The sky- oh, it was in rosy pink hues. Golden. And the sun's rays were just beginning to peak over the mountain tops surrounding our little valley.
I was driving to work the other morning at my almost usual time of 5:40 in the morning. I'd begun to cherish these short drives at such stillness, knowing that I won't have that the remainder of the day. And when I saw the sky... when I saw the illuminated cross as I drove up a hill nearby... I gave a little gasp: "There's my Groom."
I don't even know what brought that about. I started and gave a small giggle after I said the words, and my eyes grew wide.
What I had just said... was something He's been trying to plant in my heart lately. And oh, this is the longest engagement ever.
But He calls me His bride.
I, the filthiest of sinners. Am one He calls beloved.
He is my Love.
February 25, 2015
Definitely on the shaky side. Not my best work. But still. There's something sweet and precious about coffee in the morning- maybe it's because it warms me up. Maybe it's because we sit down in the morning as a family and chat during that time. Maybe it's just me as the videographer and idealist and hope(ful) romantic who finds something in this.
Aren't we all one of those who finds and discovers something sweet in the nothingness of life?
January 29, 2015
dear home, dear hope.
we know the hope that we lie in wait for. why do we wait, shallowly, wonderingly here? why do we not reach out and take it? why is there a fear of growing, of expectancy, of the faint sparkle or glimmer of hope disappointing us, when we are spiritually caught up in a hope beyond all our fathom or reason? as soon as i draw a line in the sand on how far i'm willing to be welded and worked and stretched to become, i'm limiting how i see God. i'm limiting His ability to work in me through me, and in so doing, i suffocate my very purpose. oh, fear. you artist. you deceiver. you have wrapped yourself in soft blankets and cozy nooks and portrayed yourself as an object of beauty, this staying safe. we are frail creatures, strong as we like to think we are, and you have made sure we continue to see ourselves as such instead of who Love has created us to be. but no longer can you keep me here, locked up in chains i have etched for myself and are yet made out of paper, though i see and feel them hang as something much stronger. i have hope. i have been given that vision. and in these chains, the breaking of them, the running freely, He is made strong.