Breathing Room

So many stirrings.

Such depths of longing.

Yet, few words will form- or suffice.

I want to make concrete these stirrings I have- this growing hunger for more: more space, more freedom, more ease, more breathing room- but I can’t quite yet.

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It comes like a leaky faucet- in drips and drabs and droplets: the prayers, quotes, songs, pictures, and metaphors of others. Ones for now, I’ll gladly borrow:

The TeacupIlluminata, Breathe with Love. The Coffee ShopStarlight in the Darkness, yoga in the morning. Floating Clouds, open ocean, rustling wind within the trees.

They whisper my unformed words – silent soliloquies.

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It’s a tune I recognize from a pit of knowing-  the woman who longs to emerge and stay:

Who wants more love, less judgement.

More being, less doing.

More get to’s, less have to’s. 

More listening, less talking. 

More living, less striving. 

… In both my external world and my internal.

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In these four weeks of silence, I’ve rediscovered a best friend- the voice I once knew and followed with passion…. my soul.

I hear her again. And her voice is so sweet.

We’re starting at last to honour our own discomfort, to think that maybe we weren’t crazy after all, chafing for years under the oppressive weight of our cultural nonsense.

Millions of us now reach out for our lost, buried souls, and once we begin the search, we’re bound to find it. – Illuminata by Marianne Williamson

….  like an old familiar friend or a cozy sweater; a timeless love song, set to a moody ballad.

At first her voice was quiet, like a soft whisper I strained to hear. But now she’s singing with octane and the innocence of an untamed child.

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Curious, she is; whimsical and passionate; in love with life- her life.

She sees good and beauty everywhere; from an orange, to a butterfly, to the faces of neighbours passing by.

She knows what she wants and it’s not the things this world tells her she does.

She worships in surrender, with a kind of teenage love. Uninterested in religion, but fiercely hungry for God.

She’s inclusive of others, regardless of differences- asking questions without forming opinions first.

She shines bright- Light in poise and manner. Unconcerned with words, she sees no need to explain herself. She lets actions, speak louder.

It’s the way you live, not the way you talk, that counts. – James 3:13 (The Message)

Like a lighthouse, she feels no need to draw attention inward. She shines outward for the sake of others- a light left on for pilgrims on the journey.

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She delights in her senses and revels in flavour.

She feels at home – in her body and her community.

She sees abundance in place of scarcity and trusts implicitly.

She flourishes in simplicity and blooms inside the margins- with time, in the waiting. 

She’s unhurried and unrushed, trusting in the process and her pleasure.

It’s the journey she’s after- one of meaning: connection and joy; contentment and faith.

This is the legacy she wants to leave.

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As I’ve listen to her voice and befriended her longings, I found new space to thrive- breathing room.

It was there all along, like an unopened present, just waiting for me to see it.

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I was too busy and distracted to notice; to hurried in my tasks to care. I chose instead, the beat of expectation- my own, the world’s, what I thought the church (and God) required of me. 

Now, I find myself rebelling- pushing back against the fence walls that boxed me in and stifled the lyrics of my soul.

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Like my ideas of faith and God, my life is expanding- and in that expansion, I’ve found myself, again- my true self, my soul.

Like a reunion of saints:

Her innocence, my maturity. Her whimsy, my experience. Her freedom, my longing. Her joy, my suffering.

Together, we are better. 

In our union, we’ve found home. 

 

 

 

 

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When You’re Feeling Empty and Need to Be Filled… with Joy

You’re asleep now and my heart bubbles over with moments we shared this morning as a family:

cuddles and cartoons on the couch,

playing blocks and colouring on the floor,

dancing and singing to worship music turned loud,

jumping and bum drops on the bed,

an hour long tub party that ended with daddy rocking you amidst the suds, while you nestled in the nape of his neck and asked for lullabies on repeat.

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These simple moments of connection- the everyday ordinary moments- are so full of grace we scarcely miss them them if we’re not careful.

Life can beckon us to move, to do and to go, when The Lord calls us to draw near, to be still and linger a little longer.

But for too long I didn’t listen. I missed my vary life ; that is until

you came along and turned my life –my heart– inside out.

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You showed me where life is truly found.

Where joy, peace and love are hiding.

But they aren’t really hiding. They’re right there for the taking; we must just choose to be present to receive them.

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Seasons change and so do our circumstances but these things remain.

Rooted in Christ and found with eyes wide open to the people and the moments right in front of us, peace, joy and love remain: always, unchanging.

Love mom.

 

Symphony of the Creator

I woke to gentle light pouring in on the first day of spring.
Pulling the curtains back, I am still not yet accustomed to the dancing of sun on the inlet below.

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A symphony of song birds bid me good morning and the gentle tune my mother would sing me as a child lingers…

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Good Morning to you. Good morning to you. Good morning, good morning. it’s lovely to see you!

With the window cracked, I can smell the great outdoors.
Spring is coming.

People walk the wooden water path.
I smile.

Goodness I love where I live.

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For far too long, I’ve praised the creation of my tiny inlet village, rather than the one who’s hand brought it into existance.

And it wasn’t until I read those words that my ignorance struck me.

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Every time you feel in God’s creatures something pleasing and attractive, do not let your attention be arrested by them alone, but, passing them by, transfer your thought to God and say: “O my God, if Thy creations are so full of beauty, delight and joy, how infinitely more full of beauty, delight and joy art Thou thyself, Creator of all!” –  Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain

As I’ve counted my gifts, my mind has awed at the mundane graces before me. My body has bowed to the luxuries of everyday ordinary. My soul has found solace in a thanksgiving harvest of simple.

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But it’s stopped there most days.

Sure I can acknowledge The One behind these hidden gems- can recognize the need for orchestration in the treasure hunt of creation. But have I truly pondered it each time I’ve discovered my next prize?

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Like the song birds… do I truly consider that their chorus resembles the way He sings over me, in anticipation of my waking?

The wind rustling through the forest trees and the dandelions swaying in the fields…they, the way He dances over me in joy and celebration of simply who. I am. not. what. I’ve. done.

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The reflection off the waters edge too striking to simply pass by – the vary nature of my own reflection in Him.

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After all, I too was created in his imagine and am being refined more and more each day into the likeness of His precious Son!

I see it now, as the scales of ingratitude chip off my eyes.
My heart feels full. Almost radiant.. what is that?

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Hope, He whispers, Longing for me.

A deep desire for the wholeness only I can give. .
Your heart knows it; it feels it.

You’ve entered my gates with thanksgiving, my child, and you’ve feasted your eyes on glory- looked straight into the eyes of your very creator.

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I taste my miracle. Eucharisteo in flesh and real life.

This is the art of joy, of gratitude and praise!

Praise of The Creator, not the created.