6.12.17 13 Years

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Once upon a time, there was a girl who met a boy with eyes the color of sea glass.

I cannot say whether he found her, or she found him, or whether the stars, the tides, or the winds from the four corners of the earth arranged themselves just so – but find one another they did.

Her curious spirit tended his intelligent soul.

He kept her grounded, and she set him free, and they found home within each other’s company.

Days stretched languidly into years and soon the boy asked the girl a question she only needed one word to answer.

Lengths of grace and lace and light accompanied them on the day simple words became divine promises.

And he had, and she held.

Since that time, in their story, there have been days of better, and days of worse … spans of richer and bouts of poorer … occasions of sickness, and stretches of health.

He has loved her, and she has cherished him.

In time two new heartbeats echoed the sound of their own. Two sets of hands swung between theirs, and two sets of feet stepped close to dance.

A new season brought sunlight-filtered smiles, sticky kisses and always, a golden glorious mess. In their most exhausted moments, he smiled a tired, secret smile, which she returned in a sleepy, happy daze.

Every day is imperfect, and beautiful for its mistakes. And every day the girl, who fell in love with the boy with sea glass eyes, is grateful for knowing the safety of his love.

This story has no end, only chapters that edge closer and further toward the brink of forever.

 

 

6.4.17 Voices

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“The meaning of life is to find your gift, the purpose of life is to give it away.” – Picasso

This past weekend was a first for me. I was asked to speak at a high school commencement. Apparently, I was the senior’s “first and only” choice. I feel that this honor was beyond what I should have been given, but I am so very, very blessed to have been able to speak twenty minutes worth of words. I pray they will arm these amazing young people with the ability to walk into the unknown with confidence. The theme of their year was “Voices.” I wrote this piece for them and ended my speech with it. May we all remember that words have power, and voices are meant to be heard. I love you class of 2017.

Always,

Elle

VOICES

It seems as though with every voice

there is a choice inlaid between

Of who I was, of where I am,

of how I feel, and how I seem

And though my heart may know the truth

foundations built as they were laid

I’ve often wondered if it’s His

or my own thoughts when I have prayed

I know heaven speaks in whispers

but my ears are set to shouting

So although I know He hears me,

I still end up lost and doubting

Like an apparition’s presence

all reflections become haunting

And I cannot trust my conscious

because suddenly it’s daunting

Weighted down with life’s decisions –

my mind a game of pitch and toss

Now the answer lies behind me

under the shadow of a cross

And in silence, when I’m broken

my healer finds and tends my scars

Knitting me right back together

atoning light, beyond the stars

A breath of life, His words redeem

and wash my spirit clean to light

There can be no more fear of dark

when truth has shown me what is right

Drenched with grace I know I’m worthy

raised in hope, my faith has grown

Treading bravely toward the future

the voice I’ll trust will be my own

5.7.17 Old Souls

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Old Souls

Here’s to the days before digital

before instant gratification

and never needing to develop the virtue of patience

Here’s to the pictures we couldn’t delete

the songs we crossed our fingers to hear on the radio

and the dinners we ate … not pinned

Here’s to the years before smart phones

where conversations lingered because there was no where else to have them

and the only way to text was through notes you would pass

Here’s to the versions of print we ignore

to books with wrinkled pages from being too loved

and magazines you’d clip “someday” dreams from

Here’s to the times we remembered

how to get somewhere, whose number was whose,

and where we were supposed to go – all without a device to help us

Here’s to the screens you weren’t supposed to touch

to the shows you couldn’t subscribe to or binge on,

but waited with baited breath to see a whole week later

Here’s to those who were raised on

not yet

someday

and we’ll see

whose patience was cultivated by the culture

instead of tainted by it

Here’s to the old souls,

to the old ways,

to the past

4.16.17 She Still

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 “She made broken look beautiful
and strong look invincible.
She walked with the Universe
on her shoulders and made it
look like a pair of wings.”  – Ariana Dancu

Recently I’ve been thinking just how lucky I am to have so many strong women in my life. I would list you here on this page, but you know who you are. You are the “she” that keep me going – that keep me running … and just like clockwork, you always know right when it is time to wind me back up again, when my tick-tock-self is almost worn out. I feel unmeasurably blessed by you, and this is to let you know.

She Still

She still knows when I need her –

without my asking,

or even hinting why or how

She calls me

and talks me rationally through my

ever

irrational

fears

It is her smile that carries my spirit

and whether in photograph,

or in person –

even a glimpse is enough …

to reassure my choices,

to soothe my chaotic mind,

to protect my wounded heart from anything it can’t handle alone

When the world presents itself in a tempest of fury,

her voice is my focal point

When I’m trapped in fractured pieces of a memory,

she reminds me of who I am,

not where I’ve been

Her laugh makes me laugh

Her sadness is mine

Her success is my win too

And though the dark will come,

and the storms will rage,

and the choice won’t always be ours,

she still guards my heart,

and gives me her light

and somehow we make it through

There is no way to tell

at times

who carries who,

but whether by crawling

or flying

it is she –

still,

who brings me back to who I’m meant to be

and who I’d never have known

without her

 

 

 

 

 

4.2.17 Bloom

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Bloom

There is a light, and though it be pale, it is powerful. Enter into it.
Don’t hesitate or wait for another sign.
This is your sign.

This day, this breath, this choice …
all of them are pointing you toward life. Embrace the possibility that it’s not just time, but YOUR time.

So whether it is your first step or your fiftieth,
take it.
Whether you’ve tried and failed a thousand times before,
or you’ve never had the courage to try …
try.
Unfurl your own version of brave,
of beautiful.
Even subtle things can capture the attention of one who is seeking. Never underestimate that you may be
exactly
what the world has been waiting for.

Leaving even a trace of your delicate presence,
is enough to illuminate the existence of another.
It is easy to cast off the substance of who you are,
when comparing to everyone else.
But when did you ever get the idea you were to be compared?
Are you, beloved, not invaluable?
Are you not the only one of you ever created in the history of days? There is no room to doubt that which is irrefutable.
You are ready, whether you believe so or not.
You’ve been given today.
So, like a flower coming awake to the sun for the first time –
bloom.

3.26.17 Perfectly Imperfect

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Perfectly Imperfect

Do you know your imperfections might be my favorite part of you? That the little things that no one would ever notice, are the things I look forward to seeing most?

I love the way you talk too loud, and how no matter sacred or silent a place we find ourselves in, the decibel of your voice never lessens.

I love the way you always want your hair to be wild and free. That regardless of how meticulously we brush it, within two hours it will become a dreadlock-mess – just the way you like it.

I love how you try to make mischief, but don’t even really know how to be anything but the goody-goody you are deep down.

I love how you create in chaos, with markers, paints, crayons, and scissored bits laying in heaps all around the table. Your glitter-encrusted hands brightening whatever they touch.

I love that you refuse to wear collared shirts, even when they are my favorite, but then replace them with grey hoodies zipped up tightly like I won’t ever notice it is not what I laid out for you at all.

I love that when you whine and pout, you absolutely know you will not get your way, but you still default to it anyway … just-in-case your daddy and I temporarily abandon all of our parenting beliefs for this single, tantrum occasion.

I love how smart you are at everything, but how you never act as sure as you have every right to be.

I love how even when we ask you, and ask you, and ask you not to leave the table at dinner, you find a way to suddenly NEED to visit the bathroom, or get another napkin, or refill your water cup, just as an excuse to stand and get out your wiggles.

I love how you are never tired at bedtime, but you know I desperately am, and you ask me to lay with you, and read to you, until I fall asleep beside you.

You are not perfect dear ones … but you are perfectly imperfect for me.

3.20.17 Like a Lady

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Whoever says that little girls should be seen and not heard has,

in my opinion,

no ear for beauty.

And whatever little girl has listened to such a sordid phrase,

has no hope of growing with a clear perspective of her own reflection.

Maybe that’s why so many try too hard … or not enough …

why women sacrifice their integrity –

in order to heal wounds from words that have already turned to scars.

And though thick and calloused skin has replaced the cuts,

they never notice,

because it still hurts.

I wish that every girl had a mother like mine,

who taught me to act like a lady …

because it is an honor to be one,

not a favor to the eyes of the world.

She taught me that elegance is the sum of grace and strength combined –

and that the only shame you should ever feel,

is when you cannot forgive yourself after God already has.

If there were a way to speak truth into the hearts of all the girls in the world,

to heal all the fractured, fissure-cracked self-images … I would.

I’d remind them that their identity is waiting to be reclaimed,

and that even if their childhood wasn’t golden …

even if they haven’t been treated like a lady in quite some time –

they still are.

It is their right to be respected,

to be admired,

to be listened and attended to.

I want the teenagers who cut to be noticed, screaming from the inside out to hear me.

I want the mothers who are losing themselves to daily routine, and can’t find the woman they once were to hear me.

I want the grandmothers who feel their beauty is disposable, and society has no place for them anymore to hear me.

I want the single women who haven’t accepted their own bravery to face this world alone to hear me.

I want the girls in school, masking their insecurities with name brands and makeup trends to hear me.

I want my seven-year-old daughter … who we adore, we dote on, we love, but –

who has already asked me if she’s pretty

who has already asked me if she’s fat

who has already asked me if she’s smart

who already questions if she’s enough to HEAR ME!

You are a lady.

You are grace and strength personified.

You are meant to be seen,

but most especially, my darling –

to be heard.

Do not ever quiet your voice … even if it only comes out in whispers.

3.7.17 A Pocketful of Simple Truths

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Marcus Aurelius once said that, “Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.” While this may be, I have found that there are some realities in my life that have become my own simple truths. And whether they are my opinion or not is less significant than the fact that they have become real, in my life, for me.

A Pocketful of Simple Truths

*Hugs are best received when offered, not asked for.

*Prayer is always more effective as a first resort, not a last.

*There is no such thing as, “Keeping your emotions in check” with someone you trust enough to be real.

*Making time for someone will bless you more than them.

*Children do life the right way. 

*Books are the most immediate, cost effective, and satisfying answer to, “Where should I go next?” 

*Love is strong enough to conquer anything if you let it.

*Keeping your imagination alive will serve you well, and may even save you when you least expect it.

*Art is the closest expression of dreams. 

*Some things do last forever, if you’re patient enough to see them through.

*Life is not simple, easy, or fair … but it is a gift, and should be handled with the utmost respect and care.

*Hope is the strongest armor we have.

May your day be blessed, and your pocket of truths be full. I’d love to hear a few! Share them with me. I too could use a pocketful!

Elle

2.12.17 Elsewhere

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Elsewhere

Sometimes she goes

elsewhere

to a place where the stories come

and go

and float in

and out

of her consciousness with or without her permission

Sometimes ideas stay,

and grow

and she plants ink-word seeds on paper

hoping against hope

they will bloom

Sometimes pages file past her

too fast for her to recognize that they are her own

thoughts evolved into chapters

she’s almost reticent to claim

but delighted to read

from the outside

Sometimes new notions crowd out the old

vying for space

she has little left to give

and she must choose

which to let go of

and whom to hold onto

more closely

Sometimes she goes

elsewhere

to a place no one else can go with her

until she creates a reality

a door of chapters unlocked with keys of imagination

of numbered pages

they must desire to read to enter

And so you’ll find her there

1.28.17 Being

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Sometimes empty wishes soar, above my mind, or near my door,

and then I am inclined to think my life is passing near the brink

of all that was and was to be, of all my own slight history,

so then I find my future’s more than simply what I had in store,

for days and weeks and years ahead, I’m living in those days instead

so time I thought I hadn’t spent, so carelessly has came and went

and I am left with silent longing for a sense of apt belonging,

of feeling deeply, sure – fulfilled of what I wanted, wished or willed

and yet I wonder if I know, where truly I do long to go

am I just ever – lost and aching, passing? missing? or mistaking?

I think I know, but when I’m there, I find myself less self-aware

and once again I’m captive, free, chained to what I don’t yet see

my vision has been apparated, haunting new dreams while I waited

between desire coming true and unformed plans that are too new

for me to know or recognize although they pass before my eyes

so what answer can I give my restless spirit but to live

and someday, when in memory, I see my purpose was … just be