Broken Birdsong

(via Pinterest) (Written July 20, 2013) It seems like so long since I have touched pen to paper, when in reality, I wrote in my journal just this morning. Is it really the same, though? I write so many words, every single day; assignments, essays, tests, poems, my 1000 gifts, journals, fiction, but somehow, writing here, it's different. Here, my words are a comfort. I scratch them out, full of emotion, intending to someday proclaim these words to the world. These are my silent screams; my gasps for air when I still breathe. When the pain in my wrists is fiery, when I feel like nobody cares, when I just feel like crawling into some unseen corner and having a good cry, these words can become a refuge. God gave me a voice, and I intend to use it, because frankly, I've been quiet for too long. I realize now that crying alone in the dark isn't a sign of strength ... or maybe it is just the wrong kind of strong. It takes much more strength to openly admit that you aren'

(via Pinterest) Today more than ever, the title of this blog makes complete sense to me. When I was trying to come up with a name, I just made a list of every random word that seemed to have a connection to me and the impact I wanted to have. I wrote down everything from "haven" to "mama," and then I made a second list of word combinations that seemed to work. The main reason this one won out was because my friend liked it, and nothing with the same name came up on my Google search. Shows a lot of deep thought, huh? But today, today it finds meaning, even beyond what I scrawled out on that one page . Today I feel as small as a tiny bird on a giant painted landscape. You know the kind I mean. The out-of-place squiggle of black paint on a cloudy colorful sky. Just looking at it, you wonder if it was just a small mistake that the artist covered up. Yes, I feel like a mistake. Some crinkled piece of paper that could have been ... but just didn't make the cu

(via Pinterest) I'm not gonna lie - I was anticipating this Sunday thinking that I was gonna be a huge day-maker. Really, it was a valid expectation. I was taking a bag stuffed with presents for people who I knew would not expect them, or have prepared something to give to me in return. In a sense, this was selfish of me, because gifts are one of the main ways I show love, and I get a very real happy high when I have a lot of them to give. So the thought of handing my friends various teas, treats, cards, packages, and ornaments ... it just about made my heart split with happiness. And knowing that these sweet women would all be surprised? Even better. That's just one of the many quirks of me. So Sunday finally came. Ask anyone and they'll tell you: what you expect and what actually happens ... they're two very different things. I woke up thinking, "I've got this." I got ready without a hitch, had breakfast, and waited ... and waited. Soon I was info

(via Pinterest) There are nights when I don't want to sleep. I feel like this is just a me problem, but something tells me that I am thinking way too highly of my own uniqueness. We are all flawed humans, and there must be at least one other person in this world that has this issue. I need sleep. It's kind of one of the basic necessities of life. Especially today. My head is pounding, my back is bothering me, my hands are screaming (figuratively), " Why, you fool, why?! " I wish I had something valid to respond, but then part of me reasons that if I started talking to my hands, I'd end up in a psych ward. I tell myself that I can write something wonderful; make something good out of this dreadful feeling, but this is either denial or pride, and neither is pretty. Nothing I can make has any value unless it has God's hand in it, so I'm begging the Lord to make something out of this restless night that is worth it . You who do not share this problem (a

(via Pinterest) I wanted to give up today. Just yesterday, I was overwhelmed by God's goodness; how he was bringing me joy through the pain , but today? Today I could not find that joy. I even searched through my closet for it (well, actually for a prodigal cat). I overslept today, and I still woke up feeling weary to my bones. My head was pounding uncomfortably, my hands were feeling more than their usual ache, and instead of thinking to myself, "Well, I obviously needed the extra rest," I just felt guilt. I condemned myself, saying that if I'd have gotten up on time, I wouldn't have had to watch my niece in my pajamas; that if I were more responsible, I would have gotten ready and have done all the household duties before she even got here; that everything that went wrong was somehow my fault. And now, I plug in my earbuds and tune Spotify to something that isn't the "you deserve more" commercials coming from the Christmas radio station th

(via Pinterest) I had wanted to use that word in the title of this blog. It sounded so right, and yet, no word I paired with it seemed to make sense, and one would feel quite silly having a blog named just "Sacred." It makes sense to me though, looking back with the retrospect of only a few days. This week has been impossibly beautiful. I know, I know, "nothing is impossible with God," (Luke 1:37) but that's how it happened . He happened, and suddenly, the ugliness of my week became a sacred and lovely thing. Everything that I once based my emotions on went wrong this week (well, not everything, but you get my point). I had the worst joint pain I can remember. My closest friend was extremely busy (that alone used to decide how happy I was going to be). I "had" to go to my least favorite store. A day of my babysitting job, which I absolutely love, was cancelled. I had to make bread; one of the most joint-taxing things I can do. The list just went o

(via Pinterest) "Grace like rain" ... it used to confuse me to no end. In all honesty, it doesn't make sense until the rain starts to pour. I think the reason why it confuses me is this: when I think of rain, I think of storm rain; drowning, relentless sheets. Where is the grace in that? When it rains that hard, and the sky is that dark, it's hard to remember that grace is a good thing; how it brings life. We prefer to think of grace as that unexpected radiant sunshine rain. It's so easy for us to see the good in that; the unabashed beauty of it. We race outside like six-year-olds and just soak it in, fully open to how wondrous it is ... not caring how the event may drench us to our underpants. God's grace is in both kinds of rain, messed up as it sounds. It is sometimes so terrifying, and we hide under our beds, holding our ears, wondering how this could possibly do us any good. Tears fall from our eyes and it feels like our whole house is shaking and

(via Pinterest) I wonder what happens when a person just needs some outflow; just needs to press her trembling fingers against warm and pulsating keys, and watch as somehow, someway, words are formed and transmitted onto the glaring computer screen. I don't mean 'glaring' as in, "staring in a fiercely or angrily piercing manner," like the rest of my world seems to be doing right now (my perception is off, I'm quite aware), but rather, "shining with or reflecting a harshly bright or brilliant light." I wonder if this person has any ability left in her to make actual sense to the world. I'm writing anyhow. Because when you're a writer, that's just what you have to do when things go wrong. I've had my decaf cup of hazelnut coffee for the day, so if I'm looking for liquid comfort, tea will have to do, and this isn't one of those times when I'm willing to settle for tea. Before you close this tab, writing me off as one o

 (via Pinterest) "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.Wonderful are your works;    my soul knows it very well." - Psalm 139:14 (ESV) We all have one, us women especially. One, sometimes one hundred moments in the day when we doubt that word, 'wonderfully.' We hear 'fearfully,' all right, but 'wonderfully'? Perish the thought. We look in the mirror and we see it; that "flaw", that character trait, that sin, that habit, that quirk, and that bitterness with which we often see it all through. We hold onto our bit of worthlessness; keep it in our pockets and believe it in our hearts. Us women, we have battles. Sometimes they are never fully won. Maybe it is because God never wants us to stop fighting; to stop remembering? Think about it. Your insecurity, what if it was gone? Who really thinks "Be confident, like me!" helps more than "I know that pain"? Would you be able to hold that girl close wi

      I didn't want to be there.       It wasn't that I hated the store, but when you're stuck somewhere for hours, buying stuff you don't need to while away the time until you get to go where you actually wanted to shop - to buy practical things, your temper wears thin. Finally, we were checking out. I slipped off, following my sister to a shorter line than the rest of the family chose, and eyed my purchases: one, two, three cards to send to a friend, and one very worrisome pair of sunglasses. They were the first pair I could actually 'pull off' to the point where I wasn't mocked. Sunglasses usually don't like me, but, with my sensitive eyes, I need them. I self-consciously eyed them over once more. There was no mirror. Had my sisters just tried to be nice?       A cart pulled up behind me, and I heard the familiar sounds of a happy child and a tired parent. I glanced back and encountered the most gorgeous smile a face ever held. I actually found m

(via Pinterest)        My hands shake as I bring the mug of tea to my lips. My hands always seem to shake. I know this isn't true; that I have more still hours than trembling ones, and I strive to be grateful for this, but when the shaking begins, it seems as if there was no beginning, and there will be no end. This is a part of my life now. I have to confess, it isn't my favorite part. “I'm not the healthiest specimen,” I laughingly tell my friends, but it is true.       I'm not sure when this all started … I only know that it has been a long battle. At first it was my joints. I used to rub my mom's feet when I was little. I remember even then, I had to massage my own hands afterward, because of the pain it brought to them. I was too weak to do the ordinary tasks without a struggle. To this day, merely opening cans is a breaking point. There are days where I find myself crying on the kitchen floor, just overwhelmed.       While my joint aches and shakes

(via Pinterest) So I find myself here, of all places: standing on a figurative cliff, braced to jump recklessly into the heart of the blogosphere … and I dare hope I may someday find my way into the hearts of some dear readers, also. What a feeling, though; I'm scared stiff. I sit here wondering what you all will think of me. Here before me is the opportunity to make my mark, in whatever way I see fit. I could be anybody I want to be! I could make myself out to be brave, sensitive, stunning, the godliest of the godly, and someone who totally has their life together. What I want to be, however, is real. I'm not brave, by any means. To put it simply, I am nobody special. I have failed and flopped in more ways than I can count, but … I am wildly and hopelessly in love with a God Who thinks I'm worth it. Isn't that astounding? The King of kings and Lord of lords, He wanted me. I'm not saying that He chose me above everyone else, no. He chose each and every one o