…the mission

I strain to hear the gentleness of the raindrops on the leaves of the trees

Stretch to breathe in the fragrant air of the approaching storm

Eyes alert to see the vivid streaks light up the sky before me

I wait…for some movement…some feeling…some stirring no matter how faint… Some reaction to the external…

I’m on a mission…a mission to feel…to know without question I am a part of the world that surrounds me

A mission to make my way out of the thickness…the heaviness that is cement…forbidding me to move… To respond outside of these tears


in the shadow…

In the shadow…anxiety lurks
Sadness waits… Curls it’s fingers around my ankles as I pass
Before I know it my chest seizes
I become frantic inside, tears sting my eyes still searching for that which has touched me
My body feels heavy, my mind struggles to be positive and hopeful
I know the mind is powerful… The battle ensues… I cannot do it on my own…cannot seem to escape fully the shadow… the shadow of depression that I long to be rescued from…the shadow that is all too real…



Powerful word… Joyfully anticipated from the lips of infants…

Enjoyably received in the ear eagerly awaiting to be called this most blessed name

Such strength , and power to make ones heart skip a beat, to propel one into running to aid, to comfort…to love.

It’s a word I will never tire of hearing…
One that my heart will swell with love to receive again and again…and again…

One that I pray escapes the lips of my elderly children someday as they find their way back to my arms…I’ll always answer to… Mama




Sometimes I feel as though I am living life sidelined…

I am stuck …benched…knowing in my heart I am capable, intelligent and even fun though I find myself sitting out, opting out, paralyzed and defeated .

I am willing to jump up… To support and to play, to give it my all. I cannot seem to initiate leaving the bench, my stomach in knots, consumed by the weight of a thousand sandbags…

I want to rest… I’m tired…my enthusiasm meter reads zero, my affect flat, motivation evasive…as though I myself am not enough to rescue.

My mind is muddled and foggy, scanning like the fm tuner for something that will boost me… Wake me… usher me from the bench on the sidelines where I sit…

…my island

my island ….

I have a little island though its no paradise
No GPS can get me there…. I just find myself there from time to time
It’s not serene or a place to entertain
Even I don’t wish to be there
On this island I am serenaded by the song ‘you’re not enough’

Pieces of my shipwrecked self wash up on the shore…random shattered ness that taunts
Reminders of failure…of fault and of shame
Scattered pieces of my brokenness…

My island is where all I need is Jesus because when I’m on my island Jesus is the only certainty I have…

In my island moments He makes me whole

For now I wait… For my escape from this place
Not knowing the form my rescue will take…

Striving for awareness …the hope not to miss the arrival…the gentle voice that coaxes me back to the mainland

The cloudless blue sky so vivid and the warmth of the sun reminding me of life…brilliant and penetrating as it encourages me to breathe once again within my own skin…


…dear sleep

Dear sleep… Where were you all night? I waited and waited for your arrival and you never came…I searched the news for you… Praying my eyelids might grow heavy and catch a glimpse of you… I prayed to the shepherd instead of counting sheep and He had another purpose for me…eighteen hrs later as I sit on my porch in the breeze at sunset I am exhausted… Feeling depleted and so much not enough. Perhaps the reason was simple… To relax and know I don’t have to worry because Jesus surely has it all covered …





…and sleep turns down the cozy bed and fluffs my pillow…

little curator…

So quiet you arrived
Gentle curls and stunning blue eyes that searched… Observed and took it all in…

Your soft spokenness grew to excited sharing..eyebrows raised, sparkles in your eyes like fireflies dancing on a summers eve

Your gentle quiet nature a comfort to your friends
Gathered close…bent noggins to hear your amazing ideas…kept in inventory inside your own museum…

Artifacts like treasure you collect in your heart…fossils of the brief years you carry and the many years to come

Taller you have grown…your voice more commanding yet still sweet…treasuring your days as your history grows

I smile … thankful to have taught you and learned from you…stay gentle little curator…