If I told You, God, 

the reason I want

gifts is because I feel

disconnected, will You 

shame me? Because when

some one who genuinely gives 

me a gift, I push back. I tremble   

You don’t do shame. I know this. You 

know the root that when I feel 

disconnected from

someone or unheard or invisible, I crave 

attention somehow and what better way 

than a gift. But You also know 

I am a quality time girl and a gift will 

leave me empty if my heart feels turned 

away. Hold me now. H




Day 39



It’s weird hearing this song again and hearing it at the beginning of the year. I played it over and over. And over. And then with her. I remember singing it, feeling this burning in my cheeks. Because I wasn’t singing it just for me, but this friend too. It almost felt like embarrassment. Singing the truth that we are both loved by You, different strengths, weaknesses all covered in Your love. You. 

It’s weird how at the beginning of the year, I was so pumped up with this album. I never really expected to share it with this friend and feel threatened. Because parts of my story are so wrapped in playing this artist on repeat, hearing Your Word, about You, and holding on tight through many dark nights. Days. Trembling. Wondering. Were You real? What have I done? But mostly, I just wanted to get through. 

I never knew You’d use this artist so deeply in my life. And then to bring along this friend to the concert and watch her hand her book to her with lyrics from that song. It was bigger than my feeling I was getting something taken away. 

Except the friendship is. Walking away because of shame and guilt and it’s just great to come to know jealousy really does kill. 

And now I’m really afraid to put myself in a place where friends can continue being my friend. If they’d even want to. And I know they do. But God. Learning today that when I covet, it’s not trusting Your care for me, it really showed me a lot of the reason why I can’t handle Instagram or Facebook. Or struggle receiving good news from friends or maybe even for myself. It’s like this fear of I’m going to be left. When really I should be rejoicing. Part of me can, but I think I should be quicker to rejoice when You do things for me. It is Your love. I need to let it flood me and trust You will not let me proud. 
 I’m so afraid of that. So afraid of loving the gifts (which I do) more than You. 

Taking what You give and being like, Yep, all me. When I deserve none of it. It’s all a gift. Everything.  I can’t even take the gifts You give. The time this year has given me to see the twisty of my heart. The ache. The longing. It’s great. And last year around this time, I had spent part of it with this friend. There were friendship bracelets and a talk in the car where I said I think people know things about me already, but they don’t. And now its gone. Dead. 

You do though, God. You wove me intimately in my mother’s womb. So You knew how hearing Beckah Shae’s, I’ll be alright again at the end of this year, is interesting. I just ughh. I don’t get me and I hate how it bothers me. The jealousy. How it creeped and killed and I couldn’t see it as clearly until cutting the tie. And I don’t know how encouraging can continue holding it together. Could have. Even with my other friends. Whatif jealousy gets in and kills too?   And I wish I would’ve read more of never unfriended before I had to let go but maybe it wouldn’t have done anything. 

God. This just makes me want to be a better friend but mostly see how You are a friend to me so I can take it in. Soak it in. Ughh. I love You for endlessly listening and knowing me. 


Your tender-haired girl 

Ps. Please forgive me. For dismissing Your care for me. I’m sorry I’m so slow to receive.  Oh yay, the song I heard first at the concert. 

As sure as the sun will rise 

And chase away the night 

His mercy wil not end.

His mercy will not end. 

The tears. God. 

Previous letter here

look at my dissension

i love the way
green colors trees
in spring & summer—
never the heaviness
holding down my heart
all year round.
why she’s liking that
photo by my friend?
why can I function
better broken, aching
with a grievous heart
than I can? why was i
duped by such pretty
words yet again? why
can’t i be less open? i
want to read so many

fmf: green. my favorite color, which also happens to be the color of envy, which leads to pride. and control. and guess who has that? me. that’s why i want to read any book about Jesus I can, so i can ignore the grief, the fact i want to be understood by friends or someone I meet, but the more I spend time with Jesus. reading his word, I want to stay. He listens to EVERYTHING. The silence, tears, and the longingI have to be smothered in his love. Though, I almost was severely distracted by FB (I don’t use anymore, but I log into 8tracks with it), he pulled me back to write this. All social media has shown me how quickly I become envious or feel i’m not good enough. but this year in all it;s confusion, hurt, guilt i’ve felt, i’ve felt pulled into Jesus’ embrace over and over. and know he’s guiding and tenderly leading me by my weakness (right hand).

(this isn’t part of the five minutes & i could write a lot mire,but I need to focus on the ending of the paragraph.

Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand. (psalm 73)

and this.

with only room to grow

what I hate,
I ask more of—
let me have every
book I think I can read.
let me see how many
people I can say, yes,
i’ll review those books,
edit this one, read through
that one. I take them, a hoarder
of words, unopened gifts I want
keep all year long. look, Lord,
i can be busy now. obligated.
trusted. helpful. good. i think
i can fool the holy One, who
knows the dream of falling in
the dark has me crying sound
less, for air bidding me, come
take this light & drop regret
you hold—for this grace is real;

what else I have learned this week: saying “no” is hard. even when it’s the right thing to do. even after saying yes and the person shows you understanding even though you’re feeling the humility. the smallness. the knowing you want less, not more because it feels like you are being crushed. seriously. i had a dream this morning where i was half asleep and i just feel this sense of dread and i can’t move, it’s like i’m paralyzed and I keep trying to get up, scream, but it passes after i fully fall asleep. it’s creepy though. and i feel like my insides are screaming for Jesus.

saying no gave me room to breathe. i felt a little peace in my soul. i’m still feeling a little anxious, but I know Jesus understands and will reassure me everything will be okay. i want to do what Jesus has given me well, not overwhelm myself with a million things and wind up doing nothing and lose my soul, love for him or anything else .

I want room to take in Jesus & that is the is the hardest when I fall for the temptation to do more. Multitasking isn’t my thing, especially with books. when I give myself to something, I’m all there. Sounds like Jesus toward me. He loves well, personally.

He was present with whomever, whatever he was doing. Not all, “yeah, lemme text the one whom I love back, check their Insta, finish these two projects, write all these letters, kay?” He is always here, waiting for me and I’m always, hang on, email. instagram. Must check all verses off these Bible plans. I want to draw. Poetry. Read this other book. Bored.

And then I wind up singing a song and heart moves. Thank you, Jesus, for letting me go crazy. Please help me not to be a slave to my own desires and lead me by the unforced rhythms of your grace.

(so much eye opening things. my heart hurts from all  Jesus bears from me. But then again, love bears all things 🙂 )

in confession

David said,
wait (here?)
passionately for
the Lord.

in the aftermath
of my sin—the one
that is heavy darkness
in my chest.

God, I was pulled
under. let imaginative
lust sink me. I cried
finding my breath


fmf prompt: here. I can’t believe it’s already  Friday. I keep thinking we’re at the end of August when it’s only the beginning. Oh it’s been a long week. I miss sleep.  Hearing voices in your head that wake you up at night is disturbing. Especially when they sound like they’re crying..Satan is coming harder with the temptation and I keep falling and crying to God.

I understand now what Paul said being in want & being content & he can do all things through Christ who gives him strength. It’s something to still be able to type and draw and read (and retain what I’ve been reading..) He’s doing it all for me because I feel I’m walking in another planet. Maybe the non-existent Pluto.

forgive me

here’s what i know—
i shouldn’t be shocked
i’m stuck, because i’d
rather be praised by man,
than believe i’m right with You.
so, i do what comes easy, run
away, hide, beg not be touched,
but plead answer to decision
i can’t make—school or a job.
i can hear voices in the back of
my head, you have to do something.
outside of the home. you can’t sit here.
i say i don’t want to do Your will—read
this book & allow Your love to dismantle
the Baal i cling. my next thought: God,
i cant be an English major if i don’t
desire read any other books than
the ones i’m lead to & let’s not
forget how i hoard them.
You whisper, do this small.
& i worry about how i am
not succeeding, not the
golden child i’ve claimed
be—i want to handle more,
i cannot, i’m weak.

I Long You

Apart from You,

I feed on pretzel goldfish

and teeth-tearing a Twix wrapper open,

so I can once upon a time get my fix.

Though, I am sure this is the third

or fourth time I’ve craved this sugary

sickness. All these dead calories, somehow

my soul speaks: God knows you are hiding.

Why don’t you confess?

Confess I can’t live on bread alone.

Confess I’d like to fall in love with You

again, again, again, again, again,

again, again. Seven times over these

miliseconds, seconds, hours, days

I begin drifting away to doubting waves

heaving salt upon my frame. Shame

settling a bitter mourning dew

on these shriveled lips.

Confess if You have hemmed me behind,

before, Why do You seem faraway, Yahweh?

On Your shoulders, I wish to sit,

a daughter held in her Father’s strength.

Her portion. Her Elohim, promising,

If you think I’d leave you behind, forsake,

forget, or leave you, I can not. I do not
break My promise to father

the fatherless, warrior child.

Confess I’ve casted many a stone

cold word: failure, Crippled. Idiot.

Slow. Forgetting I am seen good.

Drawn in lovingkindness,

Voice sweet, face lovely

to You alone, Jesus.

Wake me, dear friend.

Take this rotting apple from my hands,

begging my death, begging to cover me

in fig leaves as Adam & Eve fearful

Your clear view.

Hard Stare Truth

Breakthrough God.

Mocking tongues seek slandering

Your precious child, silently holding

the promise she is worth more than

two sparrows and gold.

Look on her as the woman touching

the hem of Your robe.

Trembling to a fall before You.

Behold, I am unclean.

I have spent years staring for approval in human eyes.

Waiting, hungering, crying.

Hoping a mouth would open

wide praise: I am enough.

I am worthy 24/7 affection.

Never forgotten.

My love means something

though small as seed.

Oh, Jesus, I’m desperately

seeking a friend’s hand never slip

out from my own.

They are sojourners as am I,

wandering through pastures green,

wayward without our Shepherd.

All this time when I’ve cried:

Someone please approve my efforts.

Someone please take interest in me.

Someone please tell me I’m no


Someone please promise me forever,

without wishing to break me.

Someone please don’t leave.

Someone please stay.


You’ve stood beside me.

I’ve sought you.

Stop searching.

Believe me.

I know you.

I love you.

You are healed,

My darling.

You are mine.

Don’t Worry, Darling

“I can’t do this.” My voice quivered. Tears fell. Again.
“What, My darling?” He gently asked.
“Wait.” I said. “I’m tired. All these voices in my head. What if they’re all true? What if I haven’t done anything in my 24 years of living? What if I can’t ask for help because I’m told I have to do it on my own? Self-sufficiency. When someone offers, I hesitate because it doesn’t feel real. I shouldn’t need. I shouldn’t depend on others, even if I’m crippled. I should do it in my power. In my own power. On my own.
“How can I love you then? How can I protect you after you fall? How can I wrap you in my arms, kiss you on forehead, and tell you it’s alright? How can I hold your right hand and remind you. I AM your portion & strength? You’re not alone, I AM here. Why do you think you keep coming back here?”
“I need love. Reassurance. Reminded I am worth someone’s time. Attention. Company. Peace. Hope. A smile absent reproach.
“Oh, darling, I have welcomed you since I thought your name. Your face. Blue eyes. Delicate smile. You may be broken, but you are beautiful by My side. I AM making you whole again. Trust the touch of My hand. It is gentle, patient, kind. As is My love for you. I promise I’ll get you through.
“I love You. Thank You for loving me. Never leaving or forsaking me. May I ask You something?” I met His gaze.
“You’re welcome. Anything.” He smile made me ache. Such tenderness I’ve missed.
“Can I be overwhelmed in Your love?”
“You already are, My child. Such joy is coming, you will cease memory of these tears you cry sorrowfully. They shall be tears of joy. You’ll see.” He wrapped me in His arms. Strong. Sturdy. Holding my fragility.

I smiled that delicate smile, saying what He already knew:

My life is better with You.

Clinging To A Truer Need

Hey everyone.

So, I know I’ve posted different thoughts, other than poetry lately. In all honesty, I’ve been trying to stay away from posting every poem I write on here. (Hardest thing for me I’m noticing.)

A conversation I had with another friend who writes, really opened my eyes to a simple truth: if I want to make as a writer, or actually see if I have what it takes, I need to keep it between God and myself until, and if it’s meant to be seen.

I will never understand why it becomes an obsession to share everything as soon as it’s written. It has become like a disease, infecting every part of me. (It’s just as bad with Facebook..)

I will say there a few pieces I haven’t shared here. Though, I feel I NEED to.

Which is why, I’m not going to be posting new pieces for awhile. I think it’s time I start bringing my art to the real and true Author. Let Him erase, scribble or white out my need for the approval of man, and exalt Him.

I’m determined to learn what it’s like to cling to the Writer of my inked being.