ings doubt You showed Thomas scars for.

I listen as she sings

You will carry me through

the heartache this has caused

me—to turn away, turn in, carry

this inside and watch me cover up again.

You always know

how to pull out of

myself when my only

question rings: can I

truly trust You aren’t

going to pull away too when

I don’t give what You want?

God, I’ve changed so much

but this ache burns and br

This is brought to you by Ellie Holcomb’s new singles: I will carry you + Canyon + the prompt: she from five minute Friday.

I’m trying to make an attempt to come back to blogging on Fridays because I miss the challenging prompts, miss writing and the community blogging has brought me. I feel I’m prone to drop off the face of the earth again but this is an attempt to go back to what I know.

No back story or linking up. Just going to let the poems speak for awhile

I AM making a way

I found myself crying
before an empty table–
strawberries to my left.

I couldn’t help thinking
maybe you’re sitting
beside my right, watching tears slide

down my cheeks to lips.
too salty I’ve become –
weighted by the reality

only you can be true.
why are you laughing
worry? I am truth: you

want your way now,
but your repentance
is dear to me; come

near to me! near to me,
you say. & so I sit, watching
you run away with your thoughts,

instead of listening to me-

when i can’t praise you

here is where
i start to waver—
ask you to show
yourself faithful.

God, i fear i’ll fail,
if i don’t take this
housing offer, with-
out money for upfront

fees. or sign up
for classed i don’t
have interest in
now—to learn

to write better,
speak with
belief upon tongue.
i quiver with blush

running cold
inside my chest.
there is something
else, a chance among

a voice whose words
echo yours—close,
personal whisper
confirming my

smallness
against mystery
i’ve had no luck
solving, only

repeated question
turned period.
trust me. & your
hand asking mine.

God, I shouldn’t be shocked at this at all. I mean, you gave me one of the coolest opportunities. Launching this book coming out next month. The very encouraging words throughout the whole thing so far. That I’m not screwing up, it’s okay to go slow & not be so serious. It’s no wonder to you I want to go the launch party. In North Carolina… way out of comfort zone. Among people I don’t know, To say thank you to Emily for how her message has touched me. Maybe talk a little longer. Meet other people who are on the team, too. We both know how strongly I feel when I sense your presence. Shaky. I wonder of I’d feel the same way around these group of people…

But space is limited & money is low & i’d have need a place to stay. & I’d have to be selected. But I keep remembering how months ago, I saw Emily was having a launch team. I stared at the picture on instagram & said, “God, I really want to do this! Ugh!” and with some doubt, I applied. A week passes & then I get the email announcing I was on the team.

You remember the screaming. “NO WAY NO WAY! YESS! It was a dream come true I didn’t know I had/

But I get a message today saying housing has ben found for Fall Semester. And I feel that familiar cold sweat, that I’m failing someone if I don’t make a decision this instant. The funny thing is, the deadline for both these are Friday.

I should want to go to school. Not follow you into this elusive that keeps calling me. I should be focusing on a job, not staying up til almost 3 AM, watching I love lucy & then starting to write a review because the words won’t leave.

I’m actually afraid if you gave me the opportunity to go the book launch party. I don’t know how it would work. Or if I’d even open my mouth and just shake in front of these people.

What is impossible for me, isn’t for you.

I’m afraid of getting either, but we both know what I really want. Hold me through it all because this is terrifying.

Kings don’t act this way

he asks,
what is truth?
standing before
his grace—
Jesus.

i lay down
to sleep after
2 a.m, asking
sing me a night
song, daddy—

my soul goes
downcast, mouthing
“please” into the dark.
water falls down my cheeks,
salt all i taste.

i am he.
the one willing
to make my home
inside your grievances,
even as you question

how can you love me?

when i did nothing at all

after 2 a.m.
i read how
Ezekiel ate
a scroll full
of woe. i’ve
eaten mourning
& lament through
separation of earthly
love—i couldn’t tell
you whether honey
filled my belly because
sorrow is a soggy salty
pretzel that sits heavy
after consumption.
sitting in the dark,
think of how God
promises this prophet
obstinance i know is real
with within me. he tells
Ezekiel, i am sending you
to a rebellious people—
say to them: this is what
the Sovereign Lord says,
turn from the wind & look
up, up, up beyond the cloud,
repent for the kingdom is all
around. Lord, hear this confession:
my forehead is as hard as stone,
my feet lead, for when I feel a breeze
I think another country, Africa maybe.
England. France will fulfill my longing.
but then as You move right in front of me,
I am blind—when my father hugs me
goodbye & instead of rejoicing for
what has never been a regularity,
I try comprehending Your majesty.

coming for you

while rain pours
out from heaven,
am i still your
favorite? distraction—
books about you,
voices & feet loud
with demand, make
me cry with rebellion.
God—pull together
heaven & earth to
help me see through
my doubt that says
don’t move. he’s not

fmf prompt: favorite. sometimes i forget about Jesus. more times than i’d like to admit, i run ahead of Jesus. way. since i started this book launch, i’ve reached out to people all: i wish being a book reviewer could be a job! i’m thinking about signing up to review books for this publisher. and then i wait, while pushing away the desire to buy a book from Amazon when i have books. BUT I REALLY WANT TO READ AGAIM GOD. FICTION. AND WHAT I HAVE ISN’T GETTING AT ME! (I only scream that loud in my head..)

I have been telling Jesus: i want to fall in love with reading again! not only non-fiction. but fiction and maybe poetry (i find it weird i write it & i’m not a reader of it.) at different times this week, i’ve heard Him whisper: those who can handle little, can be trusted with much. i try to move Him along by signing up for those book review things. and check my email like a crazy person.

And Jesus says, do what i’ve given you. And what I don’t tell Him, but what He already knows?

I think He  gives more to favorites.

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.) 

with grace pouring over

i check my email,
seeing a sender
i don’t recognize.
a welcome in
launching a book
with likeminded
people, who see
the simplicity in
mundane tuesdays—
holding a gray cat
agaunst your chest
as she presses her
paws close, silently—
i scram at being
selected randomly,
when Jesus full well
He loves surprising
me.

I’m sitting here watching this message about Jesus and guardrails, when my phone buzzes. because i’ve been easily distracted today, i stopped it and looked. I really wonder what Jesus’ face looked like watching me: “Oh..she’s about to scream…5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

Me: OH MY GOSH, JESUS!!!! NO WAY!! AHHHH!!!!!!! EEEEEEE! YESSSSS!!!! *dances in chair, screams more*

I don’t know if I thanked Him, but Jesus? Thank You, You’re timing is perfecto. Out of 1000 entires, I was randomly selected…nah, I was You selected. You are the best at surprising, surprises.

I didn’t expect to get an email saying I was chosen to be part of Emily Freeman’s launch team for her new book, but whoa.

I didn’t even ask you before filling out the application. Just said, “Ughh, I really want to do this!” and did.

Then after a few counts: “should I have asked You?” “I probably should have.” “What if I typed something wrong?!” (this last crashed quietly against my heart after I got the email.)

And You said: wait.

And boom: screaming like a child me.

Your grace, this, took my breath away. (seriously, i sounded like a might have asthma…)

I’d love some more, please. Get me to stare at Your beauty, rather than me.

amen

i breathe inward
pain, outward:
Jesus—
residing in
heaven/

by my side,
sacred your name.
your kingdom come

be still my heart,
willing anxieties knot.

why do i yearn
control today’s events,
tomorrow’s fall—

assuming i am
you maybe i should
buy others penned

sorrow, waiting what
i don’t know. i eat
your word amongst

the time ticker &
noisy refrigerator.
when i am thirsty,

you fill me
with good things.
when anxiety is great

within me, your
consolation brings
me joy, oh God,

lead me not in
pitying thoughts;
nothing will come

of my waiting. i am
too weak, too needy,
for my selfish eyes

to behold such glory.
oh, deliver me from
ill i may soon speak
over my life. wean
my soul, a mother

comforting her child
with milk & words
from the mouth of honey

suckle. for thine is
the power & glory
forever—

i’m skeptical of sky where space holds you up

when holding my heart,
does your sigh make
a beat a feather—
skip when I deem
my way of winter,
better? i hear subtle
echo through winds
bitter, should you
return, my smile
will be warmth
upon those
cheeks, gracious
in dismissing foxes
with beard (orange,
gray, black & white)
tails. the ones inside
your head, slowing
your breath down
showing enamel
white. i always
take away how
quick they spread
their mouths—
like a dove
mid flight.
i see
grin,
strange &
unprepared,
slipping them
away, “no”
shake of my
head. coming
with howl, I
stand/sit/stare
out the window
afraid the fear
makes your love
seem fickle, than
divine. a small bump
on my third finger,
top of my left palm.
if i give it (fear),
will you empty
my soul phobia—
i am not enough
for you? i am too
much nonsensical,
less adult than I
should be now?—
you only call them,
Beloved, that someday
isn’t today, right? you
couldn’t possibly still
have open arms,
welcoming this
little bird,
believing she’s
the last one to belong?
i could fly from a 7th
floor window, but
untitled feeling
says frequent
flyers neve
settle among
gardens below.

what happens while listening to a perfect playlist. written between yesterday & tonight. being in the zone is the best, yes?