we heave boxes with a groan
in the cold
and the sun drips through the
while a pan of brownies chills through on the granite countertop
the world is still weary
as we slide back into it from rest
and discover that our skin is still flawed
in the cold waters of january
Continue reading “move & be still”
(learning to heal as you walk through, and waiting for small resurrections)
you grab my hands
fist over fist
even when it makes you wince
and we say we’re gonna make it
even though it’s harder than ever before
i read a post today
about how we curl around our hearts
out of fear
Continue reading “hope all things”
I’m getting married in 42 days.
The comments and squealing and questions have already been hilarious. “What?!” is the most common, especially at college. “Are you guys going to live together after you get married??” is my personal favorite to cackle at.
(Yes. The answer is yes.)
Continue reading “#SunchaserWedding”
baseball diamond stitching
traces up a puckered seam
on the inside of my right ankle
sewn and resewn: thicker and knotted along
three hand-measured inches as
twice stitched Augusts.
Continue reading “lived in & not yet”
My brothers and I
used to scrap all over our backyard
when we had tired of playing Lord of the Rings,
shoving and dodging blows
just short of fists –
rough and tumble,
box and be boxed
and rejoice in a bloodied nose.
But adults are wearier than children.
We laugh at hope
In the same way Sarah laughed
At the promise of a great nation
and a son.
Continue reading “knockback stardust”
We’ve been cleaning up the house, and we keep finding old, hand-drawn pictures and letters, so I looked up a couple of pictures on my phone.
I showed the pictures to my Mom, but she didn’t want to look at more than one. She just handed back my phone. So I curled my soul up around them, and looked at your smiling faces, and was glad you were at least still alive. At least one of you almost wasn’t (nobody told me, but I knew in my gut what had happened).
It still twists in my chest, some days. Fire is not just light – it burns and destroys too. So I go from beautiful moment and joy to hearing people’s brokenness, their darkest secrets that they pour out to me and I don’t know why, and I have to fight to lift up my hands and let go of my burdens. It feels like even the rocks cry out, groaning under so much shed blood and spirit. When my eyes get heavy, I have often forgotten the crucible of the story – that Christ died the deaths of thousands in one life, and that He carries my load. But this still feels like a thousand small deaths, even after so many years.
Continue reading “When Rocks Cry Out: A Letter”
i am a tower
drifting in and out
of the sun and sand
made up of so many small atoms
that shrink as the wave
of unwanting comes
Continue reading “Brittle”