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)--