Saturday, August 29, 2015

Hey you.

So for once, I was involuntarily quiet on here. It took an unbelievably long time to get wifi at our new house. And even longer for me to get a place to plug in my laptop. Old Bessie (the laptop) had trouble waking up after such a long sleep. I can relate. She's back to her quirky self, though. And I'm back to mine (did I ever stop?).

I just got a glimpse of the kind of adult I'm most likely going to end up being: the kind that goes to bed after dinner and lovvvvves it. I kid you not, I was in bed before 7pm. And awake before 5am. I feel so rested & so ready. A perfect day to write, am I right? (half-hearted pun intended. I get worse, the more awake I am. My apologies to those who could hardly handle exhausted me.)

So, yes. I've moved. To my Haven in the middle of a bustling city. My room is bright, & my corner windows are surrounded by very green leaves from the trees that feed my soul.

I live close to people that are dear to me. Close enough for true spontaneity - "I'm kidnapping you in two minutes" spontaneity. I'm a fan.

It feels like home.

There's a clearing where I can take quiet prayer walks, & pace problems out.

I just set up a bookshelf, so old friends line the shelves beckoningly.

My cherished mugs are in an aesthetic row on my windowsill. My diffuser pumps the room with fresh, healing scents.

My floor is a calming shade of hardwood. My walls are creamy white.

I have already hung up artwork.

Sweater weather is imminent, & I am prepared.

This place is such a good home to my soul.

But my responsibilities are shifting, expanding ... Another reason for my silence. I have to get used to this. My schedule is changing, & I'm having to watch my yeses & noes more carefully than ever. (Did you know that "noes" was the plural of "no"? I read that somewhere this week, & it's revolutionary.) I have so much more freedom for yeses in many ways, but with that freedom comes caution. I have to make sure I am not 1) neglecting my family or my responsibilities or 2) overexerting myself. It's hard for me to learn that not every need is my calling. And nor is every want.

& that's where I'm going to leave you today. No huge breakthrough. Just food for thought. It's where I am.

The Transplanted Moi

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

"Unspun" {an original poem}

(written August 19th, 2014)

Speak to me
I cannot breathe
Without Your Truth
Or Your mercy

I am undone

I'm breathless
In the face
Of my King

God, increase
Make less of me
Spend this frail life
For Your glory

It's worth it
Worth all the pain
Worth every tear
And each heartbreak

Grace mingled
With faith and love
Pours over me
And into me

By Your blood
Your sacrifice
You spent Your life
To save my soul

Mind is blown
Heart rent in two
My every breath
Sheer gift from You

I pull away
Cannot accept
Yet You pursue

Your kindness
And Your great Love
They bring me back
And fill my cup

No longer
Am I empty
My self traded
For Your glory

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Sickbed Soul

I confess I still hold within me the spirit of a girl who had secretly not supposed she would live very long. 

Nor supposed herself as one deserving of much happiness. 

Ah, if you could see it ... 

A healed body, with a soul that dares not rise from the sickbed, but for a brief stroll in the gardens. 

I had known this would be the hardest part, but not how hard the hardest truly could be. 

This love goes against my very nature. 

I struggle to wake up. 

I will spend days in full-on battle for the Kingdom, then find myself weeping in bed the following night. 

How can this ever be changed? 

It seems to be my endless battle, this fight for my state of mind. 

I live half in unabashed hope, half in uncontrollable anxiety. 

I am an unending series of inconsistencies. & I startle those who know depths of me to confusion. 

Someone reading my journals might easily think me bipolar. 

There are days where a switch just flips, & I am found once more in the depths of depression. There are times when this lasts for an hour.

Times when it lasts for a month. 

Wake me, wake me. 

I am not afraid of the dark. 

But then there are days when I am. 

There are days when I am even afraid to close my eyes & try to sleep, knowing how unpredictable my own head is. Not trusting it. 

How strange, to feel unsafe in one's own mind. 

That toddler-like fear of shadows on such familiar walls. 

My elementary habit of pretending I simply do not see, do not feel. 

I know people who wouldn't know how to read this post. Who'd ask for explanation. For my mind is a riddle, & my heart, a vague poem ... & they struggle to understand. Or they cannot reconcile this image to the one that they see. 

How strange, to know two Lydias. 

I've experienced that confusion myself. 

"I don't know who I am." 

My soul feels as though it is under some feverish stupor ... not knowing what is real, & what is false. The truth seems too good. The lies seem too real. 

I need to wake up. 

Open up. 

Lay my heart bare, once & forever.

Willing to be healed, once more. 

Choosing hope, when fear is easy habit. 

I am fine today, I reason. 

"Fine" is borderline apathy. 

When you lose your empathies, your senses follow shortly. 

I discover that I am on the precipice of a pit. 

I choose to turn away.

Jesus, ever waken me. 

My blind & sickly soul needs Your touch. 

Remove the illusions. 

Heal me wholly.