{rejoice over me}

"Great job, Dani! You are awesome!" My boss says loudly as he delivers one of the most painful high fives of my life. 

It's at least a weekly occurrence - my boss is lavish with praise.

I squirm inside. I'm uncomfortable with words of affirmation. I deflect them, deny them, I shrug them off so they won't sink in.

"You are so beautiful." 

My husband's daily declaration, a blessing over my life, my body. 

I squirm. Deny.

"I am honored to serve in church with you," says the youth pastor. "You are such an important part of our team and I can't imagine doing this without you."

It's all I can do to stay still, to nod, to not bolt out the door. 

I'm uncomfortable with praise.

It's a strange dichotomy, a catch-22. I both love and loathe myself, Like all people, I long to hear words of praise. I am discontent when my efforts go unnoticed and I crave accolades. And yet I squirm. I reject. I deny and harden so the words roll off my back like water drops. 

Do I call this humility? Do I dare?

I sit on the couch, my morning ritual of coffee and the Word, and I try to really listen. I know I'm meant to absorb the words, that these are God's love letter to the world, to me.

The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness; He will quiet you by His love; He will exult over you with loud singing. Zep. 3:17

I squirm.

I sit, trying to absorb the words, to absorb the love, and I physically squirm.

Do I dare reject these words, this love? Do I dare to question the value He bestows, to refuse Him when He rejoices over me with loud singing? The doubt is heresy, a rejection of His truth. 

I ache inside. It hurts to put aside my thick armor, my shield of low self worth. How can it hurt so much to just accept His love, to let Him whisper "You are worth more to Me than sparrows."

It spills. He captures my tears in a bottle (oh, but it must be a very large jar) and gently He breathes love over me.

Slowly I accept. Stubbornly I release my strong hold, a stronghold of self hate. I dare not reject this praise. No, if I wish to reflect praise back to Him, I cannot make Him a liar. 

I am loved, and He is good. It is enough. 

Image via Fifty Two Verses

For the love of {florals}

Florals, florals, florals.

I just can't get enough of them this spring. 

In other news, I'm bad at blogging these days.

If you need me I'll be riding my bike, day-dreaming over Anthropologie catalogs, and planning frantically for the upcoming weekend! Two of my long-time besties are getting married (no, not to each other) and I just can't wait to celebrate their big days! 

Have a happy, flowery spring week!

Images via: illustrious illusions, honey houses, hannah rose beasley, grey likes weddings, deer circus

{breathe}

I've been taking some time to breathe.

So many things have happened. I want to share them all with you, but there is too much. Let me sum up.

The husband's deployment got cancelled at the last minute.

The job he was applying for fell through.

Some adoption and fertility plans failed and others are starting to emerge. 

We started training to become certified foster parents.

Work has been crazy, friendships have taken precedence over blogging, flowers have bloomed, winds have blown, tears have fallen, faith has emerged. 

I've needed this time to breathe. 

I've needed to hike, to rest, to cook good food and eat it in the company of love and laughter. I've needed to adjust, to grieve, to postpone explanations and go with my gut.

I'm moving forward with trepidation and with gratitude. I am so excited for these next few months, but also wary of clouds on the horizon.

But Spring has come, with it's blossoms and gusts, it's hope and promise and warm, healing sunshine.

Thanks for waiting while I breathe.

Images via: gypsy mess, sea of shoes

{thorns}

I pruned my roses today. The bushes were still stubbornly clinging to last year's dead and shriveled leaves. The stems were turning brown and stiff and hard. And so I cut them. Ruthlessly, mercilessly, closer than ever before, I slashed them down nearly to the root. 

My grandmother stood over me as I worked, pointing out where to prune. Here. There. No, cut it lower down. She had to reassure me over and over again that I wasn't killing my bushes, I was healing them. And when I finally cut low enough I was rewarded with green, with the revealing of new life. They need to be freed of the weight so that they'll have the energy to grow back, bigger and better than ever, grandmother said. Cut off the dead parts. The new growth runs into the dead and it can't grow any farther. 

As I stare at my tiny, pathetic little bushes, I wonder if they'll ever really grow back. And yet I trust her. I trust that her seventy plus years of life have taught her more about roses than I could possibly know. And as I gather up the long branches of sharp, vicious thorns, I wonder again.

I gingerly carry the thorny sprigs across the yard and paused to stare at the cruel points. I picture them bent, tied, and fashioned into a rough crown. I imagine them shoved down in anger and mocking onto a tender brow. I wince. I look at my carefully gloved fingers and then I raise my thorny heart in praise.

I ponder just how much I am like a thorny, sharp, half-dead rose bush. I so desperately need pruning. And Jesus knows. He knows just where I need to be cut, just where I'm running into death and unable to grow. 

He knows. And he wades in, bare-handed, and grasps me by my sharpest places. His hands are pierced, my sins cut him deep like thorns. He sheds his own blood willingly, expectantly, joyfully to nurture my deep hurt and need. 

Yet when he prunes me, I am the one who cries out in pain. I complain, I gripe, I rail against his loving care of my branches. I angrily tell him how much I needed that comfort, that crutch, that seemingly necessary thing in my life. And he lovingly reminds me, over and over again, to hush. To rest. To allow him to remove the things that are holding me back, sapping my energy, and keeping me from growth. 

Why do I trust him so ill? Why can't I obey when I know how great he is, how perfectly he loves? 

I wonder. I picture myself, a closely pruned bush. I wait. 

Soon I will blossom with new growth again. 

image here

{me again}

High desert sun, cold sharp breeze, winter brown grasses and summer blue sky; 

Harsh smell of spring on brightly chilled air, pounding of heart, wind on hair;

I run.

Limping gait, rippling lake, lagging dog, dragging my mind from fog; push past pain. 

Gasp, dry rasp, parched throat, burning arms, chilled legs, shed coat;

I spread my sun-starved bare soul.

Slow gained speed, aching knees, heart breaks free,

           I’m almost me again.

Poetry and photography by me

{becoming}

From my earliest memories there has always been an ideal, a story about the princess that I would like to become. I played "prince and princess" with my sister, my friends, my dolls. I don't think I ever had to be taught that I was supposed to grow up to be that princess. But the idea was there, always, ingrained in me before I was even aware of myself. I was subconsciously consumed with the deep-seated longing to grow up into a beautiful long-haired maiden, to fall desperately, hopelessly in love with a romantic and dashing hero, to be swept, both physically and metaphorically off my feet, and to ride off into the glittering sunset of true love and eternal happiness.

And all of those things happened, more or less. I certainly grew up, at least into a slightly less awkward and more stylish version of my childhood self. I met several dapper gentlemen and eventually managed to fall in love with the one who loved me back. He certainly did sweep me off my feet and onto his longboard and ride off with me. We were, and are, in fact, crazy about each other. Madly in love isn’t exactly how I always pictured it to be, but then again, neither is my hair. Disney movies and romance novels are notorious liars, after all.

But then, life went on. I always knew in a sense that life really did continue after marriage. At least I thought I knew that the big white wedding was the beginning of the story, not the end. I had looked forward, as far as I was able, into the misty future and seen a husband with a steady job, a house with a little garden and a prowly cat, and me, barefoot and pregnant and happily surrounded by fat babies for eternity. I had looked no further.

And then all of the unexpected things started happening. 

The steady jobs didn’t materialize like they were supposed to. The Air Force took us far(ish) away and opened up new doors and new challenges. The house turned into a major remodeling project and the garden into a mud pit. The cat is actually a dog who eats holes in my couch and throws up in my car. And me? Who had I become? I certainly wasn’t barefoot or pregnant or surrounded by babes and their trappings. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make that dream come true. The more I struggled, the more the picture crumbled and I was finally left as I am now: empty and weeping and totally, completely undone.

So what now? I ask myself. What is there to do now? What am I to become in the midst of my shambles? Who shall I be in this strange, unexpected life?

I have focused so hard on the outcomes, the measurable goals and planned future events. And every time I decide, every plan I make, every worry I have morphs suddenly and dramatically into an opposite problem, a totally unexpected decision needing to be made. Not once have things gone as I anticipated. It leaves me shaking and frightened and weak. I’m horribly confused most of the time.

But slowly, slowly the clouds clear. In one tiny space at a time, in one small step after another, I find myself again. Inch by painful, painstaking inch, I am growing.

I am becoming.

I am not who I thought I would be. I am much, much more and I am so very much less than anything I had ever dreamed. This process, this miserable, slow process, with its sudden starts and stops, is what my life is all about. It is about becoming. And I've finally realized that it’s not what I become that matters, but who. Whoever I am meant to be, I will not stop until I have become her. And as the next day comes and the next curve in the road arrives, I will become her all over again.

Image by d'arcy benincosa

{on worry}

These months leading up to the deployment are hard. Right now the deployment is "certain" with a huge dose of uncertainty. The timeline keeps changing, there is a training possibility that means the deployment could be cancelled last minute and P would go elsewhere, there are fertility and adoption issues to consider and living situations to think about. And no decisions can be made without knowing the info that the AF just won't tell us yet! 

There is just so.much.waiting.

And in the midst of the waiting is the enormous pressure to worry. In my attempts to stay calm and not stress I feel like my life has been a constant cycle of yoga, bubble bath, long walk, prayer, repeat. I'm doing everything I know to keep the stress at bay and yet I still see signs of it in my body, in my face. I wake up from hectic dreams and find myself gritting my teeth until my jaw aches. I have moments of overwhelming fear and feel myself teeter on the brink of falling apart.

And yet, amid the stress and worry, I am given gentle reminders of the Lord's presence with me, of His hand guiding us gently and lovingly through this process. In this period of waiting there is fear and trepidation, but there is also comfort and confidence that His plans will ultimately succeed. I cling ferociously to His unceasing love. I remind myself daily that feelings are fleeting and temporary things. I will not feel this forever, I will not wait forever. Days pass slowly, but they always, always pass. 

It's obviously not good for me to be stressed. Thus the bubble baths, the yoga, the calming teas and the time I'm trying to spend in nature every day. I'm avoiding grains and sugars and chemicals and trying to give my mind and body every chance to cope with the stress.

But this period, however difficult or painful, is good for me, too. It is good for me to wait. And I will find joy in the waiting: I will battle worry and learn a deeper, sweeter form of trust. 

images via: modern hepburn, flickr, tumblr

For the love of {icy blue}

Normally in the winter I am all about bright, warm hues to bring life and heat back into the cold, dreary world. I crave bold colors and rich textures and warmth. But sometimes you just have to embrace the cold and take your inspiration from what's going on outside you. Find your hues in the snow and ice and pale wintry skies. I'm majorly inspired by this icy blue, aren't you?

Images via: nordstrom, photowall, the chic department, you broke the internet, blue eyed boutique

{new} years that ask and answer

This year.

This year has stretched and challenged me. 

This long hard year has grown me and it has shattered me. 

I am broken and I am better. I am braver and lonelier. I am face down in prayer and I am stretched high in worship. I am questioning and yet I am answered. 

The year ahead is looming now, full of unanswered questions and frightening realities. It is pressing in with whys and hows and wheres and whens. 

And yet, in the quietest moments, there is peace.

In the tiniest answers, there is hope.

In the hardest questions, the deepest pain,the most frightening moments of desperate longing and aching and fear, I am answered by the still small voice of the One who knows my pain. 

In His presence I am healed. In His Spirit I am comforted, encouraged, renewed. 

In the year ahead I will continue to break. And I will continue to heal. I will continue to seek and someday, somehow I will find. This year will answer, or the one after that. And little by little the questions will fade, and little by little new ones will arise to take their place. 

Year by year by year, questions and answers unending.

"But I will hope continually, and will praise You yet more and more."

Psalm 71:14

Here's to a new year. May its questions and answers draw you ever closer to hope.

Images via: {soliloquy}, pinterest

{day-dreams}

Some days were just made for day-dreams. Every one of these photographs catapults me into thoughts of adventure and romance. Every one tells a story of long lost hopes and treasures found. Every image is packed with imagination as my fancy takes flight on gossamer wings. If we must have Mondays, let them be filled with day-dreams, please!

Images via: fbcdn, flickr, milly and her..., modern hepburn, a1 pictures

{abide with me}

It's a dark and cloudy Wednesday afternoon. We're expecting snow tomorrow and I'm planning to start up a roaring fire tonight. I have pumpkin pies to bake and loads and loads of laundry to do. 

As Fall teeters on the brink of Winter and we teeter on the brink of the holiday season I am swirling with ideas and possibilities for gifts and crafts and recipes and decor. I am plotting and planning away, trying to force myself to wait until after Thanksgiving to start truly embracing Christmas. Clinging somewhat idly to the last few crunching leaves and sunny afternoons. Embracing traditions and hearty stews and the last calm before the busy seasonal storm. 

Enjoy this waning Wednesday!

Images via: elfsacks, indoors/outdoors, of hearth and home, splendid sass

{weekend, again}

Hey, I guess I'm here for my weekly post. I don't know what happened to daily posting, but it appears I need a break from that for a while. 

Our coffee pot broke this week. And there is a specific feature that Phillip wants that apparently only comes in ridiculously expensive pots. So we're still searching for the right one. I'm drinking tea from my favorite little blue teapot instead. (Who helped me pack my last house? I'm currently missing the lid to this teapot. If you've seen my little blue lid, please report.)

What coffee pot do you have or recommend? And does it cost less than $100?

Images via: littlekay, social survivor, here, tumblr

{happy halloween}

Halloween isn't really my favorite holiday. I don't know if that stems from the fact that I was never allowed to celebrate as a child or from the fact that I just don't have a good appreciation for horror, gore, and fear. 

But I love this reminder that the darkness is a promise of the light. That fear and evil are just counterbalances proving the very existence of beauty and joy and goodness. 

Have a happy (and safe) Halloween! 

Images via: like a field mouse, tumblr, pale

{i press on}

"Forgetting what is behind and straining towards what is ahead, I press on."

(excerpt from Phillipians 3:13-14)

I am striving and straining to just keep moving forward, even when things seem to pull me back. Even when my heart isn't ready. Even when I'm terrified of the future. And I am very scared. Because the future, aside from being unknown, contains some changes that I'm not prepared to meet. And yet the future, for as far as I can see, remains exactly the same in so many painful ways. How do I press on in hope and courage when I'm exhausted and weak and overwhelmed? When I see a new challenge facing me squarely, coming closer every day, and I'm still carrying the weight of my other trials? How do I keep climbing as the road gets steeper every day?

Sometimes forward is the only way through. 

And as I look forward in anxious anticipation at the road ahead, at the steepness and rocks and troubles that seem to surround me, I comfort myself that at any moment there may be a lull, a break, a valley of flowers and rest. But if I don't keep pressing forward, I will never get to the place where I can finally enjoy the view.

Images via: chic type, quince with sugar, tumblr, kiyoaki, pinterest

{wander off the edge}

Again we say goodbye to another month and embrace the next with open arms and a hint of surprise.

Have a wonderful week full of wandering thoughts and dreams!

Images via: unknown, for readheads, marley and me, tumblr

Happy {first of fall} Weekend!

Fall is officially beginning this weekend, and I am caught up in my typical excitement over the changing seasons. I think Fall may be my very favorite season of all! (I think I say that about every season, but who's counting!)

I want to take full advantage of the crunchy leaves, brown boots, scarves and sweaters, and hot hot coffee.

I want to go apple-picking and do loads of baking and get more excited than usual about Halloween costumes. I want to craft and sew and spend the mornings under quilts and the afternoons with the sun warming my body. 

I want pumpkins and gourds and mums to surround my house like a protecting army of orange. I want to drink cider and eat pumpkin seeds til I'm thoroughly sick and ready for winter. 

What is your favorite season? What are you most excited to do this Fall?

Images via: free people, maya made, favim, social survival