Let Go, Let God.

This gives me so much hope. 🙂

William Lloyd (Author)

I know many of you have probably heard this phrase many times. “Let Go, Let God.” I’ve been living by that for the last year. In all honesty though, I was that guy who continuously tried to bargain with God in my prayers, hoping that if I asked for something I could get it by adding that little “… I’ll do this… etc.” at the end of my prayers. What’s funny is all of those prayers were not answered at that specific time. It took three and a half years for me to finally realize what I was truly craving for in my life. Although having plenty of money and owning a yacht was the top picks on my cravings list, it was neither one of those. I found out that I can’t really live life without Christ in it. I was living in fear my whole life and yet…

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you still choose me

So yesterday, I suddenly had the urge to people holding hands. I’ve been wanting to do this for days, but have been distracted by the way my heart’s been feeling lately–heavy. 

So I decided to look up a tutorial. The first one seemed easy enough until I got to a certain step and then I became confused.

Then another one wouldn’t load the pictures and the video was too fast.

And then I found this guy, Mark Crilley, who apparently draws manga, but also realism. He’s very talented and clear enough for me to follow along and pause enough that I’m not completely lost.

Like those hands up above, I never knew I could draw those. Seriously most of what I draw is deformed. When I did yesterday, I had a focus I’ve never had and an ease where I wasn’t so tense. I wanted to jump up and down when I finished.

And he has drawing lessons each Friday, so this maybe a new thing for me. I could kinda tell after I watched more of his videos about how to draw cats and eyes.

I may try drawing Goku from dragon ball z 😂

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.

forsaking not her longing heart


Today I need to remind myself this truth. That when I’m crying, he listens. Even if I feel he’s left me as the psalm suggests. He’s there in the stillness of my heart as I fall apart, continuously asking for help. He’s not shoving off my hurt or giving me a scorning look. He’s letting me feel, so he draws nearer still.

remembering you’re alive 


“Oh, and let the sun fall all around you–just take a moment to smell the roses.” You’ll Be Glad-Andrea Marie

It’s raining, the birds are chirping, & I’m eating a Dunkin’ Donuts brunch with a cookie dough cold coffee wondering why this song makes me whelm inside.

I wish I could draw for a living now. It’s teaching me how to let go and be a child. I think I wish I could have a job that let me daydream and not overthink everything to death..

I’m pretty sure. ❤️

yet all the oceans overflow

fire knuckle
cracks behind
me. i swallow
waiting pop
inside right
ear, left one
taking the pain.
i think night
when she
told my mother,
“wrap salt in
a washcloth.
hold it to her
the water
will draw out.”

I decided to take part in this challenge today. My ears are all pressured & all I can think is how my grandma would tell my mom try putting a washcloth full of salt on my ear to ease the pain. I always thought that added more pain and then, I would touch my ear to feel the heat from the salt. I’m such an odd child. But, I have my grandma’s voice in my head, saying, “It’s probably the change in the weather.” Or, the barometric pressure. I miss you, grandma. The wisdom. And the home remedy I disliked so.

& he never stopped loving her


Drawing of come tell me, child. I totally had this song in my while working on this. I wanted to be in his Hall of Frames. where he showcased kids drawings that were sent in. badly. I have this vague memory of watching a particular episode at my grandma’s/ Waiting. wishing, hoping he’d be holding my drawing. When he wasn’t, I cried. I think I gave up on drawing after that. Silly, I know/ Way before I knew poetry, I used to draw stick people and flowers. And I didn’t care about perfection.

And Pappy made drawing look so easy. You just draw a circle and some lines and boom: a nice looking animal from earth. I think he’s the person who gave me the courage to believe I could be good at something. He’s also the first one who made rejection a kick to the stomach. It wasn’t enough for me to believe my mom & grandma, I had to risk this guy who reminded me of my grandpa, saying no.

I know now he wasn’t the one to blame. He most likely had a team of people selecting the pieces of art to be featured. And I’m sure I had way too much I would become famous. Famous as in, he would incite me on the show and teach me to draw. Or at least twirl a pencil. Pappy made drawing have a calm, a joy to express your soul without fear of judgement. He , but I think as a little girl, I hoped he was as kind in real life. Kind of enough to tell me personally, I was an artist.

But, maybe he did without personal recognition. In the way he made me believe I was already good enough. Good enough to let my stick figures and flowers out. Even if they weren’t like everyone else’s. It’s crazy to me that at 6, I wanted to be validated, known, seen by someone in New York as a girl who has “it”.

Right there is where my dreams were off. Because if Pappy (or his team) told me yes, I still would of been hungry. I probably would’ve gone into fantasy land, dreaming I’d be chosen every time. And that’s not healthy. Because, Earth to Julia: I already have “it”– a divine design aching love. I don’t need to be chosen every day to see I’m loved. I’m worthy whether or not, I someone tells me so.

When I look at how I draw, I laugh a little because the 6 year old me is woven through those heart-winged angels. Clouds that look like flowers. And Jesus, who adorns a shaw & bare feet. I shouldn’t be ashamed if I coming to Jesus as a child. It’s how we receive heaven, by giving heart. Messy joy. full love. Somewhere in the midst to give Pappy a piece of this mess, I must have had the urge to share this love.

This love Jesus delights give. I’m thinking my 24 year old self needs to believe what 6 year old me whispers: He sees me, the child who’s falling in dreams where he is the color.

A Father’s Offering

Alone, the memory comes,

The light above a hospital bed

I laid in, dim above my head.

You said, you need to eat.

Or maybe a question why

I wasn’t hungry. The tray held

a Sunny D, Hi-C, or Capri Sun.

I can’t remember now, but

I know the sandwich in the baggie.

Bolgna, mustard, white bread.

I nibbled, ignoring the burn within

my heart. My legs were as hot

as the sun. I ached moving,

standing, walking, laying.

I was truly disabled,

not knowing Jesus

planned revealing

your child wondering

voice calm, a twinkling

crescent pinky promising

we were children, still.


Author’s Note: After reading this and this, I shed some tears. And was instantly brought back to the summer I had Streptococcus in my legs. No one knew. I remember the wait in the emergency room. Getting a room finally at 11 at night. Him telling me to eat. And the small uneasiness in his voice, letting me know I wasn’t alone in the unknown. I wonder sometimes why this moment is so profound, why it doesn’t let go. I think it’s Jesus’ reminder we truly never grow. No matter how tall, muscular, money in our pockets, stately we are.  In the face of something, a God beyond our control, we are small. Asked  to hold on, believe, even when all circumstance point the opposite  I felt more a child in that week, than I ever remember. I went easy into my father’s, mother’s, whoever else’s arms willingly. I wanted to fight this heat, but I was always so delirious from the medicine. I think this was a time I gave God COMPLETE AND UTTER control. I had to wait and trust, I’was in best hands. It’s the same this Advent, too. We may be still and know He is God. Little Jesus weeping a Savior’s cry, not from hospital bed, but a stabile. Our stability. Forever.

(I’m started to ramble outsitde my poetry, lately. Thanks for sticking around and reading what my mind is like when I try to not be  all: LOOK AT ME FORMING SHOWY SENTENCES?!  It’s a struggle with poetry, so I’m thankful for this space I’m finally letting have my insanity.)