Author’s Note: Today’s prompt for Beloved Brew is “What I love to do that feeds my soul.” Not much seems to be feeding my soul more these days, than sitting here on this bed, music blaring through these headphones, and watching us (God & I) connect through a poem. After my grandma passed last month, I’ve wanted to give up writing. I’ve wanted to run as far as possible from this grief that has made me more needy than I like to admit. I’ve wanted to sit here with a sad/angry face: God, I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to miss her this much. Why do I keep wanting to call her. She isn’t going to answer. Okay, yes, maybe I knew she wasn’t going to live forever. here on earth, but why when she told me I should read the Bible, because it was the best story, I’m starting now? When she’s in your presence? I want to yell her so much about you, blurt questions she knew I didn’t want answers, but someone to confide in. I know I can talk to her and she listens, but it isn’t the same as hearing her voice. Over the phone. Face to face. Her smile. When these thought finish their mutiny, or even before, I end up pulling up Spotify and pressing shuffle on either an artist or playlist. I start writing a poem using the titles of whatever song plays. It forces me to put my focus into the music. The melody, lyrics sweep me into a conversation where I talk to God. Last night I told a friend: if you ever write a poem, it will take all your brain power. With any writing, I know it’s true, but add music and it’s as if I let go and watch Him unravel me. Until I want to weep over these words only He could give, whispering over & over: I’m not giving up, Julia. Over & over & over. Today’s poem is brought to you by Tal & Acacia/ (I don’t think I used this song in the poem..) These girls are sisters. Watching them play together os how I feel writing poetry. I get lost for hours and God patiently weaves truth, comforting my troubled heart, catching a glimmer of light. ______________________________ I open my hands— palms faced up, empty. If you think forgetfulness plagues El-Shaddai, your warrior, child, let me show this is love. When you are still, I will getcha. Tangelos you peel apart, He loves me, he loves me not. Red velvet mini cakes. Nutri-grain bars. Lemonade inside spill-proof cup. Veggietales buttons you have stared deep into, thinking they might be chocolate, only to realize they are pictures of your childhood. What was it Bob & Larry spoke before garbage in your mind covered you in dark? I made you special & I love you very much I see how you ache, tears welling at thought this day is ninety-three percent waste. All your friends say, God knows your loss, your anger, your fear you are lost, your sadness welling. I AM Yahweh, your father who will provide for you, forever. May my shoulders pillow your thoughts, receive my all in all. No matter your swinging nature, my song to you is the same: Welcome, my love, welcome! Promise me I’ll be your top priority someday; I have made you mine once upon a time.