Let me be little, For just a little while. Let me be little ‘cause time will fly by When you let me be little, You just let me dream I’ll wake up before long But now I can fly Just let me be little And let the clouds pass,

Dear little girl, on the cusp of being grown. Hear me laugh, hear me groan. On the day you came into my life, into this world, and into my heart. With the sound of my labor in that crowded birth room, chattered the sparrows at the birth of dawn. Bitterness

Lord, if You knew water’s roar and fire’s fury, If You knew the damage these troubles would bring, If You knew, dear Lord, then why did You stand? Watching long from a distance, knowing my plight? So much of my life, I simply don’t know. Your purpose,

I stood there hollowing out the peppers. Tops off, seeds out, diced then in two. When you tore into the kitchen Shivers all full of glee They hadn't found you yet All tucked in here with me. And I thought that as I hollowed Out peppers for you and I

“You killed the Author of life, but God raised Him from the dead. And we are witnesses of this fact!” (Acts 3:15). It's Good Friday, and we’re soaked in the first part of this verse. The Writer Himself was killed, the very one who wrote the miracle of

Do you know what’s there, just like here? Deep cool breaths. Sunsets. Shifts in weather that are subtle, but course through you with quiet brilliance. Sunrise, and the hush right before, that makes you ache for the day, but long to linger in the half light. Birds. Flowers. Wind.

A parable about the invitation of kindness - to others, and to ourselves.

I heard a voice. It spoke a word. Dark, then light, World leapt into being. I heard a voice Break the cedar, Bring the deer to birth, All His creation known...

Before all the other things that draw my heart — people’s opinions, financial security, the health of my children, the fruit of “my” work, I will thank You. They are the gods that I keep returning to; You are the God that holds my soul. These idols sing sweetly and

How the tension and confusion must have seeped into the room as their Master took off His outer garment and knelt over the basin. Accustomed to His social rule breaking, but baffled nonetheless, they watched with raised eyebrows. One by one, He washed each of their feet. Did one or

I hear it whispered, From person to person, “Today is the worst, That it’s ever been. How awful to be, The parent of child, Or leader of church, In days such as these. How much we pity Those coming after. How difficult their way Than what was before.

She looked at me in disbelief. “He hates God?”  I have been reading snippets of a Bible story book to one of my kids, Hannah, and today we had a few minutes before dinner prep needed attention. Ater I stepped away, she continued to sit on the kitchen floor, dumbfounded

“Mama, we’re in Christmas!” My two-year-old elatedly tells me this every other day or so. It’s the tree, another neighbor putting up their lights, or the doorbell ringing for another package being delivered.  It’s Christmas. And the celebration, the joy, the expectation is palpable…even to

Tiny face and little arms, A smooth sigh and folded lash, So little, so normal, So lovely, so known. But softly we came Awe settled deep in our hearts, As we saw the hope of mankind, Nestled in young mother’s arm. We thought we knew You A new born

I see you there, wondering about soothers and bottles and ounces of breastmilk. I see your cluttered home and the hospital bands strewn across your dresser, or still on your arm because you don’t remember what day it is.  I know the horror you feel when someone tells

“I look so old!” We were at the Sears photography studio in Kitchener and my grandma had just been given her portraits. We had been tasked with getting her passport pictures and my citizenship pictures taken. For my twelve-year-old self, this rare chance to have my grandma all to myself

The “ought” was implied. The “should” was aloud. The “ought” laced the question, The “should,” no mere suggestion. The “ought” spoke of death. The “ought” dried up my soul. The “ought” spoken in “should” Drowned out all that “could.” Does my Lord long for slaves? Men

Dear Friends,  Recently I joined a facebook writer’s group through Hope*Writers and one of the assignments placed on my desk was to write a manifesto. With everything going on around me, now did not seem like the time or space to do such a thing. But when

“Let me be,” She whispered soft and low. Her “no” only a tremor, But it tumbled weary, sore. Let me be When stretch marks widen, When hips soften, When these eyes have sunken in. Let me be, Just what I am and where As age and