Favorite Things

If I were to re-write "My favorite things," it would go something like this:

Snowflakes on roses and singing with radios, poems and eating a bowl full of Cheerios,

Starry nights in the prairie and typewriter keys, these are a few of my favorite things...

I am a firm believer in miracles. I think they happen everyday, and when we look for beauty in the most ordinary places, that's where they pop up and shine. Miracles are in our favorite things, however our songs might go. They are in the sunrise, the glorious laugh of a suffering friend, driving at night with your favorite song on the radio and the free feeling of square dancing in the kitchen. One of my favorite miracle stories is the Virgin of Guadalupe. Mary appeared to Juan Diego, a completely ordinary Mexican man who was fighting anxiety and trying to figure out the world. His uncle was dying, and he was one of the few Christian/Catholics living in his area. Mary appeared and told him that he needed to tell the bishop to build a church.

It seemed crazy at the time, how would anyone believe that she had actually appeared? When Juan was attempting to avoid the situation, Mary purposefully appeared and left him roses in the middle of December. Everything else dead in the freezing cold, yet these velvety roses endured the biting wind and ice to tell him a story of truth: a story of faith and love.

Maybe, just maybe, we're given roses in winter too. Maybe not quite as straight forward as literally finding a bouquet of them on a middle of no-where hill (although, who knows?) In our most helpless moments, our coldest, darkest times, when no matter how many blankets we're offered our hearts won't take them, we can find a rose. These times are definitely looming. There's a constant winter in this empty-promising society. Something is artificial, trapped in our routines with no new beginnings, bleak skies and the bitterness of measuring up.

We become trapped in blizzards of chaos. Busyness and anxiety make us turn to ice inside. Like we live in a suffocating igloo, lonely and expected to do so much with so little that we stop believing in miracles. We allow the frostbite of helplessness and unworthiness to turn us into ice sculptures, cold and unchanging, staring blankly into a frozen future. This winter leaves our souls constantly thirsting for a sip of something warm. Something to take away the sting.

The miracle is alive dear fighters. Even though the Virgin of Guadalupe appeared more than 500 years ago, the rose of truth has stayed alive. And the truth is this: God doesn't fail. He is perfect love, so we don't have to brace ourselves for the future. Although this ice storm continues on, the rose is proof that there's something greater than the craziest storm out there. And that's reason enough to shake our fists in the cold, scream at the top of our lungs and quote Queen Elsa, "The cold never bothered me anyway!"

Be on the lookout for miracles. Cause you never know, they might be hiding in a crowded hallway, a glance at the sky, or a snowflake in your hair. Don't forget how important you are. And don't lose control, cause you might just be someone else's rose in winter.

 More favorite things for when the cold in too much (and the dog bites)...
-smell of cookies baking
-handwritten cards
-listening to Bluegrass music with Daddy
-oversized sweatshirts
-old glass insulators
-nut butters
-my extremely highlighted and written in Bible
-my cowgirl boots

What are your favorite things? Have a lovely day. My dad took this picture in Downtown of a sunrise the other morning!

Just a Spark

I was standing alone in a meddling crowd. Words of gossip swirled in the hot wind that tickled my face. The silvery sun was glittering on the river water, making it look like a bank of diamonds. I watched from a distance, just one big-eyed girl in a sea of wandering and curious faces, and He chose me. Dripping wet with sparkly water, emerging from the Jordan River, newly baptized and loving as ever, my Savior walked through the crowd and straight to me. He gently wrapped his strong and still wet hand around my shaking one and brought it to His heart.

"Stop trying to figure everything out on your own. I will carry you. Surrender. Let me take care you. Let me love you. I have it under control."

I feel so full. I cry. I let His love drown out everything. I let it drown me.

Even though I feel at an anxious, broken, dry spot in my faith, maybe this season is at an end. It's time to let go. It's easier to breathe out here, away from the chaos that suffocates my soul. Jesus carries me in times like this. Even though I feel my feet aching from a treacherous climb and wonder where He is, this is where He is constantly at work. Tying and re-tying my torn up boots. I will survive. I will thrive. My savior is at work within me. When He breathed life into man (find verse Genesis), He breathed our souls into life too. Not only are we made physically in His image, but our very souls: our dreams, joys, hopes, desires, traits, personalities, are His image. Every. Single. Part. We are His.

I felt the Spirit tugging at my fringed heart last Sunday night at my youth group. I felt so incredibly numb at that time. When I felt like I was boxed in a plastic daily routine, He took the lid off and showed me life beyond my artificial society. I imagined myself in this story. It was amazing.

My mosaic heart is waiting this season, but He is writing His story right on it. He's picking out the pieces and turning my shattered heart into a masterpiece. And I will let Him.

Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know.
Be still.
Be.

And the salt in my wounds isn't burning any less than it used to, it's not that I don't feel the pain, it's just I'm not afraid of hurting anymore. And the blood in these veins isn't pumping any less than it ever has, and that's the hope I have, the only thing I know that's keeping me alive.                                                        

                                                                               

Paramore,  "Last Hope" 

P.S. It's so interesting to wonder what people are like. I went into Downtown Denver last spring with just my camera and took pictures of all the graffiti I saw. A lot of them were hopeful. Some graffiti is beautiful. I felt a sense of wonderment at the talent it takes, and probably the lives it saves as well. It fascinates me.

"Wonderment"

Well, I've come to the conclusion that I am indeed obsessed with a word. Yes, WONDERMENT. I honestly feel like God took a locket, opened up my brain, and placed this word right into the center of it, because it's all I ever want to say or randomly blurt out. This magical word was introduced into my vocabulary for the first time while interviewing a lovely woman/ballerina named Dawn. When I interviewed her for a newspaper article, she said this word and my whole being halted for a second. Is that an actual word? 
I was filled with wonder at the word wonderment. I know why. Wonderment tastes like a giant gulp of fresh air. It looks like all the constellations and particles of space rolled into a bouncy ball, and every time it bounces stars explode and sparkle before your eyes. Wonderment feels like an all-powerful, all-knowing God loving ME; my flaws and mistakes included. This year I want to be filled with wonderment in everyday life; in the things that grow among the cracks and crevices of my daily routine. They might look like weeds, but I can still find wonderment at their ability to grow and flourish in a place that is normally trampled and by-passed. 
Dear fighters, this word gives us every reason to smile up at the sky, shout at its vibrancy, and let our wonder overflow from our hearts and pour out of our mouths; expressing every ounce of everything we've ever felt that's bottled up inside like a pop about to explode. And when the sky sees this, even it is filled with wonderment at our complexity; our ability to keep trudging along our broken paths and continue to lift our heads up and marvel. Discovering hidden droplets of wonder in our daily joys: like wonderment at seeing my breath when it's cold outside, like I'm a dragon, making it seem like every breath I take has a purpose. Wonderment at surviving another class, the deliciousness of a PB&J, the glorious laugh of a hurting friend,  the brightness in someone's eyes when they talk about what they love. Dear fighters, let's be filled with wonderment in 2014. Begin our days by looking up at our friend the sky, whispering or screaming whatever we need to say, and letting the day's wonder unfold in our palm like the most glorious treasure.

Did I say wonderment enough times in that post? Goodness. Maybe you can be filled with wonderment at my obnoxious use of the word wonderment because it's just too wonderful. Thank you so much for reading. Have a wonderfully happy day :)