Everyday Epic DesignsBloghttp://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2012-02-22T16:25:42ZSquarespaceJoy or Peace: One without the other.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2012/2/22/joy-or-peace-one-without-the-other.htmlLacey2012-02-22T05:58:00Z2012-02-22T05:58:00Z 

Day 80 / Rainy day in Copenhagen by velvettears


Over the weekend, someone asked me a question:  What makes you really really glowingly vibratingly joyful?

 

A simple question. An easy question. And yet I stared at it - at its pixelated enormity across the glow of my laptop screen. I stared at it...and drew a numbing blank.

 

A queer kind of horror was quick on its heels. My mind scrambled. Something heavy in my chest sank down to the pit of my stomach. That all-too-familiar voice was eager to begin its taunting dance, swirling around in bodiless cruelty to the tune of my growing despair. Why aren't you happy? What's wrong with you? Why can't you just be happy?

 

A moment more to linger in my uncertainty, and then I pressed my fingers to my keyboard regardless. I came up with the best answer that I could think of. The only answer that felt true in that moment. (I grew tired of pretending to be happy a long time ago. Masks are more exhausting than simply allowing my emotions to be as they are. Eventually, you just succumb to the tide and hope it doesn't rip you from the shore entirely.)

 

I...don't know honestly. I think being at peace is something I prefer over joy. But maybe that's just me speaking from my life and how I function right now.

 

I stared at the answer. I pressed enter. I let it be. Because even in knowing my own dissatisfaction, there was some sense of relief that you always feel when you're honest with yourself. But I couldn't shake the disquiet. The sense that I had to be doing something wrong. Peace over joy? What's wrong with you?

 

The words stayed with me. In my bed. At work. While I exercised. During my favorite television show. In the midst of my writing. Brushing my teeth. What makes you really really glowingly vibratingly joyful?  

 

I didn't know. And the longer that I allowed myself to dwell on it, the more distressed I became. Not being able to predict or control my own emotions is a fear built up from life experience and history. And knowing that I didn't feel joyful - under the presumption that everyone else did at some point or another - seemed like just another terrifying sign that I was sledding down the slushy slope. Careening, out of control, doomed to crash sooner or later.

 

But then a lunch break came. Errand breaks, as I call them now, since lunch is something done at my desk. (Another control issue. Another day.) The weather was warm - a teasing hint of spring and Vitamin D to make me uncurl like a flower about to be bitten by a frost. I let my car windows stay open, one hand dragging the breeze as I drove down the familiar path back to work. The air tasted good, and my sunglasses tinted the world into a seventies polaroid, too much cyan and yellow to look real.

 

I measured the pulse of how I felt in that moment - something I'd learned to do in high school when I couldn't trust the rampant mood swings anymore.

 

Peace. And with it? Happiness. I breathed in deep, memorizing the feeling, because this was where I felt best. Without trying. Without pushing myself. Without making Joy some sort of capitalized goal I had to reach or a hurdle to jump. It didn't vibrate. But it glowed, a gentle diffusion that made my limbs warm and my chest feel light. So maybe peace is the joy, I thought, still obsessed in some ways. And then, quietly, It's okay to simply want peace.

 

Later, in the new-old-amazing double bed I've inherited from my grandmama, where I'm learning to sleep in the middle of a space I've never had before, I felt a gentle pull to mull over words that I'm meant to be reading lately. Psalm 33, that voice whispered, and I found my Bible on the shelf by the shine of gold-edged pages.

 

 

Sing joyfully to the LORD, you righteous;

  it is fitting for the upright to praise him.

Praise the LORD with the harp;

  make music to him on the ten-stringed lyre.

Sing to him a new song;

play skillfully, and shout for joy.

  play skillfully, and shout for joy.

 

 

More joy, I thought wryly. It's a hymn about God's plans. A praise to His goodness and the absolute certainty that His will prevails. And then, at the end:

 

We wait in hope for the LORD;

  he is our help and our shield.

In him our hearts rejoice,

  for we trust in his holy name.

 

More peace, I realized. Because that's how I feel when I know I'm cradled carefully in His hands, His touch so tenderly unfolding His plans for my life. So maybe my joy can come from my peace. And my peace comes from ultimately knowing that it's all going to be okay. He's there. I survive. I thrive. I drink coffee. I write stories. I meditate. I pray. I work. I sleep. I do it all again.

 

Joy can't come for me from something that I do or something that I own. Maybe joy isn't something that I can control at all, but something He has to create in me. Something that just needs a little time and patient reverence.  

 

Perhaps when I finally stop pushing it so hard, it will blossom. Until then, I'm content with peace.

 

More joy. More peace.
]]>Art Every Day Month 2011: Day 12http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/11/12/art-every-day-month-2011-day-12.htmlLacey2011-11-12T21:18:39Z2011-11-12T21:18:39Z 
 

 

 

I had a long Saturday with not much going on, so I took the opportunity that I was presented with to create some art. I haven't dabbled with photomanipulation for a long while, and I thought I would give it another go. Altogether, I'm pretty pleased with it considering I haven't done anything like this for a while. 

The idea for the scene came to me on my way home from work. I was driving one of the long stretches of road and there were these huge, dark thunderclouds rolling in toward me as I drove closer to home. It felt like a challenge, almost. 

Here's to being a wild, warrior woman. 


                                                               

Credits for stock go to the following: 

Model: night-fate-stock @ DA 
Beach: eastop @ stock.xchng
Clouds: dimitri_c @ stock.xchng 
Grass: faestock @ DA
Lightning brushes: redheadstock @ DA
]]>The Nifty List: November 11, 2011.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/11/11/the-nifty-list-november-11-2011.htmlLacey2011-11-11T14:30:04Z2011-11-11T14:30:04Z 
Welcome to my nifty list. I like lists. I like nifty things. Thus, the nifty lists were born.
 

  • Eeeee! Lace boot socks over at Oops I Craft My Pants! (We’re not going to talk about how stereotypical I am that my name is Lacey and I’m in love with lace. We're also not going to talk about how awesome this blog name is.) I will make them.
  • If you’re on the internet at all, you probably know about TED talks. One of my favorites that’s been on the website for a while now - and I always seem to come back to - is a talk by Elizabeth Gilbert (You know. That awesome gal that wrote Eat, Pray, Love?) on Nurturing Creativity.
  • Steven Pressfield talks about the 10,000 hour rule and about reaching the end of our ability to mimic others when it comes to our creativity.

 

  • I love this virtual collection of matte paintings. Breathtaking and gorgeous.
  • I recently discovered Cynosure. Sui is raw and real and transparent in her writing. I could eat every paragraph she writes with a spoon. She also has this fan-flippin’-tastic Letter that she sends out everyday. 

 

 

 

]]>Being an Imagination Warrior in a Cubicle.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/11/9/being-an-imagination-warrior-in-a-cubicle.htmlLacey2011-11-09T14:01:05Z2011-11-09T14:01:05Z 

I suppose that when one thinks about the concept of an imagination warrior, sitting in a cubicle or behind a plastic desk isn’t exactly what we have in mind. In all honesty, I don’t think I ever once said to myself in the midst of my creative childhood, Yes. I think one day I would like to grow up to sit behind a desk with no windows in sight and stare at a computer monitor all day.

Not that I’m complaining, of course. I know that there are quite a few individuals out there who most likely wish that they had my cubicle job. Something somewhat reliable and concrete. A position that isn’t focused on frying hamburgers or selling fashion accessories based on sales commisions. I can appreciate that my current job position doesn’t require either of those things from me. Not only appreciate, but I am thankful. So very thankful for my blessings.

But I can’t escape the fact that...Well, it’s boring. Not entirely, of course. Not all the time. But there are periods of time which I spend staring at my computer monitor, wishing the time would go more quickly than it is.

And really, there’s nothing imaginative required in my position. I answer customer emails that all begin to look and feel similar to each other. Eventually, I find myself repeatedly typing the same phrases day in and day out. For the creative mind, I can imagine that you understand that this lack of a need for my imaginative skills would be vexing.

Therefore, there are three ways that I’ve found that I can spice up my job simply by being an Imagination Warrior in the dark dungeon formed by three walls and my plastic desk.

1: Pretend the customers are in mortal peril.

This solves a great deal of the boredom. As a majority of my work involves solving customer problems, it’s much more exciting to imagine that they are in the clutches of a foul dragon who will toast them like a marshmallow and eat them alive if they do not find  the dragon this specific sweatshirt immediately.

Not only does this set my customer service pulse to pounding, but it also makes me feel like a hero when I’ve located the sweatshirt. If they are the fantastic sort of customer that I adore, of course they’ll heap many praises on my character - or at least muster a thank you. And if they’re not...Well, I still feel a little self-righteous anyway. Sort of like a caped avenger who isn’t appreciated enough because how could ordinary citizens possibly know or understand?

Never mind the moments when I can’t find the sweatshirt or we don’t have it. I try not to think about the dragon in that case. It gets to be very unpleasant from there.

2: Imagine that my lunch break is a vacation.

It’s lunch time! The world is my damn oyster, and I can go anywhere and do anything - in thirty minutes or less. If I feel like visiting China or Thailand, it’s only a few minutes’ drive to the nearest Asian food restaurant. If I feel like lounging on a beach instead, it’s off to buy a smoothie. A whole world of opportunities is open in just the cuisine that I choose to indulge in.

And thanks to the helpful hints of my coworkers, I’m starting to learn that there’s a lot more available near my workplace than I had originally thought. I also like to be an explorer and chart my own maps with the time that I have. Each day there’s a new direction I can drive or walk in - new places and things to discover. Nothing makes life more exciting and adventurous than the idea that you are exploring it for the first time.

3: Daydream.

Yeah. I said it. I like to space out every once in a while. Some people need to take breaks from their work and do a quick turn around the office. I need to sit at my desk and go inward just for a few moments. I need to let myself daydream - let my mind wander without being pulled back and made to focus.

I think as adults, sometimes we put so much emphasis on focusing and being productive that we forget how nice it is just to daydream and imagine. I’m not necessarily saying that we should waste all of our time by not being in the present. But I think daydreams can be helpful. Even encouraging. It’s a way to take myself out of the present, if only for a moment. A way to remind myself that there is more - and that I’m allowed to hope for more.

I find that a good, one-minute daydream every hour keeps me relatively focused and productive for the rest of my work day. My coworkers may have to snap their fingers a couple of times if they need my attention in that same minute. But I’m much more pleasant coming out of a daydream than I am coming out of a to-do list that I’m not ever allowed to take a break from.

 

Being an imagination warrior doesn't mean you have to be impractical or unfocused.

 

 It just means letting yourself dream every once in a while - even if other people might laugh at the concept. That's the beauty of the imagination. It's all in your head. No one else has access to it. 

So let yourself be free to imagine, even in your cubicle or at your plastic desk. No one else has to know why your days are so exciting. 

]]>Life is too short to force words from my fingers.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/11/7/life-is-too-short-to-force-words-from-my-fingers.htmlLacey2011-11-07T14:00:38Z2011-11-07T14:00:38Z 

 

I’m doing it again.

It’s silly. So very silly.

I stare at the blank Microsoft Word document. Tension in my shoulders. Ache. Ouch. My eyes are itchy and watery. It’s getting to be that time of year again. There’s too much dust at my desk. I should wipe it off. That would help. That would help me -

Focus. Squeeze my eyes shut. Suck in a long, deep breath that stretches to my toes. Release the exhale on a shuddering quiver. It seems only two seconds and then the tension is back in my shoulders again. I clench my fists in frustration and resist the urge to just scream.

I can’t relax. I can’t enjoy this. What is wrong with me?

Writing used to come so easy. I remember when that was all I could seem to do - even when I wasn’t supposed to. I was a good multi-tasker. I could listen to my eighth-grade history class lectures, answer questions, and record the stories in my own head all at the same time. And when I wasn’t writing, I was dreaming about writing. I was thinking about what story I would scrawl into my newest, fresh notebook as soon as I could pick up a pen again.

Now I still dream. I still hoard empty, new notebooks like I’m some sort of troll or dragon who lusts after fresh paper instead of gold. But when it comes time to sit down and write, I get that tension in my shoulders. That little, nasty voice in my head.

What’s wrong with you? Where did it go? Why can’t you write anymore? Don’t you have anything to say? C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Time’s a-wastin’. We don’t have all day!

Now even more so. I don’t need that NaNoWriMo word count total in front of me to know that I am failing dreadfully. The panic rises up, because I’ve always been so very good at demanding more from myself. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?

But then that quiet voice speaks. That soft whisper in my chest that cuts through all the frenzy and the inner critic. My mind’s dialogue quiets instantly, and I feel relief in my shoulders and my back.

Life is too short to fill your free time with unnecessary obligations. This is supposed to be fun. If it’s not fun, you’re doing it wrong.

I am reminded of a podcast interview I listened to recently with the fabulous Danielle LaPorte. It’s a hell yes, she said in her usual blunt manner, or it’s a no thank you.

In this moment, writing isn’t a hell yeah! It’s something I drag my feet to do. I want the idea of writing. But when it comes to it, the word counts - the requirement - makes me sick to my stomach with pre-conceived disappointment. I don’t want more stress. I don’t want the deadlines. 

No. What I really want is the opportunity to be more creative. An excuse to fill my free time with creative endeavors.

And just like that, the stress is gone. This NaNoWriMo challenge is whatever I want it to be. And right now, I want it to be a daily practice. I don’t care that I might not reach the word counts each day. I care that I sit down each evening to write something - anything. A paragraph or a novel. I don’t care.

Life is too short to stress myself out over something that should be gloriously and fantastically fun. I won’t fall into that trap.

It’s only then - with my own permission - that the words finally begin to fall from my heart.

 

 

]]>The Nifty List: November 4, 2011.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/11/4/the-nifty-list-november-4-2011.htmlLacey2011-11-04T13:00:28Z2011-11-04T13:00:28Z 

Welcome to my nifty list. I like lists. I like nifty things. Thus, the nifty lists were born.

  • I always like finding new ways of using the artistic mediums available to us. I used motion in my senior thesis when graduating from the photography program because I wanted something different. I love the concept and execution of these cinemagraphs. So pretty and interesting!



  • Are you reading Danielle LaPorte’s blog? Have you visited WhiteHotTruth.com? You should. You should also read this article that she wrote recently on how  giving up hope is a good thing.



 


  • Have you heard of Art Every Day Month? It's like NaNoWriMo, but for artists - or any creative individual! It's hosted by Leah Piken Kolidas at her blog. And it's never too late to join!

  • I am a twitter-aholic. I use it on my cellphone. I use it on my personal laptop. I use it at work. My new favorite twitter app? TweetDeck for Chrome! I can tweet from multiple accounts at the same time if I want to! And there’s no software download necessary. Heart, heart, heart.


  • I want to make this scarf - found via Kevin & Amanda because it looks warm and fun and a delightful use of part of an afternoon (and some old t-shirts!).

  • I would also love to be able to create this authentic chai tea recipe some weekend. It looks and sounds delicious! 

 

]]>Slogging through creative black puddles.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/11/2/slogging-through-creative-black-puddles.htmlLacey2011-11-02T13:00:27Z2011-11-02T13:00:27Z

(Psst! My Art Every Day Month submission for day one! I am oodles of crazy for doing two challenges at once! Wheeeeeeeeeee!)

 

I stumble into these knee-high black holes every once in a while. It used to be far worse, of course. A very kind, very talented artist who attended the same church as myself and my family for a time once inquired after me to my mother.

Lacey is so artistic, she said knowingly. Sometimes us artists have a difficult time with our emotions. I hope Lacey doesn’t have that problem.

My mother only laughed a little, smiled, and said that I had my struggles but that I was doing fine. I can’t always differentiate between the rough roller coaster that was my emotional ride back then between the now. I only know that it’s better. It’s an amusement ride that I can stomach, instead of merely clinging with terrified fervency to what remained of my public stoicism. (I never have liked roller coasters.)

Now the bouts of discouragement aren’t whirling vortexes that consume my entire being and drag me under. They’re more like little puddles of darkness that get my favorite autumn boots wet. Annoying - but I can rise up and shake off the cold and wait until the heat dries the dampness.

The difficulty is that I’m not very patient with myself. I don’t want to wait until the lingering mopiness gradually fades. I want to be happy and I want to be happy now. I want to be successful and productive now. I want those big dreams now, without the pain, without the work. I want the universe to hand me a platter of truffles and say, Here. Pick one. You don’t have to earn it. You don’t even have to want it. Here you go. Take it. It’s yours.

The bouts of discouragement are...more like little puddles of darkness that get my favorite autumn boots wet.


But alas. Life doesn’t work that way. For the rare few, sometimes dreams fall into their lap out of nowhere. And while I desperately wish that, yes, the fates would smile on me in that way, I know that I can’t let my entire life go by while I sit and hope for something to happen for me. Part of being an artist means having to motivate myself through the dark puddles of creative blocks and personal discouragement. I’ve found a few tools in the journey, and I’m sure there are more to be found in the years to come.

1. Allowing myself to want - I think sometimes that the dreams are so very big that they scare me. A life so far of being “realistic” has frightened me away from wanting things that I deem to be too big for me. Too good for me. Sometimes I even dare to believe that I don’t deserve those things. But a realization has occurred to me: If I don’t allow myself to even want these dreams, then they most certainly will never, ever happen.

Nothing dispels my despair more than the sweet, pleasant ache of wanting a dream so badly that it fills up my entire being.

2. Breaking dreams into baby dreams - Half the reason those ambitions seem so huge is that I don’t look at them as a process. I’m a dreamer - always have been, always will be. I see the end result and what I think it will look like, but I don’t necessarily want to think about the fine-grained details that it involves.

But when I break that huge, gianormous dream into smaller steps that I can actually accomplish? Suddenly, everything seems so much more manageable and possible. Gloria!

3. Do it - This may seem like a no-brainer. You have a plan? You do it! But those who are reading may not know me. And the fact of the matter is that I can come up with any reason not to do something. As far as procrastinators go, I don’t believe I’m the worst.  But five years in college has certainly given me some experience in the matter.

I think the method of doing something can be different for each individual. Some of us prosper the best when we have a plan and every step is mapped out. Some of us need a deadline. Some of us need to not have a plan at all and just do it all in two days with no sleep and a bucket of coffee.

I think I’m still figuring out the factors that motivate me best to do something. Sometimes I need a strict plan. Sometimes I need to do something in a crazy, minimal amount of time to pull off my best work. I think it depends on the situation. But the ultimate point is to know yourself. To know what motivates you and gets you excited and gets you going.

4. Let go and let God - Another area in which I struggle. Being a perfectionist, I want something to be absolutely, one-hundred percent the way that I envisioned it before I let it step out into the big, scary world. I learned that this method wouldn’t work in my university classes. If I let that term paper wait until the last two days before I turned it in, there was no way it was going to be perfect for the eyes of my professor.

But I suppose there’s a huge difference between a term paper about Communication Theory (Don’t care!) and the latest novel I’ve written or the most recent painting I’ve put onto canvas (I care immensely!). But at some point, I have to acknowledge that there will always be changes I want to make before I consider it perfect. I have to consume the truth that perfection doesn’t exist.

Not really.

At some point, I have to let my creation go and hope that God has the best in mind for it. I have to hope that it was meant to be created for a reason and just leave it at that.

So I’m keeping these four things in mind as I begin the process of writing a 50,000 word novel in thirty days for the sixth year in a row. I’m allowing myself to want and letting myself break it into manageable steps. I’m prodding myself gently in the back to work through the blahs of a momentary writer’s block. And I’m not waiting on perfection to come.

I’m going to put it out there in the universe. I’m going to let go and let God. In the end, whatever plans are meant for that dream will come true.
 
I have to consume the truth that perfection doesn’t exist. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go brew some more tea and write some more fiction.

 

 

]]>The Imagination Warrior.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/10/31/the-imagination-warrior.htmlLacey2011-10-31T13:30:15Z2011-10-31T13:30:15Z 

She's terrified that the borders of the Nation are shrinking. She wakes up every morning, and it seems to her as if the land has folded back on itself, becoming less and less with each minute that she keeps her eyes closed. It sends her into a hard panic every so often - deep, ragged inhales and exhales. She can't breathe, she can't breathe.

It's wrong. So wrong. The Nation was not meant to have boundaries.

That was the beauty of this country she'd found. There had been so much of it. So much golden-lit land, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. It had been too much and not enough at the time. Thousands of possibilities of countless wishes and dreams. In this land, it was nearly impossible to keep your feet on the ground. Her only grievance was that she could not explore all four directions at once.

She isn't sure when that changed. She can't tell you, That was the morning my feet felt heavy.

When the sun goes down, the colors in the clouds are no longer just a celebration for the day that's gone by. The sunset is a funeral pyre, mourning the mountains and valleys that are being shrouded in shadow. Mourning, because she'll never have the chance to explore them. When the sun comes up again, they'll be gone forever.

She races to the borders sometimes. Tries to shove her way past the masked, faceless men who stand guard, still and unmoving. It's a useless endeavor. They are nothing but cold stone under her hands, but it keeps her from going completely mad.

This is what happens, they try to tell her once. This is the outcome of trying and failing.

She covers her ears and screams so that she doesn’t have to hear. She runs from them so that she doesn’t have to see the advancing hordes on the edge of the horizon, gleaming in the pink dusk of the desert beyond her captors. She runs back to the fortress that she once built with stardust. The only reminder of a fresh journey that she can't quite recall now.

It's there that she writes her story from the blood of her own veins, clinging to the last shred of hope and innocence as she plans her escape. They won't take her alive. Once they come, she tells herself, they'll have to drag her kicking and screaming.

You can't have me. You can't have me.

Until that day, she tries to remember how to fly.

---*---


I am afraid of losing my imagination.

I remember when it was so easy to lose an entire afternoon to the imaginary world inside my head. I didn’t need toys. I didn’t need a book. I didn’t even need company. I could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. It didn’t matter, because it was my private place to simply be myself. It was my imagination.

I can’t remember the first time I had that sinking feeling in my gut. That feeling that told me it was all silly. It was hopeless. I could never have that. That dream was too big. That dream wasn’t practical. The real world was incredibly boring, and I felt doomed to cope with it.

I was saddened by a world in which imagination is undervalued and underestimated. It weighs me down when being practical - being realistic - is used as an excuse to smother dreams out of existence.

That little flame of hope inside me flickers uncertainly when someone says, Oh Lacey. That’s a long way to go. That’s a lot of work. I don’t know about that...

But I will cling to it. Because those comments just make me angry. They make me want to fight.

Childish or not, these dreams I cradle in my heart give me energy. They give me hope, which is something we should never be without.

Never, ever, ever.

Imagination was given to us for a reason. It is not impractical. It is not useless.

Imagination is important. It breathes fire into our aspirations. Sometimes, it makes us just crazy enough to work for those dreams that seem so very unattainable - the dreams that we think are too much to ever become reality outside of our own private musings.

Dream big. Fight. Be an imagination warrior. And carry those crazy, amazing, glorious ideas and scenarios out into the world. Make them a reality.

Because in the end, when those daydreams turn into something physical and real, people will ask us how we did it.

And they’ll realize that the imagination is something precious. Something meant to be kept and guarded and cherished.
You can't have me. You can't have me.
]]>Air and tea.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/10/8/air-and-tea.htmlLacey2011-10-08T13:10:39Z2011-10-08T13:10:39ZYesterday...was a difficult day. And it ended much as most of my difficult days do – with a bit of a cry and retiring early to bed to read and fall asleep. As my roommates – also known affectionately as my “parents” – are out of town for their anniversary, it was a bit more privileged than usual. I then promptly drifted off, which I don’t think is all that much of a bad thing.

And was dead to the world, until around 7:30 in the morning when our beloved children – also affectionately known as “dogs” – woke me with their enthusiastic barking. (This was actually quite exciting, as our newest member of the family, a self-important Pomeranian named Cooper, had yet to bark for us at all.) After several arguments back and forth, with myself saying a very deep-throated NO! and my dogs quieting down only to begin again in a matter of minutes, I took it as a sign that it was time to get out of bed.

The sun was just coming up…and is still in the process of rousing himself. Lucky for a majority of the planet, the sun is much more beautiful in its process of waking up than most humans are. So there were some lovely colors to look at. Earlier this summer in my lack of employment, I’d taken to sitting outside on the deck for a bit in the mornings. Just to breathe in the air and sit with my coffee and be. Since the colder take in weather and my receiving a job that requires me to get up much earlier than I would probably prefer, I’ve had to redirect those morning sits to Saturdays – if I wake up in time, that is.

But this morning, I felt like it was important to breathe again. So I went outside and sat underneath my mother’s pergola.

And I was quiet.

And I breathed.

And I sat in love. I simply rested, and was silent, and allowed God to speak to me.

And He said, You don’t ever have to stop saying I love you. 

And He showed me the leaves that are steadily changing. He showed me the colors and He pointed out that endings can be bittersweet – but that doesn’t always mean that they’re a bad thing. Sometimes they’re just part of a cycle. Sometimes endings are just clearing the way for the next glorious season.

And then He told me to go make my cup of tea and to skip the coffee this morning. So I did. And I have to admit that this is the most healing cup of tea I have probably ever had – not that I’ve had many.

So now I’m writing to you. Because whoever you are, you’re reading this. And you’re supposed to be reading this. And for whatever gloriously divine reason, Great-Spirit-Big-God Himself wanted you to hear this truth.

You don’t ever have to stop saying I love you. You can rest for a few moments. Endings are natural.

Now go make some tea, beautiful soul. And let Him heal you.  

]]>Keep calm and carry on.http://www.everydayepic.net/blog/2011/5/13/keep-calm-and-carry-on.htmlLacey2011-05-13T18:06:41Z2011-05-13T18:06:41ZSummer days seem to go by that much slower when you don't have much to do. As a consequence, I've been doing my best to keep busy. I've adapted the mindset that there's always something I can be doing. (Perhaps as my own boss I emphasize this a bit more now.) If there isn't something to update for the website, I can always be learning something new. And with the extra time now, I have more freedom to learn about areas of interest that I had to put aside while I was in the winter term still. 

I know now that there isn't anybody there to tell me to work on my personal projects or to continue to educate myself, so I need to be my own encouragement. The past few days have been a steady search for a number of online resources I can use to keep up to date with what's going on in the photography and design world. Blogs seem to be my best friend in this regard, and there are no shortage of blogs about media and design. 

A few nifty things that have caught my eye in the past few days: 

 

 

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