Going Home

It's always a joy to travel somewhere -- to take time out of my busy schedule, the daily grind, and breathe fresh air. It's good to get away, to think on things, to slow down and process all those little tangled thoughts bouncing around in my head. Whether getting away means hopping over the ocean on a plane, or just going to a neighbouring city or town for the day, stepping away from daily routine is when I find myself again. It's easy to lose bits of myself here and there. I find often, my relationship with myself is similar to that of my dearest friends. I know my friends, I know what they like and dislike, and I know what irks them and disappoints them, what inspires and encourages them. And still when I haven't spent any quality heart to heart time with my friends, I lose that intimacy and knowledge of what makes them tick, because there is movement to those things, a sort of ebb and flow that morphs and develops over time. I'm not trying to sound mental, but my relationship with myself is very similar. I seem to lose touch with who I am and what my soul is all about when I don't spend quality time with myself. Maybe that's the introvert in me.

I live alone in a city full of people. At the end of a long day, I come home and shut the door behind me. It's quiet, and I'm alone. And even still I so often neglect to really 'be' alone. Instead of chewing on the bones of the day, and thinking on those things stirring in my heart, I drown it all out by watching the most recent season of Girls (yes, a whole season) and living vicariously through the quirky and fictional characters of the show.

I've noticed many habits forming in myself since living alone. It's so easy to become almost mechanical in my goings about. And I've learned to turn parts of myself off as if it's more convenient and less of a chore to be alone.

In the last month or so, I've decided that things really need to change. I've snuffed out my creativity, my spirituality, any light left in my soul for quite a while now and I'm beginning to feel the effects of it. I'm tired, and worn to the bone. I need to get away.

Instead of getting away to someplace new, however, I'm going home--to the town, the community, and family that I've grown up in. In a lot ways, I'm sad about this. I feel that I've somehow failed myself, that I should've done better at life, and given myself more reason to stay put. And in a lot of ways I'm nervous to come home, because it means giving up a certain freedom, accepting accountability and the truth spoken in love from the ones closest to me. I've decided to face my faults, to acknowledge my short comings and to work towards the things in my character that I want to develop and invest in. It's time for my soul to come back to life, for me to be intentional with my time. And to spend it with my own heart, and my own mind. As if those parts of me are an old friend, ready for reacquaintance.

I feel the tingling of blood flowing to my heart... this sensation that I'm coming alive. Little flickers of light in my eyes -- though it happens slow and discreetly.


Walkin in the Woods


I wrote this song today,
The recording is horrible, my guitar skills are less than extraordinary, and my voice does funny things, but that's besides the point.

This is my heart.

In the beginning, You spoke
You called into being, the World.
And You whispered, Life to me
You said, Darling, my darling, you're free.
Darling, my darling, come to Me.

And the stars up above
Are boasting with their light
They sing of Your love
In the night

In the morning,
Darkness flees
Once again Your Light,
It washes over me.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, My soul sings.
My soul sings


As a tree

I felt the roots of me burrowing their way into the earth. The soil, moving to the side as they dug deeper and deeper, until i could notice that I was changing, that my leaves were less wilted than before. And slowly, as I watched, they turned from grey to green. Some of them fell to the ground, but the others grew bigger, and suddenly, I could really feel it -- water, rushing through me. I grew taller, and before long I could see the city from afar, and it looked so small. An ant hill. I could see children running past me, and some would stop and sit beneath my branches. Over time, I gave great shade from the heat of the summer. The days grew hotter, and my leaves were great in size and bright in colour. I was dormant no longer. 


With My Soul

When I look around, oh the pain. The brokenness, the sickness, the disease, of body and mind. The lost, the hurting.
When death comes knocking. When life is taken, when it is stolen, when it comes creeping far too soon... it's a pain that is like no other.

Thank the Lord for peace... Peace that is undefiled and untouched by any human hands. It cannot be broken or tainted or stained with the aches of this life. Sometimes it's so hard to find. But it is there, always.

Though my heart is heavy, there it is. Peace within.


I think more and more away from you each day. I have put my heart far from yours, and have slowly trickled every thought and every dream and every pain down through the darkest places, all very hidden away from you. I have tucked my fears in secret pockets, put them far from you. I have locked you out. And outside, you wait. One day you will, for the last time, try to get in. The door will not open, I'm far from you. So far. And you will for the last time, try. Then you will turn and walk away. And my thoughts and my fears and my love and all that I consist of will not go with you. As you go, you become far from me -- so far-- and I far from you. Eternally.


I haven't written for a while.

Death pierced me like an arrow. Dark and lovely, like liquid in liquid, releasing it's poison, curling and unwinding, sinking, twirling slowly. I felt my body coming to an end. For a moment I was a bird, then a deer being hunted in the forest heavy in winter. I was after that a baby being cradled in the silence of night, my humming mother swaying with me. I was a fish, chasing a lure in the green cloud of speckled lake. I was the strings of a cello vibrating with tension and song, a deep and soulful melody escaping me. And then I was me, lying there, ready.


"She believed a great happiness awaited her somewhere, and for that reason she remained calm as the days flew by." - Gyula Krudy



Working in a flower shop, I'm always drifting into a world where I own a floral studio -- it's usually a barn, or an urban take on a barn. It's a whimsical place, and seems to be my go to dream world. I have bountiful gardens billowing with every colour and every bloom. From here I pluck the stems for the arrangements that I make with love to bring others joy, to deck their halls, to decorate their churches or to fill their palms as they walk down the aisle... To celebrate a life, or grieve one taken too soon. Flowers are amazing things, and I am blessed to work with them. Sometimes I just stop and stare into the centre of a zinnia or a poppy -- and to think these are completely natural, untouched by human hands. God is indeed an artist.
I feel like one day, I'd like to really pursue the art of floral design, as a career. Here are some of the inspiring florists whose blogs I peruse daily:

So so beautiful. *Sigh* One day....