I’m in awe
But not in love.
Passion isn’t enough
But all I have is choice.

I know my heart is breaking.
I can’t hear Yours beating.
I have too many words
But never the answers.

I have a gift Job didn’t:
Friends.
Who know when to speak
And when to shut the heck up.

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Maybe, but in the grand scheme of things, the Potter, in His great wisdom, at times allows us to implode, that He may have reign to reassemble us in His image.  This is not to say there is comfort in a backsliding heart, for the only place we find peace is in relationship with Him for whom we were created.  It is to say this: my Savior is bigger, much greater by far, than my humanity, and His longing for me will not cease to draw me to Him.

“Being confident that He will continue to completion the work He began in you.”
(paraphrase of Philippians 1:6)

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Daddy,
Your love is vibrant
And all-consuming.
Your faithfulness vast
And never-failing.
Your grace is boundless
And ever assails me.

Abba,
I am desperate
For who You are.
I am needy
For all You give.
I am longing for …
I know not what …

O, my Lord!
What I know:
I love Your love for me.

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Ahem.

Kake

Thees my seester, yo.

Her outfit is as follows:

Haircut (even tho you can’t really see it): by yours truly

Pinstripe button-up top: Kohl’s, I think.

Cardi: trifted

Skirt: some street vendor in Malawi

Boots: vintage thrifted

Earrings: Rue 21

Kake

Kake

Kake

I wear stuff too.

Because the absence is socially unacceptable, or so I’m told.

me

Pearls: from my Mommy.

Black T: Marshalls.

Sweater: used to be Jim’s from Gap, then it shrunk, so I turned it into a cardigan for me.

Belt: Old Navy

Tights: Marshalls

Shoes: Christian Siriano for Payless

Earrings and watch: Belk

me

me

That’s all.

For now.

Holy, holy, holy.
You are Creator.
I am human
But I have access
By Your grace.

Holy, holy, holy.
You are Master.
I am bondslave
Yet You love me
With who You are.

Holy, holy, holy.
You are Savior.
I am sinner
Yet You saved me
From eternity apart.

Holy, holy, holy.
You are perfect.
I am broken
Yet You see me
A new creation.

Holy, holy, holy.
You are Light.

Holy, holy, holy.
You are Love.

Holy, holy, holy.
You are God.

Holy, holy, holy.
You Are.

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You heard me.

“Without oxen a stable stays clean,

      but you need a strong ox for a large harvest.”

Proverbs 14:4

_

Thank you for the mess.

My work is never done.

Thank you for the mess.

It means I’m not alone.

_

Thank you for the mess.

The littles count on me.

Thank you for the mess.

It means my heart is full.

_

Thank you for the mess.

The snot, the tears, the crumbs.

Thank you for the mess.

It means that life lives here.

_

Thank you for the mess.

I’ve stubbed my foot on castles.

Thank you for the mess.

It means we’ve time to dream.

_

Thank you for the mess.

Help me, Mommy, please!

Thank you for the mess.

It means they trust in me.

_

Thank you for the mess.

And hands and feet and mind.

Thank you for the mess.

It means I’ve what I need.

_

Thank you for the mess.

For burdens, cares, and dreams.

Thank you for the mess.

It means that I’m alive.

_

Thank you for the mess.

We’re making memories.

Thank you for the mess.

It means that love lives here.

My Lord delights.
I’m learning this.
He whispers it to me.

My Lord delights.
I saw Him only
With a crease between His brow.

My Lord delights.
I thought I knew Him.
But it was Zeus in stone.

My Lord delights.
As glinting diamond,
Far more faceted than I.

My Lord delights.
What joyous knowledge!
In His image, I.

My Lord delights.
This overwhelms me:
Object of delight.

My Lord delights.
What else I learn
Takes this not away.

My Lord delights.
And in my worship,
Lord, my delight is You.

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No more guilty than I
Who spat and cursed God in flesh.

No more guilty than I
Who drew straws for ancient garb.

No more guilty than I
Who washed his hands of innocent blood.

No more guilty than I
Who sold Messiah for the cost of slaves.

No more guilty than I
Who beat the back which carried my shame.

No more guilty than I
Who sentenced deity to the grave.

No more guilty than I
Who recognized Him not as Lord.

No more guilty than I
Who counted Him a criminal.

No more guilty than I
Who was reprimanded by the rooster’s crowing.

No more guilty than I.

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It will be the death of me.

I bought these:

cute in size 7 or smaller...

Because she did.

They look so good on her.

And in her size.

I have flippers.

Not feet.

I look like a man in them.

Or a very clumsy woman.

Which I am.

It wouldn’t be so bad except that I also have incredibly scrawny legs.

So I look like a clumsy chicken in a motorcycle gang.

I need help.

If you have any suggestions on how I should wear them, please spill.

No suggestion is too extreme.

In fact, the edgier the better.

Anything to make up for the boats.

I mean boots.

Curse your tiny feet, Mother!

Love you!

sometimes they ask us for things that seem absurd

but we are ok with that because we know them.

we know their little minds

and their little hearts.

while we care for their tummies and keep them clean

we also care for their minds.

so when they ask us for silly things

we do our level best to make them happy.

if it’s not going to hurt them

what’s the harm in doing something odd once in awhile?

Blonde curls and blue eyes made a request.  Months ago.  ”Mommy, you gotta make me a Spiderman dress.”

“Honey, that’s not how you ask.”

“Please, please, please!  I neeed a Spiderman dress!”

Such a feat is not a walk in the park.  Because walking in the park doesn’t involve WiFi.  Or PayPal.  Or sewing machines.

In all seriousness, most material adorned with the beloved arachni-hero is either fleece, flannel, or quilting squares.  Finding woven by-the-yard cotton is no simple matter.  Fabric.com to the rescue.  For a mere pittance, I purchased 1 1/2 yards of the most beautiful licensed material.  And 1/2 yards each red tulle & glitter baby blue tulle.  Because red and blue are Spiderman colors, homies.  And I was not about to do this half-assed.  Making a garment of these specifications is not something one plays around with.

The thing is, Little Blonde Princess is not little in emotion, expression, or action.  If her mama is making a present for her birthday, albeit early, this can’t be just any dress.  Full skirted, puffy sleeved, and tulle.  All.  Over.  The place.  Ribbons.  Bows.  Drama.  Flare.  Flounce.  It’s also for Halloween.  And probably every Sunday until the cows come home.  Or she outgrows it.  My educated guess is the latter.  Darn cows aren’t known to return very often.  I’m not anticipating the gown being handed down gently to Molly, so I’ve already begun searching for a clear box in which to preserve and display the collector’s item once it’s usefulness as a princess garment is history.

pretty enough for the ball?

it's a princess spiderman dress

spin around for the camera, e.

that's enough pictures, mommy.

hey look! i got tomatoes from that box.