In Winter’s Battlefield [Poem-a-Day: 30]

In Winter’s Battlefield [Poem-a-Day: 30]

Blue white mist rises
from the creek bed on the horizon.
It softly drifts to hush the brandy grasses,
that blow and shake in fear as Winter approaches.

The trees stand stately,
on the hill they refuse to acknowledge
the rains have left them bare and dripping still
from their postpartum, babes ripped from their arms.

Yet in all of this ache
the sky has not remembered the time of mourning.
It stretches and spreads, free of the clouds
that had confined its piercing blue.

In seeming act of rebellion,
the sky screams forth in radiant light,
letting out its purest tune in hues
that dare the cold to come and try it.

And here I find myself,
at home amidst the contradiction,
breathing courage o’er the grasses, grieving
with the trees, and spread my soul wide with the sky.

I thrive among the strife
of living in the two worlds at one time.
And although I ache and hope for this embrace made tangible,
Light fighting back darkness sets a fire in my eyes.


Election Day Prayer [Poem-a-Day: 8]

God, heal our land,
the land of our souls.
Remind us evermore,
of our Eternal Home.

Your Father’s World [Poem-a-Day: 6]

Your Father’s World [Poem-a-Day: 6]

[Written to my friend’s brand new babes the day her labor began.]

Welcome to your Father’s World, little ones.
When you grow up you might have a hard time believing that,
that this hard world,
could come from a good Dad.
Maybe He’s not so good after all.

But oh, my dears,
look underneath.
You’re mom will teach you how
Oh, she loves Him so.
Look behind the veil,
look past the mud to see
the reflection,
the dim reflection
of a world of Light.
A world where there is no night,
No monsters in your closet,
or monsters in your mind.
Where your good, good Father
sits at the end of your bed
and sings over you
the whole night through.

He’s begun already,
did you not know?
Since He first knitted you
pure and perfect,
beautiful too.
He’s been singing over you
since your first restless night,
since your first entrance to this
cold, cold world.

He sings for joy,
He sings for life,
He sings because, Love,
He’s by your side.
And though you can’t see yet,
and you can’t hear,
He sings out pure,
and He sings out still.

As you grow up,
and as you play,
may you hear the music
on the wind someday.
May it catch your ear,
May it turn your eyes.
Oh then, be surprised
My love, my dears,
you’ll see Him standing
by your side.
You’ll see Him then,
as clear as day,
and see He’s never gone away.

Then join our song,
the one we sing.
We sing with Him,
the song He put
in the ancient stones.
The blood of the Son
has imbued your bones.

And you will see
with your very eyes,
beneath the shade
and shadow dark,
here you live,
and with Him abide,
here in your Father’s world.



Wilderness.. Wild, wonderful, and free.

I just had the most wonderful time out in the wilderness with God, and my heart seems too full to tell you about it and do it justice. I wish I had the words.. Maybe I will soon. 

For now know that our God is among us and for us. Our souls cry out with all of creation for deliverance, and He answers “soon.” 

The mountains made me cry.

The trees clapped their hands.

Surely our God walks among us, and He has made us His home.

For Better or For Worse

For Better or For Worse

The stage is set. Its 2:30am and my child is currently calm after her 2 hour night-waking escapade. I’m waiting in the living room to see if she will wake herself up again. I’m curled up under a blanket, warm and soft, and the world is quiet.

Then it comes, the warm feeling stretching up from the soles of my feet; This Holy ground transforming me from the ground up. I close my eyes and feel my feet in cool water as another wave sloshes past me. I smell the fresh sea breeze that fills my lungs with deeper breaths than I had known. I hear waves and gulls. I’m balling up my dress in my hands to keep the hem from being soaked, but as it pools around my shins I don’t seem to care when a gentle wave plays with it.

Then I hear a voice behind me that’s as sure as the rising sun and as familiar as Home.
“The surf is washing your feet.”

Continue reading “For Better or For Worse”

The Pilgrimage of Children

The Pilgrimage of Children

My hand runs along the cool plaster wall as if picketing a fence, but my fingers find only the smooth curves of this ancient structure. Its coarse, sandpapery texture just begs to be touched. It sighs and breathes, a living thing, but very dead. It’s like it knows I’m here again, and thankful that I am. But its just a wall I remind myself, and nothing compared to where we’re heading. Still, maybe the life on the other side lends some of its liveliness to this mud and stone. Maybe it knows I’ve come again, maybe it’s beckoning me further still.
Continue reading “The Pilgrimage of Children”

Nighttime Outside the Door

Nighttime Outside the Door

When you’ve had glimpses of the person God made you to be, without all the junk in the way, it’s really hard to like the person you are today. I don’t like her. She’s been easily irritated and sad. She’s unsure of herself and of other people. She doesn’t know how to love or be loved. In comparison to who she could be, she’s not very… pretty. Her brain is a wreck, and up there she’s stumbling over the ruins of old lives and old loves. When what used to be your foundation shatters and reveals it was only paper-thin glass, how do you build on? What do you build with? Are those bricks and mortar really just toothpicks and glue sticks? How do you love people when you find that the way you’ve always loved them was wrong? And even trying to “fix” how you love them is wrong because then you’re trying on your own and it’s not just an overflow, and that’s what got you here in the first place.

All the cogs in my brain spin counter-clockwise, and here God sits handing me clockwise cogs. I stare at them, feeling the cold, heavy iron in my palm. If I apply this, if I take it, it will surely jam the system. The gears will grind and get hot; the pressure will build. And maybe I’ll just explode.. It seems that would be easier.

Continue reading “Nighttime Outside the Door”