Friday, December 30, 2011

it's not over.

if anything I have learned from years of shift work,
and missing the 'traditions' of the Christmas hollidays - it is this:
it is always Christmas.
       sometimes winter. 
       sometimes gathered with family & friends, in the hallowed walls, flickering with candle glows.
       sometimes Friday evening, after work.  In your pj's...

The Goodness of the Son of God, born to our world... into our history,
it's not over
    though presents are unwrapped, the food enjoyed and packed up - and we've all headed back to dailyness and work and saying 'Happy New Year' instead.

Hallelujah to God, the Most High.
  Who has given us Jesus Christ, for every 360 days there are,
                                            until Christmas celebrations again.

Enjoy the wonder friends, it's here :)

Thursday, October 13, 2011

I write.

Hi all.

I feel a bit sheepish, coming here.  Typing this and that - as though I've been at this. 
I haven't been typing black and white here,
and I wonder if it shows?

How He has soothed aches,
as every word marched down to page became a prayer?
a release? a surrender?

If it shows, how He set my mind, and heart,
and hands ablaze, with thought and word?
And how, a signpost led to love,
and work, and words to share and describe and explain?
Words to give Him praise and glory?
Words to point our  hearts and minds back to Him who enlivens us - makes us, live and move and breathe?

Next week, I stand to defend my thesis.
  I sincerely chuckle when I read it.
It means what is on those 117 pages.  And it means a lot more.
How God is faithful to you in the task.  How He drives you.  How He raises you from the pit.  How He places your feet on the solid ground of faith in Him.  How He put every heart, and mind, and soul, around you that you might give Him thanks and praise.


it is finished.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

gravity of gospel.

it's been a tattering last couple of days,
as I try to piece together

I'm trying to reconcile
standing, hearing the bloodiest shriek -

eyes rolling - not inhuman, but depraved.
I'm wondering, 'what in God's name am I doing here?'

how does an anxious, rumpled, twenty-something
find herself called
Here. With purpose.

Suffering tries to steal it.
worry grinds in deep, haunting memory.
Death, in all its suffocating power aims for precedence.

this threatens to take us all.
I've never seen it so grave.
So clear, and true, and bright the choice.

Even here, in the sobs of not understanding,
He is. Thank God! He is Who He is.

More than black, white and tangible page,
that burn and blot and tear

blood and body, Words from Holy lips
resounding - hounding for dear ones

to come to Life

for His Name's sake.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

the pulse of men & women

The sense I get when I read the first chapters of Genesis - where the world and humanity, unfolds in the Creator's hands is that we, male and female are lovingly and tenderly made. Our action and intention perpetuated by the breath of God, pulsating with purpose to move and to think and to speak - to tend and to help. God made, him and her, human, in Him - in His image.

Tonight's spooky incident was the apex of a train of thinking I've been on lately.

While I walking home alone in the dark this evening, some guy ran at me - his face masked with paint, and scared the crap out of me. He used words to intimidate me, and I was alone. His friends got a laugh, and I cried - in the wake of the misapplication of human influence.
I felt similarly a few weeks ago, when I held the bleeding face of a man who had just been mugged - beaten with a rock in the face until he let go of his laptop. Brother broken on pavement, for a piece of plastic that will be obsolete in a matter of years or months.

How we can so easily make priorities out of `things, and miss the 'apple of Christ's' eye in the meantime.
How simply we can act upon our propensity to deny God's image in the people beside us.
How easily we can rape.

You know, sometimes I think I should just buck up and trust less. Laying bricks of fear and bitterness feels safer, definitely easier than vulnerability. It is less emotional than rending the soul before God in brokenheaertedness over sin and pain.

But it`s a lie to merit myself alone above creeps in dark streets - to judge for myself alone, another adequate or inadequate of Christ`s unmerrited compassion and grace through, the betterness of what I do with my time or days.

Without God, I`m not far off being a creep in a dark corner, really - from using the intent of my pulse for my own ends, to wield my influence in pride, insecurity, lust or anger. Maybe somethings don`t seem immediately negative or innately wrong, but over time they impact the heart - and change the rhythym.

In the Creation story, we're given a pulse, human impulse and influence - things we do every day: naming - using language, defining, refining, proposing, sharing, describing; and tending: to work, to school, to children, to relationships, to gardens, to our hair, to our dishes and vacuuming. We`ve all got that common rhythm, that intent to process and do - to eat and to live.

In relationship with God, naming is full and good - a work of shaping and affirmation of `being` that He has created. Tending with Him through Jesus Christ, is a work of justice that flows from value beginning with Him.

Monday, June 27, 2011


Lately, he's been "Daddo",

with a grin and wink that shows my cocky young adult spirit.

He's gone through many transformations

this hero-man, who's just a man

in the 24 years I've been his.

And he wishes, all his...

That's the thing about daughters and dads

there's all heart found-up, all tied-up in the growing up and going.

And he swells with pride to the limits of himself -

and gets frustrated.

But I'm not.

Because, he does - get all me. The Daddo-girl that needs help figuring out how to replace my taillight and change the oil in my car, or financial advice, or a few flowers sent to say I'm cherished. He's the one with the words to soothe a pre-interview worry with a dose of sideline-cheerer dad, and a tendered heart with a dose of if-you-liked-it-then-you-shoulda-put-a-ring-on-it dad. And he makes me laugh.

Maybe because I got his sense of humour.

He's the one to hear all of daughter-me, as hilarious and arduous I'm sure it sometimes is.

He works too long, on too many things. Doesn't sit in the sun enough. And we're still working on the shorts, black socks and shoes thing, and his cookie-monster habits.

But he's Dad; Daddo for now.

and his girl loves him.

Friday, June 03, 2011

future floods & now.

the future.
is always that.
you can plan, you can prepare.

what you get in the end is, now.
Kingdom here.
today's work, worry, love, soup, bad-hair-day, good-hair-day, heartache, happiness - rain or shine.

sometimes, no matter how you prepare - the future is different than the forecast.
sometimes you are dead on, and you swell with the pride of all the Scouts gone before at your preparedness.

But none of this changes this Truth: that what you have is present, what you have is now, what you have is from Him: the Good and Gracious and Mighty, who is here, who holds all together - as futures flood into nows.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

it's that Good.

Even the weakest hand I would hold

For my lips can kiss

and they are felt and known.

Not struck in the contempt of ignorance.

The silliest I embrace

for it is no matter in my House

Truly it is better lose it

in Holy's Good glory.

Love conquers death
of the humbled,

In struggle to hold onto life so much;

You cannot feel the gentleness of my Hand's touch.

My burden is easy - my load light;

And you want to fool acting strong.

You couldn't love me yet,

otherwise you would revel in my Grace.

Come to me and admit the broken-

shed disgrace with thanksgiving.

For I have been coming to redeem long before you realized

the gravest imagining of your shortcoming.

- This is Good News.

Repent, Taste, Enjoy, Live:

by Christ Jesus.

Friday, April 08, 2011

slow & steady

spring has come again. not in any rush, but in gradual glowing hue of warm and wet, and light scents of new grass and buds...

not sideswiping us, but gently tickling us up the back, with light and life: making slow and steady smiles upon our faces, up-turned in the rhythm of worship to the Maker of this season. winters pass away. the cold, from hurt and pain and suffering, is held in gentle Hands, and brushed in the warm of His gentle breath. Who could imagine, Love both Bold & Kind? Yet this is our God.

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

jump. right. in.

I am not one prone to rash decision.
No, I tend to be the level-headed, calm, planner.
It serves me oh, so well,
against the fear of unknown.

What planning can't afford though is change.

I'd always wanted a rabbit, and I was missing a little creature to come home to.
Longing for close, after so much loss.
So, on a whim, I went to a friend's barn in search for
a ginger and cream bundle of bunny-affection.

If you knew her you could imagine the disappointment
when I brought home Nutmeg instead.
Orange, white and ornery. Unleashing a fury I was not aware such a small thing could possess.

caring for Nutmeg demanded my heart be changed,
my actions become deliberately compassionate:

subdueing with love rather than rigidity -
slowing enough to learn to care rightly.

a friend and I were recently talking about wanting to discern the will of God in our lives -
not wanting to chance a misaligned step toward Him:
fearing the trouble and potential all around, losing faith.
Meanwhile, the boat was far out to sea when the wind came up against them
and they were battered by the waves. At about four o'clock in the morning, Jesus
came toward them walking on the water.
They were scared out of their wits. "A ghost!" they said, crying out in terror.
But Jesus was quick to comfort them. "Courage, it's me. Don't
be afraid."
Peter suddenly bold, said, "Master, if it's really you, call me to come to
you on the water."
He said, "Come ahead."
Jumping out of the boat, Peter walked on the water to Jesus. But
when he looked down at the waves churning beneath his feet, he lost
his nerve and started to sink. He cried, "Master, save me!"
Jesus didn't hesitate. He reached down and grabbed his
hand. Then he said, "Faintheart, what got into you?"
The two of them climbed into the board and the wind died down. The
disciples in the boat, having watched the whole thing, worshiped Jesus, saying,
"This is it! You are God's Son for sure!"
- Matthew 14:26-34, MSG

Faith might invite that you feel the sting of the storms, or a rabbit's generous bite.
But to change - to come close, you have to

Sunday, January 09, 2011


In the romantic dream of a sage who teaches you the world's and better ways
is where I often live.
With an honest, in-the-chest yearning for oldness,
history, wrinkles to tell their tales
to speak of human life. To draw me to a warm hearth - and tell me desperate stories.

I have no such formal sage.
Though I searched, and beat my breast when there was none to be found:
a bit like an orphan - wondering what daily life in Christ looks like.

No, but I am in the company of many,
and in the economy of mercy - I am one, with them.
The night of my conversion, the speaker spoke to us on the ground,
"get up, and turn around - welcome to the family of God".

I have read Lewis, Augustine, Keirgkegaard.
Theresa, my Mother of faith, Nouwen,
and His tracings scrawl across the lives of the enlivened and upon the rocks that call.
The stories, yes - desperate. The telling of them unique, human-voiced: loud, boisterous, crying, painful, laughing; and heart felt.
Mmmm, that He might make our hearts the listening hearth upon which His stories tell and resound.

Thursday, January 06, 2011


ended up sitting in the middle of mess- surrounded by pieces that impossibly fit together - listening to His voice to know when to move one, and where: to follow holy as I have never before.

Ignorance threatening terror - but these words are of the most delicious of all.
If I know Him who whispers them,
The One who brings our bodies up with His, through sin - brokenness - and blood,
The One who crushes walls - no matter the magnificence, to get to you - to me.

craving: the frankness of one's insidious sin,
Death to be risen,
And Grace, the soothing balm to mend the ache.
I dance, limping - contented sways of hip to the Master's hum.

break.down -
by violent crash,
or Lover's potent whisper,
into the sweetest Landing of this World.

And be

all. swept. up.

- with Em and others
much peace.