When my feet ache,
I will dance for you.
When my arms are sore,
I will lift them up to You.
When my lungs are tired,
I will sing for You.
When my eyes are weary,
I will look to You.
When my heart is broken,
I will give it to You.
When my ears are ringing,
I will listen to You.
When my knees buckle,
I will kneel in front of You.
When my body is defeated,
I will be still and know I am Yours.
fight on,
till the morning light peeks above the black horizon,
and pierces the atmosphere that robs your lungs of air,
fight on till the dawn rests its warmth on your weary shoulders.
fight on,
keep your eyes lifted to the battlefield before you,
faint not at the blood that you shed,
for the glory of the Victor is higher than fleshly desires.
fight on,
fight on as nimbly as a dancer,
when the trumpets sound above the voices that plague your spirit,
fight till praise fills your ears and the war is won with rejoicing,
fight on, child,
be bold, for the LORD our God is our Triumph,
and courage is ours to wield with both hands,
so fight on through the storm, no matter what the future holds, because we are the warriors.
– Angie
PS. I have a special announcement this Valentine’s day! If you’re part of my newsletter or Facebook street team, you’ll get a heads up! So if you wanna join the team, let me know!
A shiver,
s h i v e r,
it crawls, it whispers, it caresses
my hideous skin,
and weaves across my creaking spine,
tickling my heart of stone and causing my whirling mind to plummet,
a shiver touches my lips
and my teeth chatter
as I fight the lies the shivers bring,
s h i v e r.
A face in the mirror,
a plastered smile, wide and kind,
eyes shining weary.
A shiver slivers across my skin again
and I wonder
what it is like
to peer into the mirror
and see something that doesn’t cause
me
to
s h i v e r.
– Angie
A world so small,
a sky so big,
hundreds, thousands, millions of stars,
shining and burning and dancing in the darkness,
a moon staring down at me, whispering,
be still, child;
the Creator that whispered life into the burning stars,
and stretched His hands across the heavens,
formed you.
The breath you breathe
is as powerful
as the hiding sun
and the soul pulsing through your body,
bears more power than a million galaxies.
The moon and stars are proof of His promise,
that we are beloved,
and we are no small thing.
– Angie
“No one will even read this. It’s terrible.”
“Someone will.” His voice was gentle, comforting. “Not every heart will need to hear these words, but even if it is just one… You will have glorified the King.”
Glorify the King. That’s what I wanted to do. Why else would I pour and weep over words on paper? Why else would I carve out worlds that the naked eye couldn’t see? Why else would the Creator give me imagination, or give me characters as if the were my heroes and friends?
“You’re words are not meant to pass away…” He picked up the wrinkled wad of paper from the dusty floor, smoothing it out on my desk. “God hasn’t given you a voice just so that you can ignore it because it hurts sometimes.”
“How can I be sure they’re right? What if the words are all wrong?” I asked, forcing my voice to be steady, but that question weighed in my heart like a stone.
“You can’t.” His blue eyes shown. “That’s the beauty of it all. There is not a truly perfect thing on this vast, stunning, complex world… There is no perfect piece of art or work that comes from a human’s hands. Only God is flawless. You’ll never be sure your words are perfect. Perfection does not equal good…” Indicating the paper before me, he smiled one of his warmest smiles. “To glorify God, strive to do so. Don’t strive for perfection.”
I stared at the blank piece of paper worn with wrinkles. “You have a lot of faith in me.”
“I’ve seen your face when you get a new idea, or see something that reminds you of one of your characters…” He crossed his arm against his chest. “You’ve got things to tell… and there will be people that need to hear you. Even if it’s just one.” A smirk. “Though I doubt it’s just one.”
Faith. I had faith in God’s Gift. And I’d glorify Him with it. Even if my words weren’t perfect.
A few years ago, I read a book that briefly touched the subject of how there were a tribe of Native Americans that always left one flaw in their work. Be it a beautiful woven art piece, etc, they always made one mistake. This was done to remind them that only Creator was capable of perfection.
While I’ve forgotten which tribe this was (though I’ll be trying to find the answer!), this has stuck with me for a long time. Why? Because all I ever see is people striving for perfection. We don’t want to give God the honor of being Perfect. We want to achieve perfection ourselves.
And we can’t. We truly can’t. No many how many art classes you take, you won’t be a perfect artist. No matter how many books you write, you won’t be a perfect author. No matter how many times you practice a kata, you won’t be perfect.
God doesn’t want perfection. He wants us to seek Him. Honor Him. We can do that by having a heart for Him, no matter what we do, or how good we’re good at the task. There is beauty in doing so!
God bless,
– Ang
The Peculiar Messenger 