hands tense, breath short, heavy countenance from the rounds of it, “it,” steadily returning, fleeing at the sign of the surgeon, fair-weather with surgery scheduling make the return an eminent, rather than intentional and penitent I am set to remedy the cycle of sediment that slowly clogs all pipes where water used to flow…

Lord, please help me, before it calcifies, help me to stop the problem, the problem, that i think that I hold up in submission, confused by the exchange and why it’s still present in this dishing of plates that I never wanted in the first place, now the heavy weight is gaining and I lose my thoughts as all i can speak of is what’s pertaining to my offense… unknowingly I let down my defense, partnering with the offense, pardoning it’s sentence to excuse it as mine, ownership of something that was sent to do me harm, stop the swarm, smoke to hover and cover and slow the buzzers… Jesus, come.

Here, in this exchange, help me to practice what I say. Eyes locked on, it’s time for me to un-embrace this chase of pain, endure-to-inflict, blurred in conflict and the pausing caused by the awing factor of what the heck is going on… nothing less than blowing on flames that increase to bring a consuming of the oxygen in the room… let Your waters rush, upon and from within, surrender is to cease resistance and submit, and with I in You and You in I, my resistance is a stance of standing in You and no longer banding with the bruise or contusions brought to me to define me by its oohs and aahs confessing to pollute the air I speak and therefore breathe, it aimed to confine me by hoping to align these poisons with my DNA, but I judge that thing, that offense… and I outline this fence, protecting this one sent by the King to bear His image, it is finished, let the opposition be diminished.

Your face, I seek


“Your face, I seek” I speak, to leak out of the fortress built by river run off, because the pipeline built is requiring stilts to insure more than a one-off, where I quiet down and listen, yielding all of the elements to see what’s reflected, uncovering prisms to behold the beautiful spectrum of light, dividing into facets instead of blinding the bystander…

I stand by and watch myself banter, unable to dismantle my own rambles, I insecurely am walking in shambles and yet You provide me with ample gauge of praise and affirmation, to wake me from this slumber I imagined had my number, but when called, I checked my ticket,🙂 So there it is, or rather, there is it, this exquisite visit from the Lover of my soul who sees all in all and whole and still speaks a full “yes” … so I long to give You my best, and live less out of my desire to retreat – comforting with treats that sweeten what is bitter, uncommitted in my commitment, I hesitated and turned as I drew near, this fear, I bring to You, revealing truth to speak through the resistance I lift in the face of tsunami swells, You calmly tell me who You are, and by far how far You run to overwhelm my wants and desires with Your passion to lift me higher, so I go low… and am brought to know Your deep love, Your goodness that sobers and intoxicates, bringing a pause and weight that breaks all the false and counterfeit, so I state, to be reminded of this state, that YOU ARE GOOD, GOOD, OH… In Jesus’ name.

the process

Faith, Poetry, Uncategorized, visto

I close my eyes tonight in anticipation. Knowing the journey I’ve been taking is one led by the One and His placing of adventures and obstacles. He mentors my “possibles” through intentional pauses full of listening and hearing, do you hear me? Ingesting what is taken in to break down the nutrients – new sequences and frequencies; relenting from decency to reverence coming from frequently standing on tippy toes, reminding the, presence we, neglect to recognize.

In His image, it’s in our eyes, but living like it’s in disguise, this inner fight to be revealed, when this tension only exists for us to learn to yield, to His grace, unearned favor shaking our faith to be wrecked and changed. Our yes became a resting place for the seed to grow, and as the ground breaks and makes its way, we see the slow, abrupt, overwhelming display of His love – in and through.

Beginning a new perspective of how we see this undertaking, faith being made into faith, we embrace the Sovereign and He displaces our bottling, uncorked to pour out, posturing to use spouts installed at our weaving, activated by our believing, rivers of living water flowing like streams, into the sediment, causing life to spring from barren wastelands and paths to be made in the wilderness, His precedent.

His will is this, that none should perish, inviting us all to the beautiful sanctuary of repentance, in His presence are complete joy and pleasures, restoring to full measure, settling the stirring and concerning to rest into His endeavors, desiring for another excuse to rendesvous, I mean rendezvous, parlez vous?, His language comes from listening and exchanging, and its changing, me, as I take His speech and relate statements that exhale from the pauses, I am learning and practicing to trust (and enjoy) the process.

“If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.” -John 7:37-38

“Behold, I do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19

“The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” -2 Peter 3:9


Random Acts


…of kindness can really change your day,” Thomas said as he wheeled away from the Bartell Drugs. Impacted by my searching for the B of A across the street on my phone… A simply confusing thing that placed itself like a hurdle that brought the two of us together. So we gathered as I welcomed the pause in my day with grace and thanks that I had time to spare, and he was gracious that I did. 

Random acts, like treasures in the day. You can’t pursue them or else they slip subtly away, they are attracted to the genuine, can’t be bought or sold, and are what they are and always will be, a gift. They are there all around us and if we watch for them, we can be like ointment to sores, fresh water to a thirsty soul, warmth to a cold heart. 

In The Bible, the Apostle Paul wrote in the book of Romans, “For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.” (‭Romans‬ ‭1‬:‭20‬ NIV)

If you allow yourself to look for it, you’ll see it. And it’s beauty is 

Quick, Free


Relinquish the constraints, and the focus on the paint chipping, from the frame, the aching of the panes, these windows been stained by the expressions of the past, but somehow the structure still stands, out lasts, to bask in the rays of the sunshine, memories of that one time, the fun times, that seem to only get more cherished, giving us strength to grin and bear it, the uphill grinding, He’s right behind em, encouraging, in courage we walk by weakness, perfected is His teaching in our actions, Jesus give me more of Your passion, to walk it out..

What’s mine…


Exhale…. I’m practicing being more productive. Waking early and making fully the use of the time that is mine, like money, learning to budget the tics and the tock rather than just a list that I talk about, I hope to take steps to walk it out and watch how I can be a better steward of my days. My time. Taking ownership of what I see as mine, but my seeing doesn’t make it mine, it stays defined not by my perspective but by what it is, not mine, but given as a gift, so it’s still mine but it’s all His.


Blog, Faith, Poetry

Enduring is a trait that is admired from afar, but rejected in person, because it doesn’t look like itself when you first encounter its verses… feeling more like curses- pain mixed with words that speak subliminally. Leaving us minimally present, undermining our faith and leaving fear to be the dictator of the misery. Endurance… end this, “during” time, where the end seems irrelevant, because it’s not here and not now, and ow… or ouch… or how, Lord, HOW? is the chorus we sing out… Yet, somehow, it is woven in us to dumbfound expectations, even our own and reach into this place previously unknown, where we find despite our circumstances… Joy.

Joy is strength, from that deep place of Hope, not hope that we’ll endure, but Hope in the One who endured it all…. ENDing it all when He said, “It is finished”. So our endurance becomes something new, something of a gift, it is present whether physically or just in the promise, but is real like those holes touched by odd Thomas, pause and stop this summing up like it’s nonsense, growing is a process and requires of our conscious choosing regardless of our desire to be proven worthy, presuming early in the game that there will be trials and uphill battles, but as He is in you, the completion is in the starting, not the stopping, keep walking.

Break Ground


The cross leans on a basket of rocks overlooking the dimly lit living room sectioned off by a second-hand couch that envelopes the room like a mother hen gathering her chicks. He stretches out on the recliner and ponders on whether to write a poem that expresses the thoughts that cake the inside of his brain, unsure if he will be able to excavate their remains from the compacted storage or lose it all in the process… motivated by the possibilities of what he might find, he decides to write. Knowing that there has been a season of drudging, slowly moving through life only to stay slowly behind the to-do, honey-do, and hope-to-do lists… Falling short of what seems to be the personal and professional expectations now piling high on his mind to offer another thing to balance… Heaviness had been the description, fitting like bars in the walls lining the window of his prison, serving like a frame to this depiction where he sits working on the movement of decision, requiring focus and precision…

In the midst, he rewires an internal position that recalls what once was and somehow still is, a heart inscription that seems to come from a time that precedes adolescence, childhood and the prior, something embedded deep inside, a fire woven in to his fiber, some call it desire, others a seed, planted in the soil of faith and trust, placed it must, submerged deep enough, to find the dark, in this quiet is the muffled art, creation, the hands of a gardener relaying the sacred and the tender, fragile pieces royally released, like capsules for some future He foreknew and now is the time for it to proceed… Much happens before the ground has been broken, much relies on our decisions to plant despite what we’re showing or shown in the midst of our surveying… Leaps of faith to plan(t) for successful sprouting are required for shoots to make their way towards the sky, hands lifted high in rejoicing of what has happened, take the time to imagine, what will take place and then don’t waste your gift by hiding it. Break Ground.


The hard place


here we go again, it seems. one step forward, backwards three. confidence has dwindled now i crumble to my feet, Lord, help me to see what You have for me… in this. In the midst of it, I am grateful for so much, You hold it all together and redirect storms with a touch, Your hands protect while sculpting and molding, shaping my hands for warfare when the brunt is all I have felt at the hands of warfare, there’s more there, I know it, I suppose my comfort is shaken and I am too engaged to show it, although it is clear to see, back to the mirror, no one more clear than me, i think, as I pursue waves of the ocean, grasped for a second, but slipped away, concrete corroding, being led by emotion, tossed to and fro, which way to go, i don’t know, so I sulk and moan and groan of the floating, until i stand and feel the sand and the land below, been wallowing in the shallow wondering how I stayed afloat.

In my hardest places you see what I don’t.



Blog, Faith, Poetry

I don’t want to share what I have because I fear, I fear what may happen that hinders, I fear reactions as tinder of some fire of destruction, I fear distractions and the impending interruptions, I proclaim this fear like a loud percussion declaring my immovability though somehow that never was wanted… To stand here… To wait. Intentions are irrelevant in the face of opposition, but really the shadow of my imagination- I am “just in case” – ing… Encasing any element of chasing, because protection and comfort become supreme and the key to my embracing when fear, is all that I’m evading… Lost in the spiral of control, avoiding the potential for a known lesser even though it’s stressors are active oppressors in my self-created society, sipping its dwelling is a constant, time for sobriety… Taking the risk of sharing, the leap of caring, finding speech to spare for each seed that may be daring to sprout. The soil cries out in the midst of decay, hoping that life will spring forth and have its way, while the fertilizer waits in the breaking down of the old, dormant in it’s smelly abode, what could possibly grow here? But yet we go there, knowing circumstances don’t point to green lights, but the red as I have read is significant in other means, blood covering making murky scenes clean, constantly using things we think are one sided, reminded of what is actually happening as we hear, the voice that matters silence the ones that chatter, there is only One whom we should fear.