MY DELIGHT IS IN HER

For Zion's sake I will not keep silent,

and for Jerusalem's sake I will not be quiet, 

until her righteousness goes forth as brightness, 

and her salvation as a burning torch. 

The nations shall see your righteousness, 

and all the kings your glory, 

and you shall be called by a new name 

that the mouth of the LORD will give.

You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of your God. 

You shall no more be termed Forsaken, 

and your land shall no more be termed Desolate, 

but you shall be called My Delight Is In Her, 

and your land married. 

For as a young man marries a young woman, 

so shall your sons marry you, 

and as the bridgegroom rejoices over the bride, 

so shall your God rejoice over you.

On your walls, O Jerusalem, I have set watchmen; 

all the day and all the night they shall never be silent. 

You who put the LORD in remembrance, 

take no rest, and give him no rest 

until he establishes Jerusalem and makes it a praise in the earth.

The LORD has sworn by his right hand and by his mighty arm: 

"I will not again give your grain to be food for your enemies, 

and foreigners shall not drink your wine for which you have labored; 

but those who garner it shall eat it and praise the LORD, 

and those who gather it shall drink it in the courts of my sanctuary." 

Go through, go through the gates; 

prepare the way for the people; 

build up, build up the highway; clear it of stones; 

lift up a signal over the peoples.

Behold, the LORD has proclaimed to the end of the earth: 

Say to the daughter of Zion, 

"Behold, your salvation comes; behold, his reward is with him, 

and his recompense before him." 

And they shall be called The Holy People, 

The Redeemed of the LORD; 

and you shall be called Sought Out, 

A City Not Forsaken. 

Isaiah 62. 

{Photos captured yesterday with my friend Amy.}

MR & MRS

Yesterday, my cousin married a best friend of mine. 

Their vows were like a cooling, rustling sea-breeze to those of us in the audience who had forgotten how refreshing authentic, God-breathed marriage is to the soul's deepest. A lost wonder, rare to be seen. They are now tethered to a beautiful story written in a flowing cursive that makes Thomas Jefferson's penmanship look sloppy. I know all of heaven rejoiced when their hearts joined to sing, 'I do.' I was delegated to capture the breathless behind my lens:

ALWAYS GOLD

Cotton seastorm scratching our backs, Louisiana happy crayfish piled red, sun to burn us brown, pine sap between fingers, lilacs in fourteen shades to sleep beneath, freak storm flooding our city to dance in, the chase of moon over meadow, laughter contractions and baby Chuck, bonfire smoke spilling between us, stories unraveling from spoken souls, corner boulevard, pores cleansed with Cajun garlic, dandelion fields and mud trails to run, mulch, manure, and mowed grass sweetly tinting soft air, a taste of His glory on the tip of my tongue, an ache to consume, what Sherlock taught us between the lines, the midst of angels, the dew green to cry on, the neighborhood sprinklers to laugh in, open field of half-cut logs to lift the cross, pot of twist and shout, new friends, old faces, the power of love, beauty stored; this is a reawakening. 

m

WHEN JOH WRITES, THE WORDS ARE MUSIC

take me back where You found me first.

my body, my soul, my mind, immersed.

steal my heart, chase my soul.

when i'm dry, will You take hold?

with words, my mouth stumbles.

my heart's brokenness humbles.

i can't look at Your face.

but, i can't look away.

my spirit, drawn in.

my life rings again.

blessed am i.

blessed am i.

and You're worthy.

my words leave.

You're overwhelming.

my heart's pounding.

it's not enough to give my life.

the fear is nothing will suffice.

then i remember, You use the weak.

Your beauty, Love, do i choose to seek.

i descend from the mountain, from You.

and i'm filled to overflowing, i'm new.

blessed am i.

blessed am i.

{Photo and lyrics by my precious friend, Joh.}

LET FOOD BE THY MEDICINE

BENEATH THE CHESHIRE SMILE

{PC: Brianna Rae}

IT'S MOTHER'S DAY

Thanks for putting up with me, Mom

I love you. 

STRAWBERRIES, CHIA SEEDS AND A LITTLE MAN

Experimenting with Australian-grown Chia seeds. 

They're a powerhouse of dietary fiber, protein, antioxidants and Omega-3's.

"He made the storm be still, 

and the waves of the sea were hushed.

Then they were glad that the waters were quiet,

and he brought them to their desired haven." 

Psalm 107:29-30.

Ambrose is very popular with the little ladies.

I wonder why...? ;)

PATHWAY TO THE BETTER COUNTRY

My friend Jess is back from Idaho for a visit. It feels like home to have her here. We watched Safe Haven with her mom a night ago. It was one of the few Nicholas Spark's stories that had me losing it by the end. Jess' mom thought I was hilarious with my face in a pillow, eyes peeking out pretending to be Niagara Falls. 

According to Jess, you cannot out-grow taping glow-in-the-dark stars onto your bedroom ceiling. I agree with her. 

The following morning, I tagged along with Jess, her grandma and great-grandma on their annual shopping expedition through the Maplewood Mall.

Jess' great-grandma meanders around Macy's women's department. 

Great-Grandma (incredulously proud): Clothes always come back in cycles. These styles were in fashion when I was growing up.

Jess faces mirror in the H&M dressing room, showing off a pair of blue shorts.

Grandma: They're a little tight.

Jess: They're comfortable. 

Grandma: ...but can you run in them?

Jess: I wouldn't run in these, Grandma.

Grandma: I suppose you have loose shorts for running. I was just wondering, so you can run away from all the boys. 

Jess' grandma walks about a store, looking at the immodest outfits displayed on the mannequins, shaking her head. 

Grandma: It's a wonderful world for men these days...

Between Highlands and the St. Croix, I dreamed up another movie in my head, sewing together the stories of my grandma's past like a patchwork: her childhood on the farm, her father, the singer of Swedish lullabies, her penny dress for the prom, her admiration of her older sister, who she believed to be the loveliest creature and the night the sister almost burned down the barn with wild-eyes and a lantern, her sister Dorothy's beautiful romance with a POW, the day her older brother was shot in WWII and his spirit came to say goodbye, his hand pressed against the car's window, her courtship to a doctor whose parents scorned her, her miscarriage in the first year of marriage, her nine children, her garden, her stories, her legacy. 

Nearing home, on a familiar gravel road between two fields of rolling farmland, something caught my eye, something I hadn't noticed before. On a telephone pole scorched in half by lightning, there was nailed a wooden cross with the words: "R.I.P. Nick. 1 Peter 1:4-6." I walked closer to lift the crumpling balloon tied to it, barely inflated with the little remaining helium, to reveal the words, "We love you." Alone on that familiar road, I fell hard onto the rough gravel, fighting to keep it together. Nick, I didn't even know him, but I was overwhelmed for him, for his family, I was overwhelmed by death and its' sting, brutal like a bone-chilling winter wind cutting through skin--but then I remembered, and I stood; Jesus has conquered death. Later, I looked up the verse. 1 Peter 1:4-6:

"...to obtain an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who are protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials."

At 8PM, I climbed to the lookout and caught the sunset falling across my town. Below, the trees and lake were painted in rich shades of scarlet, green and purple, and above, the clouds spilled over into a sea of gold, looking like North Carolina at the crest of the Atlantic. Holly met me there. It was nice to be able to share it with somebody...


With my family distracted in the basement by a movie, Holly and I turned the kitchen into a Shakira party until Pink's song "Try" came on and I sang along, using the sink's extension hose as a microphone. I guess when I get into a song, I really get into it, because I don't know how I managed to turn the water nozzle on with the back of my head, but I did, and was sprayed in the face by my microphone. 

Sleeping under the stars didn't work out so well either. Sometimes, my good ideas are bad. 

m 

HOW LOVELY THE COLD RAIN FEELS ON MY SKIN

{Listen: Jónsi, Tornado} & {Look: Carl Zoch Photography}

A Wednesday in Autumn, I had a vision. I found it yesterday on a forgotten page of my soft teal journal. I had written it as a prayer after reading Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts, a book that dares you to live courageously invested in the moment; to be thankful for the little things, the gifts given {eucharisteo}. My vision:

Imagine, a winding trail, gravel, parched, brings you through an overarching orchard with droopy boughs, ripe with weight, to a small box-shaped farm-cottage rooted atop a hill. Front door, red and chipped, always swinging open from the many ins and outs of tromping boots. Eight pairs of little boots. A garden in the back, rich greens, fragrant, vines climbing and stairwaying up the quiet gate, wooden and sturdy. A vicious sea in sight, sailboat anchored for moonlight escapades. Rooftop sunsets. Overalls with patched knees. A village to let see. Him, the Farmer working, wrestling with God, wrestling, wild and radiant. Fierce life freed from his caged heart, shared between us. We live, simply. And we live simply. A family living in grace, living poetry, living an exotic adventure.  Is this your heart Lord? Can we do this together, the three of us?

--it is beautiful to me still, though it is interrupted and distant, like one hundred years of sleep lost in a sunken gold mine. Some visions were meant to be released, some to be nurtured. Without trying, they change; can wither into a foreign beauty, can burn to dust, can rebirth from ash, like a Phoenix, can die and leave a home for something else to grow. But what now? Now, between who I was and who I want to be, and now, between all the lines I've written and what I've left unsaid: now what? Now... now, I will lay and dance under the stars till they are swept away, like Gomorrah, I will learn what I can from captivating women, like I did today, I will tell stories, like a cowboy with no teeth and nine lives, I will live with abandon the story He wrote for me, I will stop waiting for others to love me first, and I will sing till these words are branded onto my soul, like breathing scars, beating within my chest:  

Be thou my vision, o Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that thou art
Thou my best thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

Be thou my wisdom, and thou my true word;
I ever with thee and thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with thee one.

Be thou my battle shield, sword for the fight;
Be thou my dignity, thou my delight;

Thou my soul’s shelter, thou my high tower:
Raise thou me heavenward, o power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,
Thou mine inheritance, now and always:
Thou and thou only, first in my heart,
High King of heaven, my treasure thou art.

High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven’s joys, o bright heaven’s sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my vision, o ruler of all.

be thou my vision, 

m

TODAY, HE IS NINETY-TWO

"Pa, if you could re-live one day of your life, what would you do?" my dad asked Grandpa, whose old age confined him to a bed of warm quilts. 

Avery thought for a while to himself, smiled, and in a voice tinged with silver and rust, spoke, "I would spend the day working in the garden with your ma." 

"The simple things..." 

"Yeah, the simple things, Erich." 

Today is my grandpa's birthday.

EASY SOLUTIONS

Scene: Anna received nineteen dollars for helping in a Cinco De Mayo parade. She sat at a table, counting her earnings again, golden dollar signs in her eyes. 

Moriah: What are you gonna do with all that money?

Anna: I dunno yet.

Ayla: You should just be rich!

MOTHER GOOSE

"I can just imagine Moriah bundled up in wool 

and a scarf long enough and thick enough to swaddle a baby pig, 

rushing about in the snow and the wind like a Mother Goose, 

eyes bright and lungs filled with air like water."

-KH

WHAT IF WE DIDN'T BUY CLOTHES FOR ONE YEAR?

HE GIVES AND TAKES AWAY

Summer nights at the Cottage View Drive-In. Now it is closed for good. But I am thankful for the memories: football with strangers between the cars, too much popcorn and licorice, running like a pack of lunatics at intermission, laying on quilts from car rooftops to watch the sun go down.

Long talks beside this desk with Grace. Now she lives in Kentucky. But I am thankful for those talks that blossomed a precious, enriching friendship of truth, beauty, and inspiration. I am thankful for the Alley and the cherry tree, the creativity, the laughter, the tears, the barefoot walks, the mud fights, and the violet lilacs weaved into our long hair. 

Mindless hours at this dock with Joh. Now she lives in Texas. But I am thankful for how He has stretched us and planted an everlasting, unfading flame of hope at the pit of our souls; I am thankful for all the mischief we got into, all the stories we can someday tell our children and grandchildren, all the stories that we will still create, all the sunrises and sunsets we've caught with our bare hands. 

Dangling my feet from this windowsill, breathing deeply the winter of the white valley that climbed into a mountain sprawling on and further: sometimes singing, sometimes reading, sometimes writing, sometimes silence. Now I am back in Minnesota. But I am thankful for those moments of being still, where my Savior grew near. And I am thankful for those beautiful gems of people I was blessed to know and serve alongside. 

The summer I met a man who became my dearest friend, and the love that grew and grew, seeming to tie us to stories we'd tell and adventures we'd live, God in our midst. "Love either grows or it dies:" and now our love is no more. But I am thankful for him. I am thankful for what was and what could have been and the radiant joy that overflowed my heart; an overwhelming blessing that felt as if I'd need one thousand birthdays until it would sink in. 

The friendship shared between these little women and myself, unified in love and beauty. Now we are, as a whole, somewhat estranged. But I am thankful for the forest where we danced and chattered like spring birds awakening from sleep, for our songs as we crossed the Stone Arch Bridge, for the shared interests and longings. They are beautiful woman.

Romantic, idealistic dreams, passionate and idolatrous dreams stored up in my young heart. Now those dreams, scrawled over multiple journals, are stained with spilled ink, black and invasive. But I am thankful how the dusty dreams have changed--developed--been graffiti-ed over by a deepening, a richer truth, a new world discovered like Marco Polo or Columbus; beauty in the ashes or gold revealed after a fire. I am thankful because now, I have a greater need for God and a firmer grasp of the gospel. And it is exciting, because I also believe that God has an even greater story for me to tell than those dusty ones I made up in my head at the age of sixteen. 

Grandpa. Now he is gone and his favorite hat just hangs on a hook by the back door. But I am thankful for him, that he was my grandpa. I am thankful for his beautiful laugh and the way his eyes would fill with stars when he'd say, 'Don't let the bed-bugs bite' or 'I love you.' His long hugs, his sometimes-eccentric intellectual opinions on everything, his garden where he'd let me help him weed, where I learned that being covered in dirt and sweat was one of my favorite things. How he'd sit in a lawn chair in the summer and watch us play on the tire swing and climb the trees, and how in the winter, he'd sit by the tall window and watch us play in the snow and wave at us, his face wrinkled in a beautiful laugh. 

 God gives and takes away, but He is good, He is righteous. I promise. 

m

DETOURS AND DISRUPTED ROUTINES

Kat and I took a trip to Chicago a couple weeks ago.

We watched swallows skim and swoop over the waves at this dock.

In Red Wing, an old western town, 

we had a picnic of tofu hummus in a brick garden of dried up water fountains.

This house had a story to tell, 

mounds of dry earth dug up all over the yard, chimes ringing.

Frank Lloyd Wright inspired design? 

Until the sun was lulled to sleep, we hiked along this river.

 A young couple cycled to the lookout and shared a picnic. 

They were lovely.

 We watched Winona, like a miniature model town, 

then napped like cats in the sun, wrapped in scarves, books for pillows.

After sleeping at a truck stop, eating Afghan food, wandering rainy Madison, and bumping into a bridesmaid, we folded our umbrellas and perused for hours this lovely nook.

Gotta love public parks ;)

The zoo was free, the birds were music.

Lovely Kat.

Maybe it's creepy that I took a photo of a sleeping stranger, 

but he was adorable. Look at him--! snoring in the conservatory... like a... like an old baby.

Recently watched 'Adaptation;' orchids have a whole new appreciation to me.

The Tribune Tower has stones from historically significant buildings across the globe: 

Taj Mahal, Parthenon, Hagia Sophia, Palace of Westminster, Great Pyramid, Notre Dame, Great Wall of China, The Alamo, Berlin Wall, etc.  

 

 The wind was strong; our umbrellas blew away.

 Riding the 'L' is wonderful. 

I feasted on A.W. Tozer and Lord Byron here.

The belly of the Bean.

At the Goodman, we watched The Happiest Song Plays Last, written by playwright Quiara Alegría Hudes. It penetrated deeply: click here for a video about the play.

Later, inside the art museum, he lent down and kissed her forehead:

their love was soft to look at.

 These two exchanged food under a church patio. 

Kat and I took turns carrying our bag of groceries as we walked about, but as the day wore, our groceries were given and given to strangers, angels perhaps, but strangers in need. It was beautiful. It is beautiful to give. 

Each of the balloons represent a child: 

28,828 children were abused in the state of Illinois last year.

Do you see it? The raindrops--they paint a city.

At Magnolia's Bakery we celebrated Kat's birthday.

Kat's best friend Sarah joined us; she's a radiant person.

The night before, Sarah had treated us to an Ethiopian cuisine: 

basil sorbet, raw beef, it was an exotic party for our mouths, 

and a wholesome time for our hearts.

Practicing ballerinas.

Lake Michigan.

 The drive back...

 home.