second of august

via pinterest

i. i woke up one morning,
     a song soft as hotel pillows and room temperature butter sitting on my heart.
it smelled entirely of hope. a little bit like pancake breakfasts and a waiter who gave you extra milk for free. a little more like shooting stars and jumping on the tramp. a lot like new beginnings.

ii. inner aspect to outer aspect. i wipe the sleep from my eyes,
    and maybe with a little childish hope,
wipe the sadness and a bit of pain off of the window in my chest.

iii. there is a green metal chair out by the wildflowers, the sun melting into it. 

   sometimes you feel like the moon who hasn't seen anything but clouds for days. so when you finally get to sit in the Sun, you fall asleep in the warmth of pure truth. 

        see? you who draw near to Him, He will draw near to you. 

iv. he lost his front leg not more than three weeks ago.

       but today he ran inside laughing. 

jehovah rapha. 

v. Hic est filius meus dilectus.

cinnamon summer

NOT MINEEEE, from pinterest yo 

Dear Brown Sugar Hair, 

I caught a piece of you [the old you] the other day, an old, dried leave that you shed. I lick the roof of my mouth, and the taste of our childhood is still there. The times we'd sit across from our father as he rolled out the cinnamon roll dough; even older Sunday mornings with the bluegrass playing on the radio as mother would brush through your tangled hair before church; [far back. before we weren't on different sides of this war.] storms of green trees, our laughter bouncing with us on the trampoline. 

I miss you. 

Maybe that is selfish of me to say, because I was selfish then. I hid from the ache in your heart, behind shrugs and letting go. If you knew. If I knew. 
The thing that pulls the thread tight and pure on my heart is the fact that it was never on me whether we were walking down the same road or not. Your salvation never rested on me. (And I know He calls us to obey Him, but even if we fail, He is still in control.) 

and [this comes out in a small voice in a quiet room because you are away] I'd be willing to let our cinnamon summers go (the ones before you coated your face in that poison / before you were pulled under that cold water)...i'd be willing to let them go if you ended up seeking the same thing as me. 

if He was at the center of it all, grace pulsing and rushing through your fingers like a river who could never stop speaking truth. 

I miss you. [this comes out with tears, because He is in me and I am in Him and I am finally understanding more about this Love for others that breaks and bursts and grieves.]

hi. if you can hear me, i want you to know that you are loved, and that He is all that matters. 
if you can hear me, i want you to know that you can't make it without Him.
that nothing else (no one else) will heal that hurt. 
that your anger will only build and grow unhealthily into a consuming wildfire until nothing is left (and even then, He can restore). 

This will be the hardest decision of your life, sugar. Because you are used to harshness and hiding and walls, but He is Light, and it is refining and pure and IT HURTS MORE THAN ANYTHING I have ever known. And yes, it has been worth it. It will continue to be worth it. He is worth it. He is, He is. 

/

I am letting you go this time. 

the right way. 

Instead of into the hands of the cold alleys and deathly winters, it is into the caramel hands of our Father, seeping something better than I could ever give. Perfect Love casts out fear, and I am no longer afraid. I see you dodging with the shadows, bitter heart crying. But I AM NOT AFRAID. 

[for He has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of self-control.]

goodbye, scorched dirt. this heart is pushing out the grief as the tide recedes and leaves hope on the shore. 
He will take care of you. 

[oh. and if you're still here, i have loved you since the day you were born.]

/x 

idk it's something

from pinterest, yo

i wipe the wooden table quietly,
and feel my heart trembling.
the rumble reaching my throat,
so i let out a quiet sigh.

i've spent too many nights
staying up too late, late.
overthinking even though
i am too exhausted to even
be thinking at all.

but i listened to the wind outside
(it is occasionally warm
enough to keep the window
open for the night)
and the trees gently rustling.

there was a soft voice
on the horizon, telling me
that everything, dear one,
everything will be okay.

i laugh a couple tears, and wipe
my cheeks before anyone sees.
the table is the same color of the
dirt in which i planted an apple tree.

(it sprouted up today,
and i felt something change in my chest.
everything will be okay.
the harmony to those words
is still ringing through my veins.)

hope

GIVE ME A MOMENT.

[to catch my breath. to think. to let go. to cry it out. to look at that bright, bright sky. to say goodbye. to finally get it right. to ready myself. to write it down. to take one last look.]

oh, and yet i am still searching for something else after all of it. 

[to figure it out.]

my eyes drift across the sky, and i taste words of a memory. an old story i read, rolling around. it was about an old man who had seen things that broke his heart. but there was a woman and her daughter waving to him every time he passed by with the train, and that gave him comfort. after all those years, when they finally meet, he finds out that she was not a gentle spirit. she was harsh, with some fear in those bones. the story ended with the old man leaving, all hope diminished. 

i know that fragile hope. 

the kind that breaks under truth. 

SO I REALLY  MISS YOU RIGHT NOW. 

[on one knee, praying to the Lord. i was never more proud of you. / i fit just right in your arms. / he laughed like it was the last time. / early morning, and i watch your sleeping face. the window is open, the air is cold. / wild morning hair. craziest i've ever seen. / every midnight laugh. / guitar hands, grandma cookies, sleeping bags.]

can i tell you something? 

every single hope, every single dream, every single thing that is not of God will pass away. 

yeah. i know. 

but they are fragile things, and we are so small. we do not know what we are doing with our hands. i thought i knew how to love before, but i know now that i was looking with blind eyes. couldn't get it right for a reason. those things hurt you more when you keep them. 

[oh. i do not miss the old things as much as i thought.]

so still, i will hold on. i will stay kind. i will stay gentle. if you're still listening, here's this:

HOPE 

xx much love.