i'd do it just like this.

(via jose villa)

Be.

Lost

On a painted sky

Where the clouds are hung

For the poets eye

You may find him

If you may find him

There

On a distant shore

By the wings of dreams

Through an open door

You may know him

If you may

Be

As a page that aches for words

Which speaks on a theme thats timeless

While the sun God will make for your day

Sing

As a song in search of a voice that is silent

And the one God will make for your way

And we dance

To a whispered voice

Overheard by the soul

Undertook by the heart

And you may know it

If you may know it

While the sand

Would become the stone

Which begat the spark

Turned to living bone

Holy, holy

Sanctus, sanctus

Be

As a page that aches for word

Which speaks on a theme that is timeless

While the sun God will make for your day

Sing

As a song in search of a voice that is silent

And the one God will make for your day

riding boots, cable knits, and layers. oh my.

amee shalee

what makes life happier comes to this:

gifts freely given, that you never earned;
open affection with your husband and kids;
clear pipes in winter, in summer screens that fit;
few days in court, with little consequence;
a quiet mind, a strong body, short hours in the office; 

close friends who speak the truth;
good food, cooked simply; 

a memory that's rich enough to build the future with; 

a bed in which to love, read, dream, and re-imagine love;
a warm, dry field for laying down in sleep, and sleep to trim the long night coming;
knowledge of who you are, the wish to be none other; 

freedom to forget the time;
to know the soul exceeds where it's confined yet does not seek the terms of its release,
like a child's kite catching at the wind
that flies because the hand holds tight the line.
-Josh Weiner

happy september.

hello autumn.

welcome back.

i've missed you.

won't you lie down with me right now, in this september grass.

spark.

Along the way, I’ve collected more questions than 

answers, but I’ve fought for a few ideas that have formed 

a bed I can rest on, a life I can make peace with, a dream I 

can cling to. I’m not a doctrinarian, mostly because for me, 

doctrine is not the thing that God has used to change my 

life. I’m a reader and a storyteller, and God chose literature 

and story and poetry as the languages of my spiritual text. 

To me, the Bible is a manifesto, a guide, a love letter, a story. 

To me, life with God is prismatic, shocking, demanding, 

freeing. It’s the deepest stream, the blood in my veins, the 

stories and words of my dreams and my middle-of-the-night 

prayers. I am still surprised on a regular basis at the love I feel 

for the spirit of God, the deep respect and emotion that I 

experience when I see an expanse of water or a new baby or 

the kindness of strangers. 

I’m immeasurably thankful to have been born into 

a community of faith. And I’m even more thankful that my 

community of faith allowed me the space and freedom to 

travel my own distances around and through the questions 

I needed to answer. I’m thankful for the patience and grace 

I was given, for the forgiveness I was extended, and the 

guidance I needed. 

I’m thankful for God’s constant fl ickering and sparking 

fl ame inside me, planted in me years ago and fi ghting to 

keep burning. For a season, I didn’t think it mattered much, 

but now I know that tiny fl ame is the most precious thing I 

have, and that it can ignite a forest fi re inside any heart and 

can burn away a lifetime of apathy and regret and distance.

excerpt of Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist. 

(tasting her words and identifying with the essence of her memoir)