His Desired

   As a teenager, I was fortunate enough to have a family that met with one another over dinner, over breakfast, over lunch, over an afternoon snack, over an evening bowl of ice cream, pretty much any time someone sat at the table. I remember sitting down to a meal and hours later still be seated engrossed in conversations. They were not always shallow and playful either. Those are important but we used to have depth and we weren't afraid to talk about the hard stuff. You know the stuff. The topics that make you vulnerable, that leave you naked and exposed. I lived for those times of just gathering around the table, talking, laughing, but most importantly being apart of the family.    Too often, groups of people reside under one roof without being a family. They share the same DNA, the same mannerisms, the same behaviors, but rarely do they share anything else. I remember being apart of that kind of family too.    Now the one I described in the first para...

I am working on learning how to  be whole and free within myself, to  acknowledge my brokenness, manifest my own happiness, and succeed and fail gracefully. ~A Self Study ~Beau Taplin My best friend visited my hometown this past weekend. She came bearing gifts. Whoever said better late than never was wise beyond their years. Pickles surprised me with belated birthday gifts. Amongst these gifts was Beau Taplin's book,  Bloom . I received this book on Saturday, May 6. I have read and reread this book three times over the course of this week. Now I will say it is a short book but the thoughts expressed in Bloom are captivating and put into perspective almost every thought I have ever had. Beau Taplin's writing has invaded my soul. He is one of my favorite authors right now. I have quoted his words numerous times over this week. I have a frame in my kitchen that I write quotes and phrases for daily inspiration and Bloom has dominated this week. If you feas...

His Desired: For the Writer. A Psalm by Desirae Crabtree : God, Make me a writer again. To put words to thoughts unspoken. To give description.  To give clarity to illusion. Make me a w...

God, Make me a writer again. To put words to thoughts unspoken. To give description.  To give clarity to illusion. Make me a writer again. An author like my Father. To create wonders  That make wanderers Pitch a tent in confidence That home exists. Make me a writer again. To dissect dialect. To unmask the lovely  Of vocabulary Like it was meant  To be interpreted Make me a writer again. To record the roller coaster that is life. Complete with all the wrongs As well as the rights. Make me a writer again. To form works of beauty. Paths that make sense in poetry. Stories that leave a legacy. Truths that stand for centuries. God, Make me a writer again. In blood you wrote your testimony. With ink I'll give you glory. Forever penning your love story. Just make me a writer again.

Spring is here. Easter is Sunday. And I have slowly been working on renovating H is Desired for this new season. It is ironic that the physical should portray the inward being. Do not you think? Maybe some of you are experiencing winter or even autumn in your inward season but spring I think sums it up for me. There is something coming to life  within just as new life is beginning to bloom all around me. I recently requested prayer from a trusted friend. At the heart of the request was simply just a dissatisfaction with life. My life. I just feel it deep within my spirit that God is saying this is it. In this season you will decide if what I have for you is enough and you will grab hold of me and soar? Or the plans I have for you aren't worth the ambition or drive or process or attention? Choose. John Waller has a song titled As for Me and My House. It is on one of my favorite albums. The same album holds the song that played while I walked up the aisle to meet my husband. In thi...

I am excited to be back! There has been an abundance of God just pouring over me and I have been eager to share with all of you. I just finished a 21 day technology fast from all social media, web browsing, online shopping, reading (yes, I read so much that I had to give it up to keep from being distracted during a much needed time to pray and deny myself of temporary pleasures), pinning, and you guessed it; posting blogs. But now I'm refreshed, renewed, and ready to share what God has been doing in my life. Wow! As I am reflecting on the past three weeks I do not know where to begin. First, God is good! Is not he just mind blowing, breath taking, amazement at its purest. So I am just going to testify for a hot second. These last three weeks have been a roller coaster ride. My husband and I joined a group of our church family in the 21 day Daniel Fast. The first week went smoothly as far as the diet we were restricted to and the prayer was deep. But by the weekend, neither of us ...

    Maturity is the end result of growth and development. It is the finale. The goal. Completion. What happens after you've reached maturity? Is that when your ministry begins? Is that when it's over and you take your last breath? Is that when you begin to taste life as it was meant to be devoured? I do not know. I haven't reached that point. But my mind fast forwards sometimes into those questions of what it will be like once the goal has been achieved.    It is a bothersome habit. One that I think is more of a hindrance than a help. I think people are either looking ahead or looking behind. Sometimes we get so focused on what is in front or behind us that we cannot see what is beside us, above us, below us, around us. The present can be just as worthy as the future. It can be just as glorious as the past. Human nature can be so fickle always desiring something else than what we have. The past is over . You cannot retrieve it. The future isn't guaranteed. A long l...

In the past ten days I have learn for every victory there are two defeats. I ended 2016  praying for joy for the new year. After years of being told I am too serious, no fun, and need to learn to relax I realized those speaking these things to me were right.  Travel with me to Christmas Eve night, the 90's. Picture this; a pudgy eight year old girl with long brown hair, glasses rimmed along the end of her nose, and in her mother's hand-me-down stirrup pants taking center stage in her grandparents basement. There is a list in her hand as she bossily instructs her eleven cousins what games would be played that evening. Peer in closely. Do you see it? The list. What is written on the list? Names. Said cousins names are written along with their character role in a game of house. You know house. There is a daddy, mommy, siblings, and in this case a multitude of uncles and aunts all going about their lives. Now that I think of it, I am not sure what the point of that game was ...