Thursday, February 26

Each day I persistantly pray for patience,
gathering my pride and confessing
my failures.

When the winds and rains come,
I do not fear,
for I have my umbrella.

My hope comes not from within,
but from above.

I cry out in the night and
You
are there.

There to rescue me from darkness
and pain.

You paint a smile on my face
and make my heart beat with glee.

Wednesday, February 25

Romans 12:

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your reasonable act of worship.

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you.

Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.

We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man’s gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.

Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves.

Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord.

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.

Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to do menial work. Do not be conceited.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.

Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: It is mine to avenge; I will repay, says the Lord (Deut.) On the contrary: If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink… (Prov.)

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Silly little prayers


There she sat,
smiling and giggling
at all the silly bubbles and baubles life placed on her plate.

She hated hello's and goodbye's,
loved the rain,
and wanted to make a difference in the world—
not for her,
but for others.

Her pink lips and golden brown eyes
open wide to take in the world.

She closes her eyes,
tilts her golden head up towards the shimmering
bright
sun. She breathes in deep—
taking in life and letting out love.

She tries to train her heart to love no matter what,
despite her own bruises and bandages,
she's determined to love better,
to love more,
to care deeper.

She prays to be taught how to love like He loves her.
Unconditional.
Merciful.

She knows she can't attain His perfection—
for He's the only one—
but she can hope to obtain enough love that her heart will overflow
and she can pour it out to others.

Prayers for peace.
Justice.
Hope.

Prayerss for friends,
for family,
for the world.

Big prayers that climb mountains and small ones
that crawl into ant holes.

He answers them all.

Monday, February 23

Here's a beautifully written poem by T.S. Eliot called
Ash Wednesday:
It's definitly worth taken the time to read.

http://www.msgr.ca/msgr-7/ash_wednesday_t_s_eliot.htm

Tuesday, February 17

Further into the forest


Further into the forest
Each year I walk a little farther,
gathering my belongings—my smiles and my tears—
and stuffing them into suitcases and trunks.
I believe the movement enables me to grow,
but some may argue I am running from my fears.

After a month or two of showers and baths,
it becomes time to buy a new bar of soap.
Or I could forgo the cleansing,
escape to the woods,
and pursue a journey for a new kind of hope.

I would walk farther than ever before,
scaling mountains and wading through streams—
though my life would be wet and dirty,
spotted with bugs, mud, and evergreen trees,
I would be running after my dreams.

The trees would grow taller around me
as I hide out in the wildnerness.
Would I continue to grow?
Would my fears begin to show?
Or would they, and the life that I lived, disappear with tenderness?

After lying in the clearing for so many years,
eventually I would find what I was searching for.
A bright light will appear above me,
beckoning me on towards the heavens
as I rise up with the key and open a new door.

Sunday, February 15

Nature reflects itself within me,
Causing my heart to fill with rain, water, grass, and pollen.
My self grows as does a plant,
Reaching upwards and higher towards the heavens.
I stand tall and firm like an old oak tree,
My branches reaching out and forming the bond we
Share and hold, as dust formed me and thee.
The leaves will die as the seasons befallen.
Up my trunk crawls a wee little ant.
Shelter and love to it I do grant
For it whines from toil and I tire of its rant,
Least this beast gains wings and me it leavens.


My pumpkin

There's a pumpkin poised on my kitchen table--
it's been sitting there for several months.
The orange brings a pop of bright, warm color
to the drabness of the room.
It was a present from my father
to welcome the fall and ring in October.
And now that spring is around the corner
my jack-o-latern friend seems out of place.
He's lonely there, next to the Valentine's roses,
but I can't bear to move him:
off the table, out the door, down the stairs,
and throw him into the dumpter.
It would be such a shame.
He reminds me of my favorite season:
the coolness that is refreshing after the heat of summer,
the falling, crinkly leaves,
the thought and hope of snow,
Thanksgiving and family.
All are good memories that I don't want to let go.

Saturday, February 14


The frozen ground I tread on turns my breath to steam.
Everything’s cold and still
as if I’m sleepwalking through a never ending dream.
Wake up!
I need to feel alive.
Get up!
My passion the cold can never kill.

Wandering through these lazy days
I feel less and less accomplished,
trying to make sense of the different ways
to take through life’s silly journey.
Keep going!
I’m encouraged.
Don’t stop!
I’m pushed on.
Moving onward, though sometimes slowly, with no delays.

My soul floats above me
and views this weakened face.
Apart from my body
my thoughts float off into space.
I need to anchor my feet
to this cold ground below.
I must keep grounded
and hope my thoughts don’t blow.

Tear the shackles away.
I won’t run.
I just can’t stand my body to be bounded.

Friday, February 13

Wednesday, February 11

I can taste spring in the air
it tickles the tip of my tongue
my prayers for life and love have been answered
in the breeze
I seek and find hope
The vast blue book above my head beckons
me to the heavens
its pages covered with white puffy words
that make funny animal forms
I see a bunny
a giraffe
a turle
I see myself
I see God

The wind forms a vacuum around my body
it blows my bones
signaling a sweet rain
that tastes like gum drops when it hits my lips

Crawling over the horizon the sun
begins the day with light
Vague at first
an ever present glowing in the back of my mind

My feet beg to be bare
and frolic through thick
green grass
We spun in circles
arms outstretched
and fall down on our bony backs
the ground soft beneath
with our cares and worries left spinning
in circles above our bodies
with giggles gurgling from our red mouths
we can’t stop laughing
I can’t cease smiling

Sunday, February 8


Just take it for what it is.
And what is that?
You decide.

oh, and p.s.- all of these photos that I am posting from now on, including this one and all future ones, as well as the beach picture at the top, are my photographs :)

Friday, February 6

So, I'm filling out a registration form for something and it asks all the usual information: name, gender, address, school, major, graduation year,etc. But I get down to the bottom and see the question "Intended Career Field" and it totally just threw me off. I realize, and this never occured to me, that I have no idea what I "intend" to have as my "career." When I tell people I am majoring in journalism, they automatically assume I want to be a journalist, but I would say that is false. I love to write, and that's about it. I've discovered the hard way, through many articles and late late nights, that being a reporter is not for me. I don't enjoy that stress, that level of dedication to the press. Instead, I just like to write. Poetry mostly, maybe a few short stories here and there, and hopefully novels one day down the road. But unfortunately, these days one cannot really make a living off of rhyming words and prose. Darn. I raelly had my hopes up. :)
So what now? Well, you know, I'm actually not worried about it at all. I know that God has a plan for me and I know that it's a good one. If for some odd reason his plan is for me to be a journalist, then it won't be easy and I won't always enjoy it, but I'll do it. If his plan is to live in Africa and do whatever I can do help those people, to love on them, and to let them hear the good news, then I would be so excited to do so. If his plan is to work for a non-profit, cool. If it's too start an intentional community so I can reach out to my neighbors and help them and love on them, then I would be all the more ready for it.
Bottom line is, I have no idea what the Lord has in store for me. My future truly is a blank slate, and the Lord holds the white stub of chalk with which he uses to draw out my life story.

Wednesday, February 4

Obsession

If wishes could fly I would send one to you
surely there are pieces of the world you desire that are not in your possession
whether something imaginative or something true
let me give you this one digression.

You think not about what you have but draw conclusions from what is gray and blue
and that which appears bright and red has come as a single transgression
but fear not for this hope is within view
death shall no sooner overcome your fleeting session.

Colors of the earth blend with blacks and whites of the sky forming an interesting hue
so that your eyes will sparkle and the stars leave on you an impression
caught up quite within life you have been hiding from view
now the wish has come pick your obsession.

Monday, February 2

Why I Write

In the spirit of classic authors, and because I am about to read my homework for class, which is two essays by famous writers, both titled "Why I Write," I am going to share with you, briefly, my thoughts on the matter:

....

(this is harder than I thought it would be) ...

.....

Writing is my way of expressing my innermost feelings, the ones that are hiding within my heart, that no ears will ever hear. For me, putting dark lead or ink words and letters on to a blank page or tapping my fingers on lettered keys as letters appear next to a flashing cursor on the computer screen, is life. I am my words and my words are me.

I would be nothing without words, without prose, without poems. They are my outlet and my way to clear my mind of exciting or troubling things, such as love, fear, rain and God. Through my writing, I can work at sorting through the messes inside of me so that when letters form words that form sentances and thoughts and ideas and messages, everything just makes sense.

Writing is also a way for me to convey a message to the world, a bridge of understanding of sorts. Through writing, I can speak in ways I could never do aloud, use language more carefully, more thoughtfully, and be definitive about what I say and mean. Writing makes me happy. Writing is my love.