Grateful

I am grateful
When the sun is smiling upon my face
When the wind is calm and the waves are few
When the stars shine free and bold in the night sky
When the truth doesn’t hurt
When the world seems okay
When I feel so complete

I am grateful
When the sun is hidden behind the clouds
When the wind slaps across my face and the waves are fierce
When I can’t see the stars against a carpet of black
When the truth hurts
When the world is crumbling
When I feel I’m falling apart

I am grateful
In the midst of all circumstances
Because through it all
My eyes remain on You

I am grateful
In the eye of the storm
Because through it all
Your love breaks through

I am grateful
Night or day; rain or shine
Because through it all
Your promise is true

For even now, You are carrying me
Just like you always do


{Happy Thanksgiving! God bless you.❤️}

The Wordcrafter

She was a wordcrafter,
For she gathered letters in her hands.

She liked to weave wreaths of them,
To encircle them about her neck, her head, in her hair.
It delighted her, the way they rolled on her tongue,
The way they fitted together to reveal a picture in her mind,
A picture she could enfold in the crimson pages of her memory and hold close to her soul.

She was the wordcrafter, the carpenter,
Only she worked alone with her hands, her heart, and the letters she gathered,
Fitting pieces together and
Singing along the melody they made.

People didn’t know that beyond every smile, every laugh, every tear,
That there were words in her head;
Wreaths of them, bundles of them, baskets of them,
Hidden nooks and crevices, hidden away inside where her collections abounded.

Sometimes she stayed up late at her desk,
Unwinding them, examining them, listening to the words and pondering over them,
Before she would mold them and open them deeper still, searching for meaning behind them,
Her meaning. Her words.

But once, they weren’t hers.
Once they were his.

She didn’t know him, didn’t know how he had gathered them before her,
Didn’t know how he too had held them, had unwinded them, had listened and pondered
Had thought they were his,
But before they were his they were another’s.

Once they belonged to the girl who didn’t understand,
The girl who cradled late night thoughts, who fought unknown battles,
Who stayed awake at night in the dark with a swirling mind until her words urged to spill out,
Raw words, bare and scraped devoid of lies, and there she began a journey.

Once they belonged to the boy with too much to say,
The boy who wished they would listen to his cries,
The boy who gathered words but left them there to collect dust on the shelves of his mind
Until he armed himself with a pen, a notebook, and there his puzzle unfolded.

Once they belonged to a woman with a powerful imagination,
A woman who locked them up beside her dreams in a cellblock of her mind,
A woman who crafted the bars with cold, sterile lies born to reality, and those words
Scratched at the tender lining of her soul until she finally listened.

Once they belonged to a man who discovered something new,
A man who found within himself a desire to share his joy with a broken world,
A man on a new path, a path to redemption, a man who found words in the darkest corners
Where he shined light upon them and there, he found beauty.

Once they belonged to me, the wordcrafter weaving myself into this great puzzle,
The wordcrafter who’s cracked open these words, examined them,
Breathed into them, listened to them, sewn them along the seams of my life,
And now I am holding them to you,
Wondering if you, too, are a wordcrafter.

November 14

now the breeze is cold when it plays with my hair, as i’m
drawing out my plans for tomorrow and watching orange leaves slip between the branches,
grabbing a frappuccino and wondering when the time will come for hot chocolate;
yesterday it was too chilly for me so I pulled out the fuzzy socks—
it’s sweater weather in the morning but hot by midday,
and suddenly i’m not dying from a heatstroke,
but i’m loving cool evenings on the swing, rocking gently from side to side, gazing through the gaps in the leaves of a great oak,
clinging to the warmth of the bonfire in the backyard, holding hands and laughing to the stars—
early sunsets, early sunrises….
this is a  k i n d e r  month.


NaNoers: “NOOOOOOO IT’S REALLY REALLY NOTTTTT.”
Me:
*quietly hands you 10 hot chocolates* 

Unchecked

i was late today
to check off the list
the same list i’ve had for years
of all the things i need to do
and all the things i need to prove
so that i can check off each bullet point and feel
satisfied with myself because i achieved everything
i’ve been wanting to achieve
but even after all this time
all those chances

i still have
unchecked things
on my list

i still have goals
that were never finished
things i told people i would do
that never happened
things i aspired to do by a certain time,
things i boxed in and told myself
i’d do
today
but what was today is now yesterday and the list is
still there
with unchecked bullet points
of all the things i need to do

sitting at my desk right now and going over that list
and feeling despaired and disappointed in myself
i run through my head all the things i did and all the things i didn’t
and i realize that my priorities are so messed up
sometimes

none of these things i need
none of these things define me
none of these things should bind me
none of these things i should obsess over
and be willing to drop everything else for
except the God who keeps on finding me

there’s things i’m learning to let go
and things i’m learning to de-prioritize,
things i’m learning to prioritize
Someone i’m learning to prioritize

sitting here at my desk
rearranging all the things on my list
by things i
need
and things i
want
and where
to draw
the line

for His priorities are mine

and if bullet points go unchecked
that’s okay
as long as it’s not my God going
unchecked

Alive

You and I, we are so alike,
With similar flaws inside our minds we think many of the same thoughts;
Our actions are influenced by motives like emotions and beliefs
And our messy lives that somehow wiggle into everything.

You and I, we have the same look in our eyes;
I know you have memories spiraling deep inside,
A thousand regrets and a thousand things
You would do over again if you could
And believe me, I would too.

You and I, we have traveled the same road,
A road we were afraid to follow but I guess we really had no choice,
Because we were born with blood in our veins and steady, beating hearts
Which meant we were alive,

Only not just alive but alive as humans,
Born with open, reaching hands
And blinking eyes exploding with color,
Skin so soft and clear,
Mouths with which we make so many sounds
Like laughter
And weeping
And speaking.

See how far you have traveled since then?

I know you have
Hands sporting calluses and sun-kissed arms,
Hair stiff at the tips and circles under your eyes,
Scars and bruises and
Broken fingernails, freckles,
Maybe wrinkles when your face creases into a smile,
Gray strands in the folds of your hair;
Every mark on your skin hides a memory behind it,
And all of these things are signs that

You have lived.

You have lived
And you are living
And so am I, dear,
Because you and I,

We are human.

We are beautiful, beautiful beings
Created in the image of a beautiful Creator
With beautiful eyes and faces and hands,
And though in the midst of it we are so broken,
Though our skin is patterned with cracks that run deep,
Though we are stained with red streaks of all our mistakes,
We are loved by a Savior who renews us each day
At the hour we fall to our knees and lift our broken hearts
–With all those shameful cracks–
To Him.

You and I,
We are alike
In so many ways.

You and I,
We are human.

You and I,
We have lived.

We are not done living yet.

And so we stand together as we paint this beautiful messy canvas called life,
Because our fight is not finished and the war is not over,
But you and I, we will make it through.

We will finish the race.

At the end we will stand with our God and raise our voices in praise,
And you and I, we will be able to say,

“I have fought the good fight.
I have finished the race.
Here is my story,
For I have lived.

Still

i saw her there one morning.

she leaned against the window,
elbows propped on the sill,
breath clouding the glass,
absent gray eyes searching.

what she was searching for
i didn’t know.

the house was quiet, but her mind was not.
inside there were a thousand questions.
i could almost see them swirling in her head,
pounding at her skull,
infecting her mind,
demanding for answers.

answers to what
i didn’t know,

but probably a thousand different things.

suddenly her hand snuck to the glass,
to a fogged circle,
created by her breath,
where her finger made contact
and then swirls were drawn there,
a maze of shaped lines,
a smile.

until she erased it and there was only glass.

i promptly saw her that afternoon.

she was in a window-seat, i think,
her knees pulled to her chest,
her head titled slightly to the side,
and there i saw her breath gathered upon the glass again.

not just her breath but steam from a mug;
the coffee swirled as her finger had in the fog the day before,
but these are only little things she noticed in her churning mind.

i look again now and see her reflection staring back.
questions are still pounding but they dissipate when i close my eyes,
for i am a daughter of the King of kings and i give him my doubt.

he gives me peace in exchange.

in the glass i see a reflection of the girl i’ve always known,
the girl i am.
the girl who thinks too much.
the girl who’s learning to be still.

Lord, i want to be

still.