Lima has my heart
I was loved by these children
Until it hurt me

I don't speak Spanish
Yet they laughed and played with me
They called me their friend

Playground encounter
I thought I'd never see them
But the Lord provides

The hardest goodbye
Was to the mob of children
Kissing me farewell

Why do you love me?
We can't talk, I won't be back
Why are you so pure?

I will miss you all
Each of you has touched my heart
More than you can know

I gave you my fries
Knowing that I was hungry
Yet I died to self

Am I lovely?
I know I'm loved,
I'm lovable,
I'm loving.
But am I lovely?
Am I delightful?
Am I truly cherished?
If not now, will I ever be?
Will anyone ever call me Their Love,
Their Delight,
Their Cherished One?
Will I ever be found in Your heart?
Am I what anyone will pursue?
Will anyone fight for me?
Will anyone feel like a man
by being with me?

Jesus, am I lovely?
Will I ever be the princess,
will I be a part of the narrative?
Will my beauty ever be unveiled?
Will anyone ever want to know my heart?

I know I’m not too much,
I know I’m more than enough,
but am I lovely?

What was it like in your garden, Lord?
Untouched by sin,
innocence in the very air we breathed,
the water we drank,
the soil you created us from.
You created us from the ground up,
from the side of another,
to be beside one another.

How did we live in your garden, Lord?
We were children.
You held our hand
we laughed, we talked, we played with you
created for you
your waters bathed us when we were soiled.
We soiled everything
we were misled
this led to our downfall.

How did he enter your garden, Lord?
Was this meant to be a sanctuary,
were we to be wary?
We knew and ignored
we were bored
we were children
knowing neither of good nor evil,
wanting to be like you.
He made us
You made us
and yet we chose wrong.

Were we to hide in your garden, Lord?
You knew every inch of it
you knew something was different
did regret once cross our minds?
Did we know what we had done?
We became undone
once naked without shame
we put the blame on each other
desperate for cover

We were banished from your garden, Lord,
now ravaged by sin.
Pain echoes within
without you by our side.
Father and Mother
bore brother and brother
uncover the damage done
by the eldest son
am I my brother’s keeper?
Deeper, deeper in debt we grew,
the wages of sin a tab on humanity
this insanity did not end with us.
    
Would this have happened in your garden, Lord?
Can we ever return to your garden, Lord?

I’ve always cried in secret.
Not by choice;
I just never seem to be noticed
when my heart breaks,
my body quakes,
my resolve is torn asunder.
I never receive the pity
I feel I deserve.
With a twisted face
and clenched fists
I try to hold back
unsightly sobs and gasps for air.

I’m never noticed,
but maybe it’s better that way.
Brokenness is ugly,
and my shards are jagged.

You’re no stranger to this.
They see Your Crown,
Your Side,
Your Hands and Feet.
But people forget
that You carried the Cross
that bore Your Body for hours on end.
They forget
that the Flesh was torn
and every step dug deeper
into Your Shoulder.
They whipped You,
they beat You,
they spat and ridiculed
But the pain of the Cross was constant.
There was no relief
from lifting and dragging
that torturous wood.
Dislocated and raw,
how can they not remember
the deepest Wound of all?

Is that why You gave me
my Wound, Lord?
Is it because I know
how it feels to have pain
not easily recognized?

Let me kiss your Wound, Lord.
Let me clean it and hold it
to my own.
Let me endure my pain
as You did:
with grace and compassion
with strength and integrity
Let me bear my Cross
as You bore Yours.

This robin keeps staring at me
Why?
What intrigues him so?
Is it my red coat?
Kindred spirits are we,
Sitting in the breeze.
We stop.
We stare.
We both have things we could be doing
Yet he runs
And I think
My mind feels like this Robin,
who now swells his chest as he walks.
I'm distracted
Flitting from one thought to another
as if danger lurked beneath every leaf
and a worm under every stone.
The Robin has since rejoined his flock
I should go home
My nest needs attendance
Yet the Robin still stares
Farewell, new friend
whom I can no longer distinguish from the others.
Enjoy your worms
and keep your red chest full
of life
and curiosity.

You know what *****?
The fact that I know I'm objectifying you.
I'm fully aware.
In my mind and in my heart
I've treated you poorly.
I feel myself craving a kiss,
a sigh,
a stolen moment of intimacy.
I find myself desiring your gaze,
your attention,
your requited longing.
But all I've stolen is your humanity.
All I've taken is your image,
the idea of you,
and turned you into a toy.
I've projected my physical and emotional deficiencies
onto what little love we share.
I'm sorry.
You're my friend.
You're my brother.
You deserve more
than to be lusted after.
You deserve more
than to become the target of my misguided desires.
You deserve more
than what I've been doing to you
and I'm sorry.

When I was a young girl
I told myself
I wanted someone to hurt me so badly
to break me so tangibly
that they would see the error of their ways
and never revert to them again.

I never expected this wish to be granted.

Here I am, a woman grown,
who has had her sensitivities
neglected
pushed aside
forgotten
by the men whom she holds closest to her heart.
I trust
and I know the risk
but I trust
and when my heart is hurt
my anxieties prodded
I trust
that they've seen me beaten,
defeated,
pushed to the point of tears
by their own hands.

May my injuries prove the necessity for these boys
to become men.

How can I dare to lift my pen and try to capture
what Your own hand has created?
You, who danced on the waters
when there was naught
Yet You lacked nothing
in Your perfection.

How can my brush hope to portray
that which Your own hand has designed?
You, who formed the heavens and the earth
Who pushed waters from waters,
mountains from valleys,
light from darkness,
and said “It is good.”

How can my voice hope to sing
of that which You spoke into existence?
You, who breathed life into the stars,
the waters,
the earth and sky alike
Whose laughter bellowed through the cosmos
and delighted in the simplest wonders,
the most intricate marvels,
joyous all the while.

The only portrait I can cultivate
while doing Your creation justice
is myself.
I, whom Your own hand has crafted,
whom You Yourself breathed life into
every fiber of existence I call my own
I, who bear Your image
Your mark
I am all I can offer
for it is what You have given me.

And You say “It is very good,”
for this is all You desire.

How can you write what you feel,
What you know,
When you don’t?
How can I keep the words from running dry
When I’m wasting time trying to squeeze them
From the inkwell of my mind?

I am not an artist,
I am a student.

And yet everything I’ve learned
Seems to fail me.
Rhymes, meter, imagery:
Why do I know these things
If I can’t use them myself?

I am not an artist,
I am an observer.

This problem is not rare
And yet as I write about not writing
I write.
My lack of a story
Is a story itself.
Thinking is the enemy
And in this head of mine
My foe flies at me relentlessly.
Sometimes a mind overflowing with thoughts
Can hurt more than an imagination run dry.
Yet the pain only fuels me.

I am not an artist,
But I could be.

I had a dream once
You were driving, your last love in the front seat.
I sat in the middle.
Your hair looked different.
Suddenly you met across the armrests
and I had to watch as you kissed passionately,
speeding down the interstate,
totally engrossed in her lips.
I woke up:
chest pounding,
face flushed,
heartbroken.
But it wasn't real.

I had a dream once
We were in a room with a congregation
They began to pray for a fallen Knight
who passed away two years ago.
I bowed my head.
Suddenly I felt your hand on mine.
Your head was low,
you didn't look at me,
but you grasped me like a lifeline.
I placed my hand on top of yours,
and you covered that one as well,
more relaxed but still distraught.
We held each other.
We prayed together.
I woke up:
chest pounding,
face flushed,
heart swelling.
But it wasn't real.

Daughter, you are enough.
I did not make you with
overabundance or deficiency.
Why do you treat yourself
like you're too much?
Why do you tell yourself
you're not sufficient?

You, who buried yourself
in anger, in loathing,
in misguided insecurities:
I am drawing you out
like a shoot from the earth.
Be patient. Be present.
You're still growing into
the darling flower you are meant to be.
You burst forth in colorful laughter,
in song and in dance,
painting the world with your presence.
Your body stretches toward the sky,
reaching for the Son with everything you have.
A mouthful of crooked teeth
is all the more beautiful
as you bask in the glory of existence.

My wildflower,
I did not create you to uproot yourself,
to hide under the moss or the shrub.
I made your form bold and stark,
unmistakable in My garden.
I made you a captivating blossom,
meant to flourish under My touch.

So dance in the wind.
Sing to the heavens.
Laugh with the birds and the beasts,
for you are Mine.
You are cherished.
You are enough.

I lay on the concrete,
knuckles scratched from adjusting my shirt to shield my belly from the wind
But it's beautiful.
Laying here
with just enough sun and shade
Headphones in
yet the only surround sound needed
is the gentle roar of the wind in the trees
They shout, they clamour, they dance
then peter off into a whisper before unleashing another cry of life.

I turn
In my fetal position I see a squirrel
I didn't know they could lay that still: lifeless fur sprawled on the wood.
No; he instead is the epitome of life
Nestled in a branch
Sun bathing his tiny back
I see his breathing
Slow, at peace, serene.
I didn't know they could lay that still.
I watch through the branches of dancing green
We lay together,
taking a well-deserved break
For a moment, our life-activity is on hold.
We take You in as we take in the day.
When he sits up, he is still at rest.
When he scratches and bathes, he is still at rest.
Even his walk down the trunk is leisurely.
Lackadaisical squirrel,
I want to live like you.
If I lay on this concrete long enough,
perhaps I'll embrace the world with no fear as well.