this receiving reach 

morning comes-

a bird draws near 

my window with chipper

song: wake up, child. wake!

I listen, but the sky is dark & I 

am tired, cold bones, churning 

stomach. her song holds me, a 

sign of hope, word of your unfailing love-

-God, I want to 

stay in 

fmf: morning. Sickness is interesting in the way it makes cry out to God in a way I wouldn’t if I was fully better. There has been so many days over the last few weeks where I’ve been like: I can’t do this! I need so much help! Need to journal! Bible.. I’ve never been like this and somewhat distracted with the thoughts that are evil and so not kind about me. But promises keep coming and I like chilling with Jesus and acting crazy. I know he can take it, and I’m more alert to others pain.

It’s all very interesting. And I may be somewhat loopy  so sorry if this makes little sense.

Jeremiah knew the tornado from which I speak 

Abba, all right here

I sit weak. I cannot fly
away from pain within 

begging my mouth open–

I remember the surrender 

You did for me that I may call 

Your name. I tell again how I 

cannot do this, help myself.

Silence. An opening ear, heaven

listening to my plea, love you say 

I cannot lose, in lack this peace 

abounds. My need for you, Abba,

is wide like a lake, rushing quick

as you, the Word, I restore all the locusts 

have eaten with new food, praises to Me, 

the one and only God, setting your heels 

back in wonder at how personal I am. 

Wait for Me, your hope to arrive. I will be 

right on time. Obsolete, you are not. I 

have hedged you into My side, 

continuously holding your right hand. 

Conversations may seem one-sided, but I 

am speaking love, pulling heaven &

Earth to show you how precious 

you’ve always been. From the beginning, 

you beloved, have brought delight to My 


Oh, the thought of you alone, a 
longing I dare never withhold.

To be by your side, hear you sing,

oh it might hope rising to the ear

drum, to the starfish in the sea 

below, to the angels surrounding

My throne. Something changed,

the sickness in your bone makes

you question: how is between us?

You fear, I must have done wrong.

He’s mad. I am love, My child. Patient, 

kind, long suffering. I am 

awakening you to who I am-be still & 

know I am, God. Abba. Yahweh. 

Emmanuel. I have not forgotten you, you 

are a treasure, a diadem.

First song, always that I sing is not

a mourner’s, but the one reminding: I am 

in your midst,

the One mighty enough to save you, 

fighting for you, so keep singing My 

name: Jesus, you are

beautiful, hiding me under your wing, 

with healing less like scars.

Come, my friend, tell me I do not

need be afraid, because I am. Control’s 

never been mine, but

I’d like believe maybe there’s a

loving God, ever watching the sparrow & 

yet mindful my dusty frame; without the 

picture in my mind of thinking Your 

scold, of course this is just one more 


you need Me prove to you! You are 

breathing every minute aren’t you?

You say I can dream of going home 

though I tremble with all my

wrong, shame I’ve done you wrong. 

Loving you, You say, I made knowing 

intimately, exempts the pressure to try to 

return what I 

give you, love you cannot understand. 

What do I know, but 

grasping, grasping to be less person & 

stand on my own. Strangers come beside, 


me they know this struggle of

proud, a kindness I want hold.

When it was over, a glimpse of

beauty I turn, turn, turn–

Gift of Friendship 

I read Dawn’s words in the introduction of her new book, The Gift of Friendship: Don’t let anyone tell you that a friendship that begins online lacks a foundation. Treasure friendship in whatever form it comes. I wanted to weep. 

Instead, my mind kept repeating: Someone understands! while I smiled to myself. It’s difficult to explain to people how close you can become to others through having a blog. Though it doesn’t happen immediately, I think it may have something to do with sharing our hearts through writing, there is an ease in slowly opening to another soul a distance away. A kind of community you don’t expect.

I’ve experienced this with the older woman I’ve met through social media and real life friends my age who don’t live close. As in right down the street.

This book is a collection of stories about the desire we all for deep relationships and the beauty, often struggle to cultivate them. Because I can’t dive into every story that touched me, I’m going to pick out a few that made me think.

Dawn Camp’s story, What You Can Do When Life Storms Hit, how God reaches out when you don’t want to impose. When my grandma passed in 2014, I ached in a way I still don’t understand. A few women through my blog have continued to pray for me, ask me how I am, let me come with all my crazy, and remind me God loves me.

He hears me. Keep bringing Him my heart. It’s a quick text or email of encouragement that has held me together, making me grateful I started a blog and for the way God has weaved friendships I never saw coming.

In another story by Ananda Williams, she shares her own struggle with grief.

Sometimes, in the worst times, you need someone to be you, so you can just be.

In the midst of grief, I’ve watched how God has used two friends in real life, traveling miles to show me joy that comes into the dark. They’ve let me be quiet, staring off into space. Mad. Weepy. 

Through books, music, prayer, food, time and laughter, they’ve shown up without giving me chance to deny. They’ve loved me anyway and I’m thankful for the way we give to each other despite the distance.

If you are a mom or a woman who struggles in the friendship area, this book will be a sigh of relief.

If you’re a guy, this book will open your eyes to female friendships, but will help you appreciate your own friendships as well. 

You will cherish longtime friends and the new ones beginning.

I’m doing my first giveaway (a signed copy!) If you’re looking for your next book to read, comment below with your email and I will pick a winner by Friday!

teach me now not to rage

Do not let me forget the way you lift up 

my head, though my

body shivers, sweats-

you will find a way today

to make me smile–an undercurrent of joy you 

use to fix me up. Abba;

your embrace asks nothing

but rest. So 

I’m writing this poem and started feeling maybe I didn’t set the timer because 5 mins is taking wayy too long. But then I have 20 seconds left and write the word, so.

Waiting is hard. I honestly thought I was a patient person, but even though I can’t run or rush as quick as another, my insides are all: come on, God!! Please please please! This is burning me up. These dreams that keep swirling around inside and making me smile/freak out with fear.

And then I get sick. And try pushing open more doors he clearly wants me to wait on.

 Such hope never disappoints or deludes or shames us, for God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit Who has been us. 

He whispered this to me in the night. And then I read the rest of the chapter and caught how grace is used 3 times, Jesus reaching out to be near me, bless me. His presence.

I don’t understand his plan. I don’t like feeling crazy, like I can’t sleep because the longing is deep and wide and long and the expectation is making me feel like it’s Christmas.

I think he’s making me die to hurry. To trying to figure all out and push him to give me answers right this very minute.

Rest, he says. In my love. 

And this is why. (Too much happiness for my soul. Or just enough. ☺️🙋)

absent unfold 

You are a stranger,

my Abba–the way 

you reach toward 

my soul, kindness 

I cannot stand. I am 

an obstinate child, 

your beloved going 

round & round: you 

love me because you 

are love. you are always

happy to see me–no matter 

the furrowed brow, tired bone–

you come sit beside, pull me gently inside 

your elbows & hush

the fugitive internal: I love you. 

Dear Abba,

though I am tired and quite a bit cranky, oh how you love me. oh how you make me laugh–you love to watch me smile, split open my tense jaw, laughing into the light. I want to cry though I am not sure why. my heart aches, and here you are. grace upon grace-desperate hands swooping me in an embrace I’ve ever longed stay.


show me the way 


I’ve reached my limit–

I’ve been here for a while now,’

torn between what I want/should do.

Here I am at this fork,

to the left another chance to launch

a fiction book. To the right, an open

door to finish a class to break into print.

And I cry because I don’t know the road I

should take & beg

my heart you take.

I really love not checking mail all day. And then scrolling through going: why am I given another chance to be on a launch team, for fiction. A little more: they’re going to let me finish this class I bailed on 3 years ago? I don’t know if I really want to do this..

Goes to check book for this launch: yeah, I can agree with the princess of the story. Restless, wanting to escape (more my mind).. But it’s the last day to apply..they’re picking people this a trap?

Looks at class with these thoughts: what can I write? Ugh.

God knows I want to learn to write under a deadline but not out of striving, which is what I feel I’ll do with both of these. I’d like to drop both and be like, whatever, I’m done.

I’d like to apply for the launch and see if I get rejected. That would help me hear God’s voice over the liar and my own fear…

See, this is my limit.

breathe Me in 

I remember my youth during this day of ash–

sitting at the head of the table 

as he brought Filet-o-fish & fries,

asking for ketchup be brought to me immediately. “It’s right here.”

she’d say, coming in from the kitchen with red, blue, green cups 

full of juice–maybe grape–and Doug Funny or Rugrats on TV.
I had no concept this was a way of death, 

but give something, meat, up because 

Jesus says. What you are told you shall do. 

And who doesn’t want McDonald’s

when you are young?
I knew what I was given was enough, not 

as an act of love.

when I grew from this to tuna fish 

on toast, I sat still in oblivion-one

bite, two. Enough. Enough. Enough.
Today, tomorrow, til my heart

opens without refrain to you,

come again with laughter casting

fearful dread aside. Touch my sweating hands, there, there, child, I may not be enough to you, but I am. You are enough. 
In these truths, remain.

Lent will probably always remind me of eating tuna fish on toast and filet o fish sandwiches with over my grandparents as a child. Or when my other grandma took me for fish fries with mac n cheese and green beans. I’ve always thought of this time as sacrifice, but for myself. I knew it was for Jesus, but never to get closer to him. It’s interesting to me that during this quarter of my life, I’ve done this and felt like I failed myself, Jesus, others. People have always seemed more disciplined at this. 

I think I was/still am drawn to the fact I can eat McDonald’s filer o fish for cheap during this time. And I can give up certain foods without it really being an issue. 

But maybe this year will be more of challenge because I want to give up the way I talk  about myself for his truth about me.

You are beloved.

You are complete.

You are enough.
I’ve spent a lot of my nights reading his word. Journaling during the day or reading another book. The minute I try sleeping at night, I feel small and overcome by fear that has gone not to make my heartbeat race but my hands sweat.

What is wrong with dreaming to go abroad? He isn’t going to let you. Oh, what? He just told you he loves you? Yeah, okay.

Because someone who loves you tells you to wait. Makes you talk to emptiness with only: though anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.

You see him comforting you? Cause you’re sweating more and more and especially after I get you away. Even for a second. You keep crying and squirming and telling people the truth and what have you got?

Dismay. Oh and I know what he says, do not be dismayed for I am your God. You got two rejections last week all because your looking for approval? That’s a real strength booster huh?

You don’t even know what you want anymore, so indecisive and needy and afraid to even trust. Try harder won’t you?

^^^^that just all came out now, but this is what goes on inside my head, while I hear the quietest, I love you.

Prayers would seriously be appreciated because I’d rather hear the quiet invitation of his love, receive it, than rig thrum of doom I’ve been getting each night.

He is faithful.

my love for you.

 let me focus not on the ‘no’–

the way you say it,

gentle enough for water

to flow out of my eyes & in

this open space. my Jesus,

how I am your little child, daddy!

daddy, daddy! I can, want, must 

do this! and how you just smile–

I know, but you must slow, receive 


my focus this week has been on me and what want/think I should be doing. You know what that is? Let’s launch a billion books! Jesus in his kindness watched me cry over a sort of a rejection letter from a launch team from a well known author, Annie Downs, to telling someone else no to helping launch her book, because my motives were purely to launch a book and maybe to help but mostly just to launch another book about Jesus..

Hello, world, meet Julia, the striver. I make myself sick, really. Want, want, want. And Jesus says, I want you, not the striver, my beloved girl.

Even as you are faithless, I AM faithful to love you. 

(this verse won’t let me go.)

I cannot see, yet I know 

Last night I swore
you touched my shoulder-

all the blood rushed down

to my feet, my heart shaky

in beat. I listened intent for

you not to go, for you know

how I read of the beloved’s

search to find you. Restless

under covers, she bid streets 

a gamble-have you seen my dear,

he left without hello. No, ma’am, I 

imagine spoken in southern drawl–a 

turn, & there you are, 

hand round waist & bracing neck.

She tells all her friends, do not 

arouse love before it desires. I 

wonder am I wrong in wanting not 

be afraid of you? No, no, you speak with 

no word, but I can’t 

deny myself for you. 

This end line, “I can’t deny myself for you.” I don’t know if it makes any sense. Because God is love, he can’t deny himself for me–that love for me. But then when I read it, it sounds like, I can’t give up myself for you.” He did though. Coming into my helplessness, fully man & God, to have me near. Made me the object of his object of his affection, dying to be with me & raise me to life through his love.

The last line almost sounds contradictory: I can’t deny myself, but I did for you. I could’ve stayed in heaven, but I wanted to look in your eyes. I could’ve stayed in heaven, but I wanted to be there when you cry. I could’ve stayed in heaven, but I yearn for your laugh. I could’ve stayed in heaven, but I wanted to see you smile, be the one that makes you. I could’ve stayed in heaven, but who would sing to you or delight when you color pictures? Who would tell you, you are my dear, dear beloved & I will stop at nothing to show you.

Until unbelief no longer has you.
Yes, I’m getting a little overwhelmed. Writing that keeps me believing in my faithlessness, he is faithful.