Saturday, December 31, 2011

Far broken.

For the sins of my people
For the blood on their hands
For the idols in their hearts
For the adultery in their minds
For the other gods they place before You
For the distractions that hold their gaze
For the empty lies of business that eat up their time
For the darkness that consumes their attention
For the land mines of doubt in their deep
For the apathy with which they chase You
For the hollow nothings that they use to fill their emptiness
For the fallacy of self as the highest

I hunger
I thirst
I weep
I bow
I beg

Body of Jesus, usher me in, that You may hear my solemn cries and pardon the large comings of my people

Choose them
Chase them
Woo them
Use them
Restore them to Yourself


The musings that come when I cannot fall asleep.

Sunday, December 18, 2011


I cannot fix me.

I cannot make me.

I cannot change me.

I am who You have made me.

I cannot add to, nor subtract from, who I am.

Who I am is Yours.

Fashioned with Your hands, fashioned of Your heart.

I am not.

You are I Am.

I may be from You and I know that I am of You, but help me to rest in this tonight:

Just to be with You.


Saturday, December 17, 2011

Part of Me.

My Immanuel.

You hold the only high seat in my heart.

May I gift You with the prime of my time.

The first of my thoughts.

The rawest of my emotions.

And steadfast devotion.

May me knee always bend to you, with my foolish pride to follow.

Cover me in the blood of the baby, of the lamb, of the Man that is You.

Paint over the doorposts of my soul that I may no longer be recognizable.

May You never stop until Your work is complete in me.

I am desperate for You.

May my soul be humbled, my lips be silent, my hands be dirty, my heart be broken, and my knees be worn from exalting You higher.

My joy and whole heart soar at the height of Your Spirit.

May I never tire of Your salvation story.

and May I offer You the sweetest part of me.



In between seen and the promised.

Spoken and fulfilled.

All I have is time.

Time, impregnated with anticipation.

Carefully, I carve out my expectations.

My timeline.


May they be removed from the equation.

So that all I have left is You.

For I am certain that You are enough.

May You be my portion this day forth and forevermore.


Tuesday, December 13, 2011


Dark and quiet.

Early and soaked.

My mind is saturated with thoughts of You.

I poke.

I give.

I tuck in.

I listen.

I hold hands.

I bestow what I know.

I care.

I think of You.

I am the perpetrator.

I am that person, in the bed, that seems impossible to care for, care about.

Far from deserving, I am silent at the thought of experiencing Your grace.

You know how to love each and every one appropriately.

And You love me so well.

You are my Good Father.

You have prodded me with Your message of hope, joy has wrecked my story.

You have given me life and life abundantly.

You have tucked me in before and behind, and I am beautifully made.

You listen and respond, I am still quiet, undone by that reality.

The lines of Your hand have been memorized by my heart, You hold me close and never have I doubted Your company.

Your Spirit fiercely brings me to the realm of the holy, pardons me with the knowledge of You.

As I close the door at night, hands fresh with sanitizer, I know that I care because You cared first.

None can be before You.


Tuesday, December 6, 2011


Sitting still.

Quiet mind.

I inhale {Abba}

and exhale {I belong to You}.

I let it sink in.

It becomes my cadence.

The rhythm of my life.

Like shingles nailed down to something secure.

Every fabric of my being is rooted in this.

Rooted in You.

For You are my truth.

You are true.

My Good Father.

My delight.

I sit here, eyes closed, and lose myself in Your countenance.

I seek Your hands, not for what they hold, but for You.

To hold Your hand.

To be held.


I belong to You, my Good Father.

And my pressed lips break the silence, to speak of Your return.

Maranatha; Our LORD cometh.


Sunday, December 4, 2011

Sackcloth torn.

Grief worn.

Tears come streaming down.

Life is of You.

Breath is from You.

Love is You.

is You.



Praying for Troy Gray. May our copious amounts of tears and prayers wash the holy feet of Jesus and may we adore Him for who He is, not for what He does.

Friday, December 2, 2011

A story like this.

Once fallen, twice removed.

Covered in the ash and surrounded by the ruins, of a decision made once; responsible for all.

Dark and dirty.


My guilt hands -- buried.

My brittle soul -- in shackles.

My greatest thought couldn't have come up with a story like this.

Your story of Red, of Revival, Renewal.

And in it You, the Good Creator, sought me.

And You kissed my soul with the purifying coal.

And You said My daughter, you are dark, but you are lovely.

My Great Redeemer has come for me.

Rising from the ashes, it is all I can do to sing of Your Holy.

Freed from sin, from shame, from self.

My whole being can attest to Your wonder.

Your work.

Your worth.

And I have nothing to give You in return, except for my awe and affection.

This soul's admiration.

And I may have dreams, but I awake to the reality of Your vision.

I realize now that the colorful dreams of You are the fill for this desire.

And these tears are the only gift I can muster up.

I return to You my longings, plans, and identity .

I take Your spirit in return.

Joy will not leave me, praise will only come from me, Your truth will continue to transform me.

May I only grow lower as You are exalted in me.

You are Holy.

You are Radical Love.

You are lettering this story.

You are responsible for this Beautiful Exchange.

And in the silence, in the leaning, in the tears, I am undone.


{Renew with Sam and friends with coffee and drinks to follow <3}

Thursday, December 1, 2011


Engine turned off.

Vehicle of the soul, now coasting.

Heart bradying down.

Lips sealing shut.

Mind releasing the curtain for the final time tonight.

It is now, in the quiet, that I seek You.

Everything inside of me wishes to rush in.

To draw close.

To be held.

Loudly, I have come to find You.

But tonight, I remember.

You are tangible in the quiet.

Sitting on the pew, mostly towards the front, I am facing the Holy Place.

Between me is the wood, the stake, the cross.

Reconciled with my lament.

Aware of who I really am.

I will come boldly to the cross.

The symbol of my life, the marker of my hope, the wood that took the brute of the stones I had to throw.

The body that was mishandled, that my healing might spring forth.

I come boldly.

For I am shamelessly desperate for You.

Drown me in the blood, cover me in the Red, that I might move forward anew.

Anoint me with the Holy Oil of Your presence, that I might quietly move in.

Stepping forward, moving on, I come into Your Holy Place.

And I enter in to find that You have already made Your home in me.




You are my portion, and I will forever be satisfied here, with Your presence.


Unc-tion: the [act] of anointing someone with oil.

My favorite word from this week.

Sunday, November 27, 2011


Thankful for much,

Thankful for most.

And I sit here, in the quiet, and am reminded that even the bad is worthy of my thanks.

The ugly has a purpose.

It is Your gift to me as well.

It reminds me that I am in process, not yet complete.

It causes me to lean, unwavering, onto You.

Dependence is the product of all of Your gifts to me.

It is the greatest gift I can return.

When Your hands towards me are empty, dependence comes hastily, with desperation on its heels.

When Your hands towards me are full, may it always be said that dependence was my first response too.

In the silence, my mind revisits every gift that You have given.

For the smiles, for the tears, for the close and for the distant.

For the polish, for the sandpaper, for the sweet and mostly bitter.

For the hunger, for the feast, for the meat and for the milk.

Not a single one of them goes untouched, unnoticed, unmentioned.

Today, I choose joy.

And I am reminded that I can give You thanks always, and for everything.


Monday, November 14, 2011

Man on Monroe

The sun has set.

You are fast asleep.

The ground beneath you is cold.

You have no covering.

Your belongings are on your person.

Your toes have bled through your socks.

Your sun dried face is pressed against the chapel door.

And my hand instinctively covers my heart.

And it is all I can do to refrain from waking you.

I do not know you, but my soul knows you full well.

You are a picture of myself, a portion of your story is mine.

Longing for fullness.

Loathing your empty.

Hope must be inside.


Reason to keep going.

The antidote to loneliness lays beyond the curtain.

And what I see with my eyes reminds me that the inner most chamber of my heart was made for You.

And I may not sleep, exposed, at night, but I close the closet door for the same reason your body lies impressed upon the door.

I get it.

A physical display of the desperation felt inside.

To need.

And You remind me, as the sun is setting, that the Son has risen.

You whisper a story of hope to my seeking self.

I am the ransomed one.

The daughter of fullness, because of the brokenness of Jesus.

The fabric was torn.

The stone has rolled away.

The door is now open.

The invitation stands.

I offer You my utmost, that You may overwhelm my inner most.

Man on Monroe, thank you for illustrating my story.

My hope is this: He has risen indeed.


Sunday, November 13, 2011


These eyes are fixed open.

This heart is still aching.

This mind is still churning.

People are hurting.

Time is ticking.

And it's not in our favor.

There are stories to be heard.

Hands to be held.

Tears to be welcomed, not wiped away.

There are bodies to be healed.

Wounds to be dressed.

And many a persons to grieve with.

There are weak to lift up.

Innocent to defend.

Voices to be heard, not silenced.

I don't intend on saving the world.

Not even a person.

I do intend to care for those who are before me.

30 hours up and my soul keeps myself awake.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011


I have been every color of fall.

Every shade of fallen.

Unfortunately scathed from ancestral decisions.

I have been full.

Full of bitterness.

Full of doubt.

Full of angst.

Full of rebellion.

Full of me, fat on myself.

I have been empty.

The bottom of the bucket is a familiar friend.

Devoid of joy.

Striking out on purpose.

Searching out worth.

Frantic for identity.

I offer all that I have for all that You have to offer.


It is a process.

Dark rocks, old habits, several hurts, some hang-ups.

Rocks waiting to be transformed.

Turned, so that the darkness can be exposed to Your light.

From the daughter of emptiness to the child of light.

Who am I that You would fill me with Yourself, the only whole gift?

Authority is for the now.

Not because of what I have or what I have done, but for who You are.

You are the God of the old, the God of the new, the God of wonders.

Jesus is my High Priest and He is great.

The Spirit is promised, present.

Confidence comes with who I am in You, it overpowers all, smothers out the darkness.

The dark one has no territory in this one, the victory is Yours and I am not up for grabs.


It was my battle cry and has become my banner.

I will sing for the joy that I have in You.

Freedom, it is the message You have branded on me.

Seared and singed.

Light and bright.

Full of hope, and now vision.

Secure in worth, identity, and value.

You are good and I will not keep this good news to myself.

I have been every color of fall, but I will be Your red forevermore.


(New Hampshire with grandpa boy)

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Still thinking.

{I should have been a child of the 80's -- Intagram account @hmmwhattoputhere}

The graveyard holds bones.

My heart is for hollow souls.

Marrow sucked dry.

The enemy stands day and night accusing.

Accusing of short comings, large comings, failures.


Brokenness bound with pangs of hurt, of grief, of pain.

Sealing their crap with a smile.

Filling in the back pew, single file.

To hear words of work, of shame, of cost.

And it is all that I can do to refrain.

It's not what you do it's who you are.

And who you are may be broken.

And who you are may clearly be missing the mark.

But a broken spirit and broken and contrite heart are His favorite offerings.

And you may feel hopeless, with good reason.

If it was truly up to your works, you ought to.

Empty actions cannot fill a hollow soul.

But my hope is this: failure was foreseen, Jesus has always been the plan.

And you may just be broken, but he died for your shattered.

He saw your fractured and wants to heal.

Binding wounds, the cuts and lacerations of life, He wants to gift you with wholeness.

The restoration to hope.

Eviction of self.

Abandonment of works.

Surrender of the here, the now, the present.

To be.

And know securely that it is enough.

You are wanted, you are treasured, you are dear, you are chosen.

If I could, I would pull you close and wrap these truths around your soul.

To feel light.

To have joy.

To want to live for The One who died.

To know fullness.

To be satisfied.

Who am I that You would want to collect this dusty soul and brand me with Your message of hope, while my body is in process of returning to the ground that it came from?


--Thankful for dreams and friends and transparency. Thankful for hope and fall and faith. Communion and prayer and mostly silence. The past few weeks have carried with them these themes, and prospective opportunities for the future (exciting)--

Sunday, October 30, 2011


To close my eyes.

To sleep so deep.

To dream in colors red and gray.

To wake up.

Hope has been my sidekick.

To feel joy and sing.

To offer You my presence, my utmost.

To give to You that which is dear and to be cared for.

To read stories, One story, with many verses.

To revisit promises and wait.

I love You for who You are, not for what You have done or what You will do.

To be hungry.

To be desperate.

To be secure in my desperation.

Everyone is working.

But for what?

To lay down my business.

To acknowledge insecurity.

I understand that You love me in my weaknesses, not for my strengths.

To hear You, stunning in the quiet.

To be rested.

To pour myself out for who You are.

To find new heights of emptiness.

To feel fulfilled.

Only to slip back into sleep at the thought of Your sweetness towards me.


--This week I took care of my own patients! Nobody died... looks like this nursing career thing is off to a decent start!--

Saturday, October 22, 2011


{Trip to Boston with my Grandpa love}


Fragrant color.

Season of maturing, reaching its finest height.

The vibrant color speaks of the light that's been shown, the darkness that's been overcome.

From buds of green to branches full, all has been grace.

From a season of lush and plenty, You are fashioning me to fall.

Calling forth my barren.

Reconciling beauty to my bare.

This flaming orange is vibrant because of Your red.

The maturing process leads to my end.

New beginnings can only come with the letting down, the letting go.

And I sit below You.

And I dream of walking with You at dusk.

And I feel Your presence like the morning dew.

And I am full.

Full and ready.

Ready to fall, ready to be bare before You.

Ready to for the crescendo of this season to reach its final peak.

Ready to be exposed and trusting.

Prepared to wait.

Your promise stands.

You are worthy to be trusted.

Your goodness evokes a joyful response.

Spring will come.

You are good, my soul knows this full well.


{Fresh Lobster... before the boiling pot of doom. Dinner in Maine!}

{Town of Salem -- Salem Witch Project in the 1600's -- crazy around Halloween!}

{Clam chowder at every possible stop. ummyesplease}

{Hammock on the front porch of a bungalow on Bryant Pond... my heart paused inside of my chest}

{New Hampshire -- spent the night at His Mansion}

{Hello Bucket List, I am here to cross off visit New England in the fall #thankyouverymuch}

{Favorite picture of the trip.}

Friday, October 7, 2011

Put Yourself Out There.

The sky is dark.

The moon is high.

It is dangerous outside.


The theatrical theme in my recent dreams.

I know this is where the scene is leading.

I was inside.

Safe, behind locked doors.

Safety is an illusion.

I am outside now.

The crisp air leaves my senses sharp and skin tingling.

I must go fast.

I cannot slow down.

I am afraid.


It is not who I like to be.

It is an accurate reflection of who I long to be, of who You are.

I am riding by several empty ones.

Their smileless faces only allude to the hollowness they feel inside.

They are dirty, they are dark.

I am uncomfortable.


I want to be hidden, yet I long to be generous.

I ride by them, offering my smile as I pass.

I know full well that I am capable of giving more.

Giving hope.

But doing so would cost me something.



And I make the decision to slow down.

To stop.

And I am raw on the inside.

And he is empty.

And I seek to pour, realizing that fullness is not of me, on my own.

My many, hollow words are not the solution.

I learn that the hard way.

Trail and evident error.

Callous, I climb back on and continue, I must go fast.

I tell myself that I tried, that must be sufficient.

Something inside of me whispers "slow down".

My stubbornness leads me home.

Fumbling with the keys, I find the fit to my lock.

Turning it with regret, I just want to find comfort again.

I hurry inside.

The door closes behind.

The many numb faces are fast approaching.

I think I am safe.

And the whisper comes again "but you are missing it".

Weight leaning against the door, against thought security, I remember

The keys bound with ribbon, ribbon red, were left in the lock.

My security is disrupted by reality.

They have access to me.

I wake up with silence heavy on my chest.

And I respond.

You have not hidden Yourself from me.

You have made a way for me to enter the Holy Place.

You did not live for Your comfort, for safety, for acceptance.

You lived for me, for the many hollow souls and expressionless faces.

You have not retreated to Your Holy Place, door sealed shut.

You have left the keys in the door, the curtain torn, all by the red.

You put Yourself out there and You saw me as worth the risk.

I want You to mold me and make me more like You.


{Welcome to my -quiet- week}

{I like to spend time with this one.}

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Desert Person.

I am a desert person.

Like my fathers of old, fathers of great.

You have led me far from my captivity.

Far from the bondage I found myself in.

You have lulled me into awe with Your works.

I have problems.

You are power.

The perfect formula for Your wonders.

Who am I that You would intervene?

And I find myself in the dry place.

It is hot.

Water is scarce.

I have been led here by Your pillar of clouds.

Drawn here by the goodness of who You are.

Journey made possible by the blood.

By a reconciled love.

And I wake up.

I am faced with a decision.

The clouds remind me that You are treading heavy over my life.

You are near.

It is time.

The decision is now.

It is constant.

And I choose.

I was not made for Egypt.

I was made for You.

And the desert may be hard.

And my soul may by thirsty.

My heart will not retreat.

My mind will not entertain thoughts of the bondage I have been freed from.

For it would be easy to return to who I was.

But today, right now, forever, I choose the difficult.

Following You will cost me much.

If it doesn't, I cannot sincerely say I am following.

You are good.

I believe that about Your heart.

You are the greatest giver and I trust You.

You gift my life with vibrant color.


It is my souls favorite.

And tonight, I get it.

I proclaim, my heart declares, You are enough.

You are enough.

You are my I AM.

You are all that I want.

I speak truth, for that it is the precursor of freedom:
You will be all that I want, even when You choose to give me great gifts.

I rejoice tonight that David was a man after Your heart.

and Jesus is Your heart.

And if that is who He is, then that makes me of Your heart too.

I smile at Your security.

My soul is at ease with Your loud whisper.

My dreams are littered with Your vision.

My heart coarses for the ones You desire.

My feet are dirty for Your cause.

Thank you for journeying me through the dry place to rejoice in Your adventurous waters.

I may just be a desert person, but I am full.

and You, well, You are enough.


Monday, September 26, 2011


{ @PhoenixOne}

I wake up and still You are with me.

You are faithful, even when my faith is less.

You have whispered to my soul, breathed over it, time and time again.

When did I let the doubt sneak in?

When did I crack open the door of disbelief for the promise You are holding for me?

I wake up this day and am undone by Your goodness.

By the words spoken yesterday, by the words You gifted me with today.

You are good, and You are worthy to be trusted, to this my whole being can attests.

You are good and Your gift for my life is good as well.

May my heart not retreat in this season of waiting.

May it grow stronger, may it be lost in You even more.

May I run with all I have, always fast, never again to slow.

May I not be faint
May weariness never bind me
May doubt never shake me
May faith always fill me
May grace never leave me
May Your strong hand uphold me
May I sing for joy in the shadow of Your wings
May I be fixed on the Giver and never on the gift
and May You grace me with a deep and quiet spirit all the days that I am waiting.

May I be courage.

May You be calling.

May I be patience.

May You be holding.

May I hear and obey.

May You be loud.

May I be lower still, moved to awe, by Your highness.


Saturday, September 17, 2011


This week, I took a roadtrip to to CA with Bri girl. No plans. No itinerary. Just us. In the present.

Started with tea and maybe, just maybe, buying a surprise iced coffee and treat to drop off at Valley High for my Brynn girl!

Personal tour of the Oakley Headquarters much? So fun!

The things I find humor in...

4 hours of no talking. Just thinking.

So lovely.

Sitting at dinner with three of my favs. Grandpa boy said that he would snap his neck if he leaned back any further melt my {heart}

8 hours later.... we made it home. Nothing like bumper to bumper traffic for 2.5 hours -- more like nap time for me! Thank goodness some people in this world actually like to drive!

Back and rested and ready for fall.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


It is the feeling that wakes up with me in the morning.

It is the bitter gnaw that never quite settles.

It is the stirring that keeps my tired mind from resting at night.

It is relentless.

I search for the antidote in solitude and in conversations.

In the confines of my closet.

In the presence of many.

And it is still with me.

Prayer is the only thing that has dressed the wound of my restlessness.

I am pilgrimatical.

I am on a journey, far from my place of origin.

The sinking of roots is hard for this sojourning soul.

Surely to have another with me on this journey would be reckless.

Being is hard when stirring is biting at your heels.

And You speak to me when I am leaning.

You remind me that I am as far away from You today as I will ever be.

Each passing minute, that carries with it the hour, the day, brings me closer to You.

This restlessness has a purpose.

It is a seed planted in the marked ones.

It is the tension of holiness.

A soul that is cleaned with hands that are dirty.

It is the understanding that this world cannot hold me.

It is the certainty that You already are.

And the latter makes me all the more restless for You.

You are my I AM.

And I am finding that my silence says the most.


Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Tame her with grace.

Wiley, rambunctious, astray.

I was lost.

Not knowing that I wanted to be found.

Stubborn, spirit as strong as flint, You knew that it would take much to draw me.

You did not exercise Your might in drawing my spirit.

You have not overpowered me.

You have overwhelmed me.

You have revealed to me Your grace, and of those waters I am still sinking.

In the well of Your grace, my pail has yet to hit bottom.

And You whisper to my soul, and You are worthy to be trusted, and You say:

"My daughter, search and see, go deeper still, and I assure you My grace is sufficient."

And I trust you.

And I come around.

I am intrigued not by Your strength, but by Your tenderness.

I am undone by Your mercy.

I am broken by Your forgiveness.

I am overwhelmed by Your grace.

You know me well.

You knew that it would take grace so sufficient to draw this flighty soul towards You.

I am here now.

You need not muscle me to the ground.

I come and I am quiet and I lay myself down.

My broken spirit and broken and contrite heart are what I have to offer.

Wholeness and redemption are waiting for me.

My soul is branded.

And my purpose, identity, and sense of belonging have Your seal, the blood of Jesus, forever singed on them.

You mark me with Your holy and the work is complete.

I am the product of one tamed by grace and You are beautiful.


{Coffee date with brother love}

{Birthday party for a fav 10 year old}

{Magic School Buss adventures with Noah}

Saturday, September 3, 2011


My bones can feel it.

The cusp of a new season.

I am in transition.

I know where I am coming from, my steps are not hard to retrace.

But where am I going?

I have neatly packed the bags of my soul, they are placed by the door, and I wait.

What am I waiting for?

Ah, the question of the hour, the day, the month.

Waiting can be fun for a while, exciting even.

But now?

I come before Your throne.

Not with boldness today, the walking of the center isle allthewaytothefront.

I feel at ease in the third row from the back, the middle of the pew.

Close, but within reach.

Distant, but very much present.

My mind whispers to what is me and says "unpack your bags, it's going to be a while"

Where is the resistance coming from?

Is it You?

Is it me?

The sinking of roots, it sounds so... stable.

And I have tasted, and I have seen, You are good.

And You are all I want.

And the tension comes from burying what I have found in You and going to market.

I want to sell.

To be sold out, for You are my treasure.

My bags are packed now, I am ready to come away.

But I am missing it.

You are all I need.

And in the silence, I get it.

Coming to You naked now, I am walking the center isle.



On my face.

Before Your throne.

Undone, unhinged, still scathed.

I get it.

Cover me in the blood, I want to be made whole.

I want You and only all of You.

I offer what I have, that is me.

From death to life.

From loved to loving.

From me to You.

May I never be anything less than in transition.


Friday, September 2, 2011

Who I am.

{someday I will experience this. ohhowIwish that day would come soon.}

I am chosen.

I am called.

I am treasured.

I am trusting.

I am joyful.

I am rested.

I am one who has hope.

I am the ransomed one.

I am sure.

I am steadfast.

I am faithful.

I am clean, as white as they come by the blood.

I am forgiven.

I am thankful.

Who I am speaks of who You are.

You are Jehovah Rapha, my healer.

You are consuming.

You are just.

You are worthy, you have not mishandled my trust.

You are fierce.

You are whole.

You are generous.

You are the giver of every gift, hard and lovely.

You are my One thing.

You are enough.

You are all I ever need and You are the revealing one; I have come to know that You are all I ever want.

You are the great Leader, I will follow You and not be afraid.

You are raw, You do not build walls around Your heart.

You are my Beloved, and today, I rejoice that I am Yours.


Sunday, August 28, 2011


Take this heart of stone.

Melt me into a puddle of wax.

Shave me and craft me into something lean, something holy.

Instill in me a hunger for you, a wick that runs into my deep.

Set me aglow and may I only ever burn brighter for you.

May I melt again, lower this time, bring me lower still.


*I start working night shifts in t-minus 2 hours and 51 mins! FREAK OUT!*

{I think this little guy liked me. I can hardly imagine a plague with them... ah no}

{after 4 hours of worship and 1 hour of dancing, we were a lovely sweaty mess}

{With 3 hours of sleep under my belt and tea in my future, I climbed onto the 10 and ventured on home. Heart weekends at the Hoyts}

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Still dreaming.

I close my eyes and I am lead away.

I am in a new land.

It is impressed upon me that there is innocence in the garden.

Reality in the desert.

I am in a dry land.

In the midst of a junk yard.

Scraps of one-time furniture, well past its prime, surround me.

Along with train tracks.

And garbage.

It is hot here, and it smells bad.

All is decaying.

And I see people.

People that most would not look in the eye.

People that most would go out of their way to walk around, not wanting to cross paths.

People that looked like the underbelly of society.

Simply known as "those people", my gut tells me that you can picture them too.

They would be the ones that some raise charity for and most try hard to push outside of their consciousness.

And it starts with one.

He is disturbed.

He sits down in the fragments of what was a chair and begins to place himself in a straight jacket.

I am confused.

I am a bystander.

There to see, unable to respond.

And another one.

She climbs onto a chair and places herself in restraints.

She is every bit as frantic.

I don't understand.

And even more run across the train tracks.

I have turned now, turned to watch them.

They are running away from me and they stop.
The train is coming.

We can feel it.

The tracks are between us.

It turns the bend.

They turn around.

They are heading for the tracks, but why?

I watch as they willingly step onto the tracks.

They are not crossing this time, they are walking.

Sure footed, they intend on staying on the tracks.

The train is closing ground.

Urgency builds inside my chest, bubbling up to my vocal cords.

My real eyes open.

The sun is rising.

My hope is this: that the Son has risen.

To break the captives free.

It is what this frail life was fashioned for.


Saturday, August 20, 2011


{Visited Kathryn lovelovelove}

Am I ready?

Do I trust You?

Has Your work been made perfect in me?

Do I know that Your blood is enough?

Am I aware of this daily: that I am sick and need a Savior?

Do I give You the whole gift of a joyful surrender?

Do I love Your people, well?

Have I scraped the bottom of the well that is me and been undone in Your deep waters?

I gift You with my dirty rocks: rebellion, independence, rigidity.

You pardon my shortcomings, more like my tallcomings, and You gift me with fullness.

Blood that is shared.

Grace that is sufficient.

Life that is abundant.

Yes, I am ready.

Let my way be Your ways, Your love, Your life.

I am where I belong and I only belong with you.

May we rock to the lullaby that is Your glory and may the offering of my awe be enough to wash Your feet.

I like You.

and I always, always will.


I wrote this during church tonight. Funny how you can be somewhere, but be so far from present. Back from the Bay area! Here's a photo recap...

{Walking the bluff before antiquing}

{Dinner in Bodega Bay... they def gave us the honeymoon table! ha}

{Here comes trouble}

{The man taking our photo asked "Hotttt lovers or best friends??" and we laugh}

{Our hotel room for the night!}

{Before haircut and babysitting 3 adorable girlies}

{After.... and after a bean burrito and peaches. Maybe not the best idea I've had in a while}

Friday, August 12, 2011


They are almost always memorable.

Heightened senses.

Excitement of the unknown.

They can be exhilarating.

First days.

First tastes.

First stories.

First hurts.

One heart, many wounds, all in different stages of healing.

First time loving in spite of hurts

Reminding me that love is not an accident.

It is very much intentional.

First experiences.

But what about the mundane?

What about the other 23.8 hours of the day when life gives way to habit?



The familiar.

It is when the closet door is closed for the umpteenth time, today.

It is when the suppressed longing rises with the sun each morning.

The longing to be held, the longing to belong.

What about the days when faith takes just that: faith?

For days when firsts are not in sight.
For days when reality reveals hours, vacant of new experiences.
For days when there is just enough energy to maintain
and exhaustion comes with the thought of moving forward, upward, homeward.

For days like today, would You instill in me an new love for You?

I want to love You like today was our first day together.

Like today was the first time that this daughter was reunited with her Father.

Like today was the first time I was introduced to Your rest and fullness.

Like today was the first time I found you wildly in the small confines of my closet.

Like today was the first time I felt You, consuming and longing.

Like today was the first time I was moved to tears by who You are.

Like today was the first time I realized that You are all the strength I will ever need.

I am here.

I am quiet.

I am ready.

Ready to love my First love as if it were the first time.


Sunday, August 7, 2011

The only gift to give.

Restless, my feet hit the floor well before 6.

My mind can't stop, so why should my feet?

Shoes on, hair up, I begin.

I am found in the aftermath of thought obedience.

Where is my joy?

I know that You are intimate because You desire that which is dear in my heart.

You do not ask for gifts of the material, for You know me well.

The material does not hold me.

It can be given freely, without sacrifice.

You call for the personal.

You gently ask for my innermost desire and call forward my surrender.

I am running.

I always want to move towards You.

Fear can be distracting.

You pursue me with Your favor, even in my indecision.

Who am I that You would show me Your goodness while my heart is wavering?

With Your history of faithfulness, who am I to hesitate?

I come around.

I return towards You.

I surrender.

Eyes open, it is a new day.

Where is my joy?

You are faithful to meet me, even when I am standing still.

You speak to my heart of Your ways and I am sad.

I have robbed You of the gift.

What is surrender without joy?

What kind of a gift has this daughter given her Father?


I may have gifted You with surrender, but it is not whole without my gladness.

And His feet strike the ground.

And His load is heavy, heavy as a tree.

And He is walking for this daughter.

And He whispers to me in my closet and says "I get it. Surrender is hard. But for you, I did it with joy. For you are my joy."

With feet dipped in the oil of gladness, You walked the hard road for me.

May I be no different.

May I give the only true gift.

A joyful surrender.


Saturday, August 6, 2011

Be afraid.

It tells me that the sky is falling.

Listen, you can hear it too.

Be afraid.

Be afraid of being the loving one and yet unlovable.

Be afraid of not belonging.

Be afraid of being alone.

Be afraid of being ordinary.

Be afraid of being overcome by doubt.

Be afraid of refraining from a wonderful path.

Be afraid of giving Him the most intimate desires of your heart.

Be afraid of Him when He chooses to accept them and never gives them back.

Be afraid of that fire growing dim.

Be afraid of being exposed, lacking protection.

Be afraid of lacking in courage.

True is: this may be my circumstance.

Truth is: Jesus is bigger than my circumstances.

Truth is that He has called me by name and instilled courage in my person.

Truth is that even if one can touch my body, they cannot harm my soul.

Truth is Your Spirit manifested as a dove to one person, The One. To the rest, it has come as fire. You are not finished with me, Your fire will continue to fall, to ignite.

Truth is You are a good God, even when Your hands are empty towards me, Your heart is still full.

Truth is I was fashioned to desire intimacy with You and it is possible because of Jesus.

Truth is, that may just be a wonderful path, but if it's not the one for me to walk on, You are still worthy of my deepest praise.

Truth is Jesus has purchased the victory of my mind, with His blood. His faithfulness is greater than any seed of doubt.

Truth is You are great in me and greatness will come from me.

Truth is You have promised to never leave or forsake and You have yet to fail me.

Truth is You have called me Your beloved and sought me from the wilderness. While I was stubborn and wily, You loved me and called me home. You are the utmost answer to my deepest insecurity.

Truth is You loved me even when I was unlovable.

Following Jesus has cost me much.

Tonight, it has cost me my fear.

Truth is:
Even though I walk through the valley,
I will fear no evil.
You are my Shepherd and You are great.
You will lead me on the paths of righteousness,
for it is who You are.
You will rest me in your pastures, tall and green,
and lull me to sleep next to Your deep and rushing waters.
I will eat in the presence of my enemies,
for You are to be trusted.

May You anoint my head with oil until my cup overflows and may I dwell in Your home, Your heart, forever.


Friday, August 5, 2011

Musings from my closet.

Here I am,

naked before You.

You breathe life into these ashes.

You scrub this dirty soul clean.

You wash me with the only red that makes white.

And you clothe me with robes of righteousness.

You set me in the chair of belonging

and my tears sing the only true chorus:

It is all because of Jesus.