An invalid writer is confronted with truth

I could possibly bore everyone I know with writing another unimportant blog post.
This fear has stunned me into a writing coma where I have slept for months,
waiting to feel a spark of inspiration that didn’t feel forced.

Why is it so quiet when it snows?
Is it because the cold hard truth makes you hold your breath and stand still?

Tell the truth?

Well here it is:

I want to make something meaningful.
Craft words and phrases of art.

The point is to move souls…
Evoke motion…to see if anyone gets me?!
Really gets me?

Im just another copy cat, trying hard to lead the way.
At the end of the day, I just want to be someone important.
I want to be triumphant.
I want an epic destiny.
I want to climb to the climax of this movie with a powerful score, and blow everyone’s minds with my tenacity.

How selfish, how selfish, how selfish.

The grip of control is tight with its counterfeit…and here I am again worried about me, me me.

My mind swirls with thoughts that are hard to package and share.
I guess thats why I’m a writer.

Lose myself to chance?

Pen to paper spilling.
Pushing me to dig deeper.
Urging me forward and I’m forced to keep up.
Stumbling across the page with my words.

I fight against what comes naturally because that’s what good girls are taught to do.

When really, lets just get real…

I’d slice throats if I had to.
I’d steal if I thought God wouldn’t care.
My darkness is ever present.
Can’t trust my instinct because its always going to be sinful.

I’ve been paralyzed on this mat for a year.
Writhing in bitter pain and pity.
Laying here waiting for a miracle.

“Get up and walk.”

Warm light of love starting to thaw my frozen heart.

Praying that this time I’ll trust and obey,
to spring up off of this bed and be healed.

“One man was there who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.” And at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked.” (John 5:5-9 ESV)

Pushing pause on a moment


Right this minute,
we are all safe and sound.
I’ll take it.

Hold my breath and enjoy.
No one is mad.
No one is troubled.
Everyone is right where they should be.
My family.

There is a whisper of perfection.
So frail, we must talk softly.
So subtle, I almost missed it.
A fleeting glimpse.
A bubble bouncing
on a blade of grass;
the burst inevitable but gentle.

A moment demanding to be noticed.
As delicate as a dress
being saved for a special occasion.
Taking careful time to be revealed.

So, stop and listen.
Sip and taste.
Savoring the sweetness swirled
in a heavy glass and enjoyed.


This moment,
where all is well and rare.
Kids are outside to play.
Laughing and giggling.
Today, it seems there are no monsters to slay and I can say
I’ve mothered them well.
Relax and welcome the swell.
Pride and contentment warm my face.

I smile and glow and celebrate
a moment of jokes,
hugs and welcome homes!

In an instant, a visit.
My brother on hometown soil.
Respite for this refugee.
Our hero,
our Drakie.

We all grasp at our chance to share him.
Slice his time like a juicy pie.
Against his will, but he won’t mind.
He has no choice.
Making the rounds.
Breaking bread with friends…
before his journey beings.

Right this minute we know we’re lucky.
To see that he is still himself.
Home and whole.
Here, and FULL of life and laughter.
Stories, glories and dreams.

Burn this onto all of our hearts,
file it away as he goes.
So when he closes his eyes tight at night we will be with him there.
Wherever he will be.
Where a war will rage
to rob him of his joy
and memories.
Innocence and revelries.

We will be as real as we can be.
Tucked into a corner of his heart that he will guard fiercely.
Visiting when the coast is clear.

This is now, for real.

As real as his big, brown bag thrown into the back of my truck.
Heavy with the clothes and concerns he has packed up.
Tossed aside for a respite,
and peace of mind.

As real as his laugh that hasn’t changed since he was a kid.
Singing and dancing in cowboy boots and fringe.
Making everyone laugh as he always did.

As real as the curly red hair kept short on his head.

As real as this moment that’s already being muted.

As real as being fully alive as we are right now!
Sewn together in a way
I couldn’t describe if I tried.

My tribe.


Island living


I’ve been out bobbing on the water again.
I know I’m not alone.
We are no strangers to island living.

Bad news begs to shift the shape I’m in…
but I’ve discovered my resilience doesn’t fail me.
I fail to keep it.
Failed to keep the faith given to me so abundantly.
Remarkable recovery.
Rescuing me again and again.


Waters rage and calm…
day by day.
The shores of my heart weathered but,
I’ve found I’m anchored deeply after all.

Kept quiet for a respite to catch my breath.
Silence repairing damage done.
Pulling in deep,
lungs expanding.
Burning with a stretch that reaches far past what I’ve known.
Pain begins to sweeten and dull with gained strength,
reassured that healing is happening.
Breathing easier now.
Health is a steady diet of truth and rest.
Heavy heart on the mend.

“The life that I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place and time my touch will be felt. Our lives are linked together. No man is an island.

But there is another truth, the sister of this one, and it is that every man is an island. It is a truth that often the tolling of a silence reveals even more vividly than the tolling of a bell. We sit in silence with one another, each of us more or less reluctant to speak, for fear that if he does, he may sound life a fool. And beneath that there is of course the deeper fear, which is really a fear of the self rather than of the other, that maybe truth of it is that indeed he is a fool. The fear that the self that he reveals by speaking may be a self that the others will reject just as in a way he has himself rejected it. So either we do not speak, or we speak not to reveal who we are but to conceal who we are, because words can be used either way of course. Instead of showing ourselves as we truly are, we show ourselves as we believe others want us to be. We wear masks, and with practice we do it better and better, and they serve us well –except that it gets very lonely inside the mask, because inside the mask that each of us wears there is a person who both longs to be known and fears to be known. In this sense every man is an island separated from every other man by fathoms of distrust and duplicity. Part of what it means to be is to be you and not me, between us the sea that we can never entirely cross even when we would. “My brethren are wholly estranged from me,” Job cries out. “I have become an alien in their eyes.”

The paradox is that part of what binds us closest together as human beings and makes it true that no man is an island is the knowledge that in another way every man is an island. Because to know this is to know that not only deep in you is there a self that longs about all to be known and accepted, but that there is also such a self in me, in everyone else the world over. So when we meet as strangers, when even friends look like strangers, it is good to remember that we need each other greatly you and I, more than much of the time we dare to imagine, more than more of the time we dare to admit.

Island calls to island across the silence, and once, in trust, the real words come, a bridge is built and love is done –not sentimental, emotional love, but love that is pontifex, bridge-builder. Love that speak the holy and healing word which is: God be with you, stranger who are no stranger. I wish you well. The islands become an archipelago, a continent, become a kingdom whose name is the Kingdom of God.”

― Frederick Buechner, The Hungering Dark


Listen to your life


How many days and nights?
Hour and minutes.
How many miles driven,
Words spoken.
Secrets whispered?
Judgments made.
Jokes told, savored and stored away?
Safe keeping.
How many fists flung high in the air?
Singing the words to our favorite songs?
Top of our lungs.
Weaving our lives.
Reminding us always,
It will be okay.

So…you open your heart to an old memory,
you close your eyes and you smile…

Don’t you feel it growin’, day by day
People gettin’ ready for the news
Some are happy, some are sad
Oh, we got to let the music play
Another lonely park, another sunday
Why is it life turns out that way?
Just when you think you got a good thing…
It seems to slip away
No, you can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometime
you just might find..
You get what you need.
And I’m searchin’ for a rainbow
And if the wind ever shows me where to go
You’ll be waitin’ at the end
Then I’ll know
I’ll say, “To Hell with that pot of gold”

Isn’t that the way these things go?
Well, lets forget all that…
I’ve overcome the blow, I’ve learned to take it well
I only wish my words could just convince myself
That it just wasn’t real but that’s not the way it feels

Take a good look at my face
You’ll see my smile looks out of place
If you look closer,
it’s easy to trace
The tracks of my tears.

…listen carefully to the sound
Of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat, drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering
What you had,
And what you lost
And what you had,
And what you lost

The only thing that stays the same
is that everything changes, everything changes.
And time marches on,
time marches on.

But it’s a great day to be alive!
I know the sun’s still shinin’
When I close my eyes…
There’s some hard times in the neighborhood
But why can’t everyday be just this good?

When all the dark clouds roll away
And the sun begins to shine
I see my freedom from across the way
And it comes right in on time
Well it shines so bright and it gives so much light
And it comes from the sky above
Makes me feel so free makes me feel like me
And lights my life with love


We will not hide from the pain


“Unfortunately, though, avoiding it [pain] robs us of life, of the now, of the sense of living spirit. Mostly I have tried avoiding it by staying very busy, working too hard , trying to achieve as much as possible.
You can often avoid the pain by trying to fix other people; shopping helps in a pinch, as does romantic obsession. Martyrdom can’t be beat. While too much exercise works for many people, it doesn’t for me, but I have found that a stack of magazines can be numbing and even mood altering. But the bad news is that whatever you use to keep the pain at bay, it robs you of the flecks and nuggets of gold that FEELING GRIEF will give you. A fixation can keep you nicely defined and give you the illusion that your life has not fallen apart. But since your life may have indeed fallen apart, the illusion won’t hold up forever. If you are lucky and brave, you will be willing to bear disillusion. You begin to cry and writhe and yell and then to keep on crying ; and then finally, grief ends up giving you the two best things: softness and illumination.”

-Anne Lammot, Traveling Mercies

Just go ahead.
Let it wash over you without fighting.
Heart broken and suspended in a moment.
Our blood is the same ,
thick as thieves and stubborn as hell.
What do we do?
What do we do?
The tears crowd my eyes and fall.
Hot and fat,
little dumplings of love and loyalty.
Swerving down my face in irregular fluidity.
Offerings of understanding.
Offerings of empathy.

I will roll up my sleeves with you.
I will walk in your shoes with you.
I will wear your sadness.
I will wear your shame.
I will wear your wounds.
Promises I know I can’t keep but make regardless.

What I know for certain is,
I will not leave you alone.
We won’t leave you alone.
Even when you drift away to your island.
We will be watching your back from the shore.
And if we are lucky and brave,
we will fall apart and see how it feels to tell the truth.


I will not live in fear


“To live with fear and not be afraid is the final test of maturity.”
― Edward Weeks

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.”
-1 John 4:18

I want to unzip this heavy coat of fear,
and run as fast as I can through the trees.

Forever in my way.
So full and looming.
Tall enough to cast shades of doubt.
Shadows and cold memories threatening me to obey their call.
They spread all across my heart with snarled clutches.
Persuading me to stay;
take shelter here, where it’s familiar.

Today is different.

A beam of bright summer sun shines through.
Perfect, radiant love is here.
Casting out all fear.
Sunrise in my soul.
Draws me in and I stand,
soaking it up.
Greedy with warmth,
I soak in as much as I can-
into each pore of my face.
Sweet and wild;
hope intoxicating.
Brilliant and bright,
despite this frozen ground.
Oh, Lord you are thawing this frozen ground…

Branches snapping under my feet,
surprised as I am by my speed.
Quiet interrupted only by my breathing.
Deep and measured.

No time to stop and survey.
No time to stop and question.
No time to stop and be afraid.

I know where I’m going.




I was having lots of trouble this morning getting focused and inspired for this mornings post. I’m trying not to let myself feel the BLAH coming on because I don’t want to waste a day. I think I just need some quiet time to unplug from everything for a bit.

I went through and started reading some of my older posts/poems (that I had forgotten about!) and found one that pin points exactly how I feel today.

So, because old posts need love too…

Sometimes it’s a bit much… | Realology

“Like all explorers, we are drawn to discover what’s out there without knowing yet if we have the courage to face it.”
― Pema Chödrön

I feel like an explorer.
An anthropologist studying this culture I’m in.
What will history say of our time in rule?

Advancements, our normal…
would have seemed cosmic to our great grandparents.
Medical miracles and technological wonders.
Seas of touch screens,
The world at our fingertips.
More like a long leash of notifications.
The constant nag of how much percentage of battery I have left.
My day revolves around where my charger is.
Addicted to staying updated and refreshed, virtually.
Joining threads and comments to stay stimulated mentally.
Theological debates over texts to challenge you spiritually.
Portraying in posted pictures what I wish I was physically.
Arrogantly joining camps politically.

I’m discovering that some boundaries need to be made.
This ever present glow,
URL window.
Shut it down, take a break.
I want something real.
Something I can touch and feel.


A poem for Friday

The darkness was real.
Almost swept me away.
Subtle erosion.
But I’m still here.
I can still sing.
I can still laugh.
I can still feel.
I’ll run these fingers through love.
I’m alive.
Oh Lord, I’m alive!
Hand out the window cutting quickly through the cool, fresh air.
Sweet sage; wet in the morning,
smells like a Nevada heaven.
Acoustic thoughts unplugged from the usual worry.
Smile in the face of it.
Pull in a deep breath of joy.
Heart beating.
Another day.
An evolution.
Restored to original luster.
Sanded down to remove the rough paint and old ways.
Smooth again.
New again.
Chokes me up; appreciation is a lump stuck in my throat.
For right now all is right and good.
For all we know our hearts could break tomorrow.
They probably will.
But we can face it bravely.
We’ve already survived being shaken.

“A peaceful heart leads to a healthy body; jealousy is like cancer in the bones.”
– Proverbs 14:30 (NLT)

Bringing it


” O TO make the most jubilant poems!
O full of music! Full of manhood, womanhood, in-
O full of common employments! Full of grain and

O for the voices of animals! O for the swiftness
and balance of fishes!
O for the dropping of rain-drops in a poem!
O for the sunshine, and motion of waves in a poem.

O to be on the sea! the wind, the wide waters
O to sail in a ship under full sail at sea.

O the joy of my spirit! It is uncaged! It darts
like lightning!
It is not enough to have this globe, or a certain time
—I will have thousands of globes, and all time.”
– Walt Whitman, an excerpt from “Poems of Joy”

I admit to being usually sluggish in Mondays. Today I’ve made up my mind to feel joyful and optimistic about the week ahead.
The thing that has been the hardest for me has been avoiding the trap of negative thinking. It can suck you under like a strong current.

I am taking a cue from my man Walt and am trying to find the joy in all that I have to do today. No matter how small.

O the joy of hot and fresh laundry from the dryer! Folded upon my bed, making a dent in the mountain that remains which leaves me feeling accomplished. Happy, fresh and clean.

O the joy of cleaning out my refrigerator! Knowing that my family has been this abundantly blessed to have not NEEDED some of these things?! God has provided all of our needs. Spoils are evidence we have been fed and nurtured to the hilt! Guilt and hassle melts to gratitude as I realize how spoiled and lucky we are. Wisdom teaching me this lesson, yet again, to become more vigilant in what I buy and prepare so that we don’t live in excess and waste.

O the joy of cleaning out my truck! The sand and empty juice boxes reminiscent of the adventures and travels I’ve had with my family. Trash and clothes. Shoes and toys…remnants of loud, healthy kids. The gum that’s been cemented to the door handle in the back seat I could have done without, but above it all…we have traveled. We have visited family from afar. We have explored, we have made memories.

O the joy of a Monday morning! I am blessed with a new week. A fresh start and hot coffee. How dare I utter anything but thanks?


Beautifully broken

At church yesterday we were singing and a lady from our church family went and knelt at the alter to pray. It was particularly painful to watch knowing that her and her husband had just recently lost a grandchild. A baby. Passed away two weeks before the due date. I can only imagine the anguish.

This morning while I am busy getting my baby ready for his first day of school I am reminded that there is a family grieving. I am reminded again of how lucky I am to wash this child’s laundry and pack his lunch. Even when I am exasperated by it all I can call myself blessed.

In the complicated mystery of living it seems that in the midst of pain there is some sort of beauty. A picture of togetherness. A hint of overcoming. A whisper of healing.
I wrote down what I saw.

Sunday Morning

There has been a great loss.
There is a broken heart.
Spilled out and broken at your feet.
This family weeps silently with her.

The weight of knowing whats wrong
hanging on each note of the song.
The hard truth of having to accept death…
radiating from all of us,
without speaking a single word.

Our minds all asking “why”?
Our spirits asking ” please”.
Quietly praying for you to touch her.
Her family.
Their hearts.
Their needs.

A scene emerges of your arms wrapped around her,
Whispering confidence into her ear.
Gaining strength for a moment.

Watching leaves me overwhelmed with the love of this place.

Love swells under this roof.
You can’t miss it.
No pretense.
Celebrations and grieving.
Together, weaving the many years and history that knots us together tightly.

I’ve never felt like I belong anywhere more than I do now,
in this moment.

A perfectly timed joke brings a much needed relief of snickers.
Breaks the heaviness of the sorrow.
He always knows how to do that.

A respite.

Draw a deep breath of reassurance.
The laughter hugging us all in close again before we go out to face another week.
Closing the mouth of this hot, scorching pain that seeks to devour us.

This safe place we gather that salves wounds again and again.
We are home here.

Bless The Lord oh my soul,
Worship His holy name.

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