Posts filed under heart-whispers

heart-whispers for the week of October 15

A few days ago I sat in a chair and let the stylist wash my hair. The whole time, I stared out the window, straight into the blue forever, and these butterflies kept flying in twists and turns with the wind. There must have been five or six of them - diving and swooping and bumping into each other...and the whole time all I could hear was, see? I make all things new - even them. Why not you? Why not now?

And I believe it - I do. It's just at times it makes no sense. I thought back to the road trip with Prudy, how we drove through what had to be a butterfly farm of sorts. Thousands of butterflies around the car - flying and buzzing and making sense out of their new surroundings. It was only fate that we ran into a few of them, their new bodies stuck now to the metal of our own shelter.

Is that what it means to be made new? Made new only to be broken again?

This week revealed to me a lot about my own process of recovery - how there is still so much left to be done. I'm okay with this because I know how far I've come - but at times it seems as if I'll never make sense of this flesh and bone.

I'll keep resting, though - keep learning what it means to trust and wait and what it is He wants me to risk.

posts i loved :: 

Bethany Suckrow's Etsy and the Problem With Pink -

When there is no charitable action behind the product – on the part of the seller or the buyer – it turns breast cancer awareness into a trendy parade of pink shit, making breast cancer awareness about the appearance of generosity, rather than actively making a difference in the lives of those in need.

Trish Palac's Dear Brokenhearted -

You don’t trust it, do you? Your heart. You don’t give it room to breathe and work out it’s still-healing scars. That place that your heart needs – to rest and hurt and bleed through to the healing – it scares you. Your mind screams that it’s not safe and you run the other way. It’s not worth the pain, you say. You don’t trust it and you don’t want to know it. It’s broken and damaged and worthless, your heart.

Sarah Bessey's In which I confront one of my great fears -

I used to think that conquering my Fears will be a lot more sexy than it really is. I thought I would be rewarded for my efforts by a good experience. I thought that if I said yes to writing a book, that the words will flow easily. I thought that if I got up my courage to try intentional community again, that I would be met with kindred spirits and casseroles and a welcoming committee.  I thought that if I said yes to Haiti, that I would not be as wrecked and hurting and powerless, as I feel right now. I thought that if I say yes to speaking on camera or on a stage for a good reason, that I would not lose my crap and cry the entire way through.

But it doesn’t always work that way.

Sometimes the first step is just as awful as you imagined.

But you do it anyway.

and then, please, read this one by Jen Hatmaker :: Haiti, Personal Crisis, and a Manifesto

While babies are born in tent camps and pastors are sleeping outdoors on mattresses next to the orphans they are raising, I will not defile my holy task by turning your Word into a metaphor, imagining that orphans doesn’t mean orphans and hungry doesn’t mean hungry. So help me, if I ever claim American Christians are "the oppressed" again, strike me dead. I mean it. Put me out of my misery, for I am on a fool’s errand at that point.

songs inspiring me :: 

David Guetta and Sia's Titanium -

You shout it loud, but I can't hear a word you say I'm talking loud, not saying much I'm criticized, but all your bullets ricochet you shoot me down, but I get up

Daughter's Youth -

And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones. 'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs. Setting fire to our insides for fun

books i'm reading :: 

"As it happens, the wall between us is very thin. Why couldn't a cry from one of us break it down? It would crumble easily,

it would barely make a sound." - Rilke's Book of Hours

“Jill felt an emptiness open inside of her as she lifted her arm, a sense that something vital was being subtracted from her life. It was always like that when somebody you cared about went away, even when you knew it was inevitable, and it probably wasn't your fault." - Tom Perrotta's The Leftovers

and as always, an older post from me :: a year ago, we were giants -

But we were not there for us. We were not there to play dodgeball or red rover or sing songs late at night by the light of a flashlight and the tune of the guitar.

Tell me, what posts struck you this week?

Posted on October 20, 2012 and filed under heart-whispers.

heart-whispers for the week of October 8

There's a lot percolating right now. Thoughts of lies I've believed and ones I hold on to for comfort.

Questions of creative funks and whether or not writers' block even exists.

In the midst of it all, I see something rising amongst others - a pulsing, a waking, a fist-against-chest this won't happen any more declaration. And it moves me - causes me to stand up from my chair and look around and notice.

The stories - they're everywhere. The muse - He's not hiding. Sometimes I wonder if it's more me hiding from Him. More on this later, though. Right now, I need to celebrate those who've gone before me and spoken words from my heart.

posts i loved ::

Hannah Brencher's There will be them days

There will be them days when you’ll scrape the polish right off of your fingers. Freckles of Gold and Blue falling to the floor of the car. And you’ll look down at your hands in discouragement. What do you want of me? The question will sit in your throat. What am I here for?

Laura Parker's When You Didn't Sign Up for This on SheLoves Magazine

 I wanted to know from his voice and not from a constant stream of texts the stories, the details of what he experienced the previous evening in the wee hours of the morning.

He’d been out looking for underage victims of sex trafficking and, from the texts, I knew he’d found one. A girl named Joy. She was 16.

Sarah Bessey's In which God doesn't look the same anymore -

I felt angry at the main tent city. Angry with God, angry with the world, angry with my own self, how is this place even possible in our world, in 2012?  I could not bear the smell, the sights, the truth of this place, and I saw babies the age of my tinies there, naked, hollering HEY YOU snapping sass, and all of my carefully reasoned understandings about how everyone has a different calling and some of us are just called to different things than poverty relief and caring for orphans stank rank like heresy.

Prudence Landis' Someone You Know -

I sat there staring at the numbers in front of me….

1 in 35

Such a small number yet so hard to grasp the magnitude that exists in such a ratio.

1 in 35 people in Moldova are victims of human trafficking.

These numbers make me uncomfortable.  Make me sick to my stomach.  They leave me depleted.  They leave me ripped apart.

I think of the 84 people that work for our company and quickly do the math in my head that means at least two of my co-workers would be part of this statistic.

Jen Hatmaker's Mopping Haiti -

And something in my heart went…snap. I want to take the makeshift mop out of her tiny hands and break it into one million pieces. I want to scream and pull every hair out of my head. I want her to not be mopping the dirt outside of her filthy tent where she has lived for nearly two years. I want her not to be here in this terrifying place while my five babes are being tucked neatly into their safe, warm beds with their bellies full and our life the picture of security. I want her to stop mopping that damn dirt, because it is so futile and unfair and broken and everything, everythingabout this is wrong.

Katelyn Beaty's Today was supposed to be the day of my wedding on Prodigal Magazine

Rather, I know only to turn in prayer to the arms of Christ, because there, it seems, is the best place to mourn. There, my sadness is recognized by a Christ who says grief is like family to him.

songs inspiring me :: 

Mumford and Sons' Babel -

Cuz I know my weakness know my voice, but I believe in grace and choice And I know perhaps my heart is farce, but I’ll be born without a mask

Beasts of the Southern Wild soundtrack

books i'm reading :: 

“Her life was one endless loop that she raced around, with steep banked curves so she could never change or slow down. It just delivered her back to herself, over and over and over.” - Chris Cleave's Gold

"There's something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold." - Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl

and finally, an older post from me :: an {anti} marketing movement :: remembering art

Consider the implications of not worrying about whether or not you have enough followers||subscribers||fans or whether or not you effectively created a blog title that will ping Google analytics and what-have-you.

Tell me - what are some of your favorite posts from this week? 

Posted on October 13, 2012 and filed under heart-whispers.

heart-whispers for the week of October 1

At some point this week, I realized there's been this incessant remembering for the past few months. It started somewhere during spring, when I spoke of the world stretching its limbs from winter's bone. It came back after school was out and my days suddenly opened up wide and there was this deep, achy sigh of relief. And lately, it's showing up again - in the quiet mornings, the pull of books, the hush of words not spent here. I'm reading real books - finished Brennan Manning's All is Grace and am now pouring over The Lost Daughters of China. I'm also in the middle of a series that's been on my list for years - Madeleine L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time - and I'm just letting it soak in, letting it ruminate.

There's something to be said of building that reservoir of words.

So, I'm switching it up this week. I'm curious to see what has brought you near tears or quickened your breath these past few days. It can be a post of yours, or a post you caught on another site, but won't you link it up here with us and browse the other stories submitted?  I'll leave an old post from me as the first.

Posted on October 5, 2012 and filed under heart-whispers.

heart-whispers for the week of September 24

What to say about this week? It started with the typical post-conference hangover and ended with a bunch of tears and a sore throat. And now, waking up on the other side of one of the hardest weeks we've experienced in awhile, I know there's grace somewhere. I may not see it now, I may not understand - but it's there. What I do know is the community He has blessed us with holds us together and lifts us up during moments we feel a little bit like falling apart. In these moments I see a tiny fracture of His grace freely given - and it makes it all a little easier to bear.

This week, the words came to me and hit deep. I'm clinging to them. Join me?

posts i loved :: 

Addie Zierman's City, Suburb and the Myth of Christian Art -

Anne Lamott comes up with her short dreadlocks and black cardigan and says, “I have an hour talk on everything I know about writing, and I have an hour talk on everything I know about faith, and they’re basically the same talk,” and this is what I’m thinking about when I walk the city sidewalks that night, eyes wide open, watching everything.

Seth Haines' God is Not Good Because -

In the waning worry of this season, I’ve come to a simple conclusion: you can sum God in simple self-help theologies that misapply words like “favor,” and “faith,” but when tragedies come calling, don’t expect comfort from your lowercase gospel. It won’t be there.

Saskia Wishart's These are the Eyes of the Awake on She Loves Magazine -

It is in those moments when the love is fully alive and fully awake. Spilling over and filling up all the dark corners, giving cover, giving decency, giving dignity in a place so indecent it should offend all my senses. Instead, love gives me the protection to laugh, and dance and not turn away.

Shawn Smucker's Where We are Moving (and Why I Blog) -

Yet as my own life continues, I find myself often afraid of that very calling. Or at least confused by it. Or full of doubt, wondering if I’m too conceited or self-obsessed – maybe I need to conform, to sit down, to stop speaking. What if, after encouraging people to live an adventurous life, my own journey comes to an untimely end? The last thing I want to be is yet another example of how taking risks is just another form of irresponsible living.

Arianne's On really being awake -

So I take a big deep breath and stretch my soul-sinew and this is how my life is too. I took a deep wound. And a heart wound is the slowest kind to heal — from the inside out. And then I had a period of sleep. Of quiet and rest. And I feel I’ve been waking up all these nearly 3 years now and am finally starting to feel a stride coming on. And I want to prepare to run. I’m ready to run. If I stay awake, oh how I want my heart to stay awake, I’ll be running soon.

songs inspiring me :: 

Patti Griffin's Waiting for My Child to Come Home -

If I only knew what town my child was in I'll be there on that early morning train And no matter what's crime Lord you know that this child is mine That’s why I'd be waiting for my child to come home

Sarah Macintosh's Hiding Place

There in the dark you see me Hidden from all You say my name You know and You see How I have cried and crumpled There at Your feet To soak You in Where You surround me

books i'm reading :: 

"A low distant hum, like passing under an electric wire after the rain and hearing the muted buzzing of danger above. A gritty taste in the air, like chalk in the back of your teeth, but worse" - Blaine Hogan's essay in Inciting Incidents

and finally, an older post from me :: we are the villain -

And so, indefinitely, we’ll root for the protagonist but we’ll hope for the villain.

Posted on September 29, 2012 and filed under heart-whispers.

heart whispers for the week of september 10

2012-07-01 19.34.41

I've struggled this week. Struggled with writing, reading, sleeping...

putting one foot in front of the other. Because of this, my list this week is a little short. All the more reason to pay attention to what struck me, really.

But I'm slowly shaking the malaise off my chest - the words beginning to burn a little deeper in my bones.

And I'm okay with where I'm at - okay with tripping a little in order to get it right. I can't do everything. Even though to others it may seem I have all the time in the world, I'm realizing it's okay to rearrange every now and then.

What I do love from this week - whispers of priorities and things that have been bouncing around in my head and heart for months. I always love sitting back and watching the Spirit work. You do know we're never alone, right? It always seems to be a group of us looking around at the same time and thinking, "you too?"

posts i loved :: 

Sarah Markley's A Call for Privacy at A Deeper Story

Do we put pressure on the very normal life-livers {me included} to create drama in order to have something to post on Facebook? Do we help perpetuate a social media culture that values over sharing more than it values the right of someone to live privately and the right of someone to choose to under share?

Lore Ferguson's Mastering the Curve -

You feel the numbers between two and six as acutely as you feel your chest begin to grow and your too small face and your uneven teeth. You feel every inch between two and six and you feel the inches around your thighs, your waist, your hips, your chest. You cup your curves and you swear you will not love them. You will hate them until they know they are hated and you will carry the hate in the curves and nooks and shapes of your heart. You will bed the hate there and you will tell yourself in ten, thirteen, & fifteen years that this is why no man will ever want to bed you.

Nicole Cottrell's The Weight of Honesty at Prodigal Magazine

However personal or private, it doesn’t matter, because when nudged by God to speak, I know I must. My loss illuminates His provision. An honest story is one worth telling, the rest is just commentary.

Hannah Brencher's Trust me, trust me, I am the road map much grander than you -

I’d scoff at the baby steps. Scoff at the thought of being helpless at His feet. That’s not of my culture. That’s not something I’ve learned while growing up– to be helpless to someone else while the rest of the world totes championship & victory by the individual’s own strength. My “religion” holds rest in its corners and surrender in its pockets, people don’t take too kindly to that sort of order.

Seth Haines' To Amber: on the morning in which you are to vacate -

Your morning walk from the kitchen to the living room is slow, two hands wrapped around your mug. There are words there, in the mug, in your mouth, in your fingers. You store them like jigsaw puzzle pieces, look for the corners and arrange good sentences around them. This is done quietly in your subconscious spaces even before you say “good morning,” or the “would you hand me my day planner.” Somehow I think you carry a room of your own everywhere you go.

songs inspiring me ::

Imagine Dragons' On Top of the World -

Cause I’m on top of the world, ‘ay I’m on top of the world, ‘ay Waiting on this for a while now Paying my dues to the dirt I’ve been waiting to smile, ‘ay Been holding it in for a while, ‘ay Take it with me if I can Been dreaming of this since a child I’m on top of the world.

books i'm reading :: 

"Didn't you ever have a father yourself?" Meg demanded. "You don't want him for a reason. You want him because he's your father." - Madeleine L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time

and finally, an older post from me :: the things i carry

i carry with me stories.

the one where i held my sisters’ hands as we closed our eyes tight against the huffing and pawing of a bear outside our tent. the one where i caught my friend’s seizing body in the jungle of haiti only to experience an angel’s touch of peace. the one where i skipped down the path of the slum holding the hand of an orphan who would change my life forever. the one where a single name brought a feeling of dread so powerful i ran and hid behind the outhouse to breathe deep once…twice…three times. even after i shook my head against the pulsating doubt, the tingling pull of memory took me under.

 

tell me - what inspired you this week?

Posted on September 14, 2012 and filed under heart-whispers.