poetry Good Things Good Things Good things that take best place Good things that are needed known and loved. Good things Like gathering with Your own. Good things like The washing water of the Word. Good things Like good gifts with little feet. God things like This man’s hand in mine. Good
A bit of a break Dear readers, Welcome to new and old friends. I'm glad you're here to spend a moment with me. September is coming and as a mom with school-aged kids, this feels more like a fresh page than the New Year does. So I'll be taking a short break. Still writing, but
Christian Living On Hallways and Excellence My neighborhood is a bit of an oddity. It’s somewhat old and dignified and there are lots of famous Detroiters who grew up here. There are parks, houses, eccentric people, and old trees like any other neighborhood. But unlike so much of the rest of the city, some people
poetry Just hold my hand Just hold my hand When the waves rise When the pain lies When accuser tries Just hold my hand. Just hold my hand When the rain drives When adversity strives When we take sides Just hold my hand. Just hold my hand When fear looms large When panic’s in
poetry Normal rests on You Do you know what I saw today? I saw normal fall apart. When husband’s job ended. But as normal left, Solid things, Good things Remained. Like boulders in the tide Or oaks in the wind. My daughter worshiping Hands open, eyes closed, heart soft Voice resonant. The still small
No more He does not remember. Oh can it be? All the sin That came from me? Not a misplacing, A sweeping, Neglect, Or loss But a final, Eternal Costly choice of Love. He saw. He came. Was charged Then slain. He bled, yes, But so much more. It was my sin
poetry Taking in forgetting How can I remember If in dying He forgot? How can I be trembling If my soul His dying bought? He said to remember His dying and His life, He will not remember My iniquity and strife. So when we remember With cup and with the bread, We know that
God's van and summer I've been away from my keyboard for a while. Roadtripping, volunteering, vacationing, savoring... then all the laundrying, cleaning and catch-up parenting that comes along. But in the midst of it, we bought a new van. It's new to us, but still older than my oldest child. But it is pure
Knit to him Let your heart be knit to that man before you. The one that rushes you out the door and forgets his keys and asks what's for dinner and just drives you crazy. For all the soft moments that you look over and find that without a word, yes, he knows.
Every Hair Lord, You’ve counted every hair on my head. The brown ones and the gray. Would You forget the stretch marks? The moles and freckles and age spots? Would You notice the dimples - and call them ugly? Or would You say all of these are a harvest of laughter
Dear little girl Dear little one, When your little heart is full Of indignation And retribution And retaliation, Please pause, my dear, And take a breath And remember who you are. You are my little girl And you are loved by me. I love your fire And I love your soft. True, I
Truth His angry words stung me. The shadows of evening stretched long across my backyard as the city stretched and yawned into evening. I sat there, the novel I was reading calling me, as text after text poured into my phone. The man, a stranger to me, was furious that I
The Wind I hear it from theologian In awed and hallowed tone They hold what’s old and sacred the Eternal they enthrone. I hear it in echo soft In treetops there aloft The wind, the light, the wonder As whispers on the breeze. I hear it in the silence Before children
We rejoice The suffering builds And the wild wind blows. We ask for relief But we hear not a sound. Days later, again, We continue to ask “Please, take it away.” But no answer is found. And quiet we pour Our grief at the door, Enduring the storm While wondering, why? What
Fruit of forgiveness If you’ve ever battled bitterness Then you know it runs deep In knarls and knots. The roots, they will keep You as long as they can, For gradual they came And long will remain, Until love for the Son Drives out the dark And makes you long for the
Lovely Lovely. There’s a gentle tenderness about the word. Beautiful, attractive. But do I see what is lovely as good soil for my soul? Good for my mental health? I don’t think I would, intuitively. I love that “lovely” is included in the list of whatevers in Philippians 4
Of Potter and clay “Make me a man!” Cried the vessel so weak. “Make me a man, I promise I’m meek.” But the Potter soft spins The work on His lathe, And whispers firm “no” And continues to splay The clay as it turns, The pot as it forms, Tears to the brim
El Roi She basically had no right to be there in the story. She was shunned, kicked out, unwanted. Parched and starving, pregnant and abandoned, she sat down in a barren place to die. She did not expect to then get an incredible revelation from the eternal God. But she did. Hagar
At Hand Please tell me, anyone, if, after you pour out your worries to someone and they say, "Oh, don't worry about that," do you actually stop worrying? Not me. And this has happened to me many times. But let's change the scene a little bit. I am holding my five year
A Breakfast of Grace A breakfast of grace, Oh Lord, let me taste And see you’re good. A breakfast of grace, Oh Lord, meet me here, Let me know you’re near. A breakfast of grace, The first thing I eat, You’re the one I meet. A breakfast of grace, Lord, feed
It was a good day It was a good day. When the Shepherd was led away, When we saw Him God obey. When the Innocent was scorned, When injustice was enthroned. When He tender took His stand, When quiet He let railing land. Pilate’s guilty hands were washed, A bowl of outrage sloshed. So
Turn left at Freedom Road “Turn left at Freedom Road.” It was a soulless GPS That reported on my dash But the Spirit took up the song. In a moment I heard the hope That whispered welcome To my weary heart; Turn left at Freedom Road. The sign was old and peeling As if we
As I have been I am Wife Mother Sister Child Friend. Tired. Deeply tired. Tired of the questions From little mouths and my own heart. Tired of the fighting Between little voices and my own. Tired of making amends In the battered places of so many souls. Tired of the laundry, Even the socks
The Song of Silence Not quite sunrise. I was up early. Or maybe the sun was tired today. I noticed a glow around the blinds and decided to open them anyway. As I filled my coffee, I pondered my backyard of two years. There, at the back of our property was the stately, mangled
Here's to Heaven Here's to heaven. When - The old friends misplaced by the passage of time, recalled with pain and tenderness, The places known in and grown in and left, The mentors that poured and labored and filled and moved on, The dear ones that got there first, oh to hear the
