Oh, let me see.

Oh, how many times I have pointed the preverbal finger at the masses, yet being guilty of so much.

Oh, how blinding it can be up a top the high horse, as if the air atop is thinner, causing the senses to be blocked.

Crucifying others for their areas of lack, yet delicately sweeping mine under the elaborate preverbal rug.

Conjuring excuses for my fault lines while spewing judgements for theirs.

Oh, if only I could apply eyes of grace to those around me, like I so effortlessly bestow in my moments of shortcoming.

Oh, if only I could behave as a merciful martyr rather than a pious judge.

My lack of understanding betrays me. It compels me to cast judgement on all differing from my assumptions.

For it is what I do not understand, I so hastily decree verdict.

It is my lack of understanding that breeds behest.

Oh, give me eyes to see differently.

To see what is and not what is not.

To see as an artist viewing his masterpiece. Every line, smudge, stroke.

To see and not judge.

Rip apart my preconceived notions and replace with overwhelming compassion.

Oh, let me see.


The warmth of fudge brownie coffee steaming from my pumpkin shaped coffee mug on a lazy Sunday morning.

Watching the steam as it billows and puffs like the slow push of the white cloud from a locomotive.

Wrapped in the fluff of a wooly blanket, soft, cozy and soothing.

Lingering gazes through the window pane, watching the trees dance and leaves tumble to the ground in their graceful dance of fall.

The scent of the season fills the air from the candles flickering flame. Crackles and pops blend with the sweet birds serenade creating a magical symphony.

The colors of fall paint the insides of my soul. Burnt oranges, vibrant reds, deep maroons and majestic yellows light a fire that spark me to life.

Fall is magic to me.


My heart burns for adventure.

Burns to be a princess held captive in a tower.

Burns to be a fierce spitfire robbing the rich to feed the poor.

Burns to rip apart the wretchedness of this world in one fail swoop.

Burns to adorn the most beautiful gown and enchant the most charming prince.

Adventures of grandeur.

Adventures built on spontaneity and spectacle.

Adventures told to those to come by campfire crackles.

Adventures that beseech life and exude passion.

The trick though…

Cultivate this adventure thirsty soul in the midst of the mundane.

The nitty gritty.

The everyday.

The unexceptional.

These are the moments- mission critical.

Impatience my worst foe.

Balance my fluttering soul.

Weight my wafting wings.

Time makes room for adventure.

Until then speak peace.




A rather simple item to purchase, however; yesterday this is the item that single handedly dropped me in a time warp and shot me into reality.

As I stood in the grocery aisle studying the multitude of glass cleaning products available, I was slapped in the face with adulthood. Mind you, this is not the first time I have been suddenly aware that I am an adult, it is just the most recent. Never, in a million years could I ever have conjured up, that as an adult, I would one day spend; not just one moment, but several moments contemplating what glass cleaner to buy. Scrutinizing the pros slapped on the labels of each product. Trying to recall what I have used in the past and recounting their effectiveness. Mentally comparing all the prices and how it fits in the budget.

Budget. Another FUN word.

As a child and teen, adulthood seems so sexy, so exciting, so alluring.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

You definitely aren’t considering household cleaning product purchases as a highlight in the imaginary reel you play in your mind as you are plotting your escape from adolescence.

Yet here I am. In the thick of it.

At some point it happens to all of us.

I remember being in the car with my mom and the song “Ain’t Goin’ Down” by Garth Brooks was playing. A piece of the lyric says, “Momma’s on the front porch screamin’ out her warning, girl you better get your red head back in bed before the morning”. In that moment my mother, very casually said, “I used to be the red head girl and now I am the mom screaming the warning. Hmmmm, when did that happen?” She may not even remember this moment, but I do so vividly.

Adulthood. Whap. Right in the face.

I suppose these moments will continue. Maybe they start to feel less and less like an out of body experience. Perhaps, we begin to actually feel like adults rather than an imposter with a big secret…Pssssss….I may look like an adult, but really I am just a child in a large body.

Who knows.

One day at a time madaam.

One day at a time.

In the still.

It is in the still that the battle is won.

In the silence.

When I surrender and you take over.

That is where victory happens.

Not in my striving but in my surrender.

When I come.

I bow.

I humble.

I lay down my weapons.

Allowing stillness to crash into me.

That is when you go to battle.

You tire not.

You strive not.

You win when I relinquish.

Opening my hands and letting all go.

It is in the still.

You are.

Anxious soul, why do you fret?

Why do you toil and ponder?

Why do you produce doubt and worry?

Anxious thoughts, why do you run wild?

Why do you conjure up imaginations?

Why do you manufacture false realities?

On my own, anxiousness abounds.

Left to my on vices, worry dominates.

Holy Spirit! Be the blanket that snuffs this anxious unrest.

Engulf the flame of my imagination and breathe a new flame.

A flame of peace.

Soothe my anxious soul.

Tranquilize the destructive thought.

Speak truth into me.

Into your creation.

Truth of who You are.

Truth of what You are capable of.

No giant of my anxious imagination holds a candle to who You are.

You crush all foes.

You uproot all doubt.

You are.

You are.

You are everything that I need. Even that which I know not.


Before the need is made know.

You know because You are.

You are.


Here I am.

Here you are.

Where you have always been.

You are steady.

You never left.

It was I who wandered.

In my impatience.

In my weariness.

Rather than resting. Waiting.

I wander.

Light abides where you are.

Yet I wander.

Crushing insecurity draws me to drift.

Yet as I stray, they only become greater.

At your feet they silence. Muted in an instant.

Yet I wander.

Mocked by my internal soundtrack, overwhelmingly whispering defeat.

Invisible assailant smothering every breath.

Darkness encompasses the wandering.

Like a blind man in a foreign environment.

I stumble and seek. Darker and darker the further I drift.

The mocking like a immovable lyric.

Yet in this place.

Where you are steadfast.

All is perfect.

Peace reigns.

As I rest, you fill every empty part.

As I rest, you silence every deafening whisper.

You fill my lungs and at once, I am renewed.

Renewal comes in the resting.

All that was spinning mindlessly out of control is suspended.

All is resting.

No whispers.

No pressures.

No short comings.

All the demons of the wandering must surrender in the rest.

New Year.

Another year come

Another year gone

365 days, like a vapor.

Now faced with the what’s to come.

Sitting, waiting, reflectively wistful.

The past seems to be so long ago,

Yet the taste so fresh upon the tongue

Should we hope, should we wish?

Will we remain the same?

The dawn of a new year closely approaches,

Excitement customarily it’s companion

Brings new emotions as it’s plus one this year.

Not sure what to feel or what to hope

Cautious not to breathe too deep

The worlds actuality suddenly vividly beheld

Yet in all this

This I know

The Lord is with me

Happy New Year


Today, in a small backwoods town of rural Mississippi, I was reacquainted with the absolute. Finite. Unequivocal meaning of the season.

Today, it was in a moment of unexpectedness that I found myself again.

I have found that in this season of giving and getting, that it is the unexpected gifts, the unexpected moments that mean the most.

Stopped at an off the road propane fill station, I met a woman who touched my life more than she will ever know. As she filled our tanks, she also filled my heart. The kindness and warmth that poured from her revived my soul.

As she handed me fresh out of the oven muffins, wrapped preciously in a simple Christmas bag, the unexpectedness of her gift awakened something inside me.

Even if she wasn’t trying, she made me believe that coming out to help us on this frigid morning was what she had been waiting to do all day.

Even if she didn’t know, she enabled me to see a glimpse of Jesus, a glimpse of who He is and His love for me, in her simple action.

She was infectious, everything about her was utterly infectious.

In a year, that did everything it could to rob of joy, I, like many, was struggling to find it. The stress and debacle that was 2020 coming to a decrescendo with a frantic spending frenzy, coupled with expectations. Making it hard to see and easy to miss what is most important.

Yet in this single encounter, in this small act of kindness, joy came flooding back.

Much like the Grinch being stricken with the sudden beats of his growing heart, I felt the rush of the Father’s love flow through my veins.

This is what Christmas is.

It is the simple unexpected gifts. The simple unexpected laughter. The simple unexpected new friends. The simple unexpected kindness.

So, thank you, wonderful woman on highway 48 in Tylertown, Mississippi for the simple unexpectedness of our encounter today.

More than enough.

More than enough, this simple life we have weaved.

Stripping all that cluttered and bore heavy burden.

Weaving what remained.

The things we took for granted, what are in fact he backbone.

The things we once considered so priceless.

Cheap and flimsy.

What was so treasured, so coveted, actually the disease that had us so incapacitated.

Endless circles of mindless chatter for so long.

It took stripping it all away to see so clearly.

Clear as day now I see what truly is more than enough.