love I cannot pretend

what color do you 

think of when you 

think of the word,

alive? this question 

comes at the end of

a chapter–red because 

I have bled a weight of

guilt, shame, regret I know 

Abba, I need to remember 

You taking. Sacrifice of time,

energy, self surrender I am learning, 

because a memory 

surfaces: a

fmf prompt: alive.

Abba, I don’t understand how You turn me round and round even as You are watching me sink into momentary despair. I hear the whispers loud in my head: why don’t you give up? Did you really just talk about going to heaven now, but you don’t really want to yet? Shame. You have to hoard everything up for yourself, no sharing. Not getting you anywhere, is it now?

But You turn me toward You, Love. And I can’t turn away. The way You speak so gently I want to cry, but I stare at You.

What did You say?

I love you.

What?

I love you.

But I..

I know.

I will..

I have..

I am..

Beloved.

My child.

Wonderful.

Fearfully made.

Never forgotten.

Held by your weakness,

My strength. Hidden under 

My wing. Infinitely more

valuable than a sparrow

falling to the ground.

Led & fed by My Spirit

in the wilderness where 

darkness has crept stealthy,

but I have encamped around you 

with My promise yet unbroken: 

I will lift up your head.

forgetting the hope of my soul

today, i purge
myself from love
of stale words—
a wall across my room
holds a pile of what is
hardest to let go: words
i swear i’ll return to. call
me a silly girl, but they’ve
held captive my soul & God
no loner has room to move
about His home. i’ve closed
all the windows,

fmf prompt: hope. sometimes you don’t know how full your soul is until you’re going through books. the hardest thing for you to let go, even though you’re not reading pretty much any of them. and soon you have a stack above the base board, with your own book and magazine you were published in, all to get rid of. and only a shelf and a few books under the bed to keep. but you kind of want to get rid of every book and stare at emptiness for awhile. this makes me question Jesus: what is wrong with me? it feels easy, but it’s not. it’s like i’m sacrificing. that’s what this is. and in the fight, there’s a tiny bit of joy.

like i’m room for Jesus to breathe His love.

my head throbs without remark

today, i let
something
go, become

ash. yesterday,
i could’ve over
indulged whims—

half pound box
peppermint bark,
facebook until I

blotched red
over my face.
sadness/anger

/embarrassment.
instead, i thought
pączki he brought

her what i imagine
every year. lemon,
cherry, raspberry

filling a richness
we all must desire
before the sacrifice.

i didn’t, huffed
discomfort before
mother’s eardrum.

what now? she said.
my heart is heavy, i
don’t know why. i

exasperated, watching
stripped onion fall beside
waiting mushroom, inside

heated pan. you see, what
i would like to give up—
my innate looking down

upon my own worth.
i have to tell myself
truth, mind, heart &

soul argue believe

grey skies cast

shadow over blue—

With this, We part

This is my klatsch-
a gathering trees,
myself & You.

I am the weakest among us,
so You say without mistake:
Go first, My child.

I don’t understand praise.
I sing, Your name heavy
on my lips, but my heart
will not lift from this obstacle.

Other voices proceed advice.
They say, go right & left.
I forget Your presence hemmed before and behind, love songs
filling my worried head.

I am tired.

These trees stand erect,
branches covered green
in this dying August,
holding Your promise
silently up to the sky.

What is it?

You laugh loudly,
shaking the greenery to hilarity.
In agreement You say:

Joy trusting Me.

Yes, but they can’t see You.
They don’t have eyes as I do.

Silly girl, look at how I made them.
The trunk, sturdy, the branches
raised up & out. Know why?

Faith is what is unseen,
not what our eyes perceive.

I make Myself known
each silent groan,
waiting with barren arms,
face forwarding with compassion,
to once again woo my Beloved.

Teach Me Selfless

Once, I was of this world,
wanting nothing more to own-
to be my own.

Oh, what a glorious day when a card arrived, green as my envy, straight to my hands, no longer grieving for things to fill my need-want, really.
I was grown. I could buy. I could spend freely.

I may sound like a fool to you, but money makes me weary now.
constricts around my heart, like the persuasive snake who dumbfounded Adam & Eve to eat that knowledgeable apple, leaving wonder to a sinner’s prayer: why can’t I reach Your light with greed charting paths, without giving way to my dignity.

Poor, I remember telling my mother, is what I wanted to be.
“You can’t live on the street,” she’d tell me quickly, rationalizing that was the wrong way.
Jesus found who were willing to be His disciples if they dropped earthly delights & taught them the delicacies of love

Here we are holding grass between stingy fingers, hoping our facade won’t turn dusty before a grave hushes agape mouths declaring their glory.

Your rags is where my–our riches should be placed, free of guilt for taking ourselves away from disillusioning spotlights.

Soliloquy of Three

Gavel-tones silence,
brings well water to shed
in a blue bucket of feelings favoring rain.

Plants withstand rain,
so may you rise again-
wait on the Son, who shall lighten
weariness contending with a bowing head.

Running ahead-
tired & heavy,
come to a pace, steady, in tune with My long ago victory.

Patience marks wisdom & knowledge-
behind every downturned smile
lies the stain of a Father pleading
mercy-

Red River runs depths past a world’s reach.
You closed your eyes to pain offered in hatred’s diligence,
breathing out an effigy of whom we were created.