receive grace, dear girl

you’re being too
hard on yourself—
i could hear this
faint within my heart,
tears asking pardon.
she was right—i can’t
read a book in a decent
time to compile a list of
favorite quotes/notes. he
laughs in my mind when
the next email comes,
guess you missed
the first task, huh?
& now you have TWO
MORE! i sit with these
second guesses until
morning comes: let it
go. you’re not missing
out—go at your pace.
My hand is on you, as
well as time—look in
My eyes, no condemning
to behold.

So last night, i find an update email from the launch team manager in my Spam folder, after emailing a friend about if I’m still supposed to be collecting quotes/notes In the email, I’m immediately drawn to the fact they’re releasing new images for the book, next week. and the devil is all: looks like you missed on that one. can’t even do task one! this follows by telling my mom, “i’ve failed.” Which she asks, why? I tell her something about I can’t read a book fast enough. My soul takes a long time to process a lll of this. I mean, I’m talking about the soul. It’s delicate and fragile. God knows how much time we need to grasp something. Apparently, I need months, years.

Just yesterday I learned love is only two things: patient & kind. I’ve read this before, but because of Emily’s lovely breakdown of 1 Corinthians 13, it’s made my soul go, God, is this true?? Whoa. Then, that means that’s all You are…

This made realize two other lovely things. 1. I’ve been taking myself SUPER SERIOUS with this book launch. When I haven’t been having serious headaches/sneezing/feeling sick, I’ve been at this or thinking: God, if I can show you I can do this, it’ll lead to a job. Right? Because that’s what’s most important. Money, so I can live and take care of myself. And His response: Just enjoy this! Don’t worry about that, delight yourself in Me! (and I kinda stare hard at Him..)

2. My soul needs to breathe. And yours does, too. You know you want to learn to pray with a bowl that receives nothing but grace.. 😉

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. 🙂

for His sake

we were under
gray sky, when
she asked, “what
do you think our job
is?” in the silence
following, pride
rose in my heart.
i knew the answer
& the smile spread
according—but
she answered first,
“to be a good daughter.
mother, friend.” staring
out the green, i said,
“to show Christ,” a
smile only God
discerned upon my
face. in that moment,
i wanted this my truth.
i forget, have forgotten,
will forget how this life
is nothing short a privilege—
falling in love with whom
bore my, “i got this.” —

a few weeks (okay, may have been a month ago), i laid in a field & talked about what are job would be in heaven/is on earth with my friend. as i listened to both our answers, i found myself in awe. because seriously, who doesn’t want to sing to Jesus all day. or write poetry. or create beautiful art. but i can’t help but think Jesus doesn’t look at job the way I do.

by the world’s standards, my job should be getting a degree, which leads to something I can support myself with. today, i watched this message about finishing well. Leaning on Jesus. I watched another about how Jesus is the good Samaritan & soaking up Him, like Mary instead of freaking out like Martha, is the best thing I could do.

it shouldn’t be a job to show Christ. Be a good mother, daughter, friend.

it’s a gift to love as Jesus loves. But I must continually receive His love.

Until I know, not only in my head, but my heart overwhelms hearing:

I am whom Jesus loves.

(side note: both these messages Judah preached had me tearing up…so, so straight to my heart. and captivating.)

Blue Skies

This is hilarious, made me tear up, and marvel at the God’s love once again. So, so good. 🙂 I also wholeheartedly agree with taking cats in a basket–people will be instantly calm 😉

Dana Bowman

Linking up with Five Minute Friday today!

The theme:

Screenshot 2015-05-29 10.03.49

Blue Skies

Leap past the window and lean in across tangled sheets, dreams,

A lost sock. Some lost change.

Lost hours of sleep.

It’s sunny today and I feel it through my eyelids and through my glorious plans

for laundry, for folding, for keeping it all clean.

The sun says, “Forget the plans. Go play.”

The boys and I grab our bikes and snacks and backpacks

and one small boy even asks if we can take the cat

“He will fit in the basket mommah I swear.”

And we head out.

The cat, alas, is left behind to ponder and sleep in a spot of sun

by the front door, where we fall over his furry belly, laughing and home and

full bellied from snow cones and snacks and mislaid plans

because today was a blue sky day.

Amen and thank…

View original post 144 more words

a sunday morn

a blue wing swoops
across the leaves—
her face alight
amazement at how
you stepped off glory,
perchance she’d catch
your name. everything
concerning her, you care
about. she’s in love & i
can’t hide smiling, as if
we already in the garden.

i’m noticing when I talk about Jesus, it’s stepping into eternity. & listening, watching someone be brought to the point of tears over his love, is the most beautiful thing. seriously, it’s like he comes and sits at the table, “oh you guys, i love you. i save who i love. i know this in my head, but only since last night/this morning, has this started getting to my heart

such grace God has for me. for us all.

heaven swaddled me in a robe 

she pulls me

in embrace, 

a swell in heart.

i must have turned 

back into a little girl,

for what I experience 

with arms around–

joy & a longing warmth

of home will never leave.


Author’s note: dedicated to a friend I love very much & has watched me change from scared to approach, to “hey, let’s talk about Jesus!” and continuously gives me hugs. Over the last seven months, this woman has reached out to me without me realizing & wanting to include me in things, giving me space when I’ve been confused by life, to letting me cry and reminding me God has the best for my  life. I love how in the hardest place of my life, God has given people who when I’m around them, I see Jesus in them. and my heart is all: ❤️❤️❤️😮☺️😄. I’m so thankful he gives those who encourage me and fuel my faith. And let me give my presence, instead of presents. 😉

I love how God shows his unfailing love.


look again

to meet you
up beyond blue
skies and gathered
clouds—i wonder
if your eyes will be
watery. i looked you
in depth as if jesus
cried inside, compassion
i long–

FMF prompt: meet, This took a while to write. as in, i fixed things while writing & though about meeting my grandma in heaven. i apparently miss looking in here eyes. so much tenderness/sadness/compassion/warmth/worry/joy in those blues. at least my mom has the same eyes 🙂

and she is ever before me

  

I drew this today to remind myself God never forgets me. Never ever. Even when I’m confused and feel this quiet down in me. And want to cry, but can’t. It helps to know that every time God looks at his palms, I’m there. Like the dirt under his fingernails he wouldn’t dare wash away, because he knows that’s what I’m made of. He knows I’m as fragile as the dirt/butterfly and care so deeply. And that’s his heart always toward me.

And he won’t let go or think twice about loving me.

Keep on, God.

Conversation With Empty Turned Memory

I wake up with my stomach,

hey, I’m empty here.

I will wish you well

ignorantly turning

either side. I can’t

ignore growling,

walk through walls!

greet the day!

feed me!

Yeah, well,

I’d rather free

my mind forevermore.

You are not a human too,

dear old tummy, only a part

of my humanity. You urge,

eat the chocolate hearts,

drink the smoothie

on bedside table.

Oh, I don’t suppose

eating/drinking

makes my left hand

a shovel to bury what is

lost, praying mess found

warrants a kiss forgiveness.

I know you’ve heard my heart—

Jesus, I want to belong to you,

but I don’t understand why I cry

inside the waking sleep, you

s[eaking unfailing love, peace,

all is well, my over my broken.

I’d rather make you proud,

see, Daddy, I’m self-sufficient.

I can, okay? Let me keep

wasting time pretending

I know independence .

When you are barren,

I remember, stomach.

I am a thick-headed thief,

setting my sights on glossy

pages in a top notch magazine,

again brought low by cry:

I hurt too Julia. Oh my

darlin’ weep, rage, sit still

& I will follow. We’ll have

the best day of your life.

I need you reminding

I am no hologram,

no gypsy girl

running down

the worldly drug.

money, money

money. A way

to the future,

they’ve told me.

I’ll get somewhere

if I work, work, work.

They don’t know I have

without love. You saw

the way I looked over

at her. Again, again,

again. She said, why

do you keep looking

over at me? You

anticipating my reaction?

She seemed mad,

or scared for me.

You watched

my shame blushing

my cheeks, frequencies

showing I didn’t mean

hurting her. We were

watching TV, I fixed

on her face flushed

red. Worry lines

I wanted to erase

somehow.

I wonder

if she knew

I wasn’t seeking

invasion of privacy,

but clarification

she loved me.

Sugar Marie

Author’s Note: The last 9 days have been a blur. The day after learning my Grandma passed away, I wrote this. About the love my grandparents showed each other. I always saw this most clearly in the kitchen, always telling her how they reminded of Lucy and Desi. (except my Grandpa isn’t from Cuba and Grandma wasn’t a redhead.) They argued and made up like Lucy & Desi in I Love Lucy. To me at least.  It was always humorous. I’m pretty sure this piece is a mess, love is the same. A beautiful, giving. receiving, and forgiving mess. Thank you, God for letting me witness how you love us. Oh, the title comes from whenever my grandma dropped something in the kitchen, she would exclaim this. Have I mentioned how much I miss her?

———————————————————

I didn’t expect hyperventilating

hearing God took you back home,

some time last night. sleeping.

Jesus, Jesus, please come sit

beside me, weeping loss

for her, who gave me second mother’s love.

I have since spurted this yolky soul,

watching taste hit my lips, salty bitterness

refilling without my ask.

My head throbs remembering days

I’d come in the kitchen, lean

against the counter or refrigerator,

talking about the mundane of life,

compared to the way you’d prepare

a pot of chili

“Since the weather’s changing,”

you’d say, “getting colder.”

I can’t quite remember

exact wording, but

whenever grandpa came

waltzing through that straight line

kitchen, he’d try sticking his pointer finger

inside the pot. I can still see you:

blue babushka pulling back your short, blonde hair,

a grey sweatshirt with matching sweatpants,

and those squeaky white tennis shoes

standing over the pot, stirring.

Sometimes washing dishes,

a towel draped over your shoulder.

You’d catch him, exasperated:

“Get out of there!”

“Den!”

“It’s just a taste, Marge, relax.”

A smile covering his face.

You always told him, if he could wait

five more minutes and to “go sit down.”

“Okay, dear.” Kissing you on the cheek,

he’d leave to the family room,

Lou Dobbs and him, patient.

Biggest glass, you poured tea

only you could make right,

wedged with lemon.

At this time, I’d be at the table,

as you placed his dish complete

with sour cream and buttered bread,

Rye, set before him.

After he’d finish his second bowl,

you give him the medicine cup

full of colored pills.

Too many for me count,

but you portioned them out

day & night alleviating his ache

even in the midst of your own/

How deep your love

goes, grandpa’s & yours-

small movements of Christ’s love

impressed upon grieved heart

until our eternity is shared.