I’ve got to write — I know this is part of the work for me — though I’m not sure where the writing will go.
I struggle to find my voice again after a few days away. Why is it hard to enter back in?
I repeat the early morning rituals of a woman finding her voice.
Before the house wakes, I do. Put on my blessed sweater. See the silhouettes of tall November trees against the early morning sky from the bathroom window. Enough light cast by the city that powder gray holds dark limbs, suspended.
I make coffee and lay on the couch under a blanket to receive God’s love, remember that it’s for me, and I breathe.
Peace infuses as I lie there on the couch among the red and green pillows while in the kitchen, ground beans seep their rich oils into piping water.
Infused by peace, my limbs warm, I breathe in and out.
For a few moments, I let go and receive life from this Breath of Heaven. Hear the voice of the One who reminds me who I am.
I walk down the steps to the basement, sit down and push keys, watch words form whole before my eyes. An everyday miracle.
Through the computer, Silent Night plays.
I hear my papa’s voice now and see his eyes welling tears — he who reluctantly sung most Christmas carols belting out Stille Nacht in full force vibrato. His favorite Christmas carol falling from his lips in Bavarian-accented German.
When he sung this song, my papa’s tender heart spilled with the notes. Like a mother enveloping her baby, like a Father’s love for His child.
This morning, voices fill me.
The voice of father, of mother, of traditions that move so quickly from costumes to leaves pressed in wax to full Thanksgiving tables to boughs and red berries and Advent candles and holy hymns, whether I’m ready or not.
This morning, the imperfect offering of my own voice lingers in the air. The yell of last evening reverberating through my corridors, then the humbled tones too, kneeling at a daughter’s bedside.
I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?
You are not too much.
I love how God made every intricate part of you.
You are my precious girl, and I love you with every fiber of my being.
My fibers love all her fibers. So as hurt lingers, and tears drop, I remind her who she is. Among these strings of old stories and old wounds, I speak the truest words I know. These strands of life woven like bright red thread through powder gray.
Sometimes the days soldier on, and I wonder if I have much to write about it, living this ordinary life under this ordinary roof.
Now, Little Drummer Boy beats its cadence to the tapping of these keys, and I feel the repetition of these days, these years.
Pa rum pum pum pum.
And the drum’s beat breaks through the star-lit night 2,000 years ago and speaks to my ordinary.
Show up to this daily life.
Be here.
Receive the gifts.
Give them away.
Beat your drum.
Belt out those holy songs tender and loud.
Know you will hurt, but remember those words you purpose from your own mouth, your own fingers, to bring life.
Bring life, love with you, always with you — that scarlet thread rolled out right through the middle of ordinary days.
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Linking up today with Imperfect Prose, Soli Deo Gloria and Emily Freeman’s Tuesdays Unwrapped.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
I have missed your voice sweet one. You tell your stories brimming with truth and tenderness and love with such heart I feel I am there with you, as though its so personal its just you telling it to a friend. You have such a beautiful intimacy to your writing. Its raw and lovely and I am gratefully receiving your beautiful offering today. Thanks for sharing pieces of your soul.
Intimacy is definitely one of the words that most comes to mind when I consider your writing. So grateful to be sharing the words with friends like you.
loved it.
Thanks, buddy. Love you.
Dear Ashley
Now I am crying all over again! Welcome back, I hope you enjoyed your little break. How I wish at times we could just turn the clock back or erase hurtful words! I used to study German and we had sing-along every Friday. I can remember the words of that carol so well: Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht..
Bless you and so nice to see your smile again.
Mia
Mia, how dear those every Friday German sing-alongs must have been. I want to join up right now. Hearing Christmas carols in German makes me feel like I’ve found home.
So beautiful. Thank you…from a tired, worn out mama, thank you for this sweet moment.
Bless you, pal. I hope you’re feeling so much better…and prayerfully, even a little less worn out!
my word. what a lovely voice you have! how funny, how odd, that we would think we have “lost” our voice … some of us (you for instance) have only to open wide the heart, sync the beat with the one who placed it there, and then the words tumble beautiful!
a very very lovely piece Ashley. And a very lovely Peace. thank you ! xoxo
You’re right. Like we’ve talked about before, it’s so weird that we keep thinking we’ve lost it — no matter how many experiences we have of “finding” what wasn’t lost in the first place!
Yes! Creating, writing, it has purpose and you have created a place of worship here. It’s like we were hearing from the same Teacher today ; )
Absolutely, Tresta. Grateful for the connection and the resonance of the message we heard. I need all the reinforcement I can get. :-)
hmmm… beautiful and haunting of the Holy.
I appreciate your lovely words. Thanks for stopping by!
on my gosh….beautiful…again and again you write so very beautifully. How can you think you don’t have much to write…..your life is a symphony waiting for words. Love you!!
Fiona, so well said. Sis, I’m humbled by your voice everyday. So full of feeling, so full of wisdom, so full of love.
This piece of writing ranks with my very favorites. Love it, love you!
Wow, Sis….thank you so much.
Fiona, you are so good to me.
So honest & beautiful Ashley! I too missed your writing the last few days!
Thanks, Becca. Those breaks are always good, but it’s so good to be back.
“I’ve got to write — I know this is part of the work for me — though I’m not sure where the writing will go.”
Yes…and it is hard to find voice, even after only a day away. For me, writing not only chronicles it also helps me to pay attention and then hopefully value, and at times to make some sense of all that occurs about me and mine. It is necessary to my sanity. So, yes, I make time to stay somewhat sane.
Sometimes, like you, I write for the general public to take notice if they will be so gracious…Most of the time I write in private blogs that hold my less presentable thoughts and summations or toward poor trusted souls in emails or in google doc dissertations on subjects I am exploring in depth. But, I find I have to write, same as eat and sleep a bit to stay sane.
I am thankful for all the beauty and humility, also beautiful, you share here with us who delight to find your link in bold in our in-boxes. You teach me about writing and living well. So thankful for you.
Kim, thank you. I love your words here: “For me, writing not only chronicles it also helps me to pay attention and then hopefully value, and at times to make some sense of all that occurs about me and mine. It is necessary to my sanity. So, yes, I make time to stay somewhat sane.” Yes, that. Exactly that. Grateful for you, writerly friend.
yes. without this–all that you write about–life loses its purposes. that scarlet thread rolled out through the middle of ordinary days. . . i love that imagery.
beautiful thoughts!
steph
Thank you, Steph. Yes, the scarlet thread….learning, always learning, how to keep my eye on the scarlet thread….
Ashley, I loved where your writing went today. How you started off contemplating what you would even write about, where your voice went… and then you sat and seeped in the love and peace of God… and then you put on Christmas carols as you sat yourself down to write… and what precious wisdom and reflection came tumbling out. I agree with Fiona: “your life is a symphony waiting for words.” Everything you write is beauty.
Bless you, Amber.
oh friend, you lay out your words, your day, like an offering, before God, and it is sacred. i love how the apology is woven in, and your daughter’s forgiveness breathes power into the rest of your day…
Emily, I love what you say about our words, our days as offering. Yes, that laying down is what makes the ordinary sacred, isn’t it? And forgiveness…Today my 4 yo asked why we forgive, and I explained because of the one who first forgave us. I described it to her as releasing, opening up my hand to say, I’m not going to hold onto my anger anymore. I’m going to let go of it. So when you say that laying down is an offering and that forgiveness breathes power…yes, all of that. Thank you, friend.
Ashley…after reading, I left inspired and encouraged…knowing that when my “yell” rings my corridors too, the petition of forgiveness and the act itself is so beautiful as you articulate poetically. Thank you for sharing the “middle of your ordinary days” that weaves such beauty…
~Left inspired and ignited…thank you Ashley.
Jenni, it was so good to see you (even across the room) at Writers’ Connection the other night, to get your squeeze of my shoulder and your dear words in my ear. And thank you for these words, too….so, tender artist, when is that secret blog going to reveal itself to the rest of us? :-)
absolutely beautiful…thank you so much for sharing your words…your heart!
Oh, precious Darcy, I love seeing you here. Thank you for your faithful friendship and encouragement. xoxo!
Beautiful thoughts transformed into living prose. I delight in your talents and the ability to touch so many with your wisdom and grace. ‘Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht’.
And a “stile nacht” to you, too, my precious Papa.
Beautiful writing. So glad you write – knowing you need to.
Thank you so much, Alene. Grateful for your visit.
This is my first visit to your blog, and I loved following the scarlet thread you weave. Such beauty. Such a gift you have with your voice.
Kimberly, bless you and thank you for these words of yours. I’m amazed that God gives us each a voice — different timbre, tone, pitch, lived out in the different ways of our everydays. Humbling, no?
I found your blog through Tuesday’s Unwrapped. This is absolutely beautiful.
Barbie, thank you for your encouraging words here. Blessings to you.