White.
The world is white.
It is full of different shades of white.
Is the world white?
Some days I feel as though the world is black, but that may just be the darkest shade of white.
Black.
I know the world has dark days, but that is all they are.
Days.
Twenty-four hours pass and the world transforms into grey.
Grey is a color of the new world that will replace the old.
A dingy, broken place becomes just a little bit brighter.
I know someday this world will be such a light grey, it will once again return to its former glory.
When that day arrives we can only hope the changing world has changed us as well to a new color.
The color of a blank slate.
The color of hope.
White.

My poems hide in my morning cup of coffee.
In good hair days.
In nights without homework.
In the little victories of life.

My poems hide in board games while camping.

My poems hide in falling of a horse, but getting back on.

My poems hide in crazy and untraditional habits.
In rearranging and organizing my bedroom.
In summer trips to the emergency room.
In the dents, bruises, and scars that I seem to collect.

My poems hide in compliments from strangers.

My poems hide in the eyes of animals who have grown up alongside of me.

My poems hide in moments spent with my best friends.
In sleepovers in the motorhome outside my house.
In Tulip Time parades twirling my baton.

My poems hide in the embrace of a long-distance friend.

My poems hide in my parents, and in the times they are proud of me.

My poems hide in the memories I’ve made.
In mission trips where 9-Square and hacky-sack are the main pastimes.
In seashell hunting on a clean, white beach.
In being a queen in the eighth grade show.

My poems hide in the trips that I take.
In the adventures I have in ordinary settings.
In the twenty four hour ride to Florida.
In the states I have yet to visit.

My poems hide in my relationship with God.

My poems hide in all the beautiful, trivial things around me.

My poems are constantly hiding, waiting, begging to be discovered.

This hammock is my God Spot
It is stretched between two trees
And I always seem to learn a lot
As it bounces in the breeze.

As I sway I pray and listen
For God's calling in the wind
And perhaps he will send a vision
Forgiving me for all the times I've sinned.

My hammock is a double wide
In fact it has to be
For Jesus and I sit side-by-side
Held up for God's great love for me.

Forget about all your worry
And dwell in the presence of our Lord
There is no need to be in a hurry
When sabbatical has such great reward.

I take down down my hammock and shake out the sand
Then begin the journey home
But the Spirit does not let go of my hand
In case I stumble as I roam.

And I will think back on my spiritual vacation
And let my mind play dot-to-dot
As I wait in anticipation
For the next visit with my God Spot.