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Do You Remember? (a poem)

Do You Remember? (a poem)

a poem for my sweet husband on our ninth wedding anniversary.


Do you remember
how in the beginning
I took offense to your joke
that I should sew?
“Not my type.”
Famous last words.

Do you remember
months of friendship and laughter and Bible study later
I changed my mind?
Nine years now and
I still choose you.
I will always choose you.

Do you remember
the waddling duck before us
as we walked the path
ahead of our friends
when we got lost in our conversation?
I knew you’d be my husband.

Do you remember
when we walked for the first time
our favorite trail
on a warm February day
and you held my hand in your own?

Do you remember
how I forgot the people in the pews
and wiped my lipstick off your lips
on the alter
when I became your bride?

Do you remember
how many bobby pins
you patiently took from my hair
before we could
become one?…

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A Safe Place from Wounding Words

A Safe Place from Wounding Words

Have you ever decided to open up to those around you only to have them use your honesty as ammo? What happens when someone who is supposed to protect and love you wounds you so deeply you begin to question everything? Maybe it was a friend, a fellow church member, or even a pastor. You start to wonder who can you trust? Who won’t use your honesty, vulnerability, struggle, or grief against you? Their words may even cause you to question your identity or worse, your salvation. Is there anyone you can run to now?

Friend, there is. You can run to your Lord who sees. More than that, he cares. He knows the nitty gritty details of your pain—the words that wounded you that you can’t share. He sees how confused you are and the questions racing through your mind. The injustice you’ve experienced is not lost on him.…

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So Does This (a poem)

So Does This (a poem)

A single tear
drips
on the bed
as I stare at the white wall we painted when I felt 
hopeful. 

Depression is a funny thing;
you don’t always see it coming.
But it comes
crashing
like those waves at the Outer Banks
that almost drowned me.
We laugh about it now, 
how silly I looked running from the shore.
But it scared me.

And so does this.
So does this.

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Heavy with the Weight of You (a poem)

Heavy with the Weight of You (a poem)

I’ve always been intimidated by poetry. Reading it sometimes makes me feel dumb and writing it? Goodness, I’m not sure I have any skill to offer up to a reader. But as I spent many weeks filled with many hours unable to walk postpartum, I started reading poetry. And this is why I now have a Google doc titled “Poems that are Probably Terrible”. I’m doing something brave here. I’m starting to share them—even the ones that feel a bit raw and untidy. I hope that they will resonate with a few of you.

I’ll be saving them all to a section here on the blog called “Poetry”. I’ve really enjoyed dipping my toe into this type of creative writing. I hope you enjoy reading them.


I sit,
cradled arms
heavy with the weight of something so
beautiful
breathtaking
unbearably precious.

My wrists ache under your body
and the joy your tiny frame 
has brought me.…

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Postpartum Bodies and Unordered Thoughts

Postpartum Bodies and Unordered Thoughts

Unordered thinking can creep in oh so quickly. If we’re not careful to take thoughts captive and discern if they have any truth to them, we will fall prey to the serpent’s lies. And it seems like women who are walking through the postpartum season are vulnerable targets for the enemy.

I’ve always been naturally thin. Girls in high school spread gossip that I had an eating disorder, though that has never been true. I love food. A little too much at times (which I guess can be a different type of a disordered eating). So when I found thoughts like “I’m so hungry, but I shouldn’t eat more spaghetti.” or “These cookies are why I’m still fat.” running through my head, it startled me. This isn’t who I am. I’ve never once in my entire life thought of myself as “fat.”

I’ve been scared to share this since being thin seems to disqualify you from being “allowed” to struggle with your postpartum body.…

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Blessings and Birth Injuries

Blessings and Birth Injuries

Every morning I wake up hoping that today will be the day I can walk again. I slowly try to lift myself only to feel paralyzed by pain. The once simple task of rolling over to get out of bed has become one that I dread every single sunrise. Once I finally make it out of bed and steady myself with a walker borrowed from a friend, I make the long, excruciating trip to the bathroom. My days are spent missing out on life from the couch or bed and not knowing when it will get better.

If you didn’t know, when our sweet William was born I suffered a birth injury. They tell me it could be weeks or months before my pain is gone. These days are real and raw and wearisome. I’ve heard the bootstrap theology—those who plead self-sufficiency and stoicism over their suffering.

JUST GET UP ALREADY.…

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