pure honey

this season has felt like

losing you

it has been me choosing refined sugar 

over the purest honey

it still sweetens things

but it could never taste the same.

Abba, i want honey again.

i want it's purity, i crave its authenticity

i want the real thing.

the heart issue has never been the replacement thing

it has always been the replacing

Father, come clean house.

come clean house until all that is left

is an echoing i love you.

age old love

when i can't breathe

i read the love story you wrote for me,

combing through the picture it paints

of a saviour desperate to love 

a girl wrecked with despair.

i read it and weep

i read it and ask;

"is it still for me?"

"do you still want me? love me? choose me?"

when i am lost & in need of finding,

i read the love story you wrote for me

i sit in the seat of the beloved

and drink of the cup you poured for me

distance, despair, distraction

distraction has been my enemy

in recent days, i find the lulls and moments that i would usually reserve for You

are spent longing for dreams that have nothing to do with You.

i'm sorry.

it feels like i have taken a trip in my mind, 

somewhere far and lonely,

convincing myself that you are still the One I have been chasing

but i have been changing.

i have felt my devotion waver,

i have felt my faith falter

i have screamed and blamed and cursed you in childish ways

i have chosen disappointment as my cloak of honour

and rejection as my crown,

i have thrown away your relentless pursuit

and wondered in a wilderness that was never mean for me–

i'm sorry.

i have isolated myself in my despair

and held you at arms length while tending to my own wounds.

i have failed to let you into the process,

i have failed to allow you into the journey– and i'm sorry.

i want to begin again,

i want to go back to where you are my every waking thought,

my bright and morning star,

the hero of my heart.

i want to go back to where my trust in you does not depend on what i see,

but on solid truth that i read.

oh that distance would turn into the deepest of intimacies,

that i would call you home again,

that i would come running.

to be held by you

how do i explain, that i have been here, but also far?

it has not been about a lack of time with you,

but about a lack of intimacy.

our intimacy has suffered and i am not sure how.

i still spend my days with you,

i still think of you always

but i have felt my fondness die,

my affection dimmer.

i have felt pain lie to me

i have felt like all the while i have been here with you,

talking, but saying nothing.

i don't want our friendship to get lost in service.

i don't just want rhythm and routine with you,

i want hysterical laughter and hushed whispers too.

i want the intimacy

i want the roar of deep belonging

i want the oneness of knowing you.

i no longer want to sacrifice our intimacy for duty

i want to stop dusting myself off each time i fall,

but instead run into your arms and let you brush off the dust and tend to the brusies.

for me,

that is intimacy.

that i would not 'get myself together' before approaching you

but that i would fall into your arms and let you clean me up,

that i would bring you into the places of deep despair,

that i would let you cradle me until i am whole again.

remind me that you never tire of this.

remind me that you enjoy this.

because somewhere along the line,

i have forgotten what it feels like to be held by you

23.

Being that I’m turning twenty four next week, my mind is racing a little when I think about all this year has been for me. So here goes something:

23.

The year of roots.

The year of sacrifice, 

the year of depth instead of surface niceties.

The year I graduated university

The year of the pandemic

The year of the one-way ticket 

The year I moved to London and worked my first “real job”

The year of “forever” friendships suddenly changing overnight.

The year of questioning

The year of holding accountable and being held accountable 

The year of integrity, of learning this does not mean performing perfectly, but wrestling faithfully

The year of boundaries- even with family

The year of choosing my circle and not letting my circle choose me.

The year of standing up for what I want in relationships

The year of first dates, but also lasts 

The year of flowers and nervous introductions

The year of trusting God, in a deep unearthing kind of way

The year of small and big dreams

The year of tiny sparks of magic

The year of big windows and flat 4

The year of “is 2 glasses of wine per week–(but mostly 1), too many?”

The year of the London dream (the real London this time)

23–the year of the everything, all at once–but also the nothing.

The year of “wow there really is still a pandemic going on?”

The year of choice and being chosen

The year of the resolute

The year of learning and unlearning 

23.
The start of becoming.

The Right Kind of Pursuit

 It's okay to wait for the right kind of pursuit.

Trust me, I get it. Sometimes pursuit of any kind feels like an opportunity that could be missed, if not grabbed.

I'm in that season now, so I fully understand. I've had friends tell me to "just go for it", to "relax", and to "trust myself", in less than God-honouring relationship opportunities

and I have often doubted myself.

In the midst of all that, however, I have had a strong sense of rootedness, a need to stay the course, a need to take God at His word. I have had a hunger for a love that looks just like His for me, and its been so hard to settle for any thing short of that.

Maybe its just the season i'm in, but it feels like such wondrous Grace that the Love of God lately, feels so memorable to me, almost as if i can trace the outline of it like a pencil on paper because I have spent such beautiful hours immersed in it.

His love has been so easy to find, His love has been too good to be true. And for all those reasons and more,  I feel the need to wait for the right kind of pursuit, for the one that looks just like His.

"because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you" - psalm 63

"the steadfast love of the lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness" - Lamentations 3:22-23

"godliness with contentment is great gain"- 1 timothy 6:6-8

rooted not relevant

 consistency, 

it matters to God.

Your character, it matters to God.

what you do in the dark,

it matters to God. 

How you shine in the light, 

it matters to God.

What name you wear more; his or yours–

it matters to God.

Whether you are rooted,

it matters to God.

If you are faithful in the little-

it matters to God.

the words you speak,

the thoughts you think,

the desires you have,

the hidden ones too–

they matter to God.

He is a God of the heart,

a God of the hidden things,

a God who cannot be outsmarted,

a God who cannot be deceived.

He knows you. Like really knows you,

He knows what you are ready for.

And if you are ready for the thing you are even praying for.

He is yaweh,

the God who picks out from the rubble, the least worthy stone

and says "this one, this is the one I want".

"the one who on the outside doesn't seem like much, but

in their hearts are all about me. I want them. The one who will build my name instead of their own,

the one who sets their face like flint,

the one who has their blinders on,

the one whose waking breath is jesus,

the one who's last thought is jesus,

the one who runs the race with purpose,

the one who trusts me with their hurts,

the one who not only wants me in the day,

but also in the night,

the one who lays their crowns at my feet,

the one who is truly for. me."

i want to do well in the things he says matters most.

i want everything i am, for his kingdoms cause.

this year,

i want to be rooted, not relevant.

uninvited