At times.

In the recesses of the mind
there are places I travel
that are sometimes heavy and blue-grey.

It is not for lack of joy or contentment.
I have no hidden darkness or
mourning heart.

Only ever so often it comes in like a fog,
making it difficult to remember the sun.

I am not speaking of the bleakness of depression
or unending nights of hopelessness.
These are real battles and not to be treated lightly by anyone.

I refer simply to that weight that comes from seeking...
from being a glimpse catcher.
Whether it's words or notes or paint strokes,
the discipline of artistry has many price tags.

One of them being a melancholy mist every now and again.

We are taught from childhood to continuously fight the elements.
Put on a coat.
Wear a hat.
Bring an umbrella.

But these times of weary weather have their outcomes.
So I find it best to just let it pass. Wear a sweater.
And bring a pen.

Amelia.

What strange, beauty is this?
That the promise of you, mere inches from my eyes
can turn my gaze ages forward,
so that an entire lifetime
sits hovering above my lap.

There lies one thousand joys and defeats,
all floating in a golden, misty haze.
They are blurred, but they are there.

I do not regard myself a prophet in any sense of the term,
but I cannot deny this skyline of visions.

So if I speak any future truth about our souls, know this.
That you held this heart
long before these arms ever held you.

Shiny Thoughts on Leadership.

My husband is so flipping smart.
I adore him.
His love for the Lord is so evident in what he does.
One area I have really seen God mold him through his job and schooling, is in the area of leadership.
Tonight kicked off the high school monthly series on the topic, and these were the main points that I found myself challenged and encouraged by. The structure and some of the words of the lesson looked a little different from this, but here is what his word-loving wife took from it.

"It doesn't take an ounce of talent to be a critic.
Anyone can point a finger or find a flaw."
The true leaders are the learners. The ones who know how little they actually know.

Conversely, the masses are masters of everything.
while simultaneously never experiencing anything.

They never suffer loss, because they never take a risk.
And they think that's what makes them great.
But a perfect track record isn't what people are looking for.

What makes a leader different from the crowd?
The leap. The unknown.
It's always the risk itself that builds respect.

Far better is it to stumble through life a bold and inquiring student,
than to be a self-proclaimed expert
with nothing but a portfolio of other people's shortcomings and failed attempts.

Don't forget that the majority of people want to be led. They want to be taken on a journey or be a part of great change...even if they never openly admit it.

But if you're never humble enough to seek counsel, (Proverbs 9:10-12)
never empathetic enough to understand the view of another, (1 Peter 3:8-9)
and never filled with enough integrity to gain respect, (1 Timothy 3:1-2)
then you'll never have a leg to stand on.

And if you don't have a leg to stand on,
you certainly won't be leading anyone to anywhere epic at anytime soon.

Facing the Music.

It struck me recently that when given opportunities to write about anything I please..how much of a strain imagination is to me now. When did that muscle become so flabby? I cringe when I wave and the skin beneath my arms waves back at me. Obviously, this has never been a sought after beauty trend, and I am troubled. But when I sit and stare at a page and discover a weak and jiggly mind... I am haunted. I would take all the waving arms in the world in exchange for a strong creative spirit.

Fortunately for those of us in this state, the cure is as droll and routine as any other physical work out. You set the goals, you do the daily tasks, you stretch and there are lots of liquids. And it's just at the moment when you think that none of those disciplines have made a hair of difference, you wake up one morning and find that it is all fun again. That you can see yourself. Not the thirty-something-receptionist you drinking day old coffee with flabby arms, but the little-girl-clutching-her note-pad-and-bug-collection you. And SHE is the one that can see flying bears and talking trees with no strain at all. And the dancing daisies with their smiling faces tell her, "See, we were here all along, buried under the weight of years of hibernation and all of your grown-uppityness. Welcome back. Now let's run wild now, please."