Writing

My Body’s Favor

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It is so rare that I am inspired by my own body, but it is so fabulous when I am. A year ago, I posted about losing my “glorious”, how the comments of strangers made me feel small and objectified, very much not-cute, and definitely not glorious.

Today was on the other end. After a long hot shower that went a long way to helping me feel human again, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I rubbed muscles sore from exercise and tension. I have caught glimpses of myself before, naturally, but the woman who looked back from the looking glass today was slightly different. I have seen her refined and elegant, graceful and soft. But this one: she was…sultry, sharp in a way. The way she tilted her head was coy, coquettish, and I felt like she would soon be giving me a sly noir smile from behind reddened lips and under smoky lids. She looked like a woman who would walk along as if the world was her oyster, opened for her discovery and pleasure. I loved looking at her (me) and found myself starting to revel more in myself as I rubbed the lotion into my skin, inhaling the scents of chamomile and bergamot that soaked into me as I massaged my muscles and paid attention to my areas of tension. It was, altogether, the most peaceful moment of my day.

Then, tonight, as I changed into my pajamas after an evening of family and birthday presents, I had a moment where I looked down and was struck at the sight of my black stockings against my dark skin, turned into thigh-highs for a moment as I divested myself of them. I just paused and smiled, as I am a person with a deep affection for thigh-high stockings and socks and their adorably cunning coquetry. It really just made me smile and muse on lovely legs in equally lovely stockings and socks.

Altogether, today, my body has done me a great service in not only surviving while short of sleep and getting me from place to place but also in giving me moments of feeling absolutely beautiful (even stunning) while doing so.

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Actions for a Lifetime (Love Me as a Verb)

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Will you love me?Anne-of-Cleves-women-of-the-tudors-30491202-220-162

Will you trade your freedom for a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on for all of life?

For a heart to bear your burdens with you?

For a stalwart soul willing to stand in your defense and in belief of you?

For an equally strong mind to be your helpmeet through the storms?

Will you love me?

Will you cast aside the doubts that chip, the fears that chink at the armor we could forge together?

Will you let me see the parts of yourself that you hide away, and recognize the courage that it takes to show you mine?

Will you let me rule our world beside you? Will you let me share the burden of the sky upon your shoulders?

Will you seek me out rather than retreat in wrath? Will you reach for me rather than suffer tears alone?

Will you let me rejoice with you in glad times and mourn with you in dark ones?

Will let me rise alongside you to walk again, strong in ourselves and with each other?

Will you love me?

Will you let me love you?

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Author’s Note: This is the second piece that has been inspired by the ladies of the Tudor dynasty. The first “A Smile for a Kiss” was inspired by Mary Tudor, eldest daughter of Henry VIII, who would become Queen Mary. This one was inspired by the genteel Anne of Cleves, short time wife of King Harry (and many say the luckiest one). I can see her saying this to any who would offer marriage to her, as a true test of their understanding of who she is and what it would mean to love and be loved by her.

I’m rather enjoying this. Who next, I wonder? 

Where to Start

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“I know I need self-care, to do some things just for me. But, honestly, right now I’m not sure where to even start.” 

I said those exact words to a friend the other night as we worked out together. When we were done working out, I didn’t feel the satisfaction that I have in the past really. I was just tired. Tired from the workout, tired from being sick, tired from going and doing, tired from being stuck in the house with a recuperating toddler. I haven’t really cared for myself in the past two weeks, save for a hot shower here and there and the occasional bit of ice cream. I need some serious self-care. But I am a bit at a loss for just how to start that process of refilling my cups and spoon drawer, of gathering all the pieces of myself back home together and seeing them all put together as a beautiful whole.

But, today, without even really determining to, I found that I was as utterly true to myself as I could be. I was gifted with precious words and ideas and accepted them as divine appointment and encouragement, even if they were not necessarily the normal places in which I looked for or expected spiritual nourishment. I wrote letters for those who could use a little more light and love this Christmas season. I chatted with a dear friend and we smiled as our daughters babbled and giggled back and forth at each other across the miles through the computer screens.

I dressed to feel pretty. I got out of the house. I delivered notes to friends. I picked up packages at the post office and smiled as the wonderful lady who works there doted on my daughter. I donated where I felt led. I walked and smiled at other shoppers as my girl waved her hellos. I was patient and pleasant with overwrought salespeople and rejoiced in the treasures found. I wrapped and packaged those treasures in paper and bound them up with the joy they will hopefully bring to their recipients.

Now evening is here and my husband is singing “Rainbow Connection” with Bizzy (yes, she actually sings along) in an attempt to get her to settle and accept that, yes, it actually is bedtime (She is quite adamant that it is not and that she wants to play with her toys). And really I am full of a single thought, a single feeling that threads into everything else I am feeling right now.

It’s been a good day.

As for my self-care, I think today was a good place to start.

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Holding On

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My Dearest Dears,

December has dawned in darkness and pain and grief. I have honestly avoided writing on all of this darkness because, well, it’s everywhere. Everyone is writing about it and good points have already been made. Outlining and highlighting the darkness is not my job. It is there, undeniable. It is truth, the starkest, coldest truth for some people, and what may be their only truth this Christmas. The statistics are there, etched and grooved in their own stoney reality. More shootings than there are days in the year. Families torn asunder on what was supposed to be a fun night out. A quiet dinner interrupted by a hail of gunfire and shrapnel. No, no one needs me to delve deeper into the darkness.

What is my job, though, is get out of the way of the light. No, I am not suggesting that we silver line these people’s pain. No. Never. I have never experienced such utter, violent loss. I have no frame of knowledge from which to speak to their pain. But I can acknowledge it and I do, with all my heart. I acknowledge their loss, their pain, their grief, their anger, their sadness, and join it in with them. I do not know these people, any of them here or abroad, but that doesn’t mean that I cannot take their grief as much to heart as I would those close to me.

But there is something else that I take to heart along with that grief. Something that I have noticed in so much of the aftermath of these events: the voices that come out of them. The voices of those who suffer this grief and loss. Their voices that call, beg, plead for peace. Their voices that admonish us to love, hold, do good unto, and care for others. Their voices that call for forgiveness. Their voices and lives that are the living proof that grace is a better choice than bitterness.

As we begin to close out this first week of Advent, this week of Hope, I am taking those voices to heart and soul. There may not be much or anything at all that I can do on a large scale, nor would I even know where to start, honestly, but I can do my best to do as they have asked. I can do my best to live in peace. I can love, hold, do good unto, and care for others. I can forgive. I can give grace instead of sinking into bitterness.

I can hold on to hope.

 

 

 

Winter Whispers

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cute-girl-hai-snow-winter-Favim.com-355943Stepping outside, her feet meet diamonds on the sidewalk, the snowglobe world silently having been turned upside down as she had worked. The turn seems to have met its zenith as the flakes fall fast and thick and heavy. The stark white feathers flutter against her eyelashes and brush her cheeks cunningly, leaving a flushing pink behind as warmth rushes up to her skin after their cold kisses. Pulling her scarf tight, she glances up at the slate-grey sky, which just seems to smile at her in the form of a cold breeze lifting the curls of her hair for a brief moment, and a few snowy zephyrs leap up from the thickening drifts to play and nip at her ankles as she starts to make her way home. But she deviates today, her feet carrying her from path to park; such an even as the first snow deserves the respect of observation. Soon, her steps go from diamond-dusted to a pleasant crunch not unlike that first bite into perfect gingerbread. The wind flirts saucily with the hem of her coat and that of her skirtsnowy legs underneath it, caressing her legs with frosty fingers as though whispering her own beatuy back to her.

The world seems to grow quieter amidst the silence of the snowfall, the flakes interlocking their unique lattices together to form heavy white carpet that softens the cacaphony of the world. The hum and buzz and bustle seem to fall away, dampened by wintry ethereality, as if they cannot bear to disrupt such a transformation. A transformation that borders on the divine, with her as its single witness.

She has always loved winter, the long sleep of nature. Everything must take its rest, even the world itself in its turn. She loves the promise that lies in bare branches and blanched grass, to imagine what nature has in store for its next act in her lifetime. Even more so than that, winter teaches her to revel in the what is and the now. In this moment, not the looking forward or the glancing behind.

And so she walks in snowy footsteps, the world gone silent around and above her. Winter recognizes Her worshipper, a lady of Her court, and sends icy diamonds to adorn her hair and cloak her shoulders for this, the overture to Winter’s first whisper.

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NaBloPoMo Day 30: Advent

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As I sat at my kitchen table, eating my breakfast of warmed apple dumplings and doing some research, I found myself pondering Advent. As you know, Christmas season has officially begun and this past Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent, which continues over the four Sundays before Christmas. I have refilled our chic little Starbucks Advent calendar with my toddler daughter’s new favorite “Chifee” (Christmas) candy, peppermint, and I couldn’t help thinking on how and what we will teach her about the Christmas season as she grows older.

Growing up, Advent was not made a huge deal of in my church community. I do not recall any advent candles or calendars, although that may just be a flaw in my recollection and not an absence in my experience. But, still, in our current church home, advent candles are lit, one added on each of the four Sundays before Christmas Day, with the fifth and center candle lit during the Christmas Eve service. Hope, peace, joy, and love–these are the themes of Advent, per my recent research and reading. These are themes and thoughts that lift my heart and soul. I have been researching Advent-themed devotionals, blog posts, and articles to share on our church blog and I can only pray that these posts will speak to people’s hearts and center minds and spirits for this season, bring them joy in hope.

I try to live my life with the goal and intention of living in peace, showing love, sowing hope, and (hopefully) exuding joy. I am so grateful for all that God has done for me and how He makes his presence known in my life, lifting my heart and soul in differing ways. Providence in circumstances, a perfectly-placed or timed song, or the spoken or hugged-out love of a friend or loved one. All of this has made an incalculable impact on my life and all I really desire is to live an encouraging, edifying, loving life in return, to share that peace, hope, love, and joy that has been lavished on me over the years.

NaBloPoMo Day 29: A Smile for a Kiss

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largeWill you kiss me?

Will you restore my smile?

It has gone running, fleeing from my lips.

Will you beckon it back? Cajole and convince it?

Tease it up from the corners of my mouth where it has hidden itself?

Will you make a bargain for its restoration?

Will you kiss me?

Will you trade that one moment of lips upon lips, mouth to mouth, breath briefly shared,

For a smile that will shine and shimmer like the sun?

A smile that will always appear for you, always greet you.

A smile that will be yours forever.

Will you trade with me?

A tenderness for a smile?

Will you kiss me?

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NaBloPoMo Day 28: On Crying

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I am an empathetic crier. It is rare, very rare, that I can see a friend or dear one crying and I don’t start crying as well. Perhaps it is a sense of wanting to be able to comfort the other; perhaps it is to let them know that what they feel isn’t silly to be crying over. I cry when my friends are hurting. I cry for and with them because, often, there little more that I can do from where I am.

I am also a very easy crier. I cried last night when I prayed over Elizabeth as she lied congested and uncomfortable in her bed. I cry when something bad happens on my favorite tv show. I cry at moments in books, at cards sent, gifts given.

Right now, though, I have plenty of tears of my own. I am tired, my shoulder aches where I banged it, the weather is gloomy and wet (see, even the sky is crying), my baby is sick, my husband also isn’t feeling, and I have had nightmares. It’s just been a teary couple of days.

Not all tears are bad, not all crying is painful. Sometimes we go through periods where our heart leaks out of our eyes for reasons of which we are unaware. But it happens, so the likelihood is there that it is needed. I am not sure just what my tears need to wash away, smooth, or reshape within me, but I think I am willing to let them.

 

NaBloPoMo Day 27: Delightfully Odd (or Weird, Whichever You Prefer)

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Four Weird Things About Me:

  1. I am easily startled. Like bolt-like-a-bleeping-deer startled. Case in point, I was running on the elliptical this evening, had just finished a “hill” and had closed my eyes to breathe. When I opened them again and looked up, my workout partner was there and, even though I had my earbuds in, I know I yelled in surprise. She immediately apologized and said that she didn’t know I’d startle so easily and it’s why she hadn’t approached me from the side. But, yeah, it’s true. If I turn and something is in my line of sight that wasn’t there a second ago, especially when I catch it in my periphery, yeah, totally started — gasping, heart pumping, all of that.
  2. I am an absolute epistolary fiend. But, then, if you’ve been reading 11419026_940310942688566_484985028_nthis blog for a while, you know this already. I have at least seven boxes full of stationary and writing supplies. Writing letters and cards is a passion for me.
  3. I am a huge fan of period stories, especially television shows, bits of historical drama that I can devour visually. I love my books but I also love to be able to SEE the stories that enrapture me. Right now, my husband and I are binge watching season 3 of “Vikings”.
  4. I hate Velcro. Absolutely HATE IT! I have ever since I was younger. The sound of pulling it apart makes my skin crawl and my temples ache.

NaBloPoMo Day 24: The 21st Turn

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I do not have any journal entries about my 21st birthday night aside from the mention that my friends and I were going to go to dinner and then a film festival (don’t even remember what the films were about). But I do have a particular journal entry from the night before my 21st birthday that I really like and would love to share with you.

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So…soon (in a matter of hours), I’ll be 21, and I find that rather odd, honestly. I have a hard time stepping out-of-body and looking at myself, not as the little teenage girl who came here almost four years ago, but as a 21-year-old woman.

There are ways in which I KNOW I’ve grown. Only in the past year have I truly found what it means to be comfortable in my own skin. I’m a ‘walking contradiction’, and I like it. I’m a paradoxical simplistic, a semi-angsty romantic, as I once put it. I’m a girly-girl with a love for action and battle prowess; I’m a hobbit who speaks the tongue of Elves; I’m a wielder of pen with a love for the sword;  I’m a teacher who loves to learn; I’m a drama queen who has to work on graciously accepting compliments; I am a self-confirmed bachelorette who would someday like to get married; I’m a walking contradiction.

And I like it that way.

For years, I tried to be only one thing, what I thought people thought I should be: the perfect young lady, the angsty tomboy, the all-knowing sage, etc. No, it doesn’t work that way; I’m merely bits and pieces, as are we all–flawed but lovingly forgiven. This past year has just proven to me that God can put the pieces together in ways we could never imagine. Pieces that ‘should not go together’ come together perfectly in me. That’s not saying that I am perfect, but my Creator is, and I admire His ingenuity.