in reckless abandon

Here I am.

Carrying in my arms the broken shards of things I loved and fell apart. The sharp edges have torn my arms and the wounds are a tender shade of scarlet, and I know that scarlet is a colour fit for a King. I have no right to bear these scars, but I have nowhere else to turn.

I pass the place where old dreams are buried and where the air hangs heavy with ghosts of the past clinging to me in the thick mist–

I will walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

and fear no evil, for You are with me.

My heart is shaking as I look for You through the fog, afraid to find Your sorrowful eyes but longing to see You. I am too frail and too weak, and this journey is too long and painful, Lord–this I know all too well.

And as the trail tapers off into a large field, I find myself left with nothing but my broken pieces and my tears and the dirt beneath me. Through the ebbing fog, I see the shadow of an altar.

And blindly, I stumble towards it, heart heavy with tears and with a million words I do not know how to say. The broken shards have begun to shred my bloodied skin again, but this time the pain is heavier and sharper, as if they somehow knew I was trying to let them go. Broken shards of a self-righteous life I cannot let go of; I know that with every tear of my skin I am getting weaker.

A familiar figure cuts through the thick fog, but I cannot move. I can only sit and wait as silent cries shake my body, desperate to be saved from myself. There are moments you never forget, and as He gazed down upon me, with so much sorrow and beauty and compassion piercing through to my soul, I tasted Love for the first time.

O! The sweetness of His gaze and warmth of Love! Nothing I had been promised in my old life even came close. It seemed like centuries ago when I had revelled and made my living off the self-absorbed "love" the world served in sickening excess.

And in reckless abandon, He reached out to me, despite the heavy stench of dried blood and flaking mud around me, to take everything, the pain and the tears and the remnants of my former self, even as they tore His beautiful body. Blood flowed richly and freely and a cry of pain and aguish left His lips. I cowered, but He did not draw back until He had taken every sliver of my sin and laid them on the altar beside Himself. The ultimate sacrifice, the holy & the perfect Lamb, to save me from destroying myself.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound! 

That saved a wretch like me.

/postscript/

I really, truly try to love Him in my own twisted human, carnal way, but I cannot do it. I cannot love Him enough to bend my own stubborn, proud heart to His will. I cannot love Him enough to fill my mind with His words. I cannot love Him enough to kill my own sinful habits that chain me to my flesh.

And though my heart cries in bondage, it steadily refuses to budge. The irony never fails to amaze me and fill me with such despair.


But His Love is too great—so great that He sent His Son down to die on the cross to save my small, pitiful heart bent on destroying myself. Love so great that He turned away from His only begotten Son when my sins were laid on Him. O Lord! Enlarge my heart I pray. I do not deserve Your love, that I know, but neither do You deserve my pale, weak heart that very often beats for something else.

And I come back again to the beginning—disappointment is a harsh term. I try not to think about it so much, but if I am disappointed with how often my wandering heart strays, to think of the disappointment He has in my unfaithfulness. My heart trembles at the grace that has been lavished on me, and marvels at His faithfulness, steady throughout the generations.

/

And with that I end, a sinner that has been liberated from the snares of sin but who often forgets the costliness of the free gift she has received. Perhaps this is but a pitiful attempt at reminding herself of how undeserving she is of His love and how willing He is to pursue her wandering heart, but isn't this the beauty in the story of redemption? And this weary soul can only say hallelujah. All glory be given to the One who saves.

/

This post has been perhaps the most painful and important one I've written yet. It's taken me months and months (close to half a year, or more) to finally conclude this and get the words and the story right and I know I'm a week late for Easter Sunday, but I thought I might share this anyways (hurhur). And isn't it only right that I have a very long postscript to be attached to this post? HAHAHA. You can take it as my attempt to apologise and make up for the lack of content on this space (hehe), but really, every word I say is straight from my heart. I've said this one too many times, but thank you, thank you, thank you for being here.

the song of us | here's a piece of my heart (ii)

It was a quiet Saturday evening. Those kinds of evenings when it seemed you could just sink into the deep silence and silently fall through the cracks to the other dimension, slipping into a million melodies just waiting to be discovered.

We met by accident.

You were a warm, pulsating melody that swelled and eased like the tide. Notes hurriedly strung together as you attempted to construct a greeting. (I ended up receiving an unintentional compliment, not that I'm complaining about it.) I didn't know much, but I knew I really wanted to hear your tune over and over again.

Walking with you down corridor after corridor, finding excuses to somehow prolong our conversation--I laugh as I catch myself mid thought. Your eyebrows raise and I laugh again because you look so ridiculous. Really ridiculous. There is not a chance I would tell this to you now, I think to myself. Maybe next time when we have years of friendship behind us. Maybe next time.

We meet once, twice, many times more after that. It's built on friendly excuses, until you finally tell me that you love the tune I play, the trills and occasional random arpeggios thrown into the score that lilts on. For that moment my heart sings because, me too! Man, how blessed can I get? And I tell you, this time out loud, I have fallen for your warm chords and deep tunes.

And thus, the song of you and me began.

You slowly help me mend the cracks of silence that had threatened to swallow me. We seal them, but leave enough space for the haunting melodies to filter through. I liked it better that way, I told you. Then I can still discover the undiscovered melodies. You laughingly joke that it's alright, as long as I still loved your tune the most. What a silly thing to say! That is something that will never change.

Whenever you laugh, I want the whole world to see how it colours my world and sets my heart skipping the occasional beat. But I suppose, some things are best loved alone.

I don't think you know how deeply I feel in love with you, but it's more than I can ever bring myself to say or admit. We write melodies and paint them in silver and pastel, and the tune goes on and on.

I have found the one whom my soul loves.

//

wow a FOUR MONTH hiatus ??? what is life

this post is long looOOong overdue but i legitimately just wrote it a few hours ago
(that's how little i've been writing for the past few months i'm ashamed)

it's fresh off the press, yall.

(also i just got a TON of cake samples. God is good. love u all muchly)

a crack in the starlit sky

image from tumblr
i humbly recommend this track for your listening pleasure

---

I caught a glimpse of paradise today.

It was a peculiar feeling, seeing something you’re so familiar with but have never actually seen.

For the first time, gazing out a plane window at 4AM, I saw the stars. Not just the rare one or two bright ones bravely shining through the noisy city lights, but a whole sky full of it.

And I remember thinking, Wow, this is one star too many.


I was, and still am, a city girl. Born and bred with the glaring lights of rush and noise to suffocate my senses. I have never seen the stars I write about so often, felt the cool moss beneath my bare feet, or lay in fields with the evening sun warming my face. I felt an odd sense of guilt when I realised just how glorious the pattern of the heavens was, how I’d been talking all these time about something I never really knew. 

So maybe what I’m trying to say very imperfectly is that writing has taken me places I could have only dreamed about.

When I write about the mountains and the stars and the songs the wind sings, a piece of me is there. When I’m broken, I engrave the words of my Father into the crevices of my heart. When my soul sings, I pencil in that song to my memory where I can keep it for eternity.

I feel like Christmas eve is an appropriate time for such reflections. Staring up into the sky this evening made me feel so small and pale in comparison, but I know of Someone loved me enough to send His own Son to this earth, with a bright lonely star to watch over His cradle, for the redemption of a girl who cannot love enough on her own.

The stars were never one too many or one too few.

//

Only a few more hours to Christmas, so happy (almost) Christmas!! May you be filled with love & joy this season, and not forget the life behind why we remember this beautiful day.

p.s.: still working on part ii of here's a piece of my heart!! so excited to finish this ♥ so much love for you all.