red-school-blur-factoryMy mom was diagnosed with breast cancer  this year, and though she is doing well recovering from that diagnosis (they caught it early enough that she didn’t need chemo or radiation after surgery), I found myself walking the hospital that day, wondering around alone as I waited for her surgery to be over. It was the same hospital that my grandfather died in 15 years before. I was 14, but I remember it like it was last week. The way it smelled, the darkness of his room the last time I saw him. As I walked around that day waiting for my mom’s surgery to be over, I knew my mom would be ok. How? Why? The whole peace in the middle of the storm thing, yeah, God is not kidding! That’s all the how and why I can tell you. It had nothing to do with me.But as I walked those sadly familiar halls of Johnson Memorial Hospital I also knew there were others there who’s world just fell apart worse than mine had.

For some, there were no God assurances. They were just in the middle of a pain ravished hurricane, losing the battle against fear, against despair. Because well…

~     ~     ~

It’s the hospital. The place of death. The place where lives hang in between. Its cold here. Its gruesome. Its hard reality as it fullest.

It’s where your priorities properly align- probably for the first time; this is where vulnerability hits.

This is the place you discover money means nothing in light of a black diagnosis and all the power one’s hoarded might not be enough. It’s meaningless. It’s worthless.

All you really want, is those people you’ve pushed away, you want their warmth, their arms. The hospital makes you crave all that inner self you try to hide from day by day.

But the hospital is not just a despair mongering place. It is also a place of hope. It is a place where life can be granted a second chance.

Its where science-fiction meets reality with all sorts of frankensteinian ideas that come into fruition by the sheer will of genius imaginations and iron clad courage.

It’s where steady hands do their best work and doctors become rock stars as dauntless as  firemen running into the blaze, soldiers into gun fire.

This conglomeration of pathways is a separate journey for each one who walks inside those pristine white doors. So be extra kind.

You may not be the one traveling in despair through the white wash hallways, but others might. Just a smile from a stranger can make their invisibility fall away and remind them that they are not so alone.

The hospital is where we remember our humanity and that in it, we are terminal. It’s just a question of when. Remember, also, that a kind word will gratify the soul, but a hug can definitely fight off the walls of despair.




Worship is my Warfare


If you know me, you know I write. If you know me, you know if there is a good song on I am singing and foot tapping.  These are two things I can’t live without. I write to pour out all of the best that’s in me. I write to give others life, to give them hope, and a slice of beauty. I write to inspire and point people heavenward to the savior who can when we can’t.

In writing, I am able give a voice to hidden glories untold, to encourage the hearts dragging on the floor of their lives ready to give up. I can tell them my story of He who is stronger who brings me to life in more ways than one, who brings me hope in the 6 foot pits of my greatest fears come true. I can give a voice to the captives that cannot, themselves, write clean their souls in the iron-clad confessions of a stylus.

I sing because it means life. I sing because I have a song in my heart that just has to come out. I worship because it is my warfare. It is how I’ve battle depression since I was 12, it is how I know there is a life and purpose beyond what I can imagine or even envision before my feet. I sing to give myself to the God who gave Himself for me.

In worship of a Holy and living God, I begin to understand that the here and now is only a blip on the radar of my life. I begin to understand that there is a greater plan for me than I ever conceived for myself. 

This is my story. This is who I am. I am His!

Posted in Creative writing, Inspiration

Mission Possible


         This is the Mission:

Don’t give into fear.  Fight back.

Take back what’s yours, your inheritance.

It’s never too late to go for the dream that you

once let die. Now’s the time!


God is the God of possible, he is the one who

calls us by name into the desert, into the wild,

to hear His voice, to come to the quiet.

He speaks into us and we become whole.

When we are dry, when we are dead,

when hope evades us in all its splendor,

remember the God who can.

Remember the God who brings dry

bones to life, who makes the impossible

things happen.

“This is what the Sovereign Lord says

to these bones: I will make breath enter you,

and you will come to life. I will attach tendons

to you and make flesh come upon you and cover

you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you

will come to life. Then you will know

that I am the Lord.” Ezekiel 37:5-6

“They say, ‘Our bones are dried up

and our hope is gone; we are cut off.’

Therefore prophesy and say to them:

‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says:

My people, I am going to open your

graves and bring you up from them;

I will bring you back to the land of Israel.

 Then you, my people, will know

that I am the Lord, when I open your graves

and bring you up from them.

I will put my Spirit in you

and you will live,

and I will settle you in your own land.

IMG_1894Then you will know that

I the Lord have spoken,

and I have done it, declares the Lord.”

Ezekiel 37:11-14

Posted in Creative writing, Inspiration

After the Storms



Life is a series of storms, of darknesses that test us and mold us. They are times that try our hearts to the very soul. But after the storms of life comes the calm pace that feels numb. It feels like a shallow state, a mistake about to happen, as if it is being contemplated, but how can a mistake be on purpose? If it’s purposeful it is not a mistake, its an entrail of our own volition.

 It’s in this numbness, this uncertain haze that we feel most agreived. After a storm- a raging tidal wave sweeping through our body, our mind, ravaging all of our being, destroying all ideas of who we thought we were, living on the edge, adrenals full blast- this calm state feels like a foreigner invading. It feels like less than a reality or even a necessity, like a waste of moments, of space, of life force to live through such meaningless mundaness. The question that remains is how do we go back to just breathing, to merely putting one foot in front of the other? When life was once so intensive, so massively felt, how can such a nothingness be good? How can it be meaningful? But it’s the ordinary moments of life that are special. The small moments of joy, of sadness, or hard work, fulfillment. Those are the moments that make up a life.


The numbness is necessary, though. It is repairing, recalibrating, healing. It is not mundane, really, but ordinary, which to our perceptions after a storm seems mundane. However, it is ORDIANRY, but the ordinary is extraordinary sometimes- a life preserver. So when the winds stop blowing, the scales fall back into account, when the mirage is over, do not think it is not a worthy moment. Don’t believe it’s not real breathing. Life without the battle is still worth loving. Just remember, God is just as ever present, all encompassing, and powerful now in the numbness as He is in the raging pain and the paralyzing fear. So don’t let go. Don’t allow life to just be lived through, wasted. Allow each moment to be meaningful, even the bad, the ordinary. Hold yourself up.


Truth…the begetter of Hope

Truth. It is a deep, palpable, resonating thing. It resounds deep inside of us when we read it, hear it spoken into being. We breathe in its essence, it’s freshness, when our paths intersect it.

It has happened to me many times, reading a book I actually didn’t truly enjoy. Or even one I did enjoy. But reading a small nugget of truth, of beauty, there is always something inside me that cried out “Yes”.

IMG_1837You see, when we connect to truth, even one we may not like or want to hear, or even one we are not ready to hear (and yes there is such a thing)- there is an echo, a deep resonating feeling inside of us, something that connects with someone else.

Truth, it’s a way for our hearts to connect, to a certain thought, a shared experience, a pain so deeply hidden that maybe it has never come to light, for some of us. That truth reaches into the very depths of our souls. It finds a home there, burrows in a nook or a cranny and dwells there, bringing us hope and a peace, a healing- because there is some other person on the face of the earth who has walked in a semblance of our shoes, has felt a nugget of the burdens we carry. Truth, it’s a powerful thing. A weapon beyond reckoning. Just as Abraham begot Isaac and Isaac begot Jacob, truth begets as well. It is the begetter of hope.

Posted in Creative writing

consumed by terror


Fear consumes. That is the truth. Though Katniss Everdeen’s words are referring to being pregnant, this saying from Mockingjay hits on a deeper note than just that. They bring a deep, hidden truth to light; that is Fear consumes and it has done so since the beginning of time. This is a truth we don’t bump into day in and day out, so we don’t wrestle with it unless we dig it out of our dumpster.

Fear (not to be confused with fears, which are vast in dimension and category and vary per person) is that all consuming dread, that crippling, stomach churning, panic producing mode we often find ourselves in when faced with something we think we cannot survive. It is a dark demented creature made up of our wildest dark dreams, which we pray will never come to light. Fear is a darkness inside our soul where we cannot turn the lights on. As Barbara Brown Taylor states in her book ‘Learning to Walk in the Dark’

“Darkness is shorthand for anything that scares me- that I want

no part of- either because I am sure I do not have the resources

to survive it or because I do not want to find out”

This darkness is Fear, or at the very least it produces Fear in us. (If you think not, go into a cave, pitch black, and feel the walls start caving in). Fear is as old as human existence, but its not new. As far back as Adam and Eve at its inception, Fear has existed. It follows us around. It stalks us in the darkness, setting our teeth on edge. It drives us, steering us away from that which we dream, crave, and wish for. Fear controls us. More so in this culture and era than ever before.

It paralyzes some of us, but really it’s just a shadow. Fear does NOT actually have any power. It plays games with out minds mimicking a potential and real threat, but it can do nothing to us. It cannot touch us unless we let it. Unless we give way to its power. Only then can it control us. However, the more we give it, the more it wants. It’t time to stop giving in inch by inch, caving to its pressure. We can survive Fear and we can take our lives back too, but first we have to turn and face it and be ready to die trying in staring it down than continue on in a numbing death-like life lived under Fear’s shadow.