18.02.2018, 07:58:53

there’s this psych class i’m taking online, social psychology, and it boggles my mind each time i finish a lecture. it teaches me, indirectly, so much about how i want to live intentionally; how not OK i am with running on autopilot and subconsciously running the race of automatic processes like a hamster on its wheel.

it humbles me down every time.
because i see myself, my thoughts, my tendencies.
and it reminds me– we’re all one and the same.

there’s this one concept that’s been reiterated a few times now: the “us versus them” phenomenon. in short, we like to group ourselves, create stereotypes and look for any + every confirmation to concur our bias; i’ll argue, we do this to make ourselves more comfortable, more ‘secure’-feeling and more entitled (for whatever reason)– we separate ourselves. on purpose. mostly without knowing… guilty.

so i repent, i bend the knee.
i remember Love, and the strength it wields.
Love is a superpower, easily overshadowed.

but when i differentiate, when i distance and when i don’t stop to really see the person– like reeeeally see, i am the hamster on its wheel, blind to what’s really going on. ‘what is really going on,’ you ask? here’s what i know: golden threads are being sown into stories, unwittingly, and we walk around the pen of our lives, looking for meaning and accomplishments to add to our name — when, really, is that all there is in this life? is this the height of it– you live a few years, and then you go back to dust?

we think golden threads in mundane spaces are not for the ill at ease.
but my own story is proof that it’s far from that.
the truth is, golden threads are everywhere– if you choose to see them.

it’s always been an ‘us’. there’s never been a ‘them’. may i live with the certainty that Love binds us all together. and there are no exceptions.



24.01.2018, 22:40:56

I am not dictated by what has come + gone,
or fears i carry deep.

I am precious,
so very loved,
without exception.

speak it again,

05.12.2017, 21:18:45

thoughts on “control”:

i hold it tightly, i do. i repeat a rhetoric of “i’m not enough, i’m not doing enough, i’m not smart or productive enough; i can’t handle enough…”

sunday brought me to my knees in holy anger and disappointment (and a not-so-holy stubbornness that roared its teeth too, at Leo of all people. what a man.) a conflict of emotions, where civilians would’ve gotten hurt had not the only tangible civil thing been my heart being sown out of its old pieces.

sometimes, i learn that we, in our most gentlest concern, lightly take parts of our hearts with the heaviest weight– we think them whole, redeemed. and we stitch them into the fabric of our messy heart, but the attack was waiting to happen; the arteries were clogged with sorrow weren’t they? God saw the ragged pores, how badly we needed the oxygen to bring a pumping heart to life, to not take away parts that he breathed in us eons ago– and what does he do? he keeps loving us back together again.

if we let him.

so why and where does “control” come in? I’m very good at giving God juuuust enough that it looks like my whole heart, but he and i both know it isn’t. i could fool anyone, even Leo maybe (at this point, maybe not – he knows me better than I do sometimes. relationships are magic, healing + terrifying). but i position myself with just enough surrender and mix in the honest humility and neediness– but i hold back. on what?

on fully trusting. or even trusting at all– that God doesn’t need my hands to do his brilliant work in my life. that he’s bigger and more capable than I am. that my striving, my abilities and my talents– as good as they are– they close the space for Love to thread its needle.

so i start small, over again:

i whispered up to heaven as i spoke with someone who needed my voice to say, “it’s all grace, remember that. it’s not just for those who don’t know grace, but it’s for you too.” funny, isn’t it? how we often speak truth to ourselves inadvertently.

i lose myself and find myself in writing. i go months, years even, without finding treasures buried deep. how eccentric and odd it is to find yourself in a moment, in a ripple that once held a hurricane.

i whisper, lord, i’ve done my part. i choose to be here, now; to be present and be a strong post– i know you come through, so do only what you do.

an hour or two later, while i swam to awaken these bones and muscles to fresh resurrecting, that which i couldn’t do– was done.

yes, smile.
the grace is for you too.

11.24.2017, 23:37:01

I saw her, hands lifted high, mother by her side. for a split second, I saw the girl, who led crowds of people without doubt in her mind. her fingertips reached the heavens, and her heart opened wide. the girl who once wore blanket scarves on pink pulpits, left-handed mics and wings on either side; who encouraged us to continue to sing, who would openly cry and speak with a voice that heard directly from God’s line

I saw her, today, I did.
just a glimpse– it was when I closed my eyes.
the world melted away, and I knew she will one day be back soon.
I’ll recognize her face, it’ll look almost the same.
maybe a few extra wrinkles and some laugh lines,
but there will be something new– something like never before.


24.11.2017, 23:30:40

it is a cancer of sorts,
ravaging the soul quick,
paralyzed and

fast-spreading and unwelcome,
catch that? —

not a part of you,
your identity,
who you were and are
created to be.

the only way to fill these holes,
is a holy radiation of sorts,
seen right through,
x-ray visioned.

the price for this heart surgery has been paid in full–
anxiety, you are not welcome here.
and you are not my leader.

06.11.2017, 12:24:01

I have this vision for my life: to love and be loved. to create and be created anew. every day, every morning and moment I have air in my lungs. breathe flowing through my trachea and into my bronchi. air pockets of life, that’s what it is- and I dream to live each breathe with the grace that I am redeemed ash. I am made anew. my lungs have stardust in them, the Handmaker’s wheel is spinning fast, and I run at the tempo of His slow dance.

every day is a day to run, to dance.
to love and be loved.