Undone // Lydia Cole
Every time. Every time. Every time.
“The Bible is like Van Gogh’s painting of sunflowers, rather than a Wikipedia entry about sunflowers. It is not a science book. It will not tell you what to believe in order to make God happy. It is more likely to show you what faith does than define what it is. The Bible is a work of art, a collection of stories, histories, poems, flawed characters and beautiful songs. Art is meant to work on us and to wake us up to our own lives. The Bible works on our hidden depths, hopes, and dreams, pushes our buttons and exposes our illusions.”
The above super tasty video is called POP and was created for/by my brilliant and talented (and just plain lovely) friend Courtney for her street/sports luxe clothing label Article. by Courtney Holm as a part of this year’s Melbourne Spring Fashion Week.
It’s been my privilege to be able to help Courtney out with some of the production (ie. fabric cutting) side of her work over the last couple of months on my days off, and it’s gratifying to see her work get out into the public domain.
If only I had more spare money I’d be spending up large.
I think everything in life is art. What you do. How you dress. The way you love someone, and how you talk. Your smile and your personality. What you believe in, and all your dreams. The way you drink your tea. How you decorate your home. Or party. Your grocery list. The food you make. How your writing looks. And the way you feel. Life is art.
−Helena Bonham Carter
He flopped down across the bottom of the bed, positioning his head as close to the open window as possible he tucked a pillow under his chin and closed his eyes in the dim half-light. The sound of the falling rain filled the night. Occasionally a car would pass, the tires shusshing through the water pooled on the surface of the road. He thought about the kind of people who didn’t like the rain. He would never be able to understand them. The sound of falling raindrops was one of his greatest sensory pleasures. He opened his eyes, looking past the elaborate wrought iron-work of the balcony railing, past the tree lit up by the streetlamp, past the powerlines, shining, dripping, and up at the grey mass of the sky, clouds illuminated from below by the lights of the city. He thought about how his life, his heart had been broken open, it’s dark secrets pooling out like the water gathered on the inky black asphalt down below. He had been a mess of swirling emotional turmoil for the past month, it only just beginning to settle again; his eating and sleeping patterns returning to normal. How could he ever share what he had learned, the discoveries he’d made about himself, about love and faith, fear, grace and mercy. About selflessness and self-preservation. Everything at once. It was never just one thing. All or nothing at all.
It was morning when he went to work. Early, but not too early. He sat in the sun chatting and eating ice cream for half an hour in the mid afternoon. He left work in the evening, waited for the tram. He climbed aboard when it came along, stood amongst the other commuters with his backpack slung from one shoulder across his front. A breeze blew through the window, playing through his hair, brushing across his face. He closed his eyes. It was evening and he was on the way home and the day was about to end. He climbed down from the tram, crossed the main road and wandered along the side street toward the house. It was dark, and the air was warm. He could smell what people were cooking for dinner and the intoxicating fragrance of jasmine. He felt contented.
AND THE angel who talked with me came again and awakened me, like a man who is wakened out of his sleep. (Zechariah 4:1 AMP)
For who are you, O great mountain before Zerubbabel. You shall become a plain! (Zechariah 4:7 AMP [excerpt])
I didn’t bring you here to drown. I didn’t bring you out on the water to founder. I didn’t bring you to this new beginning to fail. I knew the end before the beginning, because I know the plans I have for you for a future and a hope.
Put both your hands against my chest. Push as hard as you can. You won’t get rid if me as easily as that, you’re already inside. You might make me frustrated, tired, angry or sad. It doesn’t mean anything, you can’t lose me as easily as that. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done or what you’ve done, when or with whom. Once you’ve opened the door and come inside, the place for you there will be waiting regardless of where you’ve gone. You lay in my bed. I let you in. It doesn’t matter if anything happened once you were there, or why. I can’t just let you leave. You’re part of me now.