There Once Was this Girl

She used to live in a place that was much colder, you know. It snowed a lot, but that didn't mean it didn't just melt days later. No mater; the snow wasn't nearly as bothersome as the weathermen made it out to be. It was kind of nice because it made you feel like everything was going to be okay simply because of the blinding shimmer. The girl that once was really liked it in the snow... It made the air easy to breathe. She vividly remembers Christmas lights in the snow by the capital and a coffee shop with cups that weren't washed very often, but that didn't bother her because she didn't wash herself very often either: It fit, that coffee shop and her. It must have been the paper mache tables, that out of tune piano, or maybe even the brownies that made that coffee shop the best place to gather and think. A lot of walks happened around there, and they happened in a lot of different seasons. The girl that once was never minded the 20 minute drive because sometimes driving seemed spontaneous! She often played the 'How many miles can I go on empty" game just to seek the thrill of being stranded somewhere new. Lord knows the girl who once was had enough mix CDs to last her for miles of empty, teach her new routes, and let her sort things out. It's funny, because now that girl's speakers are broken, and when it snowed she felt it was rather cold and she preferred to stay inside. She showers at least 5 times a week now, and most feel that's an improvement. Afterall, she's much fancier nowadays in the land of the famous and business-minded folk.

Sometimes, though, the girl that once was secretly steals away and becomes the girl that will always exist in the hearts of those who once knew her. She is a less bitter, anxious, jealous, more secure version of that girl, but nonetheless, she still listens to Dashboard and fibs about the amount of showers taken. She still drinks a pot of coffee a day and goes too deep too fast just to show those around her that she'll love until there's nothing left. She likes the feeling of pouring out just to know another has received...even if she's received nothing.

It's like the girl that once was has lived two distinct lifetimes which have never intersected. It's like one day she woke up and ceased existing as the girl who once was and became the girl who is. She has these dreams sometimes though; these dreams about waking up around the capital and running, and driving, and running just to find that girl and tell her that everything will be okay as long as she stays and hums a simple tune. She just needs to stay and run in place instead of running away. She wonders what would have happened had she woken up and breathed more breaths as the girl who once was. She only knows one thing: Those lifetimes can never intersect without ending up in a terrible and fiery death-blast (Too much  Si-Fi? Sorry, that's the girl who once was speaking.). The girl who once was is like a storybook now. A collection of cautionary, humorous, and romantic stories of seemingly fictional tales.


Bedtime stories are for children. The girl who once was lays her head down on the coffee shop table, hums a pretty tune, and waits to see her other self in her other life, if only in her sleep. Run straight, girl.

{Sometimes your dreams tell you marvelous tales...}

Simply.

Do you ever sit, and [simply] stare?
Thinking, Dreaming, Waiting?
Because I do.
Often, yes?
I sit and [simply] stare outside these four walls
Thinking, Dreaming, Waiting.
I wait for the simple essence made of magic
To [simply] pull the trigger so that I can see the world
Through a simple mind.

I'd rather be lost that stagnant beneath ceilings.

Alternative choices: Both made and unmade
Like a child's bed
Where I remember staring quite [simply] at the certain future
While I remained still.

I am looking...
Though I am looking to become lost
(Because found is boring)

All I hear is ringing and monotony of dinging:
Money Making.
[Simply] Money making, bill paying, anticipating...

Hammers and Strings
And things made of Ivory
Those are the simple things
That keep an artist breathing.
To live is to create:
Simple and complex things.

But time is money, and I hear the cash drawer dinging.
It's [simply] not simple
To hear melodies inside your head
When the ceiling holds your hand and tells you it's better off this way.

It's simple, really. 



~Rachel~

Happy Beginings...

I love beginning something: It's fresh, it's exciting, it's new.... there are so many possibilities at hand, so many different journeys to embark on. To start the journey of being married to the person who chose you and taught you all about a crazy little thing called love is beyond exhilarating. I always thought my wedding day would be the best day of my life (and don't get me wrong--it was everything I ever dreamed of and so much more), but I never could have fathomed the possibility that the days AFTER the wedding (the 'daily grind') could be even more glorious. Why? Because everything is so real, so tangible, so lasting, and so good.

Some people say when you fall in love, there is a spark that ignites a fire. Personally, I felt that was all a load of crap. "You choose to love," I would say, "You make a logical, cognizant decision, and then you commit. It's simple. It's choice." Fear of getting hurt makes us say really foolish things that appear so wise.  When a spark occurred, my instinct was to grab a bowl and hinder a growing flame...fortunately, the spark had a cause, and the cause had a heart, and the heart had a spirit, and that spirit had a lighter, and that lighter drew close to me, and taught me how to be ablaze.

Trust. Fall. Catch. Love. Glow.

So we let that happen....

On March 15th, 2013 at approximately 4:30 pm, I married my best friend. I married the one who taught me how to be in love. I married the person who surpassed my dreams: The person who showed me the shades of yellow I'd not even tapped into yet. Oh, what an adventure it has been. The best part? It's just the beginning.


And as long as there in breath in my lungs, I will never stop loving him. Because now? He is a part of me.

We are an 'us,' and I am a 'his' and he is a 'mine.' 

~Rachel Elizabeth Storment~

Fault.

There is.
There has been.
There will be...
Oh, there was

Faulty lines in skylines above the horizon.
And I knew it every step of the way.
Infinity is different these days
Than it use to be,
But I am convinced this is better.

There is this sapphire that speaks eternity
But this time,
Oh this time,
I can see it happening
Without the world burning
Around me.

A glance,
A smile,
A touch
Oh, there was
A      touch.
And teary eyes were clouded
By salty skin.
And even the sweetest sin
Could not ruin this moment.

There is.
There has been.
There will be
Oh, there is
This yearning in horizons less faulty
And a touch on skin less salty
And familiar, (so familiar) longings

And a saphire jewel with a longer eternity
Without worlds and stars burning.
Smoke signals!
They make the sky turn pink
And this time,
Oh this time I think..

But, I seem to think less.
Cardiac Arrest!

Life comes out of death.

There is.
There has been
There will be
Oh, there will be
New chapters and beginnings
With a heart wrapped in lilies.
(though they are not always yellow) 

~Rachel~

Sides.

I woke up on the other side of someday the other day:
It’s nice there, and the grass really is
Green…
And lilies are more potent that
I thought they would be.
Yellow..
It exists in actuality.
(And they don’t come in the shape of flowers we make.)

I woke up with a pounding headache
But that’s nothing short of shocking
Due to the obscene amount of
Coffee, car accidents
And  three years of
Something’s I’ve been suppressing.

Brown…
It’s fading into technicolor.
And bleakness disappears.
(Like wishing I’d get a phonecall after all these years)

The other side of someday smells like
Cider and Funfetti;
Everything I’ve ever loved
But you don’t taste the calories
(which is good, because I like to watch my figure lately)

The other side of someday
Has blue eyes for days
And a calendar with real dates.
The other side of someday burns
Red…
(Like the passion in my heart that’s been waiting for a lighter)

I’ve been a flame,
But now we’re a fire
                                  Burning to the scent of cinnamon and fall.
And so it’s finally okay to fall…

                                                    Thoughts, love, ambition, feeling.
                                                                                                                White?

Springtime: April or May.
The end of the other side
 Of someday.
And actually? 

                                                       I wouldn't change a step along the way.

~Rachel~

Funfetti.

It's funny how a city changes things;
Memories
I80 West.
Flashbacks
Rewind and Freeze.
The beauty of a different art museum makes a world of change. 

Checkered Blankets.
A smile, a touch, a smirk,
Knowing looks and a box of cupcakes.
Homemade.

I remember the hair tuck.
Behind the ears--
It reminds me in a good way.

A hill too steep
and
A beach I'd like to stay at.
It's windy--
Hair blown.
Footsies.
You block the wind.

Father Time is finally on my side. 

The Road to Yellow

Life is composed of various paths and journeys. These paths and journeys often lead us to places where we never thought we could go. Suddenly that which we thought we lacked courage for is the very thing that causes us to abandon ship.We hold down the fort and learn to camp in dirt while the wilderness calms itself.

As a very dear old friend pointed out today, I am much more eloquent in my writing than I am in my speech. Perhaps that is because I have the gift of the edit button and the sense to proofread while my mouth lacks the backspace and malfunctions with speed. Who knows; there is an intellect disconnect, and I choose to believe it will be an endearing quality one day.

I have been on many journeys, you see. I like to think I have relationally traveled the Americas and seen many sights. I would not change a thing, you know. Why? Because once your eyes have seen the beauty of Wisconsin contrasted with Death Valley, you are a changed person. I am educated in matters of the heart, and I have graduated Cum Laude.

I began these journeys running full speed like the athlete I am not. I think it whipped me into shape enough so I learned how to walk. After walking I decide stagnation was a good rest. So I have done the marathon, stayed still, walked, crawled, and lied on my back. I think I am ready to run again--I'll start slowly this time, though. I'm about the warm-up these days. I'm about needing to catch your breath and feeling the soft winds of new on my face. I'm into surprises, hiking, and freefalls...except I plan to take my rope for a while.

It's a terrifically terrifying thing to be free and in very little control. It's like the old times--- Except healthier. We all know I'm all about health these days.

 Especially if they make beautiful brownies with me.


~Rachel~

Batting of Eyelashes

My pearls hang straight.

It is exactly the time you chose

And the coffee stains on my apron dry quickly

As not to disappoint the image of perfection.

I am a lady.

Eggs over hard and sourdough Toast--

Cast-Iron Skillet.  

There, There

And

Pats on the back with

Intertwined fingers

And

The cookies are almost done baking.

Don’t cry, and bite my handkerchief

Please.

I hand it to you and put

Salt in my eyes to dry them

Before mascara touches your shirt.

I ironed it and it’s perfect that way.

We walk, laugh, and smile,

And Ice Cream coats the Sweet Tooth.

I go home, hug and console

Lock myself in

And throw poems in blankets.

My Pearls Hang Straight.

I guess it’s only duty—

Most likely of my own making.

The pie is burning!

And

I’m a lady. 

~Rachel~ 

Spiders in July

Rising and Shrinking


   Falling and Falling

        Further and Farther

                Away from little voices reminding me

                                                                        Where this land exists.

And it’s colder than it ought to be in here.

Blue spider’s venom

And purple veins

Crystallize these arms and legs

Sliding up

A cactus



                                                         And the map has turned inside out.

Arizona feels like Arctic

And penguins switch partners

Like Rabbits

Eating away at that which is not theirs—



And the garden sings major fourths

To the give brides fertilized isles.

(though I want sagebush to scratch their feet.)


Pushing

Laughing

Electric

Angry

Decisions.



I will be silent



Sleepy and too tired

Awakened inside

Alive and breathing.

Oh, Breathe.



Believing in sun.

Optimism.

Born to love in flames

Beneath that

Yearning I feel in purple veins



                                                                    Holding spiders webs closely



And it’s frightening to know exactly what you’re thinking.

But I know not the web inside:



Radically resisting

Aching and

Crashing and

Hoping and Praying

Everything will resist

Lilies and fields of green.

                                                        And it's made in the terrace of Rapunzel’s mind.



The Tower has a Door.

The Tower has a Door.

And many posses keys.


~Rachel~

Tassels Turned

Here's Something I wrote on the bus to Oregon! Nature has it's perks :).


The tassel is turned to the left side and the combination of gold honors and black string blend together nicely. It's a funny feeling, you know--not having any paper to write or position to take. But still, there's a sense of anxiousness in your stomach. You can feel the dinner you ate the night before and wonder if the feeling will ever return void. You remind yourself it's summer now and the fall no longer offers you curriculum and chapel requirements. This feeling is neither sad or happy--it simply is. The feeling exists, and I'll greet it with smiles and handshakes. Kisses are given out like they are at birth, and I guess in a funny way you are being birthed all over again.

I am proud, and I was ready

Growing up is a funny thing because it seems everybody grows up at different times regardless of their age. I am 21 on Sunday, and an intoxicated experience is the furthest birthday wish I have (this is good for many reasons, I assure you.) Instead, I think I'd rather take a hike with a picnic and be fully aware of the whole experience. I'm not much for elaborate celebrations these days (Though the surprise birthday party for my sweet 16 was a fine one.) Instead, I think I'd rather be with few who desire to hand out lilies and tickle the fancy for fantasy. Some things will never change-- that is one of the most comforting and terrifying thoughts as of late. It's funny how one thing can mean so many things while changing and staying the same day in and day out. It's funny how run-on sentences can be more poised than proper ones.

I am delighted with the present, satisfied with the past, and looking forward to the future. 

June, July, and August are one the horizon the calendar tells me.


Here is the  mindful(less) poem composed over 1500 miles in Oregon and yesterday morning.

Stories are different,
Smiles are different
Health is different
[like how they thought Margerine was satisfactory, and counseling was bad.]
 But really, it's an echo of what has stayed the same
From 2009 until today.

July is the heat
But August should release
Until things change, it seems
Summer months breathe different(same) things.

September.
                   September brings happy things

I am             different
          They   are        different

We are the same
Because we don't change
We Grow
[apart like Pangaea]

And the world stops making sense
And it's like Jack said
"We gotta swim, swim for our lives
Swim for the music that saves you
When you're not so sure you'll survive."

But lyrics of "Colly Strings"
Pose questions of skin piercings
And foolish things
Like calling and sleep.

This pen and paper keep sanity and building
Grounded
So I won't shake a thing
No, I can't shake this thing.

So I'll write and write
Like it could actually change a thing.

[Margarine leaves an aftertaste]


 ~Rachel~
 






 

Holistic Paradoxes

I exist to write, not write to exist.

I stare to see, not see to stare.

I breathe to live, not live to breathe.

Words are

Powerful,

And

Pens are material.

And it is

Eternal.

Mind and body—

Holistic.

Soul and spirit--

Perhaps

Mystic.

My heart beats for

Me

And my mind knows

Certainty

And my spirit feels

Eternity

While my soul knows

Infinity.

I exist to be, not be to exist.

I stare to notice, not notice to stare.

I breathe to feel, not feel to breathe.

I take passing for granted.

                                                    I wrap flowers in foil.

In my head and out my fingers.

I hear all these words. I conjure up all these responses. I see these things. I react with poise.

Perhaps it's the monotony of the school year, and my dire need for spring break. Maybe it's the juice fast, and the high blood sugar levels. Maybe it's none of those things, and maybe it's just the rain, me, or my ever-present desire to graduate. I do things in seasons, you know:

I'm vegan, I'm hipster, I'm a theater girl, now I do opera and stuff. I write and then I don't write at all. I'm over things and then I'm not. I have friends, and then we all move on, move out, and get new friends. I'm a lily growing in a greenhouse [because I maintain the color yellow even when it's raining tar in March.]

I say the things on my mind, and shortly regret it. 

 

The trees outside are surely blooming, and despite their interesting scent, I am inclined to say I enjoy the newness of white petals rather than protruding roots. I don't really like roots--they are far too fragile. Anything which connects you to a life-source makes me uneasy. I know it's almost April, but all at once I forgot where March was and wish it were June [never July--I hate July, you know.] 

It's possible I finally reached the point while crying during testing [I don't recommend it], where I realized my brain feels too tired and my heart too weak while my legs are still strong. I've never been a good handler of the every day things--though I'm the best around at dealing with catastrophe. The little words and phrases pile up into a tornado that places me away from Kansas and leaves me in an apartment with a cat, the 12th cup of Green Tea, letters you should have discarded long ago, and eager blood-flow to the fingers.

Maybe all these things are just thoughts scattered on a blog after a long few weeks of midterms, at the end of the day I think all this introvert needed was a healthy dose of extroversion--but I'm aware this lily can look barbed wire and some times other flowers love to look and not to play [the gardener is giving 'miracle grow' to remedy this most unfortunate event.]

Time For Bed. The Morning Comes Quickly.

[when your dreams become harder to remember.]

~Rachel~

Obedience.

The very word conjures up a myriad of emotions ranging from a solemn demeanor to outraged fists. My reactions to it are often polarized, and I admit, I'm not always sure which emotion is orthodox enough to affect the orthoprax of it's calling. Still--I release the me in order that I may have more of Him and leave the rest up to chance (because I believe there are possibilities in this universe that are open.)

There's a garden growing outside, and I'm fully aware I have to plant the flowers in order for them to grow. But you see, I have this thing about the process and I've been dealing with it before I took the plant from the sheltering pot (which protects and hinders all at once). Dirt is messy, but without it the plant can't grow. I'm aware of the obedience which must take place, and I've not been afraid of it for a while now. Though I will say it can be somewhat saddening at times when you realize you thought you obeyed in the first place and in return received lashes of (re)growth years.

Enough of my writer's processing. On to the natural ,the explainable, and that which makes partial sense to those who aren't inside my head.

Wednesday is the beginning of Lent and Mike and I are going on a 40 day juice fast. This means a few things:
1. We bought a juicer
2. We are going through the book of Mark together
3. If Michael becomes emaciated, I take no responsibility--the juice fast was his idea.

In all seriousness, I'm super excited to embark on this Spiritual journey with him. You know you've found a winner when they suggest to go on a juice fast. (Ladies, take note: That's the mark of a good boyfriend.) I'm sure during these 40 days, I will be posting updates and recipes.)

That's all for the day.  I'm going on a walk--a long one where I look at houses I'll probably never live in and think of all that has and hasn't happened.

~Rachel~

Fallen Fast(ing).

 There is an excess of desires I tend to label ‘need’ when their reality is ‘want.’ There is an excess of emotions that are intrinsic rather than focused out and up. There is a reality of myself that is wrapped up in mirrors rather than eyelids. There is a lack of control and an abundance of self.

But I am so freely able to trace my footsteps and justify each one.

There is too much sleep, and not enough unrest. There is too much running, and not enough stopping. There is too much busy, and not enough to do. There is too much intellectualism, and not enough action. There is too much action, and not enough prayer.

But I am careful to do the minimum so as not to inconvenience myself for burn-out.

There is a man outside who is hungrier than I, because I’m just fasting for 21 days. It’s interesting what an achy side and pounding head will do to your thoughts—you start to feel a need for strength, and thus beckon your voice to prayer more often than you’re used to (I’m pained to confess—the hunger and lack of coffee gets to me that way). Now don’t get me wrong; fasting isn’t a remedy for selfishness…. Only continual choice to be selfless and pursuit of the Creator’s heart can accomplish that. There are tweets I read that call for action to stop sex-trafficking—A cause that particularly pains my heart because the body is the temple of the in-dwelling of the Holy Spirit, and something that defiles that because of the broken and fallen reality of our sin causes my hands to tremble for fights. It causes me to toss and turn. On Wednesday and Thursday, it caused me to fall to my knees and stand in the gap for every soul being maliciously devoured by the relentless hand of evil.

But why don’t I pray and think like this always?

During the fast I’ve committed to pray for several things; one being Spiritual healing in my extended family. Once again, I’m embarrassed to say I have not shed so many tears (for the prayer of Salvation and Redemption) over my family members in my entire life. Did it not bother me to see them walk away from the Son of Man who saved my own soul? Did it not cause me to flinch thinking of the darkness? Did I care too much about my own feelings, and too little about the eternity in the Kingdom of Heaven? Unfortunately, absolutely. I don’t want the passionate plea for Salvation to end when 21 days is up and I partake in my first cup of coffee. I don’t want to be a person who loves the great commission in Cambodia, Africa, Mexico, and Sacramento, but forgets her own bloodline. I don’t want to be the same after white bread is reintroduced and my stomach is full.

Break my heart for what breaks Yours. Everything I am

 For YOUR Kingdom come-- as I walk from earth unto eternity.

 ~Rachel~  (still learning)

Holy Hunger, Batman.

Today is day two of the 21 day fast. Many of you who attend Sunset Christian Center have joined in this amazing opportunity, and I am sure many of you have already been experiencing the great woes of hunger pains.

After praying about this particular fast, I was certain I should commit to fasting two things specifically: Coffee (otherwise referred to as one of my major forms of life-source), and all breads. I've also made the decision to fast listening to music while driving, and severely limit my amount of dairy-intake. It's day two, and I confess I've already found myself attempting to rationalize the possible modifying of my fast. I live with a few other great girls in an apartment, and though they are all incredibly supportive of me during my fast, I cannot ask them to cease brewing their glorious coffee in the morning, nor can I ask them to refrain from baking anything delicious (though I've considered it) ... hence, I'm already sensing the difficulty this fast is going to bring forth.

It's crazy how in our moments of hunger, complaining, and griping, the Holy Spirit still lends His tender voice to us in order to bring words of life and encouragement. He reminds us of the reasons why we are fasting, and then we find ourselves inclined to lift our voice in prayer. The hunger melts into a  fast which then becomes a tangible source of intimacy with Christ. There's no amount of coffee in the world than can fill the hunger for Spiritual encounters.
                                          God is truly a God of Grace, and I am entirely human. 

A word of encouragement for you who are committing to the fast: If you haven't already written what specifically you are fasting and praying for during these 21 days, I would implore you to do so. Blind fasting makes for an absentminded diet where hunger consumes you. When you have something which plagues your heart and passion which eats you from the inside-out, the move to pray for strength and encouragement will become easier. Be sensitive to the voice of God, commit the NIGHT BEFORE (Talk to Ryan Silva) to spending time in the word and in prayer...make the decision the NIGHT BEFORE to not break your fast and be in continual communication with the Father. Let Him be the strength we will all so richly need.

None of us are perfect (if you think you are, I would love some tips), and I can almost guarantee all of us will slip up at least once, but commit to getting back on your feet and pursuing the lifestyle walking in the amazing Grace and Hope He always has for us.

Cheers to fruits and veggies.

~Rachel~

No Clever Title.

So the curtain begins to close on yet another semester. It's incredibly nostalgic and strange to look back on the past two and a half years of my life and note all the changes. Since I have made the executive decision to only let nostalgia haunt me when I'm feeling rested and mentally capable, I will not discuss such things at length on this blog today. I am not rested--and the only thoughts running through my head are thoughts such as: "Remember to note the picardy third! Beethoven, why do you hate me? Macgamut, I will end you. Exogesis, not Eisogesis..." Really, quite insane. In short; it is finals week, and I am tad stressed. Moving on.


Life is a myriad of choices that
Capitalize on the essence of free will
And
Poor judgment. 
But those choices we will label 'poor'
Make the next choice
Wiser.
So we pose the question:
Is any choice really unwise if it makes us wiser?
Perhaps mistakes are defined by that we refuse to learn from
And not poor decisions.

But
Yesterday is like a cloud,
And I wake up in the body of one
I used to know not.

She's grown to be quite the
Lovely young lady
You know--
She can hit you in soft spots
Without needing to appologize
If you really deserve it.
But she still decides to
Lend an ear
To those who lavish love.
Sometimes.

She goes back to the bedroom
And it's like a fog of yellow
Until she realizes she's been dreaming
Of Band Names, Lilies, and speeches from friends
Who have known the story that ended.

She wakes up and resolves to write the novel
Still
For there is processing to be done.
And
She thinks she likes this scene better.

There can't be a mistake at hand
If the poor decision made you
Wiser
And caused you to freefall
Into green arms handing you yellow lilies for things
Like anniversaries.
I think I'd do it again. 

~Rachel~

Beat-Beat and Tick-Tock.

Hand to Hand
And
Heart to Heart
Creating these things--
That scare me.

Happiness and Heart-Soaring Hiccups in my Whole.
A
Word
After
A
Word
Is power
When it's accompanied with time
And a interlocked handhold.

Theology challenged
In the
Face of
what fits better than
A
Heartbeat that ticks.

Friend, you are my best
And
I will be your best
Because I decide
With a mind
that could challenge
Scholars.

And I'll challenge you--
My heartbeat, my joy.

Because that is what being a heart means.

It means a him and me
Because together we are
We--

Time.
That is the definition of proof.
Beat-Beat and Tick-Tock
Goes the clock of us.
Light this fire--
And hold my hand even
Tighter.

Because I choose to forfeit fear
And
Throw them to
The array of yellow lilies on my bed-stand.



~Rachel~

Certainty.

We walk through the land of the certain.

We cascade through days

Like it's

Nothing.

And oh, we are certain

Of what we feel

And positive of

Nothing

When certainty breaks

Like glass.

And I, the viper

And he, the snail

And I, the butterfly

And he, the bear.

We know of everything

Until the dawn

When proportion is

Nothing.

And feeling is

Everything

But feeling shifts like

the

Flicker of streetlights

In Amsterdam

And Country Gables.

So I, the child

And he, the adult

And I, machine

And he, the operator.

Dizzy up the lines

Like it's

Nothing

Oh, certainty is

Nothing.

~Rachel~

My Lion.

Often in life we are encouraged to face fears, to chase lions, to humble ourselves and be in the center of a scruple we wish to run from. Sometimes those are cages of our own making; the inescapable reality of humanity and the woes it has inflicted on you while you inflict it on others. Other times those lions are mere creatures that look more frightening than they ought.

This fear, this lion, was something I had to face. So I walked with confidence and reliance on my ability to enclose myself with brick. Oh, you know the travesties of one who has far too much emotion--but not I, the solid, the brick, the wall, the red flag woman. I feel only what I choose. I am in control.

If only such a thing were true. But no, I am the paux de doux with a smile like a china doll. I am joyful, but I am porcelain. I am solid, but I am glass. I am that wall as long as it is not that fear that makes my walls incinerate on contact. (That fear, that lion, was the thing I loved most in the world. That dance, that song, that structure, that comfort... that death of self, the death of it, the death of a love that was never meant to last.)

But Oh, I faced it, and I stared it down.

That lion and I shared smiles about how I could not tame it. I am no circus keeper you know. That lion is wild and free, and his mate, my fear, is lovely.

The lion belongs in Africa, in some exotic and beautiful land. Oh my fear is beautiful, and I love the thrill of the chase. But she, my fear, is graceful next to the lion of Africa--and they together are a pair of paradise.

So I stand knowing I faced and smiled at that lion like a porcelain doll, and my fear and I shook hands and danced in a crowd of familiar and strange faces. But I relent the chase. For the Lion is in the beautiful lands of the exotic and new, but I am just in California, and I wear the feather's of the birds he likes to eat.

So I relent; especially on the outside.

Roam, lion. Roam free.

~Rachel~

Disneyland and Stuff

It’s funny how things change in an instant. It’s amusing how one’s life can be transformed in seven days. Spontaneity has always called my name, but sometimes my head gets the better of me. It’s ironic how the plans we make, feeling rather adult, are possibly the most immature plans we can make. We cannot build a plan inside concrete because plans change, and breaking concrete presents difficult and messy matters.

So I sit here, wondering, bracing, enjoying, and taking in the essence of living in liberation. What a wonderful thing it is to have life just a little figured out, and what an even greater thing it is to have oneself sorted out a tad. I have lived my life in a series of pulling in and out of driveways in order to establish some semblance of belonging, or at least a base of such.

But I have grown so much, and there is not much that plagues the heart these days.

I have finally learned the art of letting go; the art of the emotional skydive. I am not certain where my life is headed, who I shall be, or who I shall be with. I am only certain of this: I love my God with my whole heart, and I am at His beck and call. I have never been so satisfied, and yet filled with such a holy discontent. I love the chase, the chase after my Savior. I love how safe His arms are, how beautiful His plans are. I love how He makes life seem so spontaneous.

He has blessed me with a week of growth, with smiles that outlast the days, and with a heart full of joy, peace, laughter, and a holy longing. There is nothing else I can ask for—He is holding my universe, and spinning it at a pace more exciting than a rollercoaster.

~Rachel~