The crabgrass creeps in, weeds reach high toward sun rays, across the full length of what’s meant to be a flower bed. They seek to overshadow every bloom and cover every inch. But beauty reaches higher. Abiding, abiding.
And I think of my own heart weeds. The ones that try to prowl upon my soul, telling stories of unbelief, loneliness, and a God who forgets his promises. But I believe beauty reaches higher, by the grace of God alone. Pointing me to the Son. Abiding evermore.
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?…
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.…
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.
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.…
