hallelujah cover

just a work in progress.
rough and only the beginning, but oh.
this song.
favorite.

stars and snow : portraits of chloe and the poetry of cummings.

A bouquet of clumsy words:
You know that place between sleep and awake where you’re still dreaming but it’s slowly slipping?I wish we could feel like that more often. I also wish I could click my fingers three times and be transported to anywhere I like. I wish that people didn’t always say ‘just wondering’ when you both know there was a real reason behind them asking. And I wish I could get lost in the stars.
e. e. cummings

just some words.

and when they talked about being born with a word on your tongue, you were the one who came to mind. you must have swallowed stardust from all the nights under the skies and sometimes there is evidence in the way you shatter, piece by piece, when the morning awakes. you have secrets too deep for dawn and a soul too rich for afternoon, when everything is pale blue shadows and pastel like easter eggs dipped too briefly.

tell me about the summer, you say, and I tell you of freckles and a butter yellow sun and the way my hair smells of salt. no. there is a shake of your head and your eyes are melting, freezing, melting in this shifting snow and sun of february. tell me about what it is, not what it has. there is an easiness to you that helps loosen my tongue and I am quick to spill words and spread my cards over the table, carefully, explaining each move. see! this is my hand. somewhere between the story about how I almost fell in the lake and to how I cried flying home last summer, you found the cracks in me I patched haphazardly from cataloguing every sunrise.

is that where home is, you ask, again, and for a minute, I am grateful that you have seen all the raw parts of me and are not afraid. the words find my tongue, it was, but I swallow them. I am content with sunsets and sand on my skin and cheap coffee to keep me driving, white knuckled at two in the morning. one thing you will never learn is that halfway home is no place at all and I cannot trade the blue blue sky stretched tight for the shadows of starlight, no matter how much they shimmer.

gardens and weeds and a garland of grace.

it's easy to be overwhelmed with joy when your circumstances are ideal.
it's difficult to be overwhelmed with joy when your circumstances are less than ideal, or far from ideal.

this afternoon, like a prodigal daughter, I wrote, "so overwhelmed by God's faithfulness and provision! He cares for the sparrow - such rest and joy for my heart." and yes. it is true. He is faithful. He provides. He cares for the sparrow and much more so for me. That is a constant truth and a never-ending comfort.

yet, as the day went on, those seeds, so carefully planted, were plucked. choked. snatched. somehow, between a headache and ruined plans and sudden expenses and my own selfishness and bitterness. why is it so easy for me to live less out of joy and peace and more out of discontent, hurt, irritation, stress, worry, bitterness? instead of being overwhelmed with joy I become overwhelmed with life. happiness is based on circumstances, joy is deep seated. yet, I chase happiness and seek it like it's the race I was made to run, instead of resting and finding my joy in Him and Him alone.

My heart is so fickle.
Yes, God, I will praise you when life is good.

But what does my heart look like when life seems less so?
It's so much easier for me to think of all that He "hasn't" done instead of reflecting on all that He has. so much easier for me to dwell on a lie rather than meditate on the truth. so much easier for me to be swayed by reality instead of living in His truth.

I need to remember that He is always faithful.
Indeed, His mercy is new every morning and His faithfulness is never-ending.

I'm in a season of learning of His faithfulness. Seeing His work in my heart. It's so fitting that outside, winter is in full force.
Brokenness. Barenness. Stripped of all imprecations, masks, and pretensions.
My heart very much feels like winter.
I am learning of my own brokenness and seeing my own sin.
It's ugly.
I'm learning that there are weeds that I planted. Me.
And it hurts to have to pull them up.
I am a terrible gardener, but I try. I get my hands dirty and tug tug tug at the roots of weeds that go down deep. C. S. Lewis' words from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, as he writes about Eustace's transformation from dragon to human by Aslan, sum it up much nicer than I could.

"The very first tear he made was so deep and I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know – if you've ever picked the scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away."

It's embarrassing and uncomfortable and painful. Seeing my own sinful heart makes me want to pretend that I am all good, all right, I need no grace. The lie is, I don't need grace. The truth is, I don't deserve grace. The reality is…I am given grace.

That alone should never fail to make me weep.
I am underserving and could never achieve it on my own, yet, He gives more grace.
And it is in Him that I find my rest and joy.
Not in circumstances, situations, possessions, achievements, talents, or people.
But at the feet of Jesus alone.

"But he gives us more grace. That is why Scripture says: 'God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.'" - James 4:6

I am so proud.
Proud of my own "goodness."
Look! I write about my heart and struggles! I am such a good Christian. I can own up to my mistakes and write about what's on my heart -- that makes me a better disciple, right? I'm brave enough to cry out. So look at how good my heart is!
Again.
My heart is so fickle. And yet, it is willing but my flesh is weak.
I am seeing so much brokenness in my own heart. So many things that stem from my sinfulness and the seeds that I planted. By His grace and goodness, I have sowed good things. Joys. Good relationships. New adventures. But I have also planted bad seeds and am reaping them now. Bitterness. Envy. Fear. Entitlement. Pride.

And so, I am in a season of waiting and learning and sowing.
Plucking up the weeds and pulling planting good seeds.
Praise God that with all my failed efforts and messy attempts, it is He who gives the growth.

A garland of grace in a garden of weeds.
I dance barefeet on earth waiting to be sown with good seeds.
Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus.

a good word.

"In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him." - 1 John 4:9

This is what February looks like in Minnesota.

Sometimes I don't have words.
And that's perhaps one of the reasons I love photos so much.
THIS IS WHAT FEBRUARY LOOKS LIKE IN MINNESOTA. from Hannah Nicole on Vimeo.
A continuation of this. Number two of four // Winter.

make a careful exploration of who you are.

"Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ." - Galations 1:10

I'll be honest. A lot of the time I slip into that scary place of Sunday morning Christianity (or really, Sunday evening because our Church rents a building that another Church owns, so we have Church at night...but that's besides the point). Or the place of Youth-retreat Christianity. Everyone knows that place. Everyone loves that place where your heart's only cry is for Jesus and Jesus alone. But then. Of course. It's hard to live in Sunday morning Christianity when you have to deal with Monday morning reality. Or is it?

I feel like we as Christians have slipped into an apathetic realization of who we are as the body. I'm not trying to generalize more than I ought and I'm not pointing fingers at anyone (or, if I am pointing fingers, I'm speaking about myself). It's as if we've traded core values for piecemail theology that pleases us at the moment -- splicing and dicing the Bible in order to make our own interpretation of it.

I care about the poor...sometimes.
I donate to charities...sometimes.
Someone else will care for the orphans.
I deserve this new ____.
God didn't call me to here (wherever that may be).

Newsflash. Because we're His, we're called.
God didn't say, you will be witnesses, He said, you are.

And when you're something, you can't be just content to be. You have to do. I wish that that was a duh moment for myself, but so often I find myself needing to continually be reminded of that truth. Otherwise it's like calling yourself a photographer and taking no photos, calling yourself a writer and writing no words, calling yourself a musician and playing no piano, etc...and so on. You get my drift. If we call ourselves followers of Christ yet nothing in our lives point to Christ in us, then we're living out half-hearted Christianity at best.

At the heart of my struggles to totally follow Christ, the fear of others opinions is one of the largest stumbling blocks. What will others think of me. What will others say. What if I come across this way? What if I lose friends / followers / business? What if people don't take me seriously? What if I face persecution?

And then. If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.

Oof. It's hard for me to wrap my brain around it. But are you sure, Lord...? Really, all of it? Can't I just care a little? If I bought this new dress, I'd be trendy! And if I don't post today, then I'll look like a bad blogger. Or, what if I don't network -- what if people don't like me? And silly things like that. I get so wrapped up in this material world around us and caught into the never-ending cycle of trying to please man, even if it's unconscious, that I lose sight of what truly matters and WHO matters more than anything else. Especially in our current culture, where everything is out there and anything can be shared in two seconds, there's an overwhelming pressure to appear to have it all. And what that looks like is different to some people. Maybe it's having it all together. Maybe it's wearing what's trendy. Maybe it's having a lot of business and shooting everyday. Maybe it's traveling to fancy places or eating green or owning half of Anthroplogie for your home.

And I'm not saying those are bad things in and of themselves. But when the need to impress others and to appear like we have it all replace our need for Jesus and our desire to be more like Him, then it's time to step back. If I am still trying to please man, I am not a servant of Christ. Putting it into present tense makes it all the more real.

I do know this. Doing or not doing things because we're afraid of receiving (or not receiving) others approval is only a waste of our time. Not only that, but it quenches our gifts, nudges us away from total abandonment, and keeps us from complete pursuit.

"Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life." - Galatians 6:4-5

Don't be impressed with yourself. Don't compare yourself with others.
If I am still trying to impress man.

It hits home.

Right now, no easy way to wrap this post up. It's all a bit messy, and that's okay. Still mulling these things over and wondering about them. Meditating on His words. I'd love to hear what's on your heart.

this was today.

ahhhhhh.
i love this lens.
so excited to finally add it to my bag.
been praying about it and saving for it and waiting.

i am learning to love waiting. it's so good for my heart.
it's hard in the moment but so good afterwards.
and i love seeing what God does in me during seasons of waiting.

today was a very good day.

things that say a lot about people:

some thursday morning writing / reposted from my personal blog

the way in which they treat the waiter/waitress
how they feel about the weather
whether they dog ear pages or highlight in books
fingernails
and hands in general
their preferred creative outlet
how much they dread/enjoy talking on the phone
whether or not they drink coffee
if they ever forget to eat
how honest they are with themselves (and others)
if they correct your grammar
and whether or not they get nervous before haircuts.

i. i leave notes like pieces of a map to find me at every restaurant i go. hello and thank you and the food was good and perhaps a hastily drawn sketch. i haven't painted in awhile and i was never good at art like my grandpa, but something is better than nothing. in the end, they'll stick somewhere, whether in memory or the bottom of a cup. it's better to be kind. you don't know what the day was like.

ii. can you love the cloudy sky and still adore sun? is there a way to balance the dichotomy of winter's chill and summer's warmth? i am a living breathing opposite and i crave gray skies as much as i need blue, i wait for rainy days and taste wind in my teeth, i go barefoot in the grass and feel snow in my bones.

iii. come see my bookshelf, i say, but careful, don't touch. each book is a museum until the first rip, crease, stain, and then it is a coffee shop, a place to slip in the worries of monday and the way he held your hand and how good tea is with a friend. they hold life's spills, but unlike milk, it's nothing to cry over.

iv. for the first time in two years, my nails are long enough to paint, and maybe it's silly but growing them out was one of my smallest achievements but happiest accomplishments. what is it about a quick swipe of polish that makes even the worst days seem better? don't mind my cuticles, please. and i still have dirt under my fingers from the summer -- there's a garden in my hands. metaphorically? maybe.

v. watch people's hands and you will see the people. sometimes, they make me cry. you can close your eyes and guard your face but your heart never lost connection to your fingers.

vi. i am an explorer, she says. and of what, i ask? and she throws open her arms wide to take in the world and yells, everything! like she's claiming it as her own. how can that be? i ask again, and she breathes deep and her freckles aren't just paint anymore. because the world is ours to write in. (and sometimes i talk about myself in third person)

vii.  people love to talk on the phone and an hour long conversation with friends too far away is good for the soul. but i need to see your eyes, need to watch your face. it's too hard to listen and not be in the same place. and if that's a poem please don't call me a poet because there's nothing quite so sad as the distance between hello and goodbye, and it's always somehow tucked between the second to last ring.

viii. there is no better scent than that of roasted coffee beans. it's up there with the woody pine dust you find in hardware stores, the cinnamony must scent you find yourself breathing in in october. hand me a cup of that and I can conquer the world. black please, but only if I'm feeling lonely.

ix. julia child said, "if you're afraid of butter, use cream." and that's really all i have to say on that subject.

x. if you tell me a secret i promise to keep it and i'll tuck your story next to mine like the book everyone loved but never got around to reading again. give me a page to write in between the lines and i will say hello and you are beautiful and life is grand. sometimes you have to be brave before you can be honest. do you know that grey is my favorite color? it's like the color of the heavens after a plane ride, after a good rain cry, after finally coming home. butter yellow may be soft but grey is warm and when i think of honesty of think of november skies.

xi. use the word ain't once and i may correct you, twice and i'll only wince. calling people out online (or in public) over grammar only puts people on the defense and for what? we are all homemade and mismatched and folded over again and again because of the peculiar ways of letting go. i am not afraid of spiders, falling, or tight spaces, so why should incorrect grammar bother me?

xii. do you know that the last time i cut my hair i was eleven and it was all the way down my back? i was in the awkward stage of almost becoming a teenager (what an awful word) and i had just gotten glasses and when i saw it around my shoulders, i wanted to cry. it'll grow out again, everyone said, and even though years have passed and i've shed old hurts and memories like last year's clothes, i still keep my hair long. 

things that say a lot about people:

the way in which they treat the waiter/waitress
how they feel about the weather
whether they dog ear pages or highlight in books
fingernails
and hands in general
their preferred creative outlet
how much they dread/enjoy talking on the phone
whether or not they drink coffee
if they ever forget to eat
how honest they are with themselves (and others)
if they correct your grammar
and whether or not they get nervous before haircuts.

i. i leave notes like pieces of a map to find me at every restaurant i go. hello and thank you and the food was good and perhaps a hastily drawn sketch. i haven't painted in awhile and i was never good at art like my grandpa, but something is better than nothing. in the end, they'll stick somewhere, whether in memory or the bottom of a cup. it's better to be kind. you don't know what the day was like.

ii. can you love the cloudy sky and still adore sun? is there a way to balance the dichotomy of winter's chill and summer's warmth? i am a living breathing opposite and i crave gray skies as much as i need blue, i wait for rainy days and taste wind in my teeth, i go barefoot in the grass and feel snow in my bones.

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