Out of the ash of what once was, she emerges light — fearless.
She is no longer bound by others eyes.
She loves without fear.
The days gone by held her — confined yet comfortable.
But she grew.
She grew so much that she began to suffocate.
“What’s happening?” she asked — scared and unsure.
The old places no longer held meaning. No joy. No peace.
She kicked and punched — fought for air.
The resulting wounds seemed almost too much to bear.
But then…she was sure of what must be done.
“It’s time” she said. And she took a…
Words delivered, stillborn of action.
“Thoughts and prayers.”
What remains in their wake is the tragic stench of beautiful, dead words — offensive.
We defer to our leaders to fight for justice — but even those courageous enough for battle, can’t legislate control on the depths of a heart.
Each time another life is ripped away, we cry for God to heal our land.
But the God of love can’t animate unwilling hands and feet — and violate love’s nature.
In the mirror reality of Spirit, love’s life-giving waters flow upward — from the particular to the whole.
This story begins with a small, hard dot
In a gardener’s hand as she looks for a spot.
She digs deep down in the cold, dark earth
And the seed — she covered it up with dirt.
Time went on, both day and night.
Something was changing; but out of sight.
The seed broke out of it’s small, hard shell.
It began to sprout — but no one could tell.
Then one spring morning the dirt gave way
To a soft, green plant that could move and sway. …
Reaching out for help,
or out to help,
we all take our turn.
So this time, friend,
I’m glad to lend
my outstretched helping hand.
Because I know
that one day I’ll
need help from someone too.
And it’s in this give and take that we
see God in me and you.
In the world and of the world
The temple curtain—torn.
The ghosts and monsters spewing fears
All gone in light of love.
No more will stone cold buildings
or doctrines reel us in
with promises of perfection—
a heavy, fruitless din.
The second coming has arrived!
I see him! He is here!
He’s here with us each time we love
regardless of our fears.
While walking through both pain and joy
the new earth will draw near.
When what’s of this world is held and loved
then in will God appear.
Pristine and polished on a shelf she waited.
For small tugs on her hands or feet…she waited.
To be tilted how she should love…she waited.
To be pulled to whom she should serve…she waited.
To be led by the cross with strings…she waited.
She looked up and saw—
Pushing the pulls and twisting the twirls…
…to make it connect. To make it make sense.
Just stop, sweet love, and remember this…
“Nothing is wasted, so follow your bliss.”
Trust the process — the divine master plan.
So intricate. Intimate. Masterful hand.
Bleeding, blending, mingling deep.
Unleash from logic.
Let go of all of those dutiful “shoulds”
and trust all is moving and used toward the good.
Writing through faith and doubt.