you = a miracle

i really like watching the sky over the water.
i really like
colors swirling before my eyes,
the wind against my face and
sand between my toes.
silence and crashing waves somehow create
a melody i would be happy to lose myself in.

i really like staring at the stars between moonlit branches.
i really like
the breeze whispering in my hair, a thick rope swaying across my vision,
threads beneath my fingers as the swing rocks from side to side.
stars smile down at me and i don’t dare move,
afraid to disturb some kind of unspoken balance;
a pounding rhythm deep within myself seems to sync in time with it.

i really like feeling a part of my Creator’s masterpiece.
i really like
just feeling like the miracle i am,
like the miracle that His artwork is.

i wish we could take some time to love that a little more.
i wish we could take some time to appreciate that a little more.
i wish we could take some time to try to understand that it’s a miracle.
despite your problems.
despite your stress.
despite whatever it is that drags you down.
because yeah, i know it drags you down, but…

you’re beautiful and
you’re a miracle and
you’re alive and
nothing in this world can change that.

you are who you are and it’s a thousand times prettier than the stars…

//i will make you believe you are lovely//




tears fall like glass,
cold, searing,
eyes burning.

a stabbing coldness,
an intense fire,
a storm inside;
she feels so alive,
but suddenly her throat is numb.

fingers grasping for her face,
struggling to erase stains:
tear-tracks, makeup, folds and creases,
traits she would have changed if she was
the Maker–

but she doesn’t know
she couldn’t surpass the
perfection of her face, her hands,
her eyes, her figure, her smile,
the image she was molded in.

mirror girl taunts the image,
but mirror girl is a lie;
mirror girl reads only lies,
the rulebook drawn by a lying society,

a lying society that lies because of
the corruption inside, unfolding,
the bitterest darkness and pride
strangling light at the core.


humans are inclined to our hearts,
which are wild and untamed, and chase after so many things,
hungering for something to satisfy a hole inside,
a burning desire to be full, full, full.

we chase joy,
we chase peace,
we chase love,
and all the pretty things,
but also darkness in disguise,
as our hearts get confused sometimes
and consider maybe darkness is what we bleed,
what our hearts should be pumping.

we take our beautiful souls for granted,
but we also elevate them above our heads,
to places we have no rights to reach to,
heights we desire but
by what means do we plan to reach there?

she cries because her heart hurts;
she followed the lies and found herself here,
and no, this is not where she thought she would be.

now she is confused,
finding within herself a darkness she
honestly doesn’t want,
so she tries to chase it away by
pursuing other things,
thinking she could do this on her own,
she doesn’t need help,
she doesn’t need anyone,
and if she did there would be no one,
because she thinks she is all
a l o n e .

and really, this is another lie we fall for,
the lie we turn to,
whether out of pity or pain,
the whisper we draw close and our hearts


my dear,
in the beginning…

in the beginning we were created out of love,
and our hole was created to be filled with love,
from the ultimate source of love.

we were created to belong to a God of  l o v e ,
molded in His image to live in paradise and walk beside Him,
to love Him out of our own free will.

when everything fell apart,
He died so we wouldn’t have to,
knew unbelievable pain so we could
know unbelievable joy.

He separated Himself so
we could be close,
broke the barrier between us and
Love so we would never be
a l o n e .

we fight battles in the dark of the night,
icy tears and
fires in our souls,
but our fight is worth it because we’re
never alone.


so she lifts her head to fight again,
lets her tears fall because sometimes
we just need to
g o .

but she refuses to give up,
laughs in the face
of the floods of darkness,
for the joy inside of her is unquenchable.

sometimes she falls apart,
but she always finds His promises true,
that He never leaves,
that He’s there to draw her close,
to take her broken pieces and
put them back together,
drawing the seams together with firm gold.

love always breaks through pain,
hope burns through fear,
joy dances through sorrow.

courage, dear heart,
in the midst of the blackest waves,
for your Shepherd
walks on water.

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.

*quietly hands you 10 hot chocolates* 


sometimes i have trouble breathing.
sometimes i forget to breathe.
sometimes i lose my balance
on this thin walking beam.

sometimes i forget you’re there.
sometimes i forget to pray.
sometimes i’m afraid to call out;
will you even hear me today?

but you see, all this forgetfulness
is really just my ignorance
and maybe some is my pride.

i don’t like to need,
and i don’t like to think
that Someone is greater than me
so i hide.

i am not perfect.
i have so many flaws.

but in the midst of my remise,
upon the crashing waves of surrender,
you pick me up and hold me close
and breathe into me
l i f e .

you stir all these broken pieces
in my pool of shame
and tears
and regrets
and you. mend. me.

and i, i,
i can only accept your embrace,
and spin away to awash from a sea of grace
where you are waiting in all your glory
to hold me.

sometimes, sometimes….

sometimes i crack.
sometimes i break.
sometimes i fall.

but my God is always
to catch me.

always. not sometimes.


I see the world in black in white,
where smiles are colorless and faces are plain
as places fly past my window but I don’t bother
to put my hands on the glass.

Everything is a blur of black and white
where nothing catches my attention
because there are
no splashes of color in my eyes.

Paint me a picture
but I will not notice
any difference at all
or at least,
you won’t know if I do.

The earth is spinning so slowly to us
there should be time for me to notice
this spectrum of color people walk upon,
but I like to hunch and hide in my car
where everything flies by in a blur
and my world is so

Pretend you don’t know me,
as you will,
or recognize me for my feigned

But you see me at the bus stop,
at the café,
at your work,
at your school.

My name is Indifference;
I cannot be a distorted facade forever.

Day Eighteen: She Likes to Watch the Rain

She Likes to Watch the Rain

A girl presses her nose against the window,
tracing the scurrying raindrops with her eyes as they
race down the glass pane.
She likes to watch them race,
silently cheering them on,
wondering why the clear droplets are in such a hurry.

They seem to slither,
she notices,
like little round snakes. They grow and stretch as they run,
leaving a trail of tiny, baby raindrops.

She watches with studious eyes,
unable to pull away,
for she is fascinated by the rain.
She loves the sound of it, the smell of it;
she loves the way it slithers, the way it slants in the wind.

She soon realizes her breath has fogged the glass,
and she draws back to wipe it away.
But then
when she peers out again,
the droplets have reached the bottom of the windowsill
and slipped over the edge so that she can see them no more.

It is then she closes her eyes
and listens to the lullaby
of a thousand gentle pitter-patters against the roof,
the gutter,
the glass.

It surrounds her,
sings to her,
with the occasional rumble of thunder.
The lightning sends a sort of happy thrill shuddering through her thin frame,
but she likes it.

Her toes stretch to reach the ground
as she slowly sways herself back and forth in the old,
wooden rocking chair.
The motion is soothing,
and it provokes deep thought for such a profound evening,
even for such a little girl.

Moments later, she opens her eyes–
to find that three more raindrops are racing.
Her nose returns to the glass pane.

For she likes to watch the rain.