You give me life,
While he tries to ***** it out!

You build me up,
While he tears me down.

You bring clarity,
While he stirs up confusion.

You repair,
He retorts.

You restore.
He doesn’t stand a chance in hell!

I saw faith through the window,
A holy light burning in the trees,
So under the rug,
I brushed my sin,
A chance to repent again.

For some it may be an old street light,
Though for I,
It was nigh,
I see a new life,
Echoing in the storms of night.

Here I am, falling for you all over again,
I find your mystery deepened and new,
Yet your presence aligns all my chaos,
I find only serenity and quiet with you;

Your eyes form an iridescent bridge,
I find the colors of a home I want in them,
I could watch them sparkle for all of my life,
Forever keep your gaze on me, Miss Supernova?

Make me laugh again, make me feel alive,
Make me feel everything etched by your hands,
Tell me your heart~ past, present and future,
Give me your thoughts~ unspoken, now and to be;

Miss Gorgeolious, I find you utterly marvelous,
Our adventure is the best feeling I've felt,
I find your touch intoxicating and rich,
I miss you, come home to me soon :)

About turn,
Face fear —
Discern, and
Have faith  —

No more looking
To the left and to the right,
But investing right where you are —
In You and realising in Your love.

I’m ready,
For a new season of faith,
Less heady,
And more heart.

Delving deeper,
Within Your loving embrace —
No longer a sleeper,
But expansively awake!

Truly present in life,
And Your love.

I come from the cracked sidewalks of Chi-town, stoops
where we sat baking in blistering sun, listening
for the bells of the bicycles, so bold & eager for change
we could plop on the counter of the corner store.

In the constant drone of the deli, Italian grandpas
convened in their drab plaid, pressed khakis — coursing
the quiet confidence that comes from living that life
in the fast lane, simmering to a peace that permeates
each measured step. The bowls of minestrone soup
to warm their old bones: dead dreams reigniting.

I come from the family that never had anything
to own — but still didn’t allow me to go hungry.
I come from a steaming plate of sizzling
homemade dumplings, each juicy morsel
containing a mother’s fierce love for family.

I come from a long line of trauma responses
and the healing that only comes from truly creating.
I come from a great-grandmother, a grandmother,
a mother that poured out even when the jagged pieces
cut up our throats coming up. I come from having

lost my entire mind, frenzied forces pushing
my body up against a cold psych wall, no escape
in sight for me. I come from the guilt I'd held
for far too long, for missing the entire first
month of my daughter's life on this earth
when I couldn't even take care of myself.

Somewhere in the midst of coming to the end
of myself, I found You. You had never left.
I came home, battered and so broken, and You
enveloped me in Your healing Light. Selah.  



I’m walking in restoration, deep restoration,
a coursing river engorged with living water.
I finally allow myself to be fully immersed
in the wellspring that never runs dry. And there, fully
surrendered in the depths, I find that I can finally breathe.

The morning after
we told my mother
she would become
a first-time grandmother,

she sat alone in the garden
relaxing in the early morning sun,
craned her neck up at the huge tree
and spied a feisty pair of magpies

flitting about in a figure 8 — they squawked
out their monastic chants with abandon,
guarded their muddied little nest
tucked away in the groove

of a high branch. She froze,
eyes wide in a bewildered trance
as she suddenly recalled her own
mother so long ago, behind her

braiding my mother's thick hair,
her gentle voice murmuring about
the songs of magpies symbolizing
good news when you need it the most

My mother's smile was tremulous as she sat
in her garden, shrouded by the sweet incense
of memory, palms pressed together to ponder
all the ways we press on towards the light

Her very first one, sitting in her high chair,
mouth stained with strawberry juice —
with such ease and joy, it caught me

by surprise. Good job, she says again,
smiling, her little thumb peeking out from that
tight little fist. All I had done was declare

the color of my shirt — red. She turns
to finish eating, already distracted by the animated
music video on the screen. Just the two of us

having breakfast, I savor this simple moment.
When had I learned to withhold praise?
To refuse to acknowledge others

for tackling another day, knowing
that it took everything in them just to let
themselves see & be seen // hold & be held?

You once spoke about the heart of a child –
how we all must become like children to see,
to hear, to truly receive. Help me remember.