Beautiful

For those days when I need a reminder of who my savior is

Beautiful
By Phil Wickham

I see Your face in every sunrise
The colors of the morning are inside Your eyes
The world awakens in the light of the day
I look up to the sky and say
You’re beautiful

I see Your power in the moonlit night
Where planets are in motion and galaxies are bright
We are amazed in the light of the stars
It’s all proclaiming who You are
You’re beautiful, You're beautiful

I see you there hanging on a tree
You bled and then you died and then you rose again for me
Now you are sitting on Your heavenly throne
Soon we will be coming home
You’re beautiful, you're beautiful

When we arrive at eternity’s shore
Where death is just a memory and tears are no more
We’ll enter in as the wedding bells ring
Your bride will come together and we’ll sing
You’re beautiful, You're beautiful, You're beautiful

I see Your face, You're beautiful, You're beautiful, You're beautiful
I see Your face, You're beautiful, You're beautiful, You're beautiful
I see Your face, I see Your face
I see Your face, You’re beautiful, You’re beautiful, You’re beautiful

The Maker

There have been countless times where God has whispered inspiration to me - for my writing - through the words of others. A few weeks ago, my mum came to me with some advice. As she thought about a situation I was going through, the image of a puzzle came to her. She told me I couldn't force the last piece if it wasn't made to fit - that maybe, there was another piece for me to find. My heart couldn't let that concept go until I dwelt on it a little more. This was the result:

The Maker

She runs a hand over each painted piece, fingers feeling the smooth wood of their meandering edges. They are scattered before her - moon, sun, stars. She has already found the framework. Royal blues, midnight skies. A determined mind has connected. She has boxed in her dreams, shielding them from a hungry universe. I have no room to breathe here.

She runs a hand over each painted piece, desperately searching for the answer. Three sided with a splash of deep green youth. She slots it in. Examining the horizon, she stretches out and grabs another. Three sided, dotted with a pale hue of blossoming promise. She smiles. Her safe haven is fitted together, the rest a jumble of spare parts, waiting to be chosen, waiting to finish this puzzle.

She runs a hand over each painted piece seeking comfort. Everything else has been carefully accounted for.

I have no room to breathe here.

The picture is there now. She is almost ready. It is a fragmented picture though. She grasps the last painted peace, a reflection of the soul, and tries to settle it into its empty home. She tugs, she pushes, she jambs it between past and present, but her future rejects this shard - no matter how much force she expends, there is a hole in her puzzle. The russet of wisdom and the sunny orange of faith shed light on her truth.

I am nearly done forming her, in all her perfect beauty. I hand her the missing peace. She leans into me and I wrap my arms around her. For now the puzzle is incomplete. But I am the maker, not she. I have captured her newfound trust in me. When the time is right, I will hand her a heart of the utmost brilliance. For now, my love stands in the gap, filling all voids. I am the puzzle maker.

***

Eternal Glow

Fireflies. They flicker throughout the overwhelming darkness of night and I love them for it. Not because I'm afraid of the dark, although once upon a time I was, but because they're a comforting constant. Traveling together and weaving inbetween the trees, they are carefree. I like that carefree, cheerful nature. Catch one in your hands and peer into your tightly clasped fist and they'll go on giving you light. They're only bugs, really, incapable of knowing just how many watch them work, but looking out into a black sky and seeing their scattered glow come and go has a timeless reassurance about it.

Maybe it's cheesy - probably so - but when I think on the days in my life when the sun's been absent and I've felt gloomy, there have been people - friends - who have come alongside and poured light into my life. We all go through trials but the steadfast companions whose encouragement and kindness never waver are often responsible for helping us through.

So thank you, fireflies and dear friends alike, for brightening life.

I've Got the World on a String

Today I am thankful for sunshine - specifically the rush of fresh air that comes with pulling back the curtains, hoisting up the blinds, and throwing open the windows. In that moment, light is everywhere, taking even the darkest corners hostage and illuminating them with fresh perspective. Sunshine is contagious in the very best of ways.

500 Days of Summer (#1)

Now that summer is here and life has stopped moving at 90 miles an hour, I think I may - dare I say it - stop neglecting my blog. When I made L is for the Way He Loves last year, I wanted it to be a place where I could share my thoughts, but I think too, that it must be a place where I can celebrate all that is beautiful. Today marks the first official day of my vacation, post high school grad status. On this first day of summer, I celebrate the new beginning. There's something delightfully freeing about a clean slate, a blank canvas, a whole world of unlocked possibilities. Adventure becomes tangible and, consequently, inevitable. So here's to the beautiful beginning - everybody, everything, has to start somewhere.

Loving You

It's been kind of quiet over here lately...

From the beginning I've wanted my blog to be a reflection of my walk with Jesus, sharing thoughts and happenings that have softened my heart and brought me closer to understanding a love so extravagant. The past few months have given me plenty to write about, but for some reason my inner well of creativity dried up for awhile.

My grandmother - Nanny - died in February. Her absence left this big hole that, mentally, I was unable to process at first. We were separated by an ocean for nearly twelve years, but the permanance of her death established a distance far greater than that of the Atlantic's length. When you've loved a person, admired them, treasured them, you don't really know how to package all of those feelings away.

Saying goodbye to her was one of the hardest times I had to endure - because goodbye isn't one word we whisper quietly before moving on. A goodbye takes days - weeks - to reach completion. My goodbye began with a letter I wrote on Christmas morning:

I've been meaning to write this letter for a week, would you believe...and I can imagine the look on your face when I tell you that it's 7:25 on Christmas morning and instead of opening my stocking, I'm in bed thinking of you.

It seems like so long ago that I charged around 3 the Wold, robbing Paddington of his hat and boots, fluffing up Mr. and Mrs. Bear, and feeding the fish with Granddad. It's those days though, that I cherish...because no matter how strange my new home in the States felt to me, I knew that you had a room waiting for me in the one place I belonged. And when I think about it now, all the times when I felt homesick, and trust me, there have been so, so many, it wasn't England that I missed. I was wanting the opportunity to drive with you along the bendy roads, back to your house, where I felt warm and cozy, had lots of attention, and was spoiled rotten. (You know you've been a wonderful grandparent when your grandchildren tell you that last part :)

And even now, while I desperately want to be with you, it's the memories of trundling along with the red pram to see the ponies, provisions tucked away under the baby blankets, that keep me going. The memories from all our trips - seeing that play together when Samuel and I were there, the countless hours spent in Primark for which I take complete responsibilitiy, and the quiet moments when it was just you and I, they are what I'm holding near and dear to my heart. I'll never forget one evening, it may have been when Mum and Dad were in Paris, when I couldn't sleep. I came downstairs and you made me hot milk and honey, and I asked for a story. You let me curl up next to you on the sofa and read all of Pookie's Christmas Story to me. I kept expecting you to stop at the next page and send me off to bed, but no, you read the whole thing and I couldn't believe my luck. I slept very well indeed that night.

There's something about you, Nanny, which gives me such hope and comfort. It's more than the bond of family...it's the way you've always listened and spoken wisdom into my life. It's the hugs you've given and the silly things, like the smell of your perfume and baking that make you, you. It's the generosity you've shown me, the way you've trusted in your faith, and the incredible example you've given me of what it means to be a Godly woman. I love you so much.

I'm not usually at a loss for words, but remembering all of the ways you've touched my life, and that of mum and dad and the boys has me speechless...the nurturing you've given each of us, and the inspiration that you are is going to be with us always. You've been the perfect Nanny, really, you have.

This holidy, I'm treasuring all of the blessings in my life, and you're one of the biggest. Happy Christmas Nanny with big hugs from your Anne Shirley xoxoxoxo

P.S. One day, when I'm finally ready to write and finish a book, I'm dedicating the very first one to you - for all of the stories you've read and enjoyed, for all of the encouragement you've given me, and for all of the imagination you've fostered in me. And that deserves another big hug for you - so there...did you feel it? xxx


***

My goodbye reached its end on a Friday in mid February, when, as a family, we scattered Nanny's ashes at the top of her garden. And in the month since, I've healed. I know that she is with a God who took her tenderly into his arms. I know that with the rest of my life I want to honor the woman she was. I know that her hospitality and joy are mine, too. She lives on in me - or so I've heard from numerous people. As I've contemplated life and how it goes on, even when we aren't quite ready to pick up the pieces, I've come to believe that she does live on in me. Through my writing I fully intend to share her spirit with others. She was too beautiful and courageous a woman to have her story go untold. My first book will be a tribute to her - it isn't finished yet, but eventually, I'll get there. Miss you Nanny

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfUxjz6NtS8&feature=related

Traveling Woman

I am a time traveling woman. Tiptoeing through the distant echoes of paper thin memories, gently peeling back the folds of moments lost in the fabric of the past. Leafing through stacks of famous faces, I marvel at their sagacious ways; the winding roads they paved for those endeavoring to meander along in their footsteps. I hear the far off murmurings of their sorrow – a melancholy refrain of those whose mark is slowly fading. I am caught in the in-between. The in-between. The in-between. The in-between! As my eyes view, from youth’s shadowy corners, the harmony of disarray that is this modern century, I wonder why those around me have yet to question society’s motives.

For the citizens of days gone by are weeping, mournful is their tune. In yesteryear they fought with everything they had – with passion and fearless abandon – for the chance to have just one glimpse of freedom. And when she graced them with her presence, they held on tight. As hope overflowed within them, they waltzed with liberty, her slender fingers leading them closer to that shyest of creatures called peace, and she sent them spinning into the soft embrace of reconciliation. They finally tasted the pure perfection of victory – having summoned the courage to cast their stones – and as those stones soared towards promising horizons, they knew what it was to be free of great burdens. It is the pianissimo calling of their troubled voices that I hear as I lie beneath the nighttime sky. I am a time traveling woman, but in this present hour, I am caught – caught in the in-between. Standing on this deserted country road, surrounded by the murmuring grasses and the restless trees, I am waiting. I am searching for light in this darkness because I have seen the ache of the human soul and my heart breaks to know that history is repeating itself. I have traversed the course of errors and pain that defines the human race, and I’m at a loss for words as the same errors are made once more, the same pain, knocking at the innocent’s door. In the overwhelming heat of mature summer’s burn, I know those citizens of yesterday are turning in their graves, crying out in forte swells, imploring us not to venture down
overgrown paths.

In the stillness of the night, I sit, covered by the brightness of the moon, blanketed by the rain, and I inquire of the Creator just how best to right these wrongs…



The stars foretell of a generation ready for change, He says. They will rise up, from the meadows and the hills they will run, and they will come on a wave of freshest air. The wind will spur them on, scattering the sands of time along fields ripe with anticipation - I feel a revival on the edge of dawn. I am a time traveling woman, weaving together old and new, a tapestry of brightest color and desire. I feel a revival on the edge of dawn…