Tag Archives: poetry

Covering Grace

I stepped outside and took in the beauty of the many trees in our backyard covered in ice.

You could feel it really, God’s grace covering everything.

Icicles hanging from outstretched limbs, each seemed to testify of a grace that covers every cold and dead place, even those places in our heart.

Those outstretched limbs, with raindrops frozen in time,

When you looked at them you could feel it- the wonder of the outstretched arms of Jesus.

He hung on a tree.

His love poured out to cover me, to cover us.

What kind of love our God is?

He whispers in the cold through frozen raindrop,

“I see every tear.

Every one.

I cover you in those cold seasons.”

And I’ll just say it flat out- sometimes life is so cold and so hard you just want to be numb,

But looking up at the beauty in those trees,

You could just feel it- this isn’t about becoming numb.

It is about becoming beautifully still in the cold, awaiting new life.

His words, “My grace is sufficient,”

They are felt in the still, cold air.

You could absolutely feel it.

His covering grace.

Icicles hanging from outstretched limbs…

Testifying today that covering grace always comes back to a tree.

May you feel his grace covering you today.



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We will Leave our Imprint

Sometimes I wish my little phone camera could catch with greater depths the beauty I see.

I woke up this morning, walked into our kitchen, passed by glass doors covered with smudges and little hand prints.

Out passed those doors a morning mist was gently moving across a dark and still lake.

Stepping closer to our kitchen windows I caught sight of what inspired me to write this morning- one window among a row of windows, covered in dew.

A tiny slug must have made its way across this window pane.

And every where it went, behind it was left its trail.

The slug is gone, but the trial remains and what is left is an intricately beautiful history web.

Like a flash of lighting caught on a dew canvas, with bolts that lead to the morning sun…

I want my life to leave an imprint such as this.

If I could only see it all the time,

How every moment and every choice,
like finger prints on a glass door, are leaving their mark.

And sometimes we… or maybe just I… feel like I am a mess, like I am all over the place.

Because like my little camera, I can’t seem to focus on the beauty in the picture.

I fail to capture the beautiful web that only God can see.

And sometimes our lives can feel so small, so worthless, so terribly finite, like a morning mist and the dew that is here and then gone.

And yet the truth is, our lives and the tracks we leave can be infinite…

Can lead others to the Son.

So here are my pictures of kitchen windows, slug tracks and finger prints on doors.

I pray this morning they might inspire someone else as well to consider how every touch leaves its mark, every word leaves its trail.

And we will leave our imprint.

May we see that and see it well.






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To What Would a Bird Say?

So I watched this bird this morning in the morning sun.

It stood there, so still, raising its head and chest, spreading and lifting its wings almost appearing as an act of worship truly.

And incredibly, tonight as I was preparing dinner, I saw it again, this time across the lake, raising its head and wings, still as ever, to the setting sun.

And I keep thinking about this bird.

About how from afar, based on what I could see, I would say that this bird finds its strength, its warmth, its rest in the sun.

After all, it is to the sun that it raises his head and wings both at the start and end of the day.

And perhaps an odd thought – but a thought nonetheless, I wonder tonight, to what would a bird say I worship based on what it sees?

To what do I raise my head and hands to at the start and end of a day?

To what do you?

A bit of a challenging thought, but one worth considering I think, especially in our high tech society.

What has our focus?

Where are we often found gazing and still?

What has our attention at the start and the end of the day?

Is it too much to say, that maybe, it also has our worship?

I can’t really say.

But a bird, not so little, has challenged me to ponder it tonight.


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To spell “Alleluia”


What if we couldn’t speak?
And what if we couldn’t write?
What then would the word “Alleluia” sound like?

How would it be spoken?
How would it be spelled?
Perhaps as simply as the holy act,
Of a flower being smelled.

Because it is in those moments,
When we stop and take life in,
That our hearts cry “Alleluia!”
To the One from Whom life begins.


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Emptied One


Lift your arms, beautiful one.

Lift your arms like the emptied, barren tree.

That has lost the beauty of leaves afire,

But still stands with branches raised,



The Giver of Life.

You are beautiful emptied one.

The light shines through you with ease.

For you have let go of all that has died.

It returns from where it came.

Room made for new beauty.

Yes, new beauty is coming.

And beauty is here,

For you are beautiful,

As you stand,



The Giver of Life.

Habakkuk 3:17-18

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.


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Mercy in the Messes

There are days that I excel as a mother.

I have unlimited patience and unstoppable energy.

I am an effective homeschool teacher and a tender mother.

I am a well geared cleaning,

check book balancing,

meal cooking,

diaper changing,

laundry folding,

playtime coordinating machine.

On those days I feel like I am wearing a Super Mom cape.

 I am ready to conquer any challenge that may come my way.

But not every day is one of those days.

There are days when all I can do us keep my head above water,

just keep moving

and pray I don’t sink.

Days I try to push through and think positive,

but it is hard.

I see messes exploding all around.

The laundry is piling up.

The dishes need to be put away.

Our older children need to start their homeschool.

Our four month old daughter is crying.

Our two year old is throwing a tantrum.

They are teeth gnashing days.

Deep breaths kind of days.

I know that my help comes from my Lord,

That He strengthens me so I can acomplish all I need to get done.

But truth be told,


I don’t want to be strengthened.

I want to give up and go back to bed.

I don’t want an encouraging word.

I want an angel to show up at my front door,

To clean my house,

teach my kids and cook our food,

then run to the store with all of my children for some needed groceries,

while I sleep in bed.

I sound like a spoiled brat but I am being transparent.

I know no other way to be.

These are the days I need my God the most.

In the moments when all I desire is sweet silence.

When I would give anything for just five minutes of quiet.

In the moments when the word “mommy” is the last word I want to hear.

When I pretend I don’t hear it.

When I don’t answer the cries.

In these moments all I can think is,

“Thank God that He is not like me.”

How does He do it?

It is beyond my simple mind’s ability to comprehend.

I am overwhelmed by the screaming and whining of the few children I have.

He handles the cries of billions.

He hears me in the midst of a sea of noise and answers.

He calls me by name.

Its unfathomable.

I can barely make out the screams of my children when they blast together,

and they will tell you they are rarely called by their own name on my first attempt.

He is truly a remarkable God.

I try to remind myself to count my blessings.

When I am yearning for silence,

In another home somewhere is a mother who recently lost her child,

Who would give anything,

Just to hear even the sound of a scream one more time.

I take off my Super Mom cape,

Place it on a pole,

and wave it high.

I wave my white flag,

and thank God for one of the greatest blessings I know:

His mercy in the messes,

and his love that matters most.

Lamentations 3:22-24

22 Through the LORD’s mercies we are not consumed,
Because His compassions fail not.
23 They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.
24 “ The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,

“ Therefore I hope in Him!”

Originally Written On: 9/17/09


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Thankfulness in the Tantrums

When my child is crying in the middle of the aisle.
When I am weary but trying to smile.
When people around me stare.
May I consider,

That in that very same moment,
A child is being born.
A mother sits,
And silence is filling the air.
In a delivery room somewhere.

Me longing for silence.
Her longing for a cry.
Two women questioning,
Wondering why.
Our weary hearts, Her tear-filled eyes,
May our worlds collide,

So I can thank God for my crying child.


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