeds from my snuggle naps with Garrett, and my laughter with him at the park. It breeds from longings as a child, playing with dolls, setting tables, and knowing how much of my mom planted and grew in me.... And from life, from pregnant friends, from stories of cuddling kids in the morning, from books, Bible Studies, and the pulsing life-blood of the church aimed continually at the nuclear family, and coming through the lack there-of with displaced centrality.

I could sit and talk with Will for hours sometimes, feel his arms so strong and silky, lean into him on the couch, and laugh so hard under moonlit woods. It all breeds hope. Talking about houses and kids and cooking... and prayer and night and silent dreams. So many things about him brought me great joy; fullness; a fresh sense of color. Tired days, he refreshed me. Anxious days, he relaxed me. Hope blossomed out of good.

But because of so many other things, because of my need to self-protect, to stand back and see. To linger in what is real beyond the dreams. I closed my eyes and couraged to walk away.

Away from a slice of safety. Away from his strength next to me at the table this Frieday. Away from human approval - that I'd 'finally met someone' and no longer had to prove my feminine worth, or justify my position in life. Away, but now "put to shame" in the light of human eyes as I am no longer a "we" or talking about a "he". Instead, its just "me."

Where I find myself today, knowing the real and telling myself, listing it off in honest truth so that I can see the truest vision, uncovered by perspective. Feeling the good, but willing to state the bad. I stand in space, with mountains and valleys, flourish fields and fallen trees, and look back and forward, for what was dreams and what wants to be, hope.

I find it. I uncover it inside myself. I stand wishing and wanting, but knowing and being, in the strength outside society, but what is found from the Spirit within me. I beg, and ask, for in His goodness, that I find it. Hope.

Self Protection.

Self-protection is hard. It's real. It's necessary. It's important. But it's hard.

The last year and a half, I have learned the art of self-protection. I have learned to cut, to stop, to sway from emotions. To let linger, to pause, to walk away from relationships. To grow distance. To self-protect.

It's for me. It's for my heart. It's for my friendships and the love of people in my life. It's for the gospel, that it grows and flourishes in me, rather than being squelched by the hurt of harmful words, indecent deeds, or inconsistent relationship. It's to build trust in Truth, to honor what is Good, to grasp what is Noble. To let my heart grow in the "whatevers" of Philippians 4, so that I am aimed at what is good, pure, right, noble, excellent, and praise-worthy.

It is to give me life, so that I can also be and give life.

Self-protection is hard. It's the intentional tugging away from constraints in wishing and hope and dreaming of what was real or what can never be. It's keeping lids on expectations, and depriving joy from what good be to realize what is.

I've learned and taken lots of steps of self-protection. From people, from family, from jobs, from all sorts of things that could have the potential to be excellent and praiseworthy, but instead are calloused or cutting.

These days, I take on new self-protection. Stepping away from what could be, to see what is. Stepping away from what emotions in me are lured and laughing and playful, to see what underlying characteristics show underlying tone of life, being, future, love, and hurt. These days, self protection has a new form.

It still looks at it always does, this growing hedge around the garden of me, climbing higher like ivy trellis' on metal rod-iron wreaths. It may appear and look soft and sensitive, but it comes from the soil of spoiled hope. It strengthens, it hardens, it supports itself. It is still full of purposeful blockade, masked by smiles and simple lines, and words like "I'm fine." But the trellis of ivy growns over hopes, dreams, life, fears, stillness, peace. It covers the anger and hate and cynicism, but also the goodness.

I wish instead, someone would tend to the 'garden of me'. Carefully planting and pruning and watering the soil. Taking care to encourage it grow and blossom and flourish. And see the strength of roots that run through, and the beauty of the flowers that wish to bloom. I wish instead someone would lurk into the patches, seed the soil, and take great care in the garden.

But as it stands, I walk away; I self protect. I grow ivy. I quiet. I wither. I wish for blossom. I wish for hope. But I always now, self-protect.

Safety.

I was commenting on a friend's post today, and unearthed a big concern of mine, and a concern that lasts from childhood to adulthood.

Don't we all long to be safe? To be safe with a friend, to be safe with our home, to be safe with in the confines of work and play, love and leisure. Think how different life looks and feels when we feel safe in our personal space, in ourselves, in our relationships...

“Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keeping what is worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away. ~ George Eliot

Posting on my friend's blog:

I think the most important right of a child is safety. Safety in all sorts of forms. Safety in space — in feeling protection from the rain and cold, protection from animals and creatures, diseases, and untold other physical harms. Safety in emotion — feeling safe with the words that are spoken to them from parents, teachers, peers and retaining instead encouragement and places to grow. Safety from physical harm — from beatings and brutality, war and rage, sexual assault and hunger. Safety from fear — of school shootings, of beatings at home, of mangled rumors, of threats to their villages.

The sense of safety is one that can’t be conjured up. It can’t be temporarily distributed, because then fear would still be lurking. The need for solace in safety is universal, from African villages to Colorado High Schools to Bolivian homes. Safety also sets the stage for adulthood, and pronounces traits in us that will either grow and flourish, or die and wither with age — like confidence, motivation, strength, and care.

Safety is by far, the number one thing I would bring, give, and protect over all the children in the world.

Fear and Faith.

The Lord teaches me this lesson over and over again. About fear and faith.

Because fear is the opposite of faith.

And he comes to me, calling my name, and calling me out of fear, to walk in faith.

So let faith be my footing. Fear forgotten.

Prayer is the strength of me battle shield in faith.

Motherhood.

Motherhood is something you just long for. You just need. The presence of it in your life, and the presence of it to give to your life.

This week, I long for motherhood. I long for motherhood of my own, and the motherhood of the mom that I miss.

Except for the concept of motherhood, who do you ask hard questions to? Who else knows you so deeply an intimately that they can answer the questions? Or offer that insight of perspective that only they can have the place and platform to give? Except for motherhood, who lets you just cry and cry and fall apart over and over again, and still love you and hold you all the same? Except for motherhood, who dotes on you when you need life, when you need encouragement, when you need love? Except for motherhood, who holds your trust so strongly that you are safe under the grasp of her care? Except for motherhood, who connects you with generations and gaps and lines and lineage and love and heritage and covenant strings? Except for motherhood, who is your place, your space, your solace, your rest?

Motherhood trembles with in me. It beckons me to my own, and yearns from me for my own. I miss and cherish the place of Motherhood from my mom so much. She was the ultimate Motherhood. The ultimate place of questions, of life, of love, of rest. Of safety, of solace, of space.

Of love.

Because They Are His Plans.

I was reading from a Proverbs 31 blog today called A Widow's Might... and she wrote a response to someone who had written in on her blog, and the words grasped truth with such a strong vengeance and soft indignation, that I needed to claim them as my own today. But I too, share them with you:

I know His plans for your future are awesome,

because they are His plans.