Hosanna Emily's Blog, page 9

Enriched in Christmas

I have a picture of Christmas. It's a new one, still stuck in my head, but maybe one day I'll sit down and draw it, hang it by my desk, see it every day and remember the picture of Christmas.
Because I have other pictures too. Or at least, I've been living like I do.
I have a picture of Christmas: a girl, strangely like me, who's busy. She tries to get gifts for everyone, to do enough, to be "christmas-y" enough. So she writes letters and licks envelopes and rushes around wondering where "peace" and "joy" is.
But today I took that picture down. I'm replacing it with a new one.

























In one corner, there's a bag of gifts. They're small, sweet, with candles and chocolate and a long, beautiful letter, special like the girl who gave them to me. There's a sticker too, "I'm praying for you." And somehow, that gift is the best one I could have gotten all Christmas season long.
That's part of my Christmas picture, but there's more. Across the top in flourishes and designs, there's a word that's beautiful. I read it slowly.
Enriched.
To abound. To bring fullness. Richness.
Enriched.
Enriched in Jesus, in the Person of Christmas. Just like it says in 1 Corinthians.

So that in everything you were [exceedingly] enriched in Him...

- 1 Corinthians 1:5 (AMP)

And there's the last part of the Christmas picture.
It's the same one I draw every year. The same little stable, the same star, the same dark night with deep blues and purples.
It's enriched. It's Jesus, rich and beautiful and good and wanting to shower us with Himself, fill us with the peace and joy of Christmas. It's more than the rush and the hurry. Despite my scribbles and stick people, it's beautiful.
Because everything points to that. The little gift my friend gave me, it points to Him. It's all this gift that enriches us - Jesus.

Like when He walked on earth, Jesus enriched everything He touched. The storms stilled. Water turned to wine. The lame walked. The world found a picture of fullness.

That's what "enriched" is - it's drawing right beside Jesus so that we start becoming like Him. It's us, crawling next to the manger, experiencing Christmas firsthand.
That's my picture of Christmas. It's my dream, my heart, my hope, my prayer. I might add more - include my little sister giggling in my arms as we shop for friends' gifts. Or the times of singing, friends gathered together, us praising Jesus as one family.
All of it, enriched. Beautiful pictures, flowing together. And us, drawing closer to Jesus, huddling beside the manger, being enriched because of Him, loving because of Him, intimate knowledge.
I have a picture of Christmas. I'm in it too, right beside the manger. And that's where I need to stay forever. It reminds me to remember, rejoice.
Maybe you could make one too.
But until then, Merry Christmas, dear one. You're so incredibly loved.  ♥







   

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that you through His poverty might become rich.

- 2 Corinthians 8:9

~♥~

Supine || a poem

Supine

it’s been so long.

forgotten hideaway I used to roam

but I’m here again –

remembering old memories

or rather, making new ones.

this memory is my favorite,

as I lay here, wince,

remove the branchy thorns,

and try again.

face to the sky

I hear birds and bugs, cows lowing

far away.

but my eyes

they’re blurry.

am I going to cry or have I just forgotten how

to see?

it’s been so long.

me writing, paper in the air

above me, blocking the sky.

I lower it, try to glimpse

twinkles of yellow leaves,

colors of fall with kisses of spring,

and under the gold, colors indescribable:

like green, but yellower

or brown, but richer.

the tree bark –

true black, grey, brown

and snippets of minty moss creeping up.

it’s been so long.

I wonder why.

because now I smell leaves

moist from yesterday’s rain.

I see little bugs dancing

and a piece of white fuzz

fly past without wings –

little miracles as I lay

and smile.

a tree with limbs broken like a ladder;

I could climb to Jesus

if only I could reach the first branch.

I wonder why I forgot

and how I can see again

so I remember

as God gives me this new memory.

I lay, and He

lifts me higher

than I could ever go.

somehow He loves me

~♥~

Why You Should Be a Child Again

Little fingers curl around my skirt.  Pull.  When I look down, I see her face, my baby sister, pointing another finger towards the door.  She makes her familiar "can we go outside" sound.  It actually sounds like, "Ticka, ticka, ticka?"
So we do.  I curl my arms around her and escape into the outside world.
Noise doesn't still.  It's louder here with the geese honking.  But the air is fresh, and we explore.  Together, we pet kitties, zoom down slides, eat kale fresh from the gardens.  And then we sit.
She's on my lap, me sitting cross-legged on the woodchips.  And we just stay there.  Looking across the chicken pasture, we watch birds.  Pecking.  Squawking.  Calling to each other.  They eat bugs and ruffle their feathers and chase each other across the yard.  The chickens act like... well, chickens.  They do what they always do.
But there's a difference.  Because this time, I'm here.  I'm watching.  And somehow, I'm really seeing it.
Minutes pass.  We stay there until I slowly bring my little sister into my arms and we rise.  Walking barefoot through the garden again, we eat a little from every plant.  Then go inside again.
And I remember the moment.  Those small moments I somehow capture forever.  Like that time I sat and wrote a poem.  Or the day when a stranger waved at me.  Or the other man who looked into my eyes and I felt Jesus in him.
Those tiny moments.  They're somehow huge.























I just wonder, wonder why we don't embrace the world like we used to.  Why we're not still loving like babies do, eager to see the world in all its beauty.
Why can I walk through a crowd and not see all those faces?  Why don't I care and love them and want to learn their stories and know their names?
Why can I live a day without laughing or smiling at something beautiful and go to bed without thinking something was off?
How can I call myself a daughter of the King and not rejoice constantly in His goodness and the gifts He pours out upon me?  How could I ever complain or feel nothing when I've been given everything?
I want to be a child again.  I want to run back into the woods, hide from the schedules and expectations I make myself.  I want to live as the woman God made me to be instead of worrying about the eyes who might judge me.
Life is about Love.  It's about this huge Love that wraps around me with every sunrise because I know Jesus is there.  And that same Love should be overflowing from my life as I savor Jesus and share Him with the world.
Love is bigger than the world, wider than our minds can grasp.  Yet those little moments - sitting on the woodchips to watch chickens peck in the dust - there I find it.  I remember.
And right now as I type, I wonder when was the last time I did that.  When did I hear a song and stop to truly listen?  When did I take time to care about what a person told me?  When did I see the beauty in the things I see every day?
Once before we performed a final showcase for a play, the director sat down with us.  Our eyes met.
"Seize the day," she said, and I did.  I lived every scene, treasuring it.  I watched faces and loved them.  I smiled bigger, talked clearer, stood taller.  It was my last moment in the play, so I lived it to the fullest.
Today is a specific day you won't ever have again.  But are we going to seize it?























It's not about stuff or schedules or successes.  All of that could be thrown out the window, and we'd still have a purpose.  In fact, it might be easier to see then.
Jesus.
Loving, rejoicing, praising Him.  Oh, how I wish this was my constant heart, to just praise Him continually!
We need to be children again.  Not whining, impatient children but eyes that see the world anew.  That love people despite their appearances.  That want to touch, taste, hear the beauty around us.  The beauty God gave us to live in.
When was the last time you really saw the world around you and thanked God for the beauty of it?  What if we stopped pretending and really lived, really felt, really loved, and really looked for Jesus right now?
I want to rejoice in the Lord always.
Maybe it starts by the chicken yard.

This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it.

- Psalm 118:24

~♥~

Continuing Love || a short story

He shuffles, stumbling, always forward, always up.  The trees mark grey in early twilight.  Bare branches reach forward, grasping like hands yearning for a spring that won't come.  Will they snap, die before life returns?  Or can the new year bring purpose again?
His hands smack against the rock wall that stretches into the sky.  Palms burn.  But he raises trembling fingers.  The stones crumble under them.  He reaches again.  Finds hold.  Climbs.
Mountain turns to sky.  Air is under his heels, but he reaches again.  One hand higher, one slip of his foot into the rock.
And then rock turns to sod.  He shakes, pulling himself onto the mountain ledge and sinking onto his back.  The moist ground stains his shirt.  His face relaxes into the wrinkles that age drew.  But he stares up, up, at the last stars that dance in the night before twinkling out, one by one.

When Israel was a child, I loved him, And out of Egypt I called My son. As they called them So they went from them; they sacrificed to the Baals, and burned incense to carved images.

   
When dawn comes, the sky burns red.
He closes his eyes and tries to forget for a moment.  But it's like fire, seeping close, drawing brighter.  Through his eyelids, the colors creep in.
First crimson.  The wild berries that grew on the edge of the clearing, watching the log house as frost crept over it in winter nights.  Red berries that saw through the lone window.  There, the fire burned with the same color but gentle.  Laughing.  Filling the cabin with warm smells and wintery smiles.
Wisps of violet.   The tea kettle, once grey that somehow faded to purple.  It grew hot and whistled, turning water into laughing apple cider that warmed their hands.  The remnants of dried lavender hung by the door, mixing with the cider to give a crisp, gentle scent.  The smell of life, her life.  Of a summer soon to come.
And then blue.  The way her eyes smiled.  The sapphire sky that shone through the window, even when ice crept across the world.  Reflecting off the snow, the blue grew bright, blinding, so they had to cover their faces and run through the flakes, laughing when the drifts caught them.
But always, those colors drew him inside to where her hands reached, hugs warmed, and smiles grew.

I taught Ephraim to walk, Taking them by their arms; But they did not know that I healed them. I drew them with gentle cords, With bands of love, And I was to them as those who take the yoke from their neck. I stooped and fed them.

His eyes open.  The sky is blue, flecked with stray curls of white, like the hair on his beard.  Wind slowly brushes them.  They slip away, leaving the sky empty.

Like his child did.  The daughter who whispered those lies of "I love you."  Who left the cabin without a goodbye.  The empty jar she stole from.  The fire growing cold, crying, snow settling on the last footprints he tried to follow.
Did he give up too quickly?  Was the love only behind one more set of trees, or did it run away beyond the highest mountains?
So he stands.  Trails the side of the cliffs, climbs higher so that the air surrounds him, icy.  The frost clings to his boots and snakes through the thick sleeves.  They slice, grabbing his skin and piercing it through.
His lips stiffen with cold, but he hikes higher.

My people are bent on backsliding from Me. Though they call to the Most High, None at all exalt Him.

The last tree drops its pines behind.  They're on the ground, scattered under his feet.  They crunch, snap.  He lifts his chin and climbs higher.  The white of his hair presses back in the wind.
Sod turns to rock again.  He slows as they shift and try to throw him off the mountain.  The enemies nudge their visitor with their spears, but he keeps walking, presses forward.
The noon sun warms only slightly.  He shifts his jacket on his arms, and they send new shivers of cold up his sleeves.  When he curls his fingers, they have no feeling.
But his jaw tightens.  He faces the last cliff.

How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel? ... My heart churns within Me; My sympathy is stirred. I will not execute the fierceness of My anger ... I will not come with terror. 

Hand over hand.  Foot in every stray gap in the rock.  His tendons grow tight, wrinkles deepen, but he climbs higher.
Every step, his legs tremble.  Every grasping of his fingers, they burn.
He reaches the top.  And there, his breath releases.
The smallest figure lays in the snow.  Skin like ice, those blue eyes flash sharp.  They meet his and then fall away.
The lines of tears are on her frozen cheeks.  And the man bends over, slips his hands under the shivering figure, and lifts.
Turning, the journey begins again, this time down.

They shall walk after the LORD. He will roar like a lion. When He roars, Then His sons shall come trembling from the west.

"I ran."  Only a whisper.
"I know."  The man's lips offer a tight smile.
The figure grows still, eyes never looking up.  They stumble down a forgotten path, slip on ice, fall.  But he rises, straightens, pushes away the ache in his legs.
Ground creeps away.  Slowly, the trees return with berries, red as blood.  The sky brightens, and it reflects off the snow, blinding.
They walk on.  He holds her, helps her through it.
As the sun sets, those stars return.  They peep through the silk blanket of night, dance.
Mountain passes behind them.  The forest swallows them up until it too breaks, and there the cabin waits.  Red shines through the window as a fire waits.
She swallows.  "I'm sorry."
He carries her forward, opens the door.  "I already forgave you."





snippets from Hosea 11
~♥~

Alabaster Heart

A girl throws her head back and laughs. It bubbles out because it's beautiful and misty and that smell of moist leaves is something that returns every fall.

Then everything grows still. And she stops. Leans against a tree. Inhales.

It's like God threw glitter all around her in the colors of gold. But more. Because it's not the vibrancy or hues or sweeping shapes that make her chest rise and fall like dancing leaves. It's those smells.

The dry bark of a tree, scented like cinnamon but softer and clean and musty almost.

The dancing of a creek, throwing water into the air that smells like the first drops of rain on desert ground.

A fresh breeze, tinged with wildflowers.

And always, those tattered, autumn leaves, wet with rain, that God adorned the world with, just for her.

She inhales. Exhales.

And somehow, it's praise.




   

A girl kneels, hard rock against her knees. Her head is covered, skin dark from sun. And her gaze drops. Hands shaking, she tries to thrust them together, keep them from showing how her heart is torn in a million pieces. Tabernacle walls tower around her, tall, ready to swallow her up. Did they know her ugly heart?

But something else stands tall before her. The clean, white ground creeps up into an altar made of fine acacia wood and surrounded by pure gold. Everything, unblemished. Pure.

Yet it's the smell that makes her body tense. A distant smell, like lambs, freshly slaughtered. The blood smell, the death. And it was her fault. Her sin.  She nearly doubles over, gagging.

And then something floats into the air. On the altar before her, a wisp. Smoke. But no.

It's sweet and calming and sweeps all around her. Somehow, the change of the wind makes the incense' fragrance surround her.

This alter is different. There's no blood, no sickening smells.  Instead, she breathes in something delicate but so strong it makes her forget everything else and just breathe.

In. Out.

It's the smell of forgiveness. The smell of a love that transcends all wrongs.






A girl stands, still, in a doorway.

Her hands trace the lines of a flask in her hand. It's beautiful. Smooth, yet with gentle texture like rippling waves. Her treasure.

She rubs it against her cheek, and it's cold, gently. Not biting, not icy, just a gentle touch like a wintery kiss.

But she releases it, holds it before her.

And swallows. Hard.

Yet as the jar lowers, she sees another treasure. Something worth giving everything for.

There's a Man, but He's not just a Man. He sits, laughing with the girl's brother on one side and her sister busily serving. While the girl hid in the doorway.

The Man has his head thrown back, deep brown hair edging His face. And His chest shakes, laugh rocking the house. Rocking her world.

Heat rushes to her cheeks. The memories. Him healing her, drawing her from her pain. Him loving her. Him weeping as she mourned the loss of a dear friend.

He loved. He knew all of her and loved anyway.

But that wasn't the entity either.

He was God. Jehovah. The Messiah.

And He called her friend.

With pink in her cheeks, she steps into the room. Fingers curl around the flask. Food smells rise around her, but she rushes forward. And, at his feet, she kneels, gives her all for the One who gave Himself to her.

She takes the alabaster jar. Breaks it against the floor. And with flowing tears, she lets the incense within pour out onto His bare feet and the dirty ground.

Perfume. The smell of a thousand flowers on a hillside. The depths of love flowing in smooth, soft liquid.

She pours her treasure before Him. And He smiles, again.

Let my prayer be set before You as incense, the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.

- Psalm 141:2

And walk in love, as Christ also has loved us and given Himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling aroma.

- Ephesians 5:2

~♥~ 

I Once Was Blind

What if you couldn't see color but thought you could?
If you lived in a world full of something rich and deep and beautiful, but somehow you couldn't grasp it. You couldn't curl your fingers around it. It seeped through. Fell.
But you didn't know. You thought you still held it in your palm, and you squeezed tight. Yet it was all gone.
Because you couldn't see the color. You lived in a world surrounded by beauty, but you forgot to look up and see it. Your eyes were glued to the ground, but you didn't really see that either.
Or maybe it's just me.
Sometimes, I can't see color.

 

When I wrote The Torch Keepers, I had a fun challenge. With a blind character, Nura, I had to learn to describe, through other characters, what the world looked like in words to someone who never saw it before.

I imagined how colors felt. How would one describe the texture and depth and look of a rose to someone who never saw it? How can you describe a sunset in a few words?
But since then, I've become blind. Not blind in a literal sense, but I lost the awe-struck expression of examining the beauty around me.
Sometimes I live like the world is black and white.
I can live a whole day and never stop and just study. Study the deep richness of a sunset or the gentle calmness of autumn leaves. Study the way the stars are like gems in an endless sky, the moon adoring them with silver delight. Study the beauty in someone's face, in the words they speak, in a silent look between us.
Or it could go beyond color. It could go to sound. And smell. And taste. And touch. And a million others we can't even describe.
There's this indescribable goodness of God all around us, and we can't even grasp it all, so somehow we forget and miss the point and become so busy with life that we lose it all.
But that's Life:
Savoring Jesus. Savoring His goodness and the beauty He gave us. Those million gifts.
Sometimes I forget to open my eyes. I live like it's night, even in day.
And the reason: I'm not looking up.
I've been focused on me, even when I think it's Jesus I'm looking for. I see how much I fail Him. How weak I am. How I can't seem to muster up joy and peace and grace and so much more.
I'm learning. To look up.
To embrace it. To embrace Jesus and have Him be my all.
To surrender.
And that's when I see color. I see a blue, deeper than ever before. An orange, trickled among the marigolds in our garden haven. A mix of red-brown in trees tinged with fall's embrace.
I have to stop and just see with His eyes. See the priceless faces of people around me. See the color and savor it and smile no matter what life holds. Because Jesus is good.
Color. Beauty. Life.
Not even because of what I see, but because of Jesus opening my eyes to it all.  The beauty is Him. It's a gift, and every good gift comes from above.
He is beautiful.
And I love Him.
That's why I once was blind, but now I see.
You can too. You can be still and know that He is God. He will be exalted in the earth; and we worship.



       

For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were created through Him and for Him.  And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist.

- Colossians 1:16-17

~♥~

We are Redeemed

I'm a perfectionist.
I never do things half-way. I like things in their place, done in the right way, and I do believe there's only one way to skin a cat. *cough*
That's good sometimes. In writing, I stubbornly keep going because I want to see fruit from my work. And when I work at anything else, I usually do it well, even if that means it takes forever (think sweeping).
But it's also not good. Because when I do fail, I don't forgive myself. I feel like I let God down, and how can He love me when I'm so full of these struggles and mistakes and weaknesses that I keep falling prey to?
So He is teaching me. And today I listened to this song , and somehow it's so true.

Seems like all I can see was the struggle
Haunted by ghosts that lived in my past Bound up in shackles of all my failures Wondering how long is this gonna last

There's a phrase I detest: "just human." It's an excuse for why we fail; we just can't help it.
Somewhere, there's a balance. Yes, we're human, and we make mistakes. But Jesus has also given us power to live in Him. We are in Christ. We are a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17).
But yes, we do mess up. We've all sinned and fallen short of Him. We all have a past full of failures.
But there's hope. This battle isn't lost.

Then You look at this prisoner and say to me "son
Stop fighting a fight that's already been won"

Friend, your battles are won.
You may have swung your sword carelessly and cut yourself, but He gives grace. He is fighting those battles for us, and we need only position ourselves, stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD (2 Chronicles 20:17).
No battle is too hard. No struggle is too difficult. No past is unable to be redeemed.

I am redeemed, You set me free
So I'll shake off theses heavy chains Wipe away every stain, now I'm not who I used to be I am redeemed

Dear friend, the battle isn't ours in the first place. The battle is the Lord's. And He has already conquered sin and death.
So never settle for less. Fight those battles, but do it in Him. Live every moment to give Him honor, and He will do the rest.
And if you make a mistake or break your sword, it's okay. Ask forgiveness. He always gives it.
Then keep fighting.
There's an enemy out there who wants to attack you with His lies.

All my life I have been called unworthy
Named by the voice of my shame and regret

Those names, all darts to cut you down. So fight them. Yes, you are unworthy, but Jesus sees you as Loved. Yes, you made mistakes, but He forgives. Live in that victory.

But when I hear You whisper, "Child lift up your head"
I remember oh God, You're not done with me yet

You are redeemed.
There is Truth stronger than the lies. None of them matter--not your appearance or circumstances or talents or weaknesses. Nothing except your heart and Jesus.
Jesus is not done with you. He has a plan and purpose for you, bigger than your wildest imagination. It probably won't be what you expect, but it's so much better. Ff you seek Him and want Him more than anything else, He will be found. And He will turn you into a new creation.

I don't have to be the old man inside of me Cause his day is long dead and gone I've got a new name, a new life I'm not the same And a hope that will carry me home

The hope: Jesus loves. He redeems. He will never leave you nor forsake you. 
In The Torch Keepers, my newly released novel, there's this line that always hits me. Kadira, one of my main characters, reaches one of her last chapters. By this point, she's done horrible things, made drastically wrong mistakes. She can't go back, fix those problems she made.
And then my favorite line.
"Did you know how much you were loved?"
After everything.
It's the same for you. Friend, you are so loved. And after everything, you can still be forgiven, treasured, a new creation. You can be redeemed.
Seek Jesus. He is the Giver of such good gifts and precious promises. And He will never leave you.
That's what I'm learning. I'm a perfectionist, and I want to live every moment for Jesus. If I fail or fall I want to get up and keep running for Him.
No matter what, you are loved.

Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.

- Philippians 1:6

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

- Matthew 11:28

~♥~

Father: a Letter from a Mentor

It's time for our last character post!
This is a hard one. Father, a mentor in the story, taught me so much through The Torch Keepers' creation. Writing his part of the story, I cried and grew and learned more about Jesus.
Before his letter though, I just need to stop and share that the Lord has been so faithful with this novel!!  It is now published on multiple sites, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Target, and Books-A-Million! Crazily, it sold out in some stores already, praise Jesus!  If you've read the novel and can leave a quick review, that would be so appreciated.  ♥
But anyway. Here 'tis, the last letter from The Torch Keepers' characters, Father, a man who inspires me so much.
Listen to his theme song (When the Shadow Reveals You), and remember how much purpose the King has for you.
(and ps) This will be my last blog post for a time. I'll be taking a break from the blogosphere, and redirecting my focus. But you can find my email via my connect page (click here), and I'd be glad to keep up during this hiatus!
You're so loved.  ♥





Father's Story



I always liked a good tale. Maybe I'll start writing one of these days. *raises eyebrows* *chuckles*
Every story is my favorite. Every one is unique and beautiful and part of a person who has such purpose beyond what they know.
That's why I like stories–they tell the tales of people. Of a girl or boy, a man or woman, who is seeking something. They want something of value, something that they can hold onto with pride and say "this is mine."
I know that feeling. I'm a woodworker, and taking a raw chunk of tree and turning it into something of worth is a feeling that overpowers you.
At first, that piece of wood is of no worth. One could throw it in a fire, and it would burn for a moment, then disappear to ash and empty coals.
But in my hands, it becomes a treasure. A toy that brings a smile to a little girl's sunken cheeks. A weapon to defend the poor. A torch to burn as a declaration to the world that the King reigns, and he loves.
That's when a sliver of wood becomes valuable.
It's hard. The woodworking isn't a quick, easy task that leaves the wood comfortable and safe. I have to tear it, to cut it, to break it apart. I burn the wood to give it color and texture. I sand it to rid it of imperfections.
It's much like being a Father. My children aren't mine by blood, yet they are chosen by something stronger. They are chosen for a purpose, for something bigger than they know.
At first, they may seem like a piece of raw wood. They haven't learned reason, maturity, truth. They are simple and scared, and they need someone to cultivate the treasure deep inside.
Sometimes that hurts. Discipline hurts. But it turns them into a man or woman who can fight for the King, who can stand against evil, who can love beyond measure.
I like stories, and I could never pick my favorite. But Kadira's is one especially dear.
Because she is my child. She is loved. So much more than she'll ever know.
That doesn't mean she makes the right choices. Several readers have already said how frustrated they get at her bad decision making skills. *laughs* I guess they might be right.
But she is my princess. She is a treasure, hiding and waiting to be discovered.
So is every person out there. They are priceless gems, sometimes hidden in rough rock. But they can be chiseled out to find the person they were always intended to be. They just have to surrender themselves to One greater.
Dear child, you are so loved. Don't ever forget who you are to your King.
And like the way I trim wood into something beautiful, let go and let Another transform your life into treasure.

The people who walked in darkness Have seen a great light; Those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death, Upon them a light has shined.

- Isaiah 9:2

~♥~

Kadira: a Letter from a Protagonist

Me: I know, I know. The Torch Keepers was published, thus this character-take-over-the-blog thing must be done, right?
Um, well, there was a problem. Two special characters have letters to share. Thus, meet Kadira.
She holds the center of the story. Kadira was the first character, the girl who grew and changed with the tale. And now I've asked her to share some of herself here.
So slip on some music (her theme songs are Nuvole Bianche + Future Fighter), and here's Kadira's story, the beautiful, the raw, and everything else.






















Kadira's Story

Sometimes I wonder why the King picked me. Why does my story get told when so many other more wonderful, purer stories than mine are being lived every day?
Because my life wasn't the one I would have chosen. Not for me. Not for anyone.
It's ugly. It's broken. And it still hurts sometimes.
But the Author asked me to write anyway, to write my story from my perspective now, at the end of The Torch Keepers, looking back on the beginning.
Without giving anything away. *smiles*
So here goes.
*deep breath*
I used to be like any ordinary child. My desert village lay unknown to Érkeos, a tiny speck shining for our King in the wastelands. I don't even remember its name anymore.
I went to school. I dreamed of being a mama and doing amazing, beautiful things. And I had friends: Ir-Haran, a quiet boy who loved animals, Ir-Ivah, his sassy sister who made me laugh, and Am-Othniel, my dearest friend who loved me as his sister and could create music that blew away this entire world.
A normal life. Except for one thing.
My eyes were blue.
In a kingdom of grey or black or brown-eyed people, I stood out. People stared at me. But I was proud, because my eyes were beautiful like Daddy's.
Until everything fell apart. I couldn't stop it.
And now I miss that desert village. I miss the quiet and peace and friends I lost, because from then on, everything got worse. I forgot who I was. And I forgot the King's ways.
So much happened. More than a decade wrapped up in one book. I made mistakes. I learned. I hurt others. I lived radically but for the wrong reasons.
The story didn't end there. And that's what I pray my life tells any reader who picks up The Torch Keepers.
It's not over. There's hope. There's this thing called Life–not the mundane and pain and mistakes but something more. Real Life. Really living.
Is that clichéd or simplistic? *laughs* Maybe it is. But it changed everything for me.

You're never too far gone. There's this King out there who loves radically. Even–especially–when you don't deserve it.
I don't know how or why. I don't even deserve a story.
But the King gave me one anyway.
He loves anyway.
So wherever you are, there's hope, there's tomorrow, and you're loved.
Don't forget that like I did. Because that's when it hurts so much more.
And that's a tiny piece of the story he gave me.



Me: So there's a tiny glance into Kadira's heart.
If you want to explore her tale fully, The Torch Keepers is now published on Barnes & Noble (click here!) and (on the 15th) on Amazon!
Friend, you are so loved. The King treasures you, and he has such a plan for your life. But first comes surrender.
I'll end with Kadira's theme verse.

The wilderness and the wasteland shall be glad for them,
And the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.

- Isaiah 35:1

~♥~

The Torch Keepers RELEASE

Today's the day!!!!
A little dream is becoming real. And yes, it feels crazy. XD
Like how even?! How does God give me one small idea and stretch it to more until it's a book and it's releasing and the world gets to know these characters that hold so much of me?!
This last month has been crazy too; learning to trust, surrender, give myself to Jesus. There's been stress and missed deadlines and distractions and fangirling moments.
So last night I stopped, remembered what this release was really about.
And the answer: Him.







FRIENDS - The Torch Keepers is RELEASED!! You can order it on Barnes & Noble  and soon also on Amazon ! You can throw copies at your friends or hide in your closet and look at the beautiful cover that Alea created! Or host a giveaway, share with the world, write a million reviews!
I'm SO excited, so blown away, so thrilled that God chose to write this book through me!
But, dear friend, in all that (before you go hide in your closet with the novel), here's my heart:
The Torch Keepers isn't about the book.
It isn't about the author or the reader or the people who helped make it. It isn't even about Kadira or Emyir or Nura or Rekém.
The Torch Keepers is about a King. This King loves His people in a radical, huge way. He treasures them, from the smallest, disabled orphan girl to the Prince who seeks to use his power to take over the kingdom.
It's a King who is bigger than fantasy. Bigger than the world I created. It's the King who gives me every single breath and is with me with every beat my heart pounds out.
It's this King who sees you. All of you. The good, the bad, the secrets you try to hide. And in that, He. Treasures. You.
You're His princess, His prince. He sees you as His own. His child. His beloved.
And when things are worst, when you can't do it yourself, He bled and died to give you life.
That's what The Torch Keepers is about.
YES - it's one of my favorite books (I might be partial), and YES, I might be seriously fangirling over here. (eep!) Go grab your own copy, hide in the world of Érkeos, and wrap yourself in the story!
But when the book closes, friend, you are a treasure. Not because of who you are, what you've done, but because of the King. He cherishes you!
HAPPY RELEASE DAY! I'm bursting over here! *throws dark chocolate to everyone*
Now let's go change the world.
The Creator of the universe calls you beloved. ♥

And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, And come to Zion with singing, With everlasting joy on their heads. They shall obtain joy and gladness, And sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

- Isaiah 35:10

~♥~