Pockets full of Cinnamon

Yesterday, I had just gotten done doing a super fun photoshoot with a friend, and we were heading out to lunch with a couple other friends. It was there, in the parking lot, with the sun flaring out above us, I felt a twist beneath my heart. And I knew: I will miss this.

I will miss discovering people as I take their pictures, the car rides where I hear their stories, knowing I'm now a little part of their lives. I will miss the color, the sunlight, the variety of life here. I will miss this sensation of being new, unknown. I will miss this little life I've carved out.

It's funny to know this, even as I'm hungering for home. It's odd, and yet heart warming, to know there is more than one place where I belong, where I am welcome.

In the moments when I stop and think, I will miss this, I make sure to take an extra breath in -- memories are like cinnamon, sharply sweet, and warm against the roof of your mouth. I make sure to savor them.

I'll be heading home in about a month...but I'm coming back with my pockets full of cinnamon.

Indigo Sky

The night sky
at its darkest,
at its deepest,
is crushed cobalt,
worn and worried
into a calloused velvet.

It seeps like ink
across the upper sphere,
fading into a watery cerulean,
evaporating at the horizon,
leaving behind
barely a breath of blue.

You can't see it,
but the dawn is there,
hidden beneath the mountains,
paling the indigo sky.

I see my soul mirrored
in the twilight,
wrinkled and weary
at the core,
dissolving into lightness
at the edges.

You can't see it,
but hope is there,
hidden beneath the shadows,
paling my indigo soul.

and I will Adore You

I am just a link in a circle of believers, our shoulders and hips brushing, our hands raised in praise. I am amazed at the passion, the emotion, I hear in their voices, surprised to find it in my own. Me, who hates to sing out loud, singing with strength. Because this song is not for me, or for them, but purely for Him.
My heart has chills in this precious moment, this moment between me and my Lord. "Papa, Father," I wonder, "Are there tears in your eyes, like there is in mine? Do you know how much I love you?"
I feel a press upon my heart, like a kiss, in reply.

Worthy is the, Lamb who was slain
Holy, holy is He
Sing a new song, to Him who sits on
Heaven's mercy seat

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God
Almighty
Who was and is and is to come
With all creation I seing
Praise to the King of Kings
You are my everything
And I will adore you

I am not a writer today

I feel like I should apologize. I don't have any words of wisdom, deep thoughts, or humorous sayings. I don't even have any sarcasm for you. (crazy, right?)
The thing is, today, I am just not a writer. I haven't really been this whole week.

Sometimes, every where I look, I see words, the people in front of my eyes evaporating into sentences in my head. A stranger becomes a main character. A feeling becomes a poem.

And other times, such as now, everything I see is a picture, or the possibility of a picture. It's as if I'm carrying around my camera lens and watching life through it. During times like these, I don't have the patience to find the words -- I'd just much rather show you.

If I could show you today, you would see my hand twisted up behind my back, playing with the ends of my hair (I straightened it today, so it's extra long), riley and me laughing so hard in Barnes and Noble we have to lean against a table to stay standing, silver anchor earrings dangling just a breath away from my shoulders, and me, riley, and 4 young boys (oi!) drinking milkshakes at sonic.

So today, I am not a writer, but a photographer, wishing I could print these memories out...

My Mother, My Anchor

At night I pace the sidewalks in the dark, up, down, and around the neighborhood, more comftorable in the dark then I ever am in the light. People can't see you in the dark. I walk when I'm thinking, as if my feet can't stand to be still while my mind is racing. But sometimes I feel like I'm walking to get away from my thoughts, hoping perhaps they'll get lost in the hovering sky.

Nights have always been the hardest for me. As the light weakens, so does my heart and my determination. Darkness brings stillnes, stillness, heaviness. And when I walk I feel the fear pressing down until it's welling up in my eyes. Fear of men, love, the future, myself. I feel the truth slipping away and the lies pulling at my skin until I'm sure I'll disappear all together.

But that's when I call my mom, carrying her voice next to my ear as I walk. For the past 4 years, whether I am 8 hours away or in the same room, it is this voice I have clung to. My mother is my voice of reason when I've lost my own. She is my ears, recogonizing the lies in my mouth, when they sound like truth. She pours love into my heart when it's drying up.

My mother is my anchor. As I walk between the street lamps with the Enemy trying to pull me away in a storm of Doubt, I feel secured. She is strong enough for the both of us.

To be Still

I see the pavement beneath my feet and bruised clouds up above. The breeze runs soft hands through my hair and across my collarbone and my bag tap-tap-taps against the small of my back. I inhale and with suprise, find the gentlest urge to cry. Not because of a dizzying emptiness or an aching fear, but for once, for a dazzling moment, because there is peace. And I know, this....this is what it is to be still and know that He is God.

If I gain nothing else from being here....this knowdlege alone is enough

Two New Souls

Two New Souls
Through the dancing grass I come every year,
Although I suppose its only been three,
Partly to soothe the tug on my heart, fear
I will forget you next to the oak tree.

And in part, my desire to share this day
with you, however, my reasons being
of soaring joy and yours holding a sway
of sadness, bittersweet memory fleeing.

Only one year ago I was born new.
Tainted skin and festering wounds washed clean
Upon the same day you left us, raised to
a cleansing of your own, grace here unseen.

We are two new souls, mine tethered firmly
to the ground and yours to the sky, freely.
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A couple friends and I decided to try our hand at writing an english sonnet...just for the "fun" of it. Haha, well I can say it was fun to finish it, but that hour and a half I spent at Barnes and Noble, tapping syllables against my neck, was nothing but pure frustration!

Three years ago, a great guy that I grew up with, passed away from cancer on April 17th. Two years later, on the exact same day, I was healed of my depression. I always found it puzzling that two such contrasted situations would happen on the same day - Grant, losing his life, and me, essentially being given a new one. And that's what I sat down to write this poem about - the contrast, the irony, the unfairness.

But as I worked through the words, and what had occured in the last couple years...I realized, Grant didn't lose anything. Yes, that day is a sad day because we miss him, but Grant....well, he got to be free from all the pain the cancer was causing him. He finally got to meet his creator and he got to experience a joy we here on Earth can't even fathom.

I was so busy looking at the contrast, the sadness and the happiness, I forget to look at the similarities. Just like I was set free from my chains and relieved of my pain...so was Grant. I think it honestly just took me this long to know, really know, Grant...is ok. Heck, he's better than just ok! He is GREAT.

It turns out that April 17th doesn't hold two opposing stories...but two tales of rejoicing. We are both new souls, just one still here on earth and one already in heaven.

Written Word

Yesterday, unlike most days here, I got up with the rest of the family. I got ready right away and even ate breakfast. I watched Mac's (adorable) 2nd grade play and then drove farther in this city then I ever have before...and all by myself :)

Why, you ask?
BARNES & NOBLE =)

I love written word.
Probably just as much as I love photography. Maybe because both of them help me express myself in a way I fail at verbally.
Part of it is how the words look on paper...round, sharp, awkward, intriguing, they all have a certain character to them. And then it's how they sound in your mouth, how they roll like grooves against your tongue, reaching up to arch against your teeth. It's even how they sound and look in your mind - soft or hard, curving or straight.

I even love the paper and ink itself. Half the reason I want to read a book depends on the outside cover (Yes, I do judge a book by its cover!), the texture of the paper, and how it falls open in my hand. There's something exciting about a book feeling new but at the same time I want it to fit my palm like I've read it a hundred times before. Small print is a turn off and large print feels child like - it has to be Just So.

And don't even get me started on notebooks! Books may flirt with me, but notebooks just flat out seduce me! All the unique covers, and page upon page of blank, perfectly lined paper....Oi. A book is already something beautiful because it's complete. But a notebook -- a notebook is asking you to finish what's already been started, giving you the opportunity to create something beautiful.

So maybe I'm weird, maybe most people have no idea what I'm talking about. That's okay. All I know, is when I'm reading, and even more so when I'm writing...
It's the only time I really make sense to myself.

I want

I find myself mesmerized by the light reflecting off brass door knobs, lulled into whispered thought by the churning of the washing machine. I begin to count how many times the cursor will blink before more words bleed out of my fingertips.

But there are no words. Just this feeling of barely breathing, my heart burrowing deep, refusing to admit: I want.

I want you to love me because I cannot love myself.
I want you to cup my heart in your hands and breathe life into it.
I want you to want me so I know I am worthy.

I guess I thought coming here was washing everything clean, starting off fresh. But every morning I wake up with blurring disappointment to find, I. am. still. here. Same scars, same mistakes, same struggles.

It was foolish of me to think this would be easy. Naive of me to think the key to finding myself was simply going elsewhere.

Sorry, friends. I get tired of being tired. Years and years of being tired.
But I will try again tomorrow.

The Big Picture

There's been a lot of conversation lately about how God works...we keep wondering "why?"

-Why doesn't God heal everybody?
-Why does God let bad/hurtful things happen to me?
-Why doesn't God answer my prayers?

The more we've talked, the more I've concluded, it's because we only see a piece of what's going on - we don't see the big picture. We can't wrap our pitiful human minds around God because He's looking at it all - all the infininate possibilities.

We also don't see life through God's eyes. We may still be sinners, but when God looks at us He also sees a saint, washed clean by His son's blood. Even while someone is still sick, or broken, or dying, God sees them as healed, whether He physically heals them at the time or not. We need to learn to look beyond the physical.

I've also learned, with God, it's all about timing. God's timing is perfect and God's timing isn't ours.

The truth is, pain is apart of our life. The enemy will attack and hurt us. But every time our hearts break, God's breaks right along with us. I'm learning trusting God is taking the hard situations and saying "For this I have Jesus."

I don't have the answers for all the "why's?". I will probably always struggle with them. But what I do know is God is a good God and He is soveriegn.
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Uncle Jim was in town this weekend. He wasn't my uncle before Friday, but he is now :) I think I will always cherish the memory of him taking me, Connor, and Mac to How To Train Your Dragon!

Poetry, When I Have No Words...

I had other things I wanted to share, but it's been a long day, an even longer night, and I'm wishing for MN...so here's some poetry I've written since I've been here.

Homesickness
The moment when you open your eyes to the dawn
And you remember the bed you're laying in is not your own

Talking to yourself in the silence of the kitchen
Because you're the only one you really know

The question of who you really are
Without the regular people in your life

The ache that whispers beneath your heart
In the stillness of the afternoon

When you wonder if you will ever enjoy
The well worn comfort of familiarity

The moment you crawl into bed at night
And are dissapointed to remember it's not your own

Black & White
I see

White
curtains holding sunlight,
walls wrapping round,
comforter twisted at my hip,
skin blending in with,
sheets rumpled by my feet,
ends of nails chewed ragged,
eyes cupping iridescent tears.

and the

Black
mascars stains on the pillow case

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Sorry, they're still a little rough. x's and o's ya'll. goodnight....

The Sisterhood

It was the night before I was leaving for Dallas. I was curled into my mattress, trying to leave one last imprint of myself. Riley was turning back and forth on the top bunk trying to get comftorable, the sides of the bed creaking in protest. She threw her phone down to Sloan on the floor and as she caught it I heard Sloan say, "Welcome to the sisterhood, Kylee!" and then Riley's voice floating above me, "Yeah, welcome to the sisterhood!" It made me smile and smoothed away the anxiety pricking at my skin.

I've never felt so comftorable in a new place as quickly as I do here, and I owe it all to the Brandons, especially the girls. They inspire me to see myself the way God created me to be. They make me laugh until I can't breathe. And they love me for who I am, annoying fears and all!

This past weekend, the girls, their mom, and I were out shopping. As we were trying on matching shoes (we couldn't say no to turquoise) the sales girl asked if we were all sisters. We explained that they were and I was a friend...

But on the inside, I couldn't help but smile. =)

Easter & Ticks...

Today I got to go to the 8 am "traditional" service for Easter... as soon as that first organ note began playing "Christ the Lord is risen today...", it felt like home. =) There's something I love about Easter Sunday. It's the mix of well worn hymns in my mouth and a building full of people shouting,"He is risen indeed, Alleluia!" It's the vibrant colors and the fuzzy sunlight peaking through the windows. But most of all it's that tremor of excitement in the air: OUR SAVIOR LIVES!

Check out this great verse: Revelations 1:18, "I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive forever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades." The knowdlege of this blows me away, because my God is so incredibly powerful - not even death is greater than Him! What security, what happiness, this promise gives me...it's like my heart can't stop smiling!!

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On another note, I faced yet another fear today...NATURE. Okay, so nature doesn't scare me, but trees in spring sure do - because that means ticks, and oh my, I am terrified of those!! We went out to Arbor Hills Nature Preserve today, probably the only decent piece of land in Dallas, if not all of Texas. It was fun hiking around and talking with the girls but we ended up going off on a side trial, if you can even call it a trail, deep into the trees, and it made me pretty nervous. In my head I kept chanting "there are no bugs, there are no bugs". I know, I know, I'm a pathetic person! Riley and Sloan enjoyed telling me there was something crawling on my leg and watching me freak out. So much love...

I Drive in a City...Booyah!

If you know me, you know that I DO NOT drive in cities. There's something about being surrounded by speeding cars, driven by crazy, caffeinated people that freaks me out.

So friends, I need you to hear me say this:

I DRIVE IN DALLAS

=) Now granted, it ain't no down town...but still. I'm proud of myself. Who knew I could face this fear? Well, Riley knew, or at least she wanted to believe I could haha. She wasn't okay with me never getting out of the house and I have to say I'm thankful. We're gonna have us some good times.

That's all I really had to say.
booyah!