but if you do, I’ll come to you


friends say
you are on the move,

you are revealing yourself.

from states away & across 

the world, glory lights my eyes.

inside my chest holds a whisper

as a lover brushes mouth a second 

against ear–I love you upon my

heart, a summer wind bidding 


as if you’re a stranger still

show me the
Father that I may
believe—i am Philip,
swearing i love you so,
but confessing i don’t
know the grandeur
i stand before. when
i breathed in this life
out of my mother’s
womb, my retinas
detached. i screamed
as you let me have
my sight. i imagine you
voiced low: i love you,
little girl. but i cried
& cried & cried the
mystery of you;
how you’ve sat with
me in the dark of my days
& i squint: how can you be
this kind—

i’m reading out of john 14, when Jesus asks Philip: “Have I been so long with you, and yet you have not come to know Me, Philip?” And this comes to mind, which makes think if nit for God, i couldn’t see. which means i wouldn’t be able to write or read. without my glasses, everything is blurry. i literally have to bring every book to my face, even with glasses.

large print makes me feel old. and heavy. and with any book, i always end up reading with my eyes. sometimes i don’t notice. other times i’m all: Jesus . i’m like everyone else now! sometimes  i wonder about people that have stellar vision, do you like it?

but i also forget about people who are blind, or can’t see without glasses/contacts. they probably feel the same as i do. i’m not the only one. there’s something about one of your senses being weak, some of the others are stronger. besides the fact i love holding books in my hands, audio books are awesome! it’s even cooler when you can listen while reading along. seriously, it’s a bed time story way before bed. all the time.

where i am going with this? i have no clue, other than i may squint to see Jesus, but i think thats where walking by faith, not sight.

heaven knows no bounds

et’s sit here,
God, while i
lean against
Your invisible
should i say
my own. today,
are you content
inside my bones?
a heaviness lingers
behind my eyes—
i need to cry reasons
i am unsure. last night,
You said, taste & see
I AM good, close
enough as your next
prayer: help me see You
here. in the morning, i
hear a cat purr into
the phone—“pretty
kitty, she’s licking
the phone,” i imagine
he’s smiling as he says
this—we take in the
happy kitty miles apart,
my soul stills.

sometimes when i’m confused about why I have expectations or crazy hopes, God pulls me back to what i’m always drawn to: small. i swear God has me made to see unseen things people probably wouldn’t notice. like a cat purring miles away, like she knows your voice. or your uncle repeating your grandpa’s call for him down the hall, and it makes you laugh so loud.

it’s simply profound.


I dream of making you smile,

falling into Your arms, Your

laughter against my eardrum.

My child, you’ve done so well

with all the earthy sorrow–I’ve 

watched you cry yourself in the 

dark, wanting to know why why 

why. but now, here, I can hold you 

close fo 

fmf prompt: dream. I think this my dream, more than writing or someone buying drawing of mine. Though I want those, too, I think one of my dreams I just realized is to be on a bunch of authors launch teams. It’s something about supporting others that write too, that’s getting to me. That I get help in this way. But more than that, my dream is being in Jesus’ arms.

withholding no love from thee

i’ve added
asking if i
can have another
opportunity. please,
please, God. i can
hear: those who can
be trusted with little,
can be trusted with much.
You’re laughing a little,
enjoy, don’t consume
yourself with the end.
how i’ve taken away
from this command:
so many of these
people have more
experience than me.
i don’t want to break
any rules. i don’t under
stand why i was chosen—
& my brain will beg me
run away; heart longing
for this good you’ve given
while i ask, please be all
i see?

what do you do when you start overly worrying about good and bad case scenarios from a beautiful opportunity? write a poem about it. and pray i’m overflowed with grace and keep my eyes on Jesus.

Prayers would be appreciated, please.

between Creator & i

for the grace of You,

i am led away from 

destructive voice,

making me contemplate

i may never have 

a boy (man) to love me.

admittance makes mind

(heart) see how prone 

i will wander, wanting 

another lover’s hands

in mine, another chance 

to be looked into. but

yet, i remember way

blues portrait sky–

stars hung delicate

& my breath loses

itself in majesty.
dear Devil, you can try to distract me with what I don’t have (you’re good at it. Really.) God is still going to woo me. You come to steal my joy (and man, you just keep trying), but Jesus came so I could live abundantly. So I could laugh until I cry. Scream in joy. And fall in love with the maker of every sunrise and stars that are finally close enough for me to see. You’re going to need to move it, buddy, so I can be captivated by Jesus.

And Jesus, thank you for never withholding any good thing from me. And showing me what I look like in Your eyes.

Twinkly. 🙂

like doubt in the mind

the fan in my room 

is at end–sputtering 

as the car I was a 

passenger inside,

halting at the side

of the road. air pushes

itself out without word 

on goodbyes.
the most mundane (and quite annoying noise) stops me and I have to write a poem about it. because #itssimplytuesday and the noise reminds me of struggle. (also, it stops me from asking God if I can break it.) 

such love he must have weeped

i think about
the blind man—
the one Jesus
cleansed, or
maybe dirtied
with mud upon
the eyes. over
& over speculators
ask, how can this be?
the man exclaims,
“He put mud on my
eyes. He sent me to
the river, told me to
wash my wash my face.
now i can see.” aren’t
you the one who begged?
“i am he.” we’ll have to call
your parents. they say, is not
your son the one who was born
blind & now can see? how?
yes, he is. they say this
afraid confession of
Messiah could bring
humiliation—you can’t
heal on the Lord’d day,
especially when He’s
standing before you;
you may break a rule.
so these parents
leave their son:
ask him. he’s a
big boy, he can
answer for himself.
so these dumbfounded
persist. how can you see the
blue of the sky? “i told you,
but you do not believe why, ask
again?” they say, go away. we
believe in Moses, you in God.
we shall never agree. Jesus
finds this man, “do you believe
in the Son of Man? “ who is He
so i may, he asks longingly.
He is I, whom you mow see.

leaving you gasping with how alone we are not

look for those
with the shiny
eyes, she never
said, the ones
who remind you
of Jesus. ones
keeping yours
in their rejoicing,
mourning. you’ll
find yourself in
sameness you
thought for sure
left you behind—

the beginning of this came while i ate grapes and yogurt, i thought it may be a story, but my brain came with this.