thorn and thistle

Therefore leaving the elementary teaching about the Christ, let us press on to maturity, not laying again a foundation of repentance from dead works and of faith toward God, of instruction about washings and laying on of hands, and the resurrection of the dead and eternal judgment. And this we will do, if God permits. (Hebrews 6:1-3 NASB)

For in the case of those who have once been enlightened and have tasted of the heavenly gift and have been made partakers of the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the good word of God and the powers of the age to come, and then have fallen away, it is impossible to renew them again to repentance, since they again crucify to themselves the Son of God and put Him to open shame. (Hebrews 6:4-6 NASB)

For ground that drinks the rain which often falls on it and brings forth vegetation useful to those for whose sake it is also tilled, receives a blessing from God; but if it yields thorns and thistles, it is worthless and close to being cursed, and it ends up being burned. (Hebrews 6:7-8 NASB)

May we not be found with hearts aging with thorns and thistles. We’re made with a purpose far more glorious than temporal delights. Our design is for eternal life and not for eternal separation in fire. If we have received the Good News of the Lord Jesus, we can trust faith to continue to make us grow, mature by God’s grace alone.

devotion means this:
that my hands are never unbleeding,
never soft.
that my hair is a tangle of leaves, my clothes
not ornamentation but testament to today.

devotion means my feet are wet and cold
when it rains, and the burn of snow on bare toes
is familiar as i protest the late frost by running
barefoot to my garden.

devotion means this: 
i am reverent privately, confessional
to the flooding creek, penitent
to the prick of thistle thorns. 

i am this: wild, wanton, wandering, wondering,
waiting for wilderness and to be less and more
than a woman. 

i mean this: collections of blessed bruises,
skin stained red by berries and by blood,
a knife, black and silver, slipped into a waistband. 

devotee means
this, ordained by fire, barefooted, freckle-burned ,
this, hallowed pine-needle carpet, softer than tapestries,
this, sacred summer sinning and singing and slippery mud
in the spring.

—  What It Means

Thank you all for sticking with this blog. :)

Reading your messages and comments on each fanwork, even if it’s a quick emoji response, keeps me inspired and pushes me to keep improving. It’s these responses that spark new ideas. I’m thankful that you still look at these drawings even if it’s been a long time since KLK ended, and there are many new series around. Seeing names from last year pop up again makes me really happy.

Things have been tough and uncertain for me lately. There are many times when it feels like I keep crashing into a wall and I can’t draw or be creative. But this blog is one of the only places that still reminds me of how much I love drawing and storytelling. Thank you guys for helping me not lose my way. :)

I am waiting to happen. / Ceramic / blood-box / voice-box / precarious name-vase. / I am called-out-of-clay; I leave dust-red against a strangers’ hands. / Vase-of-nascent-poppies, cut too early. / I did not ask for this. I did not ask for blood-box / bird-box / vase-full-of-crows. Vase-full-of-wings. / Vase full of flutter-against-my-chest. / Vase-full-of-hands. / (My body is a hollow full of licking-fingers, and I am called toward every sharp-drop:) / a vase full of hands which gesture, like nothing, into the fall. / 

My name considers death in the hollow of my throat / thorn-throat / thistle-throat: Two steps; / two steps, and then in pieces. / Two-step death. / Two-step with poppies between the teeth: / something red where my name should be. / (My mouth hung open, grown too impatient; / I let light break its body on my teeth: / and now its bones are barred across my throat; / My mouth is filling up with blood.)


In a cloud of slick black feathers, I vanish.


The crows are building something of my body. / The crows are pulling ribs (elsewhere: / a girl’s fingers running bloody as she tears a poppy-bud—she could not wait, the bloom far too urgent; / elsewhere, I, too, come to resemble a tangle of shredded petals). / I am carried away on greasy black wings; / I am carried away in pieces—salvaged, not saved. Salvaged: / my eyes, / my mouth. / My hands. / I am borne away: a cool, wet ball of clay where my name should be. / A string of sinew. / A tongue: / Please!—I am not yet through with that; / please!—come back; / I can use that for something / I can use that / for something / I can use / that for

a. leylâ