o comfort all my woe

Steady me, Lord,

It is hard being loved

when my heart is broke 

& I don’t want to show 

the floods of anger that

flow out of my mouth with

out regard. I feel I give too much, Lord. 

That I have to fix 

what I can’t but I can’t. All I know is this 

hurts. This throbbing in my chest I don’t 

know what I’ve done, why this

distance is big, not in space physical but 

heart. I want to scream and shout, but I 

am too tired, so I’ll breathe in the wind 

imagine it’s your hand coming t

fmf: steady.

This week has been very hard. Hard in the sense my heart hurts. I’m going back through Bonnie Gray’s, Whispers of Rest because I signed up for the book club she’s hosting. I didn’t think I would because typically when I read a book it takes me a long time and I don’t want to read it again after I’m done. But with this, I’ve felt God move through it when I couldn’t really feel anything the first time. I still can’t but here’s how God works.

Yesterday, I pretty much lost it. I was losing it on the inside and then on my mom (bless her, Jesus. Seriously. Bless the way she sees the fact I’m going to blow, and reassures me a mother’s job (okay one of many) is to comfort me. She’s not going to leave me crying. I love she let me basically watch all of Miranda last night and made vegetable pizza with me. And softened the butter for the lavender sugar cookies we will make again), who really brought to view this verse: “I will comfort you there in Jerusalem as a mother comforts her child.””

^^ these will be making a reprise very soon 😋

‭‭I’m taking the out of context with Jerusalem (since that’s a city. I will forever think God is talking about an actual person or to me directly), but if God’s way of comfort is food and laughter, then my mom pretty much nailed that this week. Always seems to, too. When I’m in a sob fest rant of epic proportions about the unknown, the fear, feeling like I’m losing friends, losing myself, no motivation, unsure about my dreams, she is there with a hug. And singing Ellie Holcomb until I stop. And Sara Bareilles (serious flashback of my second concert with my mom and getting a battery operated fan stuck in my hair 😂). 

Sorry I told you, that’s not helping! quite a few times yesterday, mom. And my testy. And yes, I know my tone has been all wrong, but thank you for loving me through this and giving me truth. You’re a real somp. 🙋

Thank you, Jesus, for your love and reminding me of a song with this prompt. (You just love to sweep in. With love. Keep on please.)




I love mom. I really do not know how she does it. Okay, well I know it’s because of You, but I don’t get how she pours out so much when right now I’m not the kindest. At all. I mean, she watched me lose it on a friend and then promptly cry because I can’t do friendship right. I hurt and ache and gahh. She’s the one who has watched me break again and again. And when her mom passes, she’s the one giving me comfort when I should of been the one comforting her. What kind of love is that? Your love I’m sure. But sometimes I wish I wasn’t so weepy. I wish I could heal her pain. How can I honor her in the best way? Can I give her a thousand hugs or call her Sompingme and let the way she says it back make me smile and say, it can be a real Somp sometimes? 
I love that we have our own language that no one understands at all. And that she wants me to love life even though I’m afraid. Very, very afraid. I’m stuck in fear, God. I push too hard and now we are here. I never mean to lose my cool with her – I’ve always been the positive one. Not the one who’s like, there’s no point. I’m not good enough. But her hugs make me feel home. The constant texts I sometimes send to remind her she is loved and I’m thankful for all she does –like letting me sing Ellie Holcomb on a constant repeat and singing with me –draw me closer to your heart, God. The way she cares about flowers and will bring one to me so I know you are close. That she wants me to sit and read directions for a recipe or shuck corn or put away silverware. 
They are so small compared to what she does, has done for me. Her presence makes a difference in my life. So much so that I know that’s why I teared writing that last sentence. I don’t know how to adequately tell her, I love you, without feeling like my entire insides will fall to the floor. I mean my heart. I just want to cry and cry and cry. Because all I see is You, Abba..in her and all the moms you’ve put in my life.
I don’t know how to say thank You anyway else. 

Your child

Fmf: mom.

I wrote this way past five minutes. But it’s kinda hard for me to stop with this prompt. My mom is well, a Somp, and this week, I’ve seen yet again how much I love she got me all hooked on Call the Midwife (people, that show is 😭😍 if anyone wants to get me the memoirs the show is based off of so I can devour them, just thank you.), and has been singing Ellie Holcomb after I turn it off. And trying to get me to see, she dislikes that I’m so afraid of life. Not the sorrow, but the joy. And listens to all of my pain.

I love you, mom. I can’t put it any other way than that. You do so much for me.

Like this:

You helped me to memorize the verse by painting it, and showed me it’s okay to make mistakes, you just improvise. It’s the same when you cook, too.Thank you for always singing along to Ellie’s music with me – it makes me happier than I can understand. Thank you for making sure I sleep (I’m sorry I was so against naps when I was young) and understanding when I don’t and then get twisty. Thank you for letting me help you even in the smallest ways right now, with silverware and handing you clothes hangers and grocery lists. Thank you for getting me a blizzard from DQ. Thank you for encouraging me with this conference and when I’ve gone into full drawing or writing mode. 

And most of all thank you for believing in me when I can’t. I don’t understand this path God has me on, or why it feels like all my dreams are dead, but I love you for believing I’ll come alive again. Thank you for showing you can come alive with the way you love and care for plants. It’s a real Somp sometimes, but I’m glad you always manage to make me laugh.

Please remember it’s okay for you to laugh too. It brightens your face. 🙂

I love you,

Old Sport.

believe this

mothers above
& standing here
upon the earth—
weary, hanging
on a glimmer
of hope, or lost
in dark circumstance/
feelings of worthlessness.
grief, pain, anxiety, worry
over the next step of your
life—may you look upon
sky’s expanse. may sun
light your face, sleepiness
eyes—hear birds chorus
a song of relief: Oh, how
great is the compassionate
God, giving us love we never
deserved. How divine is his
grace, pouring out in sunshine
rays, raindrops, smiles/huga
from strangers, those you love.
peace he leaves, from heaven,
where praise each creature

what about you, mama?

beautiful in way
you say jack &
jill went up a tree

& it went boom.
i smile, i love you,
telling you they

went rolling down
this hill laughing
every trouble into

the dust. moments
earlier, i let my soul
drip out before

your eyes, lightest
blue when laugh
has you. torrential

rain, peeking sun
through glass—
your patience

holding me with
out word. sad
falls better than

explaining wrong.
this, you know, isn’t
fault, but quoting

the lion king, the
circle of life—someone
passes way & child

cries, why why why?
look at all ways devil
nightmares dreams

til you can sit awkwardly
with each other, fighting
glimpse for sunlight. he

says my sensitivity will
draw you a tide away
& i will choke oncoming

sorrow unwilling leave
awake/asleep today,
tomorrow, maybe two

weeks time. you sing,
i love you, my somping!—
song above without refrain.


Today was rough. I woke up at 12 something, pondering the insane dreams I keep having. Last night was just weird. This poem depicts what it’s like telling my mom. It’s frustrating for me because I don’t like saying. bad dreams sompingme or getting all huffy at her only trying to help. honestly, i don’t know how mothers do it. watch their child in pain & not being able to immediately to fix it. it drives you crazy, doesn’t it? (please go ahead & tell me it’s a sompingit, mom..) through my mom, God keeps pouring love in ways like the language my mom & i have no one understands, the way she sings random, nonsensical and sensical (ex. peace is flowing like a river) & getting it stuck in my head. Giving me random snacks. Watching Downton Abbey & pretending we’re British.

Listening to all of my: BUT WHY? i don’t like this!!! Not once does she say: ENOUGH! (Not that you would, mom, but being honest.) She has so much otter stuff to do: work, laundry, cooking, cleaning. And yet, her love & care for me is as fierce as imagine God;s to be. I don’t think I have to imagine, it is. Her love is God’s love. It’s so complex to me because I’m not a mom. And, I’m still learning how to accept God’s love for me. Mom told me once God put me in her life to slow her down.

Well, mom, I’m pretty sure he put you in my life to show the height/depth of his love. The way it never ends. I only hope I love you as unending as  your love is for me. Thank you God, giving me the best of all the sompingmes. 🙂

Happy early Valentine’s/birthday. I love you.

depth of me

She pulls out the tray,
places tinfoil, a carton
of guacamole on top
& a bag of chips beside me.

I watch her place a large Hi-C
atop the bedside table.
“I got you fruit punch, too.”
kindness flooding every syllable.

She apologizes for not getting me
this yesterday. I say, “it’s fine, thank
you, sompingme.” gratitude rising
inside, heavy, happily, faithfully.

I don’t say, you make me want
to weep love in the best, purest way.
Instead, I sit unraveling tacos,
sorrowed joy swelling beneath my speech.

With Apology Under Tongue, Her Love Unchanged

I ask,

will I ever

be normal

me again?

You say,

yes, grief

has a lesson,

as buying a car,

having a child,

getting married do.

I sigh, pressure hot

rising: Does there have

to be a lesson?

I cut you off,

not bothering listen,

my mouth bringing

ache out.

I just want this to go

away, because I

dont know how

to deal with it.

I choke back

tears you hear.

We turn away.

I stare at the green
night light, begging,

Jesus, please hold me,

please. I can’t hear love,

she’s right.

In the moments

before you speak again,

I let those salty drops

convince me my self-hatred

toward my own sensitivity

will hide me. I know you

say time will heal this loss

I’d rather didn’t exist,

but I’m quicker throwing

disregard, all the while

hoping you’ll wrap your

arms around me long

enough until my heart

senses heaven in what

earth calls mother’s love.