Sometimes I still feel
your critical eye 
scanning over how I choose
to spend my hours 
these days
And I shake it off
by remembering 
that mine is a quiet revolution
of haikus and slow breaths
of learning the questions my body is asking
of re-knowing what it is that I want.
A personal revolution
of "braving my own wilderness".
There are no longer hammers or drills
or concrete saws in my hands
No more building islands
of new kingdoms
But rather pen and voice and downward dogs
for creating myself anew
to exist more honestly
right here in this wild world
that you are flailing about
trying to save.
I guess
you could say that
I've chosen to save myself,
And this is why I left
in the first place.


Look at you
there in that mirror.
You are who you always wished
someone would tell you
that you are



This is my life.


is what i am becoming now.
is what i should have
always been,
except that my coattails kept catching
on your remembered gestures
and my mind caught
on trying to prove prove prove
that yes, i'm doing what is right for me,
yes, i was always okay.
And i've now come to the point
where i find that what it most beneficial
is to forget that you exist.
Not because i hate you.
I don't hate you
(it would be easier if i did)
but i'm laying you to rest.
and from this motion i get the sensation
of a "clearing away"
like a shelf
or a path
or a life
and now that i can see the way through
i can say "yes" to moving through it,


I've been waiting for that person
to tell me of love
to tell me of my own power.
And in one little moment
I thought,
I could possibly just decide
that I am.
Big blue sky,
I'm saying yes to you.

"We are the ones we've been waiting for"



How sure I must be
to step outside
your ring of warmth and webs
into the cold alone.


Have a seat,
I've got some things to say to you.

I heard last night that you're up to your old ways
with other hearts
in other rooted places
and it destroyed me for a moment,
but just for a moment.
And that's okay
because I've been studying the art of rebuilding
for awhile now.

And all this time my mind has danced around you
in confusion and indecision,
but my body has always known.
My body has always known.

I've been thanking it lately
for not letting it betray myself;
For the nausea that rose when I tried to speak falsely
about need and love,
and for the animal instinct to cut and run.

I could set a vigil
around your well of needs
and you would call me blessed
and holy.

How irresistible,
for that tender wolf pup.

I know that you feel cut off
from wildish woman instinct
within your own self,
And that is why you could never
just let me have it.
Unless it was written in that Book
on that black and white page,
It was untrustworthy to you.

But I am through
with the simultaneous
distrust of and craving for
the feminine.

And as I've grown into this wild woman
I've been making my requests to the Universe
for safe love,
grown love,
stable love.
You can have your wooing glances,
You can keep your hots and colds.

I'll be over here
sprouting roots from my feet,
humming along with Beyonce
and writing,
and creating,
and swaying,
and reveling in my
and wildish

I wish you well,
But you are not inhabiting me any longer,
old friend.


Word of the Year: Power

It sounds so intense
but really its just me trying to 
saddle back up
after a whirlwind of chaos
And I'm growing weary
of this poor-me-
lost-at-sea coat of despair.
It's half a decision
and half a hope and a prayer 
that whatever magic allows the buds to open
and babies to be birthed
looks my way
and nods it's head in favor.
And I'm gathering tools to add to my belt too,
And my biggest hope is that I'm able to learn
how to soothe myself.
That is the power I'm hungry for.
If I learn this, then what can the future do to me?
What have I to fear if I know
that from any cliff's edge
I can safely bring myself back down
to ground...



Today I received my Reiki I attunement.
I didn't feel anything dramatic but I do feel a subtle something now when I pay attention.
I got a huge headache afterwards
and struggled through the rest of the afternoon.
I also didn't feel completely comfortable and I think that messed with my sensitivity towards it.
I hear that the key is to just keep practicing on yourself
until you become more comfortable with the feeling of the energy.
I keep feeling a tingling or buzzing in my hands, feet and lower legs.
Tonight while practicing holding Reiki over my solar plexus (not touching)
I could feel my hands fill up every time I breathed out
and then my hands emptied when I breathed in.
I didn't feel that anywhere else on my body.
No matter how far I extended my hands away from my solar plexus, I could feel this sensation.
I think it will take a lot of un-self conscious play to grow into it more and more.
I think the other big thing for me is just to trust and surrender, to not try and will it or over analyze it.
Good things to grow in for 2018...

Reiki Principles from Master Usui:
Just for today- Do not anger.
Just for today- Do not worry.
Just for today- Be grateful.
I will do my work honestly.
I will be kind to people and every living thing.


Today I listened to a Rabbi
give meditations on Moses and Adam
and how when God called to Adam
he had run and he had hid
and how when God called to Moses
in that bush, set ablaze
he replied, "Here I am"

and I understood that.

That subtle, inner difference
between resisting
and accepting
between mindless shame
and mindful presence

And I've been practicing the latter lately,
finding my firey shrubbed voice,
checking in with what is calling
and being there,

If I'm sitting on the couch
I check in with that inner flame..
"Is this what I'm wanting in this moment?
(different than craving)
If the answer is Yes...
Then proceed with full acceptance of your choice..
no guilt, no "shoulds..."
Here I am.
Or, if the answer is No...
Then use that inner glimmer
and also your will
and co-create
what happens next.

checking in like Moses,
led me back to music making
back to strings and bows
and turning sheets
and finger beats.
No foot dragging duty involved.
Only awareness,
and flow.

What an adventure
this makes


I saved a bird last summer.

Spotted its baby body
and it's broken, bloodied wing while walking.
(It was a baby tufted titmouse, so so precious)

Scooped it up
in a paper bag
and drove it to help.

I watched it in that bag
and its nature changed me.
It did not understand where it was going
or why it was now balancing on
wadded up tissue paper
instead of grass and branches
but it looked up at me so steadily
and it blinked so patiently
and it knew its limits so sweetly.

And so now I can't seem to stop
scanning streets and parking lots
pathways and alleyways
for creatures in need
of saving.

My Big Lesson
after being washed up onto the other side
of witnessing
and divorce
has been
you can't save others//
you are not the savior.
It's in learning to know my limits
before I break my wings trying.

I accept this now.

But I saved that bird...


Learning about relationship
while in one
with myself.

I think I've always had the bent
towards some kind of
spiritual doula.

It has always felt as natural as air and water
to assist another
in breathing through their trials
in birthing their own voices.

But I'm finding that my scales and balances
have been tilted toward the Other
and less towards the Self
in such a way that
its causing a pain
that I feel done with now.

My voice and my response
are essential beats
in the dance of relationship
And when I'm too busy
trying to protect and predict yours,
Our two-step
turns to limping


I used to feel God
in a blanket of emotion,
in an unlocking of my chest,
in a warming of my stomach,
in a burning of my ears
And I would think
Surely He is here
Surely I am blessed,
So, so sure.

And I don't feel God
in such a cozy way
these days
or know the name he is called
or even her pronoun
And feelings of peace in my chest,
and stomach
are more difficult to conjure up

But I do know that I feel
And if existing
is not as close to God as you can get
then I don't know what is

And I can't access comfort quite so easily
but I do know God in my body
as the shifting gravity
that comes with the opening of new energy
and it feels as weightless as space
and tingles like moon dust
on the bottoms of my feet
and it swirls like Van Gogh's starry night
and it's so marvelously Open,
and it's a little darker
but a little truer too
and I think I can deal with that
as long as it's set on
an honest axis.


In space
Let it be.

has been stirring in me lately.
I've been anxious and lonely
and so I've been
filling up every
container possible.

Talk radio for every silence,
and quick showers,
and busy hands
and chitter chatter
and frantic clawing
at the eyes of Alone.

And on Sunday
my beloved group
chose that holy song,
Let it Be
as our doxology
and my mind held still
and my eyes filled brim
and I sighed,

And the Sunday before last
my beloved group
spoke on creation and creativity needing space
or absence
in order to be truly creative
And my heart softened
at the thought of my experience
of God's absence
actually being the beating pulse
of creativity.

The appearance of a chaotic world
has been my thorn,

But if it's just a little space,
then maybe I can
let it be.


I feel myself making a choice
New muscles moving
in new ways.
Choosing to be tougher
than all of those things that I fear.

Don't let the bastards get you down

You can't destroy me.
You can break me,
but I will rebuild myself
with the pieces that you leave behind
over and over and over again.
I will not be dismayed
I will not be undone.
After it all goes to hell,
I will remain.


When I was young,
a kid who still only knew Safety,
and my parents would come home after a night out,
I would notice their smell.
It was always metallic and cold
like car keys and weather.
They'd been outside
while I had stayed inside.
Anything could've happened to them
but I didn't think like that just yet.

I've been crying about my dad lately.
And sometimes I wonder,
is my grief getting worse with the years of distance?
I never used to cry like this
over missing him.
And now I wish so bad
for his strength and encouragement
and his playfulness and ability to handle things
as a presence back in my world,
A world
that I've become so skittish in these past few years.

I miss his parenting.

I've been seeing grasshoppers lately.
We have a complicated relationship,
Grasshoppers and I.
I've always been afraid of them
but lately I've been studying them calmly.
Long legs and still bodies
Unpredictable movements
and camouflaged under stems and leaves.

Today I was walking, walking, walking
And there was another grasshopper,
right there in the road.
As soon as I wondered, "Why?"
A memory tapped me on the shoulder.

I'm a child in Oklahoma
and my dad has brought me
to his family's old farmland
to share in his childhood experiences.
We approached a field with grasshoppers flying
back and forth
up and down
jumping here and there
and everywhere
and I froze in fear.
I was terrified.
But with his prodding,
he got me to walk through it.

And I realized there on my walk
of how my father is still parenting me,
although now
through more mysterious means,
but reminding me in symbols
and memories
and creatures
about how to Be,
and how to carry myself in a world
that can feel so frightening at times.

Be not afraid.
Move through it,
until it's behind you.

I cried and I cried
until the tears had finished their holy baptismal work
and I thanked him for his continued support
and I'm learning still
that I'm not alone
or abandoned
and how to become the bravest version
of myself
alongside the grasshoppers
and my father
and every creature that is learning how to
Be here too.


I had a tenderness towards myself tonight.
I needed it.
Holding myself sweetly
so that my ocean-journeyed students
can know the sweetness
of the Feminine
that has long-journeyed home 
to herself.


::To Remember::In Painful Times::

There is something in the agonizing act
of applying pressure
to a Body
that creates something anew.

The birthing of pearls
and the laboring of babies
and the burying of seeds
all have the look and feel of death.
But if you close your eyes in that painful moment,
you'll miss the rising
after the falling.

Maybe we'll all come out of this arm in arm,
Together in a new and different way.
And maybe we'll each be empowered
by watching each other rise.

Rise Sisters Rise
Rise Brothers Rise


I heard my plate of tomatoes say to me
Be here with me
And so I was.
Each salted slice,
red and green
juice and seeds,
garden goodness.
And I saw many worlds in that moment
on that plate.
The vegetable organ
of chambers and membranes.
My dad's country hands
whose mother's country hands
taught him to salt his tomatoes too.
And the "thank you" from my lips
travelling up to creator~provider,
knowing so clearly
what prayer was
in that open windowed space.

Worlds within worlds within worlds
Knowing my place
Being with it all,
in thanks.


Do not be threatened
white folks.
Their flourishing
is Our flourishing
When they become empowered
it is for the good of us all.
It's about time
for their rising
so stand back
and be in awe
of what they've come through
and of where they're going.
Do not be threatened.
Our body needs them to be whole.


Just grateful right now
to experience others in exactly the place that they're in
to peer into this moment in time
of their barefooted journeying
and not listing out the many ways we don't connect
for once
but seeing suddenly how they are offering me whatever they have to give
from whatever curve of the road they are in
from our foggy mirrored perspectives
on this sacred and blessed path.

I bless you on your way
and I'm thankful to to catch a glimpse.


The word "patterns" stuck itself in my ear yesterday
and I found myself reading
about the universe and the way it repeats itself
and how the birth of a cell
is the mirror image of the death of a star
and how the neurons of the human brain
mirror the image of the universe
And today I heard the phrase,
The shalom of God is built into all things
and I know that I keep trying to find a way out
of the idea of universal chaos
So I'm drinking in these patterns
Like they are my umbilical cord to the Creator
and I'm re-believing in some kind of order
until I can surrender into Yes, maybe there is something to trust,
Something that has organized it all
and I am somehow a part of the answer
without even knowing what it is.


"It's only water,"
I think to myself,
just like I had thought,
"It's only multiplying cells..."
Makes it all not sound so deadly

Still hard to believe that it was just
some extra cells
that killed my dad's body
And it's only water
except that
it's swirling in the air
and piling into your living room
and drowning your pets
and your cabinets
and maybe you too.

This is what I mean when I say,
"Everything is chaos"

I don't believe there was sovereign design
behind which cells grew
and which houses flooded
and which pets died.

The houses by the shores flooded
because they were closest to the water.
The cells in my dad's brain grew
because of his inherited genetic mutation.

Shit just happens.


Today three kids knocked on my car window
and asked for a ride home
in the Walgreens parking lot.
I'm not of the savior mindset anymore
and I know that I can be a sucker
So I turned them down left and right.
The boy piped up when he saw the girl failing
and did some quick math.
"We each need $1.50 to get a bus pass
to get back to Raytown
to get back home."
So I got out of my car
to go get them money from the ATM,
eyeing them in the parking lot as I did.
I gave them five dollars
and their story never changed
and they never asked for more.

I drove away believing their story
and wished I'd bought them snacks as well.
I don't know what they learned from that...
That people are suspicious of them
or that people need to have their arms twisted
I don't know.

And maybe even liars deserve snacks.
Next time, get the snacks.


I walked into my garage the other morning
to the sound of two chirping crickets
and before my mind thought a thought,
an impression from my subconscious rose up
of me as the jail keeper
who had just walked in
on an awe filled moment
of two prisoners
singing the dark full of light.


My dog is using the pillow next to me for her head
like a human
and it gives me that kind of
throat catching pained chuckle
that is usually meant for parents
gazing at something adorable their child just did
I think.
I know they say to never compare your pet
to someone's child
but I don't know how my heart could expand
anymore than this
so it's no insult, really.

When I think of unconditional love,
she's what I know.

Everyday I worry of her dying
but today I recalled that,
------I am not afraid.
She will be here
until she is not
and until then
I gift my worry free presence
to this funny little animal
who found a soft pillow
for her worry free head.


I bought a house for myself
thinking secretly
that I just needed to build an island
where attachment and loss couldn't find me,
I'd dig a moat, 
I thought,
where all of the glittery things could drown
before they hooked into my heart.
But soon after 
I began fixating on house fires
and my pets' frantic eyes
and their little cowering bodies
and so then the sad admittance 
that to live is to attach and to love and to lose
and I told myself
if i lose one more big thing
just drop me off at an institution
where they have those quick drugs
that turn the tidal waves to sloshing
and the clawing into swaying
and the horrible, endless falling
into poof
nothing at all.

It all comes down to this,

Not, how to not suffer,
but how to not be afraid
of the suffering.
Because I think that
that horrible, endless falling
and the tidal waves
and the frantic clawing
are actually in the fear,
and not in the suffering at all.

The antidote

-I am not afraid
---I am not afraid
------I am not afraid


Everyday my houseplant gets a little taller
a little longer
a little bigger.
It's truly amazing
this thing that appears as inanimate
is living and growing by the day
and has an innate purpose
somewhere deep inside itself
to reach it's full potential
before it gives up its seeds
and retreats back to the ground.

There's a baby in my sister's stomach
that's doing exactly the same thing.

We're all unfolding 
just as we should
and also
We're all going to bury each other someday.

And so it goes.


My best friend is always in love.
She is the "Why not?" improv
in your favorite jazz song
She is fluid like red wine,
and my ferocious lion mama.
I have learned from her
About choosing myself.
Something those who loved me before
never mentioned.
If I fall in love again,
it will only be because
Her bravery is rooting me on.


In this achy breaky world
I can feel like I never do enough
But what I do is greet the refugee with touch and connection
and I don't know how far into their pain it goes
But I'm doing what I can, mama.
And I'm here at the beach
(so "blessed and lucky")
And what kind of world is it that travel is a privledge?
That who I am has not been banned from moving about this place...
and yet my human heavy body still groans about
"This heat, this humidity..."
And my mom turns to me and says
"Oh well, I know what I am"
And that revives my serious head
With a chuckle of truth and
of the ease of self-acceptance
And we just are what we are
Next to the ocean,
Or elsewhere.


Making peace with stillness.
Out of stillness let my energy be born
Shh Shh Shh
Don't be tortured by mere concepts.
You are, in fact, the architect of every feeling.


In fits and starts
you see me
Making my way.

I am trying to befriend my loneliness
So that it will never again hold me captive
under the table,
collecting bread crumbs of Belonging.

I would rather be alone,
at Home in my own body,
than driven around
by that insatiable animal
ever again.

And so I return
back to my body
back to my breath
that each hold as much expansive space
as the deep, dark and glittering night sky.

And that's what my lone Self is:
and so alive with light.

How could I ever
reach for Another
with such grasping, desperate fingers
When the Universe is alive tonight
in my very breath.

So I breathe through the anxiety of loss
like a warrior woman in labor
Because I am
willing the dancing light of Life
to be born into this moment
for me
and for you
And we are going to be okay.

Say it with me now...
You are home
in the very stillness of your


Earth as Creator's full belly
Earth as womb and body
One pulsing stomach
Full of webs that can't be broken
Both toxins and All of Life in deep, intimate interaction

Only within this metaphor
is sense made of suffering
for me

Mother god laboring with us,
Each kick noted,
Our pain::Her pain
Her pain::Our pain

I see you brother, my brother
I am your witness sister, my sister
We are webbed and dew drop brilliant
Moon rings circling our faces
We are crowned and connected
We are pulsating evolution
We are footprints weaving
We are laboring and heaving,
confused and disoriented,
Ice chips and deep breaths
anchored to
Ice burgs and ocean crests
We are becoming.

Comfort, comfort, comfort


The word Glide has been giving me life lately.
Funny, and un-poetic word,
But it is what it is.
It adjusts my energy when I feel under stress.
I can't quite finger point the exact image I get from it,
but it's something like walking through strong winds
or across a strong river,
Chest deep, trying to make it, but getting knocked around a little.
Instead of aggression or succumbing to it, I glide through
With the marriage of a little grit and a little ease,
Steady, steady, steady
with only the necessary amount of energy exerted.


I catch myself whispering the word blessings these days
and sending it off like a blown kiss, with an air of hope.

It is good to be together.
The intermingling of energies is breathtaking

To have breath is to be apart of it all
Not even needing to do or to act,
yet still pulsating all of the colors that your soul spins
and that existing with, feeding, or responding to
it's Alive surroundings.

The stunning ripples of it all.
Whatever turn is taken,
the Web adapts.


This word hit me like medicine today,
flowed in slowly, taking its time to reach
the most ailing parts of me
that were waiting for this word's healing.
I've always been sensitive to other's reactions of me
and today was no different
other than my own, interior reaction.
After today's slight
I could feel my mind tracking it's old rabbit trail of thought
and instead of following it, I observed it.
Every imaginative turn it would take,
I would pull back and decided to write a different story.
My mind felt like a poorly trained animal,
which I had to harness and re-harness again and again.
No, not that way, go THIS way....
You see, because people are so varied
and will respond in every kind of way to you, and
Also, people are not perfect, and neither are you.
Leaving room for all of this, I must decide to rewrite the narrative
of "Girl who is at the mercy of how other's perceive her"
into "Equal"
This is what I believe Jesus asks us into with his "Cheek turning".
Love the other enough to require them to look you in the eye
and see you as their equal.
Only continued harm is done when the victim and oppressor narrative
is allowed to keep playing out.
"Turn the other cheek" is not an invitation into martyrdom.
I will not crumble, and
will decide the measuring rod for the situation,
not hand it over to those outside of my knowing self.
I will not depend on another in this way again.


"When you strike a woman, you strike a rock"


This word is holy and important.
I need to remember Resilience.
I think it is the answer to my anxieties.
Learning from creation-
I've heard it described how animals
can put up a chase for their desired prey,
but once they realize it is out of their grasp
there is no complicated disappointment
just a simple letting go and changing of directions.
If I can recognize my own resilience then
anything can happen to me
(like I already know that it will)
without me needing to predict when or if or how.
Then chaos is a little more tolerable.
If I can remember that after every terrible thing
I have clawed and suffered and gasped and choked,
but also, Here I am.
It does not last forever.
And hasn't my yoga mat taught me
that really, you can breathe through anything.


I'm noticing how I naturally direct my energy,
I'm observing how much is given
I'm seeing that when engaging, I give a lot away
And this all makes sense now.
Sense is made about walls of mine
that people run into
...protective layers...
Guilt I feel over holding others at arm's length,
while I watch others flow easily in and out of relationship.
Comparison kills that inner intelligent observer.
Why can't I just be more open
Why are you so quiet....

Today I wished that I had just a little less emotion in myself
I believe life would be just a little easier.
The mysterious ones to me are the
steady, stable,
full of information creatures.
This word reasonable has haunted me.
That unattainable standard
that false persona that I try on
and it's just not me....
I flip and I flop and respond to the other
and feel and process and change,
am usually unsure
am wooed and pulled and twisted,
die and reborn
and it's an exhausting dance with another person
that at times feels inappropriately personal
where i'm the naked one with them in a pant suite
nodding, taking notes and not sweating one drop.

So really, the layers make sense.
Actually, I would call them quite reasonable.


Dreamt last night:

It was all leading up to a wedding.
I was getting married but I don't remember any groom
(which makes me think it was all actually not really about a wedding)
It was all last minute planning/trusting.
My company was worried about the details
more than I was.
Two of the details I remember were the bridesmaids dresses
and the place of the wedding.
All along I kept reassuring them that "it would work out"
and then I landed on the perfect shade of blue from a dress that I had.
The bridesmaids (my childhood friend and her mom?) both happened to have blue dresses
from previous weddings,
but they weren't the exact shade I had picked.
"It'll work," I decided.
Then we journeyed to find the "spot"
The fact that it was a journey was important to me.
I wanted to happen upon the spot naturally.
It was difficult (I don't remember why)
but we ended up in canoes on very still water.
The stillness of the water was notable.
I knew that this was the spot.
I began trying to document this spot with a man(?)
using cross stitch while floating there in our canoes (haha!)
We spoke together about how to stitch the blue lines just right
so that the stillness of the water could really be shown.
I remember feeling self conscious at my perfectionism with this.


Knowing what you want
seems to be all there is.
If you know that, then
you can be simple like creation, and
the way opens before you.

All these years my feminine
had revealed itself as prey.
Now, on the other side of being
devoured and spit out,
I am seeing.
My wild senses are awakening
and are sloughing off the old skin of "nice".
I have seen myself before
walk up to the trap
pry open the metal teeth
stick my ankle in
to help another save face.
This is not what true Nature teaches us.

Back to the pawing
and sniffing of air,
Back to intuitive body stretches
and alertness in the wild.
Looking out is not wrong.
Reading the winds
eyeing the signals,
Intuiting danger is our gift.
Be wise and understanding.

I have always seemed to know
that my dog is my greatest teacher
and now I'm sure of it,
Along with the rest of the created world.

Steady like the river
Moving, grounded, flowing.
I AM (and god is)
Loving mirrors
of reflected natures.
We are.



This spot.
Don't wander away from it
This bud of all that is real and creative,
this pulsing of tails wagging and smoke rising,
and of "how you fold your clothes."
It's happening.
this cradle of neurons and your blessed body
this riverbed that holds all manners of flowing
and all manners of drowning
Stay here
or stay hungry.
You are alive,
at home in the universe,
and that is good.
You cannot lose your way from Life.
it is your DNA.
Your very breath feeds it,
so pay each one attention.
The salmon know-
and how they sparkle just so-
Fins and scales and flesh on the table.
It is not horror to their fish eyes.
Where is God-?
This question changes my body.
It responds in the hollowed out way
that my mind cannot face just yet.
But here we are,
in the bud of the cradle of the spot
that simply breathes and knows...
L  i   f   e


I keep thinkin about
that great cloud of witnesses
they say we are surrounded by.
Belonging must be my strongest hunger
and I notice it most as i count years down
of family members growing older.
It makes sense that we are born into
already created units of people
since Belonging seems to shout so loud.
What doesn't make sense is death.
A shrinking family.
My own belonging feels unstable.
But hope flickers when
in my mind-
like mirrors reflecting mirrors-
I see All who've gone before
surrounding surrounding surrounding
Farmers and journeyers and laborers and poets
Who I came from and who I will return to.
I don't even know them
but there's something about belonging to another
that opens the way for Perfect love.
I don't even know you and I love you.
I don't even know you and I love you.


Where are you?

Important questions...
Where are you at?
How do you honestly feel?
How can you Be Here right now?
My only job,
when I don't know how to be,
Is to just be here.
Both-BE here
and be HERE.
Show up to wherever you are going,
with a finger to your pulse.
I think I have become overly exhausted
by others because I've not been
both Here and Honest.
I smile too much...
my amicable reflexes
are too quick for my body's honesty.
Before I know it
I've smiled and reassured and laughed
my way through an interaction that
I'm dying to escape.
How to show up honestly
while also not feeling panic
about not helping the other
get through the interaction
so much.
This is an area that I need to practice self-care.
Self-sacrifice is my go to
and I'm getting more and more isolated
because it's all too damn hard.
how to not feel defeated when
I'm not met with another's self-sacrifice.
This is almost a constant.
Honesty and presence are my prayer
especially in this time.
Where real needs
Need real presence.
Not exhausted forced smiles
but just whoever you are,
wherever you may be.


Winter's Interior

Spruce and white
Spine and soap
This page, this note.
Letting myself be held lightly by winter
It's a complicated friend
But I'm withholding judgment
Until I greet the clean seed
With it's changed body,
face to face.
I can't picture myself married
I don't know if it will happen,
I love my dog too much.
The other day we lay snout to nose
I let myself practice holding loosely
(because I know how she likes her space)
I was gazing, and she turns completely away.
She's teaching me about open handed love.
Un-offended love.
And I had thought about our relationship
and how I watch her prancing in the yard
or body heavy on the couch
with the little slits of her eyes shut so nice
and how my breath slows down watching her
while my heart fills brim
and the fullness of this starry skied relationship..
And she has never spoken one word to me at all.
Not one single spoken word.
So much depth and not one word.
And I loved that thought.


Whiffs and Sails

I can vaguely sense that something's being built
in me and around me.
Something of a life.
I'm apart of it and also not.
It is the truest sense of "co-creator"
that I've been able to come to know.
It is both flowing with the River
and adjusting the sails.
A simultaneous surrender and exertion.
Obedience and Will.
I'm getting to know that part of me that Knows.
I used to search for miraculous bill boards
and exaggerated bread crumbs
as if the only way of finding my way was to turn
outside of my Self.
Then, after Great Loss, I swung to Hopeless and
a kind of false maturity that laughed at the child's game
of sign searching.
Sinking into,
"All things are made of chaos and horror and accidents and loss.
Anything can happen at any moment and no one is driving the bus"
I may be peeking out of that shell though,
during winter of all seasons!
It's very subtle and hardly even there
but I'm noticing IT.
This something in me that KNOWS,
that is both me and greater than me.
Getting a whiff of what (I)t wants, then,
not letting my mind object or propose or reason,
Following it, one hope and desire at a time.
Reaching the end, looking back and
every dot connecting in a way that I could not have planned for
but would not have happened had I not followed each whiff.
I am helped.
I am held and guided
and also given so so so much beautiful space.
Space to choose and not to choose and still helped,
still guided,
still known and cared for.
It's just not so separate from Me than I had thought before.


On Democracy and Elections

I don't know what praying is
But I've been doing it.
I've been praying that the fear that's in me right now
would recognize the fear that's in the Other
that allowed this to happen.
And I've been listening too,
to the knowing but quiet voice inside
That's saying, Turn off the noise but don't tune out the pain,
Stay woke and get to work,
Let the nausea and horror of this moment in history
provoke the fruit of Creative Response.
"Accept the unacceptable," and respond.
Where there is fear in and around you,
Move uncomfortably closer.
Put flesh and muscle to the cry-
Stronger together-
Hug the co-worker,
Hold each other's babies,
Let your hand rest on your students' shoulders as you walk by,
Breathe down to your bones on your yoga mat,
Put pen to page and voice to song,
Check in on those in your life,
Commit to eye contact.
Let your living and your life be your protest
Let love and liberation be equally bound to one another
And spread your Mockingjay wings wide
With a wink and a smile.


In most moments these days I'm more frightened animal than human being
But in sacred moments,
Usually while walking, 
I am a Daughter of the Earth, Her who I think I've always known
She is surrendered to Life and it's wild and wonderful Flow
Not fighting what must, and will Be
She leans head back in openness and lets it all pass right through
She hums things like, "Let it Be" 
and, "Just be right Here"
Earth Daughter sees every season of creation 
in all knowing of every horror and beauty,
every death and every birth
and with palms/throat/heart open wide, breathes (( YES ))
And with that Life Breath there is connection to the circle
of air and seed and water and soil
She submits to a trusting of the wild, living, pulsing Life Force
Even though Wilderness can lead to fright more often than Certainty
And because in the fall, as a tree begins to mourn it's leaves
All we can do is whisper about how beautiful its surrender is.
All change is both a death and a birth
And everything is always changing, if it is Living
And we do know that it is good to be connected to that which is Living
So she says, I wouldn't have it any other way
And with that thought joins the force of all creation and creators,
In those sacred moments


Wildflower, Wildfower teach us your ways

Today I walked five blocks to my friend's house.
Up three stories through scents of herbs, oils and wood.
I watched over our lunch of chickpeas and rice on the stove while she went down to fetch garden greens and flat bread.
We broke bread and spoke.
My throat felt tight and my voice felt small.
But when it was time to leave she placed eight okra seeds in my hand.
"Is that enough?"
With eight seeds now in my pocket I walked the two blocks to the garden.
North, then west.
The garden is always changing.
Sometimes fast, sometimes slow.
My patch of wildflowers has new blooms.
The golden poppies had burst weeks ago, and I had wondered what other colors waited in those closed buds.
This time, pops of blue and white.
Awe, and joy.
What to do at this sight?
Cut them down?
Take them for keeps?
...But owning them now is to kill them now.
They must stay in this wild space, where all manner of things can happen to them.
And I must be a non-grasping guest to them.
I know they won't last forever.
And so I acknowledge the open hand of flowing with Creation.
I poke holes in the watered soil.
Dirt under nails, I drop two seeds in each hole and bury them under to wait in the dark for the Law of Life to show its grace.
I walk around the bed.
There are snap peas to take and two strawberries.
I walk seven blocks home, snapping stems off between finger and thumb, and tossing them aside.
Crunchy, sweet and earthy, Mother feeds us well.
And tomorrow I will return, to sit with the blooms again.
I, welcoming them, and they welcoming me.
Each inviting the other to Be.



Lately I've been clinging to Mother skin
Soft and clean
Patted off dishwater on pant legs-
I did last night like she has done 1,000 nights
And my heart grew soft within me
At the thought of echoed mother hands
And I've been growing in hunger
for some kind of Forever Comfort
of hands, of skin, of soft
But I'm a big kid who knows every answer-
That "Nothing lasts forever,"
That "We are made of dust."
But I want to hold my Mother's hands into Eternity
And breathe in her comfort and breathe out her peace forever and ever and ever

Oh Israel, put your hope in the Lord,
for with the Lord is unfailing Love...



My little dog is on my lap
quaking like a silly leaf
over some imaginary front that's coming in
(there's a happy sun shining,
but he won't go outside,
and he's kind of psychic about these things...)
And I can't do what I want to do because of his strange needs
but his comfort seems to weigh the most in this moment
and I stop and think about what a tiny, tiny picture of love this is
(patting a strange quaking dog on the head,
speaking words of soft comfort)
And I've been thinking about Love a lot lately
and how if I (selfish little human that I am)
can give moments of tenderness to one silly dog
what that means about our good Father
whose Love for you and for me has words like;
attached to it.
So you can take the tiniest picture of tenderness that you've seen in yourself
and stretch it to the highest North
and the deepest South
to the furthest East
and the widest West
if your mind will let you,
wrap it up in Forever
and in the most patient and sweetest loving kindness that you've ever tasted.

It makes everything okay all of a sudden.
He knows what we need.
Makes me want to say thank you thank you thank you
forever and ever and ever.

And Jesus didn't come and say, "I love you, so you must love me."
But actually he said, "As I have loved you, so you must love one another."
I want you all to know love so much.
He loves us, He loves us, He loves us.

And maybe he asks us to pray for one another
not for the sake of changing the course of anyone's future
but for the beautiful act of Connection
Of that act of finding a moment to still our hearts,
to focus in on another human being,
of touching skin to skin,
and to wish beautiful, wonderful things for them.
And this does mystical things to our own hearts as well,
finding moments to consider the other's sacred journey,
seeing that they are not separate from us after all,
and to gift them beauty and goodness from our depths.
To care.

And I can practice this on my Self as well.
To touch those parts of me where Hate sits
and to practice perfect Acceptance,
whole Love,
To welcome that piece back into me
and to comfort it,
knowing that it has remained a solitary, separate piece for too long.
To become whole.

To know love.
It makes everything okay.
Love makes all things whole. 
(Father, let this be my mantra)


I read last night that I am just a wisp of fog,
catching light for but a moment,
soon to waft away.

One wisp of fog, writing to another wisp of fog,
thousands of years down the road.


My lips smell like cloves
and I'm a happy moonbeam tonight
with lavendar burning on the shelf
and breezes catching in the curtains.

And I want to always be like light
that beams and twinkles so light and free
And sometimes I feel like I am!
But I'm actually really a human that
sometimes carries clouds
around my head, sholders, wrists
And I forget what real is and what's just
feelings, hormones, crazytalk.
But at least I usually remember
to remember that I'm crazy sometimes.........

And My Friend says
"Everything is going to be okay!"
Like a happy Norwhal or something
And I don't know why it brings me peace but it does.
Maybe it's that scared-baby-mother-touch thing.
And I think it's stupid
until I say it out loud and
until I feel that release in my chest
like my heart had been clutching itself to death
until that moment.

And it is so true too....



This day

Larry Heidebrecht (Aug 16, 1949-Feb 4, 2010)

Why I love and miss my dad...

He loved to dance, because he was fun and because it made others smile.  He would dance anytime, anywhere.  Most memorably, on a family movie outing, he danced very slowly, while sick, down the aisle of the movie theater, across the front of the theater and out into the lobby with a finger in the air and without missing a beat.

My dad worked hard.  He loved to explore every creative option and test the boundaries.  He was not always liked for this progressive style, which makes me admire his work ethic all the more.  I wish I had that inner fortitude, to bravely ignore the norm and not cave under criticism.  While in between jobs, he never got down.  Instead he took what he could get, which was a job at a calling center with mostly college-age workers.  His trademark was always meeting or exceeding his quota of phone calls and passing out candy to the other workers. He was criticized for behaviors that seemed strange to others, but every day he continued to show up to work with a smile and with a pocketful of candy.  He was strong.

He cared deeply for others.  While my aunt was sick and needed surgery he desperately wanted to travel to Indiana and relay God’s love for her.  However, he was too sick to travel as this was in December of 2010, and he passed that following February.  Instead, he sent me, with a mission to care for her and to tell her about God’s love.  No pressure!  When I agreed to fly out there the glimmer in his eye communicated his deep excitement for how my aunt would be touched and for what God had in store.  While I was out there he left me a garbled voicemail about how much he knew that this was God’s will.  He trusted.

He welcomed the stranger.  In the last year of my dad’s life he went on a “project” kick.  In true dad form he was determined to make our house the best it could be.  He could not do the work on his own so he hired many workers who we came to know well because they were around a lot.  He could not always communicate what he wanted to them with words but every morning he would wake up, prepare coffee and lay out snacks for them so that they would all feel welcome and at home.  They became our family’s friends because they could feel this love and joy emanating from my dad, even though he could not always speak with them.

He loved me deeply.  His hugs were the best and became a very safe place for me.  A place that I still miss.  He wrote me poems, he painted me pictures, he told me I was beautiful, he danced with me, he took me out to breakfast, he met me at bookstores because he knew I liked to go there, he didn’t always understand me but he always offered me his arms, he played catch with me, when I was little he would buy me a pack up gum and a pink water gun every time he went to the hardware store, he was proud of me.  He was happy if I was happy.  That’s how I know he loved me.  He loved very, very well.



I love this quote.  And this poet.  It matches my life experiences so perfectly.  A couple years ago, as I was walking out of deep grief, the phrase "to let" began to carry much weight for me.  It can sound negative and passive and something you resist at first.  But I realized that much of my pain came from the resisting and once I embraced the accepting I could also be embraced by the peace that was waiting for me there.  And here I am. 
Just keep going.  No feeling is final.


Just gathering sticks.

Happy Day of Gratitude! 
I am here at my mom's house with a set of Minnesotan grandparents, five baby chicks that I'm taking care of over break, and a missing sister (who is spending the afternoon with her boyfriend's family.......).  We have spent the later part of the morning prepping the turkey and casseroles so that we can be ready to give thanks and eat a hearty lunch by 1:30.  After the food was prepped my mom excitedly suggested, "Now let's make the table pretty!"  And so in the spirit of "doing" I grabbed a plastic bag and set out with a sense of tiny adventure and possibility to make a "nature lap" around the house and see what treasures I could find.

Without any kind of finished product in mind I gathered leaves, sticks, sprigs of green and a miraculous, lone feather.  Shrugging off thoughts of What are the neighbors thinking?  and What if I can't make anything beautiful out of these things at all?  Welcoming a sense of nonchalant bravery, softly singing to myself and offering this act as one more step of obedience into walking into His possibilities for me.  After a few failed experiments (an important part of the creativity process, one to hold with ease) here is the finished product.

Add to the good.



That's a heavy word that's been staring me in the face lately.
Do good.  Offer good things.  This very active and moving thing. 
To move would be to create something new, to end up with some kind of product or performance that could then be labeled as "good" or "bad" or "right" or "wrong".
So then there's fear.
But something that's slowly growing in me, becoming stronger then the fear, is sadness, or regret.
A sadness when I think of my dusty violin, my empty sketch pads, songs unsung, words unspoken, my years filled with so many moments of passivity, of seeking safety and comfort as what is "best".
It evokes a mourning of sorts. 
Who I am supposed to BE has been left unfulfilled in so many moments...
To BE.
The best doing comes from being.
That's what I always forget, and why the pressure to "do" builds up into an impossible mountain.
But doing is simply the flowing from the being.
I have ways I see the world that need to be expressed, or something is lost.
And that product does not have to be "good" or "bad", but it will just simply "be"...because it is my reality in that moment.  My own heart's expression.
In community every voice is needed in order to truly be in relationship.
Expression is my calling.  I can do things in my own way, not how I believe it should be done.
It needs to be done in this way.


Of Blood, Death and Mystery

2 years and 2 days ago.

My daddy slipped into the early morning darkness
and was gone.
Only now does it feel easier to write about it.
There has been enough time,
enough revisiting of those places of pain
to now be able to see them and speak of them,
instead of being swallowed up by the enormity of their remembrances.

I was in an armchair
in the corner
in their bedroom.
Rolling and dreaming and watching and waking.
When would the moment arrive?
It was more than apparent that it would be this night.
With each waking moment,
taking note of the the new rhythms of his breath
turning more and more machine-like as the night waned on
As was I becoming, and had been for the entirety of that season.

My aunt, the nurse,
checking his heart rate and softly acknowledging what we already knew.
It had been her birthday, the day before.
But she spent it rolling and dreaming and watching and waking
with us.
Because that's what blood does.
When the waters heave
you bite down hard,
"grin and bear it",
do what you need to do,
get damaged by it all,
become forever changed
and hurt, hurt, hurt
Just to be near them,
and hold their hand
and check their heart beats
and sleep in their corners
and hope that you somehow help to lighten that impossible load
Even if it strips you raw to see it all, you do it.
Because their blood is your blood.

The moment came.

Light as air,
Heavy as dusk.

It is something that my mind still locks away in a cabinet labeled:
"Great Mystery"
There are no words for the normalcy and horrific nature of Death.
It is both ugly beast and natural life progression
that twists and bends to form one strange and mystical creature.
Something I too, will walk through one day.

But today,
life is normal.
And that is crazy.
More than normal...life is good.
Something so easily accepted now,
that felt so impossible then.

And in the Kingdom
Death is not the story most told or felt
for him or for you or for me.
It is one thread of reality
that gets masterfully woven into
one majestic garment worn by every
saint and sparrow,
star and seed,
that must fall down into ground
to grow into Life.

Alleluia and Amen.


Sweet Steps

These days are sweet.

I sense His presence,
His leading
His gentle, guiding hand.

Relearning the power that I hold in me
to speak,
to move,
to affect this place.

Shedding old, anxious layers
whose big bark
has held these hands still for long enough.
It is time.

Time to move,
to create,
to fill spaces with what He's planted in me.

I can't think of a better word than that,
I'm sure there is one.
But that is what this feels like.


burned out

And I find that I'm so in love with this life.
Thank you, good Father.
With my head pressed to this sweet ground, I thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you....


Just to be honest

On nights like this
I feel like I could quite possibly
die trying
to be special
While all of my efforts
only result
in heaps of foolishness
of being not chosen
once again.
And I am the creep
slinking around in the background
Pounding fists into heaps of laundry
with echos that are never heard.


the part that always makes me cry

"Love, a question
has destroyed you.

I have come back to you
from thorny uncertainty.

I want you straight as
the sword or the road

From the poem: The Question
By: Pablo Neruda


Trying to talk to myself

Do not let this thing kill this life that you love.
The best dream for your life is fulfilled in this place.
And this thing,
this comparison, jealousy, competitive thorn-in-my-side
will not have the final say
over the dreams He dreams for me in this community.
This little bitter root will not win
even when it feels like a raging wild fire.

And I pray that you.
being rooted and established in LOVE
may have POWER...

Love is my home.
Love is our home.
This little thing will not win.


On Being Alone

Thanks to Lauren for sharing.


A Reconciling

I unfold in you.
Who is burning like fire
and sweetness like honey.

I release every unreconciled part of me
into Your mysterious hand.
How can I know what you've done?
Wrapped in death and blood
crowned with Love and light.

You gather every strange part of myself
under the shelter of I AM.

I submit to this act
of un-hiding my strangeness.
You see and You know--
There is no hiddenness.

And I sense that rebellion
is maybe more of just an unwillingness
to let my Every Part be loved.

So I open everyday to


Flowy is my new fav.

Thanks to musings in femininity. I really love the silhouettes of these skirts.
Something feminine is wanting to bust out of me lately. This season I've found myself surrendering to strange new urges of flowery classical music, baking for.the.fun.of.it(?!), watching and re-watching Jane Austen movies and deciding to grow my hair out just so I can braid it romantically down my back. Apparently I'm a female.


Chapter 6

like Isaiah, as understanding was birthed of his tiny-ness
after glimpsing one royal hem that had filled the Temple that day.

He knew,
like I sometimes know.
And so we know together,
that we are so so far.

And still,
that same robed King finds ways to bring us so so close.
Maybe like touching hot coals on sad lips. He makes ways for us.

though they are.


So much, So much

So many things

Driving home I see
Prophetic sceneries
of softly clothed branches
raised up
next to bare-skinned wooden ones
that speak of their fate
just as
old men speak to young.

So many things.
all around and everywhere.

The day is done
and emotion protrudes out heavily
--always at this same time of day,
just as I am returning home.

And I decide
this emotion is a prayer,
just by simply letting it find its place
within the One
and it is heard.

And always then
So much, so much--

So much romance fills me up
and I sense that
He feels proud and strong
of my little-girl-trust.

He's in love with me
and So Much Love
poured into So Much Pain
makes me tender and soft
again and again.


Not My Own

There's a sadness I feel that I own.
An ache that becomes me.
But today
in a silent stained-glass glow
I unraveled with Job.
Laid down my fight
and together we confessed,

I have uttered what I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me,
which I did not know.

And the honesty of that ignorance
made that moment ripen into a sweetness
that completed this day, like a circle.

Things are changing.
...Times they are a-changin'...
But this new autumn air
still washes up the old.
Memories of one year ago
and all of its unbearable anxiety
and all of my clawing at the eyes of the inevitable.

But this evening there's a song being sung
by my Family
next door to my room.
And how can I not embrace the beauty of now
with simple acts of worship like that
touching my very own Walls?
And I smile for today
and for what's to come
and for the achingly sweet beauty all around me.

This perpetual sadness is not me.
Only a coat that I need to slip in and out of
every once in a while.
But I have known it long enough
And these days
the word happiness has been sitting very well with me.


To Let

You let me cry today.
You let me lay my head down and
cry for all of it.
You let me lay down
and be sad
and sorry
for losing it all.
You allowed me to not know my way.
You have let me be
that stained bride.
You let me say "not yet"
and tread in these shallow waters
And You are not alarmed by me
at all.


Sorting Through

Using my whole heart feels hard.
I don't do much of that
because everything always feels so damn big.
So I dabble here
and there
and try to unbelieve that everything matters
so damn much.

I laugh at what I used to love
And wonder,
What I will become
when all the false truths of change
Settle back down to ground.

I don't know much about much
But there's a chorus of crickets
outside of my window tonight
Singing steady,


This song

...makes me want to worship. Enjoy.


Remind Me Again


"Stand up straight and tall
under the strength of My love
and the shadow of My wing.
Nothing is too dark for Me.
Feed on My faithfulness.
Stand up strong in the authority
that I have given you.
I have seen you all along.
I will see you through this."


Open Handed

Even if...
...my hopes never come to pass,
...it's just a lesson in learning to enjoy but not possess,
...you say no.
Help me to agree with You.

So that my conscience may be true before You
and that my hungry flesh
can learn to want for no more than You.

The lamp to all feet
directs the steps
of those who fear Him.

It is not within me to listen and obey but
You are enough
You are enough
You are enough
for the faint of heart.


Did you know...

...that even dark is light, in Him?

I have recently begun drinking in deep gulps of healing, and it has been so sweet. It began on 04/14/10 at an appointment that I had spent all day trying to figure out how to cancel. I walked in, emotionally limping, like a wounded-winged bird. I sat down, all knotted up and defensive, not wanting to talk about what I knew needed to be talked about. Protecting the pain.

But as I began, we invited Jesus to walk right along with me. It had been the slightest of invitations and yet, he appeared and led me through it all, just as he promised he would. Granting grace and then freedom in response to heavy confessions. Granting a Forever perspective in even those most tender places. Fresh eyes for old carved out idols of pain.

He taught my eyes how to see. Peering back into those haunted places I saw not a dying, but an opening. I saw not a defeat, but an earning. I drank it in and then sat in His glow, rosy cheeked and breathing in brand new breaths of freedom. We both noticed a visible difference. The Wooer of all Hearts had captivated mine.

You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride;
you have stolen my heart
with one glance of your eyes

Not only that, but He is connecting me to a beautiful group of people, a family, and it brings such a lightness to my heart. Over and over again, He allows His love to wash me clean. The kind of love that softens your gaze towards all things. The kind of love that's only expressed in the language of breezes and branches and bare shoulders.
Extravagance at its best
Beauty for ashes, indeed.

Amen and amen.


Human Thing


The softness of the forehead
of the one
that accepts her Father’s tender words about her.

Regaining dignity that was lost
in fragments throughout the day.

Remembering to walk in a full kind of humanity,
and seeing it equally reflected in the faces of those around her.

It’s a human thing:
Wondering. Reaching. Straining.

My tiny hands.
Grasping at what they could possibly know.
Receiving gratefully.

My small feet.
Finding space on this earth
to walk in their own kind of way.

All limbs reflecting their Source.
Seeking out movements that rest between effort and ease.

It is Your voice that haunts
the dark places of my insides into light.

It is You who grants all movement.

And so…
I seek You.


Knowing Trouble

I have been remembering a time of learning,
in a desk
in a classroom
in a college.

It was a favorite professor that day
who looked at his young students
to say,
Trouble will come to you. I promise.
In your lifetime you will see it.
You will not finish life without it.

I thought and thought
two different thoughts.

One of starry-eyed disbelief:
My life is calm and steady.
I'm sure I will live out my days
in no big ups or downs
and be happy forever and always.

And another of hopeless horror:
What terrible thing will happen to me?
When? Will the pain be forever?
How terrible will it be?

And in my mind now I see that student
who both doubted and feared
the pains of living
and could only carry on in
a known temporary happiness
And all the while
secretly bracing for impact.

And now years later,
I find in myself
a different kind of a learning.
Not of
desks or
classrooms or
But as one tiny student
whose eyes have gained just a little
of this unwanted wisdom.

Trouble comes and
people want to say,
"Poor him," or
"Poor you,"
but right or wrong
I can't help but think:
You are not immune to this sort of thing.

Trouble comes.
It just does.
And it feels like fire in your skin
and it won't let you sleep
or eat
or breathe
And your body shakes at night
and you lose all of your words
and thoughts
and the ability to walk about in the world.

But I must say,
there is something about fire.
Something about the heat,
the intensity,
the relentlessness of it
that feels very, very necessary.
I'm reminded of how
babies are birthed,
and how pearls come to exist,
each in distress,
but all the while being navigated
by the complete naturalness of it all.

He knows.
He knows.
He knows it all very, very well.

And once the fire has given its all ,
and something physical
has been changed or destroyed,
then we come out to view the ashes.
We come out of hiding,
Shedding those rigid layers we
had believed we needed to endure.

And we see, yes there were things here before
that are not here now.
Yes, something very terrible has happened.
But, here I stand.
Here I stand.
I did not die from the pain.
And what did die away has been taken care of
by one strong and gentle Savior
who covered the work of even the worst of fires
on a cross
on a hill
so that our unconquerable parts
might know peace forever and ever
and ever.



I want to be good
and strong
and humble.
I wish I was okay
with the hurt
and never chose
over hearing His voice.
I want to be obedient
and healthy
and trusting.
Just not today
and maybe not tomorrow.



Rock of Ages

There are memories I have, so visceral and painful, that have etched themselves so deeply in my heart that I know their remembrances will never go far from me. When I think of the visual representation of it I see a land wide with rock and, without any permission given by me, a chisel ravaged that land with deep trenches. This was not our asking. It was a violent and vicious attack that has left us changed forever.
In the process, someone was stolen from us and we are left in his absence to try and wrap our minds around having just witnessed the ugly progression of life turning into death. In reality, my mind gets it. In my mind I know that we are all going to die one day, that physical life always ends in death, and that disease is not always survivable. I understand these things with my mind. But my heart...my heart screams, "WHAT?" My heart stops me in the middle of my daily tasks and thinks, "Wait, what just happened here?" My heart silently wonders, "He's really gone?"
There is something inconceivable about it all and because I am tiny and human, my heart can only contain so much of it at once. So when one layer gets worked through, another layer appears to remind me of the reality of it all over again. And I sit, bewildered in those trenches that have been dug in my heart, just as if they are places I've never seen before.


I also know that deep calls to deep. Where deep trenches have been dug, there also lies the potential for deep waters of healing to be invited in, causing dry earth to be watered and new buds to spring to life. Where ashes sit in heaps, therein lies the potential for the Spirit to come as He does and turn them into such beauty that the world wonders, "How?" He is bounty, He is solid, He is the Rock of Ages. His Word speaks it and so I raise my eyes from the trenches to grasp it. And looking back, I see how faithful He was to begin wooing me just before everything really began to unravel. His Love rings true forever, so faithful is His loving kindness. Lean into that tiny voice. Fear nothing, for not even death can quench his Love. Fear nothing, fear nothing, fear nothing. Sit at his feet and minister to His heart with your unfaltering trust. Let him lift your chin in order to see more clearly and let all heavy, heaving sadness be laid to rest with the victorious Man of Sorrows.




Fifteen months of much
And I hate tomorrow
Because one year ago it held word of good news.
But I know that tomorrow,
just as today,
holds only the ash leftover from one ugly fire.
And in my mind's eye, my face is
covered with this ash and the careless wind
steals it from my wretched, grasping hands.
When will I ever learn to hold loosely to all things,
not my own?
And I stand powerless against the sweeping waters,
unable to resist the rising of whatever piece
of remembrance that chooses to re-announce itself to my heart,
Just as if learning it for the first time.
Wound and unwound and rewound again.
And somehow, I'm all of these things:
and understanding.
and knowing.
And so I stand,
Under the God who gave life to these words:

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze."


Songbird, Songbird

Something's been rollin around in my gut
and it makes me wanna sing.
I wanna sing a song
that fixes itself upward and
grazes all things unseen.
I wanna sing a song
that rattles my throat,
and then my spirit
and births something new
and lays the old down to rest.
There's something about using
your voice as a music maker
that throws locked doors down
and closed hearts open.
I wanna sing.


Go ahead and chuckle

Title: A Question No One Wants to Hear
Setting: Standing in line for coffee at the mall
Characters: A 5-year-old girl, dressed in pink. Me, dressed in dark blue.

Her: (To herself but side glancing at me) I wonder if that's a boy or a girl...
Me: (Look away, trying to ignore it and hoping she forgets her question)
Her: (A little more directly, and this time crowning me with her tall balloon animal) Is that a boy or a girl?
Me: (Closed-mouth smile but still don't say anything, since she's still calling me a "that")
Her: Are you a boy or a girl?
Me: I'm a girl...Did my short hair trick you?
Her: No...it was your coat.
Me: Oh, well I guess I gotchya then...heh.
Her: (Turned back around silently)



When Anger Tempts

Your pain is not a badge,
do not get used to wearing it.
Your pain is a gateway.
Something to know well,
and then travel through
in order to meet the sea of pain
that lies just outside yourself.
Be both soft and strong,
Do not seal yourself off
for there is much to be reaped
from this impossible winter.


To Do

_ feel everything necessary
_ reap the treasures of darkness
_ gain back the body that grief has whittled away
_ express what is in me
_ remember, with a tear and a smile
_ trust the finished work of Jesus
_ raise my hands in praise
_ love like he did
_ expect good things



I am the sloshing
at the bottom of a
Both disturbed
and flowing.
Both turbulent
and loosed.

This must be done
And it must be felt.

Almost always ever contained
in situations
such as these.
But now am the sloshing
at the bottom of the well.
Lapping up the bitter
along with the
depths that heaving waters
tend to stir up and create.


Oh, how He loves

in this violence,
Your gentle hand
rests heavy upon me.

Holding me all together,
reminding my eyes
of what to see most.

Even as I nurse
these wounded limbs,
and sense their future scars,
I bend low
beneath Your mercy
and raise my tattered arms.


What I Will Do

I will not cower.

I will stand
and turn
and hold this dark night.
I will feel it all.
I will peer up through the cowardly smoke
and I will let this fire do its work on me.

I will believe Life into our midst.

And He speaks in His faithful way
and says:
I will bring you through
I will bring you through
I will bring you through.

And I will believe that He will.


My Heart's Song

I will sing of Your mercy
that leads me through valleys of sorrow
to rivers of joy

when death, like a gypsy
comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek your face
but I fear You aren't listening
because there are no words
just the stillness
and the hunger
for a faith that assures

I will sing of Your mercy
that leads me through valleys of sorrow
to rivers of joy

alleluia, alleluiaalleluia, alleluia

while we wait for rescue
with our eyes tightly shut
face to the ground using our hands
to cover the fatal cut
though the pain is an ocean
tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
higher mountains have come down

I will sing of Your mercy
that leads me through valleys of sorrow
to rivers of joy

alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia

-Jars of Clay



Stop on by and leave some love for my dad, Larry:


Here's to you, 2010

I want to listen carefully and choose well this year.

Old and New

He meditates on [God's Word] day and night.

He is like a tree planted beside streams of water.

That bears its fruit in season

And whose leaf does not wither.

Whatever he does prospers.


Truth vs. Sentiment

"I understand God by His Word. I cannot understand God by impressions or feelings; I cannot get to know God by sentiments. If I am going to know God, I am going to know Him by His Word. I know I shall be in heaven, but I could not build on my feelings that I am going to heaven. I am going to heaven because God's Word says it, and I believe God's Word. And “faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God.” Rom. 10;17...If you build yourself on imaginations you will go wrong. You have the Word of God and it is enough...And truly the Word of God changes a man until he becomes an epistle of God. It transforms his mind, changes his character, moves him on from grace to grace, makes him an inheritor of the very nature of God. God comes in, dwells in, walks in, talks through, and sups with him who opens his being to the Word of God and receives the Spirit who inspired it."
-Smith Wiggelsworth


Words to match my inklings...

"Silence guards the inner heat of religious emotions. This inner heat is the life of the Holy Spirit within us. Thus, silence is the discipline by which the inner fire of God is tended and kept alive. Diadochus of Photiki offers us a very concrete image: 'When the door of the steambath is continually left open, the heat inside rapidly escapes through it; likewise the soul, in its desire to say many things, dissipates its remembrance of God through the door of speech, even though everything it says may be good. Thereafter the intellect, though lacking appropriate ideas, pours out a welter of confused thoughts to anyone it meets, as it no longer has the Holy Spirit to keep its understanding free from fantasy. Ideas of value always shun verbosity, being foreign to confusion and fantasy. Timely silence, then, is precious, for it is nothing less than the mother of the wisest thoughts."
"What needs to be guarded is the life of the Spirit within us. Especially we who want to witness to the presence of God's Spirit in the world need to tend the fire within with utmost care...Sometimes it seems that our many words are more an expression of our doubt than of our faith. It is as if we are not sure that God's Spirit can touch the hearts of people: we have to help him out and, with many words, convince others of his power. But it is precisely this wordy unbelief that quenches the fire."
The Way of the Heart by: Henri Nouwen