He speaks

Hush child. 
Hush daughter. 
Just listen. 
I am here, I am here, I am here. I never left you. I am right here, my hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you, covering and hiding you. Your eyes were turned away. You couldn't see me, but I assure you, I have been here the whole time. Come to me. Come into my arms my daughter. Just turn around and look. All those promises I made to you, they are still promised to you. None of them are gone. I have not wronged you. Do not lose perspective sweet girl. Open your eyes, this isn't a fog, you've only shut your eyes. You're clenching them. Refusing to look. 
You are a mountain mover.
That will never change.
I am a promise keeper.
That will never change.
My daughter, my daughter, my daughter. Fear not. I see you. I know you. I hear you. I hear your crying in the night and your sobbing on the kitchen floor. It hurts my spirit to see you so. But don't shake your fist at me child. You knew this would come. Maybe not like this, but you knew that one day you would have to meet grief. Welcome him. I'm right behind you, so welcome him dear child. I'll be here for you, whatever he tells you next. Know that as he distresses you and worries you and presses his fingers tightly onto your skin, so tight that it bruises, I will be here.
I will never leave you, nor forsake you.
You have always been so precious to me. More so than even the sparrows. That was not a lie my child, I promise you that. I meant those words. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, not in this moment, but I did. I meant them then and I mean them now. My thoughts towards you are more numerous than the grains of sand on this earth. I catch your tears. Your strength is unfailing, your faith unwavering. 
Grief has nothing on you dear girl.  
All those promises I made to you, about who you are and who you will be, they all still hold true. You will be a repairer of the breach. You will bring grace. You will inherit my kingdom. You will not be separated from me. You will be a hope-bringer and a world-shaker. You are my treasure. You are a storm-weatherer. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are purposeful, intentional, capable. You can do all things through me. You are my child. 
I will fight for you. I will keep you. I will be your redemption and your grace. I will be your shelter in the time of trouble. I am your salvation. I am with you always. I am your rock. 
Come home child, come into my arms. Grieve with me, the one who knows you most intimately, who loves you most desperately. Come home.
I am here.
Hush daughter.
Hush child. 

I am here. 

Stuff that matters.

There's something so tiring about my generation and our perpetual narcissism. We love attention. We crave attention.
I'm sorry, I'm going to be blatantly honest and crude here.
We are attention whores.
We build a hearth and make camp and dock ourselves by dropping weighty anchors at the cusp of everything we find controversial. We live lives that are incredibly dismissive of God and His omnipotence. We are lazy and un-daring and unwilling.

And I'm tired of it.

I am so very tired of people. And I know that probably sounds rude and selfish and unchristian, but it's the truth. It is the sharp truth in my life right now. If I could, I would move to the mountains and make beautiful things and knit and read the Bible and love little children and put my hands in the dirt up to my elbows and cook good food and paint. I would do all that if I could.

It's a very good thing God doesn't always listen to me.
If He did, I'd be a hermit of sorts about now.

I don't want to participate all the time, especially in social respects. But more important than that, I want to make it quite clear that I'm tired of defending and refuting things, and you guys, I swear I'm done with it. I've left the port. I'm gone and gone and gone, and I'm not looking back. I refuse to discuss pointless endeavors that have nothing to do with Christ and His goodness. I refuse to waste my time like that anymore. I don't want everyone staring at me just for the sake of having them stare at me.

Do stuff that matters, not things that will make people look at you.

That's all I have to say today.

Parcels of lavender.

Tomorrow I'll drive across the mountains and it probably won't look like this, but still. Crossing into Washington from Oregon stirs my heart so well. The ambiance of the nature in the Pacific Northwest is lulling and beautiful and ever-present; I can almost hear it sometimes. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I'm all packed and ready. There's a backpack, a Samsonite, and a princess dress waiting by the front door. Also a tiny parcel of lavender.

When I drive by myself, for hours on end, I roll my window down and just listen. I listen to the wind and the trees and the birds and the cars and the outside of where I am. Sometimes I speak French to myself. I try to make things up, hard things, things I don't remember. I talk; I tell stories, out loud, things I wouldn't dare tell if I was with someone else. I make them up. I try words together, just to hear their sounds. I recite poetry. I sing. And I pray. Sometimes I pray about the things I know that I need to pray for. Sometimes I pray about things I don't know or don't understand or can't remember. And sometimes I just simply thank God.
It is so much easier to remember to thank God when it's you and the road and His nature and six hours ahead. I promise. So much easier.

I like that though. Even though I forget other times, I remember to be thankful when I'm driving. You see so much that you can't really help it. All of your senses are overwhelmed and spilling full of the outside, and you just remember.

I can't wait for tomorrow for many reasons. I get to see my little sister. There will be coffee. Nature. More coffee. Friends. A week of summer camp. And six hours of thanks.

Ophelia the Opera Singer.

I have been playing Rend Collective Experiment without ceasing for the past three days. It is making my life one hundred times better, and that is not an exaggeration of sweetness, believe me.
I woke up this morning, and it was still slightly dark, and I simply fell back asleep. I didn't care. It felt so good.

I dreamed that I was watching this little boy, and the parents came home, but he and I were having such a good time that I didn't leave right away. His parents came and sat on this mound of pillows we were on, and they looked at our pictures we had painted.
Then I told the little boy a story.
I could make the illustrations in the air with my fingers. And they moved.
It was a story about a woman who lived alone on top of the highest mountain of ever. She was lonely, and an excellent singer. In fact, she was the best opera singer the world had never known. Only the mountain goats listened to her arias. But the tip top of the mountain was slightly bent, and it dripped down to the ground far below. So one day the opera singer had a brilliant idea and she started blowing hot air onto the tip, making it melt faster. Because she had such magnificent lung capacity, it only took six years for her to melt the mountain to a point where she could climb down without the risk of too great an injury. She ends up with lots of bruises on her knees, but she does get down and she makes it to the opera house in New York and she becomes amazingly famous.
After the story was finished, the Dad of the little boy handed me five hundred dollars and the mother wrapped her arm around my shoulder and then I walked out to my car and then Mandy woke me up to get ready for school.
That was one of the best stories I have ever made.

Yesterday I made lemon curd, so tonight after homework and bubble tea there is a lemon tart waiting for me. And while I painstakingly try to make the illustrations to this piece as perfect as they were in my dream, I will listen to possibly Gungor and enjoy life in the evening while the incredible Oregon sun sets.

I wish I could explain to everyone on this planet how incredible my life is these days.
I want to share it with everyone.