Let the words flow from my mind through my fingertips

I love to create.  I love photography, painting, coloring, crafting, crocheting, singing, wood burning, and so many other random ways of seeing something come into being by the work of my mind and my hands.

I love writing.  I love writing beautiful words in script, I love writing notes and letters, I love writing down my thoughts and sharing them with others when applicable.  I have kept a journal or a blog of some kind for most of my life. 

Last year, it was spoken over me that I would speak in front of people.  I saw that come to life shortly after, giving a portion of my testimony in front of the women’s group at church, and then by opening up Christmas Eve church a couple of months later.  But, as I’ve said to multiple people, I write more fluidly than I speak.

This year, it has been spoken over me that I would write more.  I haven’t been sure of how that would come to fruition, but I have seen myself writing more and more, whether it is comments in online Bible study and church services, social media posts, little notes, digital artwork, or blog posts, I have been slowly seeing more words flow from my mind through my fingertips.

It’s even been spoken over me that I should or will write a book some day.  Time will reveal that, I’m sure, although I cannot even begin to imagine what I would fill an entire book with.

This morning, I watched church from home once again, still recovering from the after effects of my second positive Covid test and infection at the end of September.  Today, our pastor and his wife, again, spoke over me in regard to releasing writing.  Then, to my surprise, the service was about creativity and how we are all crafters in our own ways.  We all bring things to life.

As I sat and listened and reflected on my own personality and my love of making things, often times to bless other people, I remembered the weekend prior to getting sick again.  

I attended a women’s conference at my friend’s church- the Enough Conference.  This year, it was focused on being equipped and empowered, and reflected quite a bit on the pandemic we are currently living through.  Multiple times, it was asked, “what are you afraid of, what’s holding you back?”  The premise is that we are all living through a scary, overwhelming, unknown time in our lives, but we are surviving and overcoming it all.  If we can get through these days, what is keeping us from our purposes?

I recall, that weekend, wondering what my purpose is.  What am I supposed to be bringing to this world right now?  If I was created for such a time as this, what am I supposed to contribute to this time?  

Those questions lasted a few days, until one night, I laid in my bed, and the words “empowered” and “equipped” kept circling around in my mind.

Years ago, I wrote poetry, frequently, in my bed, in the dark, with my pen on the paper and unable to see what my script looked like until morning. I would let it fly from my fingers without criticism until I refined it in the daylight.

That night, I pulled out my phone, and with very little editing involved, I let the words glide onto my screen. 

I love music, especially worship music.  I sometimes think of my own testimony as a worship song, although it’s not really put to an audible melody.  After I wrote these words, I thought of them as worship as well, although they too, lack an audible melody.  I haven’t been sure of what I am supposed to do with these words, so they’ve been sitting in secret for almost two months.  

This morning, I felt it was time to release them.  I wrote this as a reminder to myself on the days and nights I wonder, questions, and struggle.  I have spent many hours searching, and sometimes, I search for so long that I see right past the beautiful, simple, wholesome answers that God provides.

Perhaps you’re out there, much like I was, and have been multiple times, wondering what your purpose is in times such as these.  Perhaps, you wonder who you are inside.  Perhaps, you wonder what your value is in this world.  These words are for you, too.

Let me assure you, you have a purpose, you are a beautiful, treasured creation, and God has a plan for you.  There’s something only you can bring to this world.  You too, were created for such a time as this.  

I pray you know that you are cherished, important, and Loved.

 You tell me that I'm a masterpiece-

A wonderful creation, I am unique,

And I know in my heart it is true,

Because I put all of my trust in You.

But some days, I find myself confused.

I pray and wonder “what should be my use?”

I try to read between the lines

Of the words you write over my life.

I peel the layers off the canvas that you paint,

And inspect each imprint on this clay,

Just to see if I can figure out who I'm supposed to be.

But, when I'm finally still and breathing in 

Your Spirit floating like the wind,

And soak in the gentle melody 

you composed for only me,

I realize it's so simple, I don't need to keep searching.

I'm your beautiful, beloved one,

The sparkle in your fiery eyes,

The one you sent your son to guide 

Into your safe and steady arms.

I am chosen and I am equipped,

Empowered for this time I'm living in,

And nothing I can do will change 

The way you feel about

Who I am:

Fearfully, wonderfully, beautifully, carefully, joyfully, perfectly made.

I am your Love.

I will not live a life of fear,

Because the weapons that I need are here

Inside my heart, soul, spirit, and my mind.

The battle rages all around,

But with you the end of war is found.

Death has come knocking at my door.

I will not cower in its shadow anymore.

Your breath of life fills me to overflow...

When I'm finally still and breathing in

Your spirit, floating like the wind,

And soaking in the gentle melody

You composed for only me,

I remember...

I'm your beautiful, beloved one,

The sparkle in your fiery eyes

The one you sent your son to guide 

Into your safe and steady arms.

I am chosen and I am equipped,

Empowered for the time I'm living in,

And nothing I can do will change

The way you feel about me,

What you see when You gaze upon me,

The person I am called to be,

Who I really am-

I am your Love.

I am made to Love.

So, let me Love.

For I am but a Candle

Once,

I was ignited.

My passion 

a vivid flame

flickering against

the stagnant

mistake gray existence

of the world around me.

Slowly,

oppression

infiltrated my spirit,

stifling and clenching

it's writhing hands 

around my core,

siphoning my will

and hope to shine.

Heavily,

the weight

of the darkness 

forced itself upon 

my shoulders

crushing my airway,

restricting all oxygen

and the flame began

wither away.

Defeated,

I submitted 

my soul fire

to hold onto existence

and familiar arms,

the ones that bonded

my mind and heart

to welcomed deceit.

Nearly,

I was extinguished.

Suddenly, 

gale winds of change forced the familiar 

away, leaving me exposed

and susceptible.

Wearily,

I breathed in

New Life

and found the

strength to hope once more.

Finally,

my source 

has been renewed

and my flame 

burns bright

growing and reaching

to eradicate the darkness

that once nearly

swallowed my world.

Fiercely,

I burn.

The poet returned.

Oh yes, yes, I am writing another blog post tonight.

This one, of a completely different nature.

This one, filled with joy.

This one, showcasing...

a poetic piece of prose. (Ah, alliteration)

I am kind of in shock, actually, as it's been "eons" since I last penned an artistic piece on a random page of a random... paper item. Tonight, it happened to be a spiral-bound notebook, which is much less "quirky" than what I would find in the darkness of my room in my high school days when I wouldn't even bother to turn on the light to write something, and then in the morning, I would have a grand 'ol time trying to decipher my script.

Regardless, tonight, for whatever-on-a-whim reason, my heart lead me to write.

This is for Spencer.

"baby breath"

Controlled
chaos
in a warm hospital room
enveloped the night
in pure anticipation.

I cried,
"It's so hard!"

"I know. You can do this,"
he calmly replied.

One last time
I worked for a breath.
I grasped it-
contained it.

You arrived.
You breathed.
You cried.
You screamed for a brief eternity.

Cold, loud, bright,
terrifying,
this world is like nothing
you ever experienced
before,
or will
again.

Time stands
still in my mind.

Finally, I saw you.
so angry,
so beautiful.

...and then, the moment,
the one I spent my
life
dreaming of...

Tears
slowly cascaded from my eyes
to my chest,
where you
rested
against me.

Heartbeat to heartbeat,
we met
again
but also
for the very first time.

My breath was stolen
by your grand entrance,
and in that moment
where we met,
it remains.

A year later,
I am still
holding
onto that last breath,
holding also
onto you.

Your tear-filled
crystal, baby-blue eyes
peer up into my green,
as you rest again,
next to me,
heartbeat to heartbeat.

I will hold you
this way
forever,
even if
you are not in my arms.

That breath
that was taken
when you breathed the first time
may never return,
for fear
I will wake from
my life's dream
come true

She used to write poetry... and take fine art photographs...

Last night, I wrote a post about how I used to play guitar and vowed that I would bring that back into my life.

Tonight, I was sitting on the computer, browsing a friend's etsy shop (which I happen to adore and hope to own an item from someday) when I also happened upon a list of that friends' etsy favorites, which included photographs of coffee. (I think that was a complete sentence...)

That made me realize that it's been quite a long time since I've picked up my camera to take a "fine art photograph," or photograph of anything that wasn't my son or other family member.

I used to do that frequently (read: I had a project 365 for over a year straight, until I found out I was pregnant, actually, and I stopped that day), and I would sell them online in my own etsy shop.

Once, I had someone from a college in Tennessee (I forget which one, which is kind of embarassing, because the entire event was a big deal to me) tell me that she wanted one of my images in her curated show in a local art gallery! One of my biggest dreams had been to be featured in an art gallery somewhere!

Anyway.... Photographing "fine art..." I did it mostly for fun, however, and with the "crazy" idea that someday I would have my own art gallery in my home. Not to sell or anything of that nature, just to display some of my favorite photographs.

I loved taking photos. Heck, I still do, my focus just has, undoubtedly, changed from "art" to photos of my adorable (yes, I'm biased) son.

But that doesn't mean that desire isn't still there. I still have some photos for sale on an etsy shop, but I haven't really done any marketing to find an audience. Part of me doesn't have any interest in selling it, but then again, the other part of me does.

Tonight, on facebook, I commented how I miss taking fine art photographs. A few friends told me that they'd buy my art, or display it, which was great to hear, I won't lie. This then lead to someone commenting on how I should publish a photography book.

That had been one of my dreams as well. I guess it still is, I just haven't focused on it at all since Spencer's arrival. I have always wanted a book of my work published.

Then, I remembered I used to write poetry. I had over 200, maybe three hundred, poems written and published on a long-deceased geocities website. Fortunately, I had a crazy whim once to make sure to save them all and made two copies of the entire "works," one for my high school German teacher, mentor, and friend, Frau. The other, I gave to my boyfriend at the time (who is now my husband). When geocities had their demise, the website was surely lost, but luckily, these works are around somewhere. Jake says he still has it, and I know Frau does, because she let my little sister read them at school, or something to that effect.

I miss writing poetry. I haven't done that in YEARS. I don't know why. It's not like my love of language has faded, nor have I really lost my words. I guess I should probably find a spark inside of me and get that going, too.

What does poetry have to do with anything, you might be wondering? Well, I had the idea that maybe I'd put poetry with my photography, and have the two mesh, somehow.

Maybe. I guess we'll see.

The photos in this post are a few of my personal collection. Be a pal, and don't steal them.