a new woman

it feels strange to lose one's last name and take ownership of a new name..the taking ownership part is made easier by the fact that everyone around you hands you that new identity on a platter--eager to celebrate your new identity as a married woman...but below the surface one may glimpse the frayed remains of a tug-o-war...intitially, the idea of taking the name Doner startled me because it felt as long the last British part of me was being stolen...the name Whitaker draws me to the roots of England--seducing me with its rich history and memories it chooses to associate with..the name Doner does not open those doors for me..rather it is as if I am looking through someone else's window at a series of stories that are not in any way tied to my own...at least that is somewhat of the feelings that came before marriage...

but now..now that I am married, I sense the beautiful realization that I am both a new and old woman..a new threshold has been constructed in the form of two rings, and I have chosen to rightfully step over it and embrace what is now mine..it is not always a beautifully balanced embrace--sometimes I find myself struggling to hold onto who I am in light of my family and who I am in this newly-found family..which traditions I choose to hold onto--which parts of me that only my mother knows that I will reveal to my new family...

there is a security in one's family--whether the closeness is present or not, the knowledge that one has been there in all the experiences and whether we were standing side-by-side in those experiences or at opposite ends, we were there together...and that is a lasting connection that brings a glorious weight to the name Whitaker and makes it so difficult to let go of.

but new thresholds offer new friendships and I cannot walk away from that knowing deep down I desire it...Jay is the bond between these two worlds that secures me like an anchor because he took the first step out of his world---it was not me in changing my name, but in his pursual of me, he gave his own name a new lens to look through..one that is eager to join hands and hearts with a new love...a solid love..
and as many were able to see the solidity echoed throughout our wedding day, so shall they see it in the years to come...in the days that a Whitaker woman knows herself for who she is at heart, and wills her husband to do the same.

pedestal

restless. i have this feeling that my hands are empty despite all the things my fingers have been grasping at the past year. i have come to the conclusion that i am nothing without Christ. i was under the impression that i could fufill myself through this daydream i had placed on a pedestal. but i was wrong. from beneath the daydream i could see this radiance highlighting the edges of it but everytime i climbed up to see it closer, i found the radiance had disappeared and left a dim impression in its place. why is that i seem to forget the dim-ness once i've climbed down from the pedestal again? why is it i so quickly forget that it means nothing without Christ pushing me towards it. i pray i will not be so quick to forget His radiance does not fade, so quick to ignore His voice in its fullness, so quick to content myself with this fickle daydream. Lord forgive me.

allow me to captivate you

there is something about being on stage in the midst of all my butterflies, shaky hands, and quavering vocals that I love. maybe not so much the nervousness, but what accompanies it. something about knowing that all those times of pretending the edge of my bed was a stage and my voice ringing out soundly within those secure four walls--however good it has sounded to me in those moments cannot compare to the realness of being in front of people and choosing to spill out your lyrics over a microphone. it is a beautiful quiet that greets me once I step up to the mic, a quiet that I know I have to fill with words of meaning. it is not enough to play a pretty melody--but rather, the power of speaking to those that are actually listening is a provoking thought is far more precious. I always see the nervousness as something that hinders, hinders me from passing the song into their hands the way that it should be, as perfect as I feel it should sound. but I'm beginning to think that I prefer the nervousness that comes with it--in any case it makes me more real. when I finish the performance, it is not with a flourish, a grand finale, usually it is with relief that my time being critiqued is over with. what grips me about the experience is the joy that lingers in my mind at being able to share these words, of not holding back simply because of my fears, and hoping that the words will go on to trigger more ideas, more appreciation for music, more desires to give the world something through words to hope for. more than debating, more than discussing, I see music as a testimony, a vulnerable one at that, of all that God has built in me and all that He has yet to do. I pray for the opportunity to realize this over and over again. in allowing me to captivate you with my songs, I pray God will captivate you with the heart behind it, this heart of mine that is in love with Him.

tribute to the happy little hedgehog

I am in the midst of musical genius. There is nothing better than music improv--the notes are not held captive to any verse or line of lyrics--there are no flaws because everything is newly born--it had no previous pedestal to contend with. It revives you because you are following your own breaths, free to relax into the music where time exists without borders. There is no reason to stop and when it finally has ended the air fills up with words that are hollow because they lack the life that music bestows. I am flooded with the beauty of what has been created here and now. To witness this is almost as grand as creating it because I feel as if the self that I am in this musical state has been changed and moulded in some small way. Another thing that compells me to write is the act of worship I have glimpsed when those whom God has gifted have refused to only taste potential but to own it and that, my friends, is what this life is about--what worship is about when one no longer sees humanity because humanity has limits, but is able to sit back and see the higher glory behind it that is timeless and faithfully real.

wedding dress magic

Noone was home but me. I went to the closet and took out the dress and put it on. I can not really describe the fullness of those few moments that I wore it--how beautiful and delicate I felt...I'm not the type of girl who considers herself a princess or has ever wanted to be referred to as a princess, but I confess that dress made me feel like I had stepped out of a fairytale of some sorts...Standing in the middle of my parents' bedroom, the long room-length mirror in front of me, I saw a vulnerability in myself, a desire to feel beautiful...and I did...I can't wait to walk down the aisle, hopefully a petal-scattered one, concealed behind my veil, with the words that I wrote for Jay playing in the background. I can't wait for him to lift back the veil and see all the joy and pure excitement reflected in my eyes...I can't wait to be his wife...I can't wait for the look on his face, and the quick breath he will take at the sight of his wife walking to meet him...When I took the dress off and put on my normal clothes, I felt like the colour in the room had slightly faded and things were normal again, like all the magic had trickled out of my reflection...I can't wait to try on my wedding dress again and again until the day I get to wear it with purpose.