What is this Love?
This glorious mercy from above:
This life He gives
So I can live
How can I not worship fore’er?
O read and see—the Lord is here.

What is this Cross?
His love in fullness there displayed
So I can say
That e’en today
I have a home eternally
O read and see—the Lord is free.

What is this Tomb?
The reason He was in the womb:
To bleed and die
So He could buy
Us all back from our own dark graves
O read and see—the Lord, He saves.

What is this Day:
This day He rose and left the grave?
Let the world know
His love o’erflow?
How can I not tell all the world?
O read and see—the Lord, He serves.

What is this Love?
This glorious mercy from above:
This life He gives
So I can live
How can I not worship fore’er?
O read and see—the Lord is here.

You left me at dusk,
Gaunt and sad and gray,
And when the morning glow arose,
I could find you not.

The night before was faded
Like a withered rose, and
I could scarcely recall your smile,
Your sunflower smile.

Why were you taken from beside me?
I hope there is a reason, as the time
I’ve spent since you left has been
Measured and is of little worth.

When I say, “I love you”,
I'm saying that you are beautiful, and
That no matter what you think, if you just got
Drenched in the rain or just woke up, that
You will always be the most beautiful human to me.
When I say “I love you”,
I'm saying that I want to stay with you for the rest of my life,
Grow old and gray with you,
And never, ever leave you.
When I say, “I love you”,
I'm saying that you're my most favorite person in the world,
That I want to care for you with everything I have,
And that you are first and I am second.
When I say, “I love you,”
I mean it.
Do you?

He gently traced her scars,
Kissed them gently,
Helped them heal.
She calmed his troubled breathing,
Rubbed his back,
Hugged him tightly.
They were there for each other,
When the world and
Their own minds attacked them,
When no one else came to their aid.
That's love.

I saw her first across the bowling alley,
Laughing at her own gutter ball.
She flipped her long black hair
Over her shoulder;
She wore a golden cross necklace
That bounced lazily against her
Beautiful olive colored skin.
Lady Gaga blaring from the speakers
Prompted her to dance back to her friends,
Who smile at her antics.
All of a sudden, she looks over at me, and
I try to pretend I wasn’t staring,
But it’s too late.
She smiles shyly, without her teeth,
Just a slight turn of her pink lips,
And her cheeks redden slightly.
Whatever manliness I still had in me
Melted when I saw her smile.
I smile back in what I think is a cute way.
My friends cries break thought my thoughts,
“It’s your turn!”  “Go already!”
Yet I can’t break my eyes off of her.
She goes to her friends and sits down,
Sips her Coke quietly.
“Go!”
I look at the clock.
I’ve wasted five minutes of the game.
I blame the girl in Lane 7.

Please do not let society deceive you.
Father’s Day is not just for
The strong, the brave,
And the handsome fathers.
It’s not just for the grill masters, the family men,
And the ones who have mastered a car’s engine.
Father’s Day is also for the single dads,
Struggling to make ends meet,
Who find themselves crying at 3 am because
They don’t think they’re good enough.
Father’s Day is for the dads who are
Away from their children, fighting tooth and nail
For their country, not knowing whether
They will ever return home.
Father’s Day is for the stay-at-home dads,
Who don’t help support the family financially,
But enjoy all the small moments of
Their childrens’ upbringing.
Father’s Day is not just for
The strong, the brave,
And the handsome fathers.
Father’s Day is for all dads and father figures.
Please do not let society deceive you.

In the light, I see the faces of people,
And most are happy.
The smiling mouths, the twinkling eyes,
The joyful expressions.
People in the light can breathe freely,
Carelessly, and easily say that
Everything’s fine.
In the light, I see the normal, everyday
Procedures that comprise the world around us,
The world that we always see in the light.
I see the 9-5 workdays, smell the coffee brewing,
Hear the sweet goodnights and feel the fulfilling sleep.
In the light, no one thinks.  
No one is concerned in the light,
Everything is expected, natural, normal, the usual.
Everything’s fine.
But in the dark, I see the faces of people,
And they are tragically beautiful in their chaos,
Because in the dark they can let it go.
In the dark, no one is watching, and no one is pretending.
People in the dark think, people in the dark
Can easily say that everything is tainted,
Stained by human corruption.
In the dark, breathing is difficult,
And trying to calm your trembling takes
Superhuman strength.
The ache seeps through your bones, muscles, and nerves,
But you know the light is coming, where you
Don’t have to think and you can breathe.
But are you real in the light?

I think of you whenever
I pass a donut shop.
I see you making coffee
And hovering over the dozen,
Making a game out of picking a donut.
I think of you whenever
I put up Christmas lights.
I see you in front of the church,
Stringing lights on the cross with
The agility of someone half your age.
I think of you whenever
I sit in Bible class.
I see you with your legs
Sprawled out on the pew,
Asking great questions and
Leading thoughtful discussions.
I think of you whenever
I see your grandchildren
Running around in the sun,
Enjoying the life that you gave them.
I think of you whenever
I think of heaven, and I know
That’s where you are, having
Coffee and donuts up in heaven
With your Maker.
Hallelujah!

She was a rose, pressed into the pages
Of a book, meant to hold a place.
Instead of a page in a book,
She held a place in his heart,
Which she thought she would always have.
But eventually, bookmarks are lost,
And stories are forgotten,
And all that is left is
The smell of the binding
As the book closes for the last time.

You were an amazing band mom.
You were stern:
“Come back here and pick up your uniform!”
You were kind:
“I packed you a lunch for your long day.”
You were an incredible principal.
You were stern:
“You really need to start turning in your homework.”
You were kind:
“If you come to my office after school, I will help you.”
You were a wonderful mother.
You were stern:
“Come here right now and put your clothes away!”
You were kind and loving:
“If you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here.”
Even though you were taken
So suddenly from us yesterday,
No one will forget you and
How you influenced everybody in your circle and
Beyond.
Today is one of those gloomy rainy days,
And I know why.
It’s because even the heavens are crying for you.

There is thunder in our hearts,
Lightning in our souls,
A pounding in our chests and a
Quaking in our bones.
“Our time has come!”
The cry arises,
“Our time has come!”
We charge forward unafraid,
Into life’s tantalizing parade,
Our colors waving high
As we ride on to the sky,
Chasing our dreams and visions,
Decimating anything in our way.
There is thunder in our hearts,
Lightning in our souls,
A pounding in our chests and a
Quaking in our bones.
“Our time has come!”
The cry arises,
“Our time has come!”

My past is too much of an influence on my present,
I know it's a problem.
But whenever I look in the bathroom mirror,
I see my 15 year old self,
A cigarette hanging out of her mouth
Just like the one that is currently in my mouth.  
Her hair is still dyed dark purple and out of control,
Spiking out of her head
Like she just stuck her finger in a light socket.  
She takes the cigarette out of her mouth
And smoke clouds up the mirror.  
I watch her hand reach up through the smoke
Into the real world and take my cigarette
Out of my mouth and toss it in the trash.  
I can't decide whether I've gone completely crazy
Or if that encounter was the
Best thing that ever happened to me.  
Why can't it be both?

I change so often,
I hardly know what I truly am.  
One minute I’m a grand mansion on a hill,
Overlooking everyone and everything with
An air of pompous superiority, taking
Everything for granted and appreciating nothing.
The next minute I’m a humble cottage in the woods,
Allowing animals and wanderers to frolic in my midst,
Even welcoming them into my home.
I can also take a form of a modern lakehouse,
Feeling rushed and unused and fake,
Trying to stay with the times,
But never being fully enjoyed.  
From time to time, I’m a
Makeshift shelter that the homeless traveler
Builds in a hurry, that feels unwanted,
Unloved, and temporary, liable to fall at any second.  
Even though I change forms frequently,
No one questions it.  
No one bothers to try and get to know
The true me.  Maybe the real me is a
Cozy family home, comforting and familiar,
Or maybe it’s the slightly cramped apartment space,
Frantically trying to piece itself together.  
No one will ever know.  
Yet all they would have to do is
Just knock.

I love you but I
Cannot do all of the things
You want me to do.

I'm more than my perfectly curled hair,
My flawless skin, my beautiful nails and
Model-perfect outfits.
I'm more than my big chest, my skinny waistline,
My perfectly toned legs and my adorable feet.
I'm more than someone's pet, a pawn in someone's
Twisted game of chess,
A prize to be won, or a piece of garbage to be disposed of.
I'm more than my body, does anyone realize that?
That I'm smart and kind and funny and independent,
And that I have more talents than simply putting on makeup?
Is society that messed up to think that
You must either be smart or beautiful, kind or pretty?
I'm asking you, pleading you, to think of me as
More than something to stare at.
Because I know
I'm more.

Too many people,
Too many faces, and not
Enough time to breathe.

Chest heaving, eyes weeping,
The tomb blurs before my eyes.
How is everyone else still sleeping
When my Savior doesn’t arise?

Oh, how the doubt roars within me,
His words now seem to me as His rotting flesh,
“I will rise on day three,”
But his body is now stolen, unless…

Dirt clenching onto my dress,
I fling the tears from my eyes,
Trying to decide if… Yes!
There are people by his graveside.

Angels they must be, all in white,
And before I can confirm their existence, they speak:
“Woman, why are you weeping at this sight?”
My anger flares as I try to control my speech.

“Because my Lord has been taken away,
And I don’t know where his body is.”
I attempt to keep my temper at bay,
Turning away to abate my boiling fears.

Then I see the gardener, and a flash of brilliance
Or desperation rises in me, which one I don’t know,
But as I open my mouth to ask about my Lord’s disappearance,
He speaks: “Why are you weeping woman, why such sorrow?”

Again the same question, yet I cannot form
An adequate response; how can one describe
The loss of Him who can calm the storm,
But now has left my world in turmoil at his sacrifice?

My anger reaches the heavens now,
And in irritation I retort, “If you have taken Him away,
Tell me where He is, and I will take him from thou.”
Chest heaving, eyes weeping, I glance away.

But then I hear my name, soft and sweet but firm,
Two syllables, a clear “Mary!”
And I turn
And my unbridled joy at seeing him turns into “Rabboni!”

I ponder for a second what it’s like to feel
Sadness, for in that split second, it’s gone,
It’s been replaced by rejoicing and zeal,
And I resist the urge to leap with the dawn.

How could I have ever doubted?
Of course His words are true,
It’s a reality that must be shouted,
Yet all I can do is stare at him now that he’s in my view.

“Do not cling to me,” he says earnestly
“For I still must ascend to my Father,
And please tell our friends this, for certainly
I ascend to My God and your God, My Father and your Father.”

It was good he said this, for I had forgotten
In my excitement to see my Savior; I’m sure
His disciples must have wondered whether their Lord had rotted:
“I’m leaving right now, my Savior!”

Sandals rubbing into callouses, lungs heaving,
I ran back to town, through the streets that
Once knew me in despair, grieving,
Hardly stopping, for I had no time to chat.

My Savior has risen, he is alive and well,
He has saved us lost sheep who have gone astray,
And although He no longer on Earth will dwell,
He will never allow us to fully decay.

I’m sure when you die he will call your name too,
With a voice soft and sweet but firm and so true,
And you will go be with Him and He’ll make you brand-new,
And we’ll all live forever from our own Easter morning, too.

The sensation of
Your hand in mine makes me feel
Like it is all right.

You’d think that after
All this time I’ve spent typing,
That I could spell “the”.

Please always wear your hair like that,
The blonde waves just above your shoulders.
Don’t let anyone tell you that it’s ugly,
Or that you should do it a different way.
Please always have your upbeat attitude,
Your willingness to learn,
Your happiness at the little things.
Please always have your childish sense of
Bathroom humor, and please never let the world
Change how you see yourself and others.
This world will harp and pick at you,
Trying to destroy you in any way it can.
But I’m begging you,
Be stronger than the world.
Rise above it, because your innocence, purity, and
Happiness is so precious, so irreplaceable.
So easily tainted.
Just please, please,
Never grow up.

She never failed to mesmerize,
The poetry girl
With the rich maple eyes.

Her jungle of hair flourished on her head,
Contained by a green scrunchie
While the bangs on her forehead were spread.

A bite of the nails, a twist of the hair,
A brush of the bangs,
And her voice echoed like a call to prayer.

She goes to IHOP every weekend, knows the menu by heart,
Lives on pancakes and unlimited coffee,
Although she has been known to dabble with egg tarts.

She pulled her knees up to her chest,
Two Crocs, one green, one white,
Her gaze as stalwart as a tree in a forest.

When she spoke, her thoughts came out like trails of smoke,
Littering the room with her personality,
Those scraps of beauty as powerful as a thunderstroke.

She never failed to mesmerize,
The poetry girl
With the rich maple eyes.

I have so many ideas swirling through my
Head, I never know which ones to write
Down, which ones to commit to memory,
Which ones to care for like my child.
So many of my thoughts I abort, and
For different reasons.  
Maybe this idea will slowly corrupt my mind,
Maybe it will harm someone else.  
Maybe it will be worthless in time,
Maybe it is already too old.
Yet what should I do with these
Thoughts I’ve aborted?
Just because I’ve discarded them,
Doesn’t mean they’re entirely forgotten.
Does a mother ever forget an aborted child?
Does she forget the feeling of the child in her womb,
The raging hormones, the night of conception?
Of course not.
My ideas are the same,
Still there in the back of my mind,
Wanting to be alive,
Breathing, Functioning.
If you had an idea that would stop
World hunger, create world peace,
Find the cure to cancer, or
Stop humans from harming the earth,
Would you **** it?
Then why would you do the same to
A child who could have those ideas?

It's all cliche,
I know it is.
The cloudy sky,
The cool breeze,
The slow drizzle
As the water falls from the gray clouds,
Like my hope from my soul.
I slowly meander down the bridge,
The road empty of any life.
No cars, no people,
No dogs barking.
Just silence.
I splash through puddles
Without regret,
Barely acknowledging their existence.
Like no one acknowledges mine.
My hand finds the wet railing,
Slippery and damp,
And immediately the cold
Seeps through my skin,
Taking over my body,
Filling every part with darkness
And gloominess and hopelessness and death.
Except for a corner of my heart.
The smallest fiber of my being is
Awakened, a spot of warmth within
A dark cave.
A minuscule fire in an ice cavern.
And I turn away from the railing,
Leaving the cold, leaving the wet.
I refuse to be a cliche.
I walk down the road,
And this time, I hear a car approaching,
A bird calling, a dog barking, people talking.
The sun pokes through the clouds,
Timidly, wondering if anyone noticed
It was gone, if anyone is happy it has returned.
I am.  I'm glad it's back.
I'm glad I'm back.
And I'm not leaving.

I know you saw it,
The snow coming down in sheets,
The snow you wished would quit,
The snow that covered the whole street.

White flakes escape from the clouds,
Flash in front of your vision,
The white all your sight enshrouds,
Until endless snow is all you can envision.

But did you see the sunlight this morning,
The gentle glow from the waking sun,
That, rather than a warning,
Was a sign that the night had been won?

Did you see the beauty that the snow held,
Sparkling like stars in the night sky?
Nothing from our eyes the Lord withheld,
When He made the snow shimmer nigh.

So remember that happiness can follow sadness
And if you don’t look for it, you might not find it.
Now if you’ll excuse this rambling madness,
A lovely snowman I will now outfit.

My first love
Came to me at a young age.
I was lost, and inexperienced
In the ways of the world.

My first love
Came to me when I was
Lacking the things I needed,
And all of a sudden I was provided for.

My first love
Came to me powerfully.
I felt complete and whole;
With him I was content.

My first love
Gave me a warm feeling
In the pit of my stomach,
Similar to butterflies.

My first love
That will always preside all others,
That nobody will ever replace, is
FOOD.

Happiness is
Sunlight shining in on an unmade bed,
The smell of pancakes wafting through
The house, the sound of the morning
Program being emitted from the vintage radio.
Happiness is
Sneaking out at night,
Feeling the warmth of a midnight breeze
And the alluring freedom it brings on its wing.
Happiness is
Cuddling up with your favorite pet,
Thunder crashing and lightning flashing outside,
Hearing the torrents of rain against the window,
Eccentric yet familiar at the same time.
Happiness is
Ending the day with a home-cooked meal,
When the comforting fragrance hits you
Before you open the door,
And you can still smell it as you fall
Into a deep sleep.
Happiness is
Sharing earbuds with the
Love of your life, connected not only through
Words, notes, and rhythms, but
Knowing you have a deeper connection
Of body, heart, and soul.
Yet happiness is also
The triumph of surviving another night
In the hospital,
The relief after hearing long awaited
Good news,
The contentment of the sun finally rising
On another day.
When the night seems long,
Finding happiness in the little things
Encourages the sun to rise.
Because it will.
It will.

I wish I didn’t
Have to wonder about your
Commitment to me.