Pale yellow pages,
Torn at the sides,
The words thoughtful
As they fill up the
Ordained space—
His hand is smooth,
Full of love, using
Us as writing pads
To spread His grace.
We are flyers of the
Words He lays on our
Hearts, flitting in the
Wind, until He decides
We’re all out of pages—
Beauty returning to
Its likeness again.

A passage of unseen looks,
A stolen question, sequestered
By worries—
Can I see you
For a moment?
Words laid at a doorstep,
Fingers quietly wound together,
A hand holding a head--
Don’t speak,
You don’t have to.
God knows your heart better
Than I ever could.
Bring it to Him,
Fall apart,
Feel the Spirit catch you—
It is not my arms,
But the love of Christ
Supporting you through me,
Gracefully broken.

A wall of empty polaroids,
Picture frames of memories
That only existed in my head—
I waded in my worries, bathing
In the darkness of my knuckles

As they held tight to the control
Around my life’s throat—
At the bottom of growth, nowhere
To go but upward, toward the
Light of glistening things, of His
Glory working to shine through
The drapes I closed to stew in

My pain—before I was Saved.

One heart tied to mine, slowly
Loosening as the strings of Jesus
Grew stronger, brighter, fastened
Around a sapling He was dredging
From the soil—when did I outgrow
The other flowers of belief that
Surrounded? To one soul, I was
Unrecognizable, and to others, I
Was only catching up, floundering,
Until I realized He was the Center.

The hours began to pass
Like strawberry jam
On sourdough toast
In the morning.

Silk-thin pages flapping
In the gentle wind,

Birds of God’s creation
Squawking above.

The sun seeped through
The clouds like honey,
Droplets of joy, of

God’s presence.

Breathe in, breathe out,
The revival of the soul,
Hours gained as I
Rest in my Lord.