A poem about a weekend with old and new friends at a spiritual formation conference in Wichita in 2024.

Art box, Airbnb hastily “cleaned,”

All will be well,

Books backlit in a window, books and more books,

Boundaries, bed bugs, belonging.

Cinnamon brooms,

Coffee in hand-sized cups with sippy lids, chaos-capable,

Reflection, scripture, and works of art for the first Sunday of Epiphany. Christ comes into our lives as light itself, without fanfare: quietly, unexpectedly, in weakness, right into our disarray. Light has come into our humanity, showing us a new way to be human.

An Advent poem.

How peace fits you!

How its ribbon of white

Garnishes your throat.

An Advent poem about light.

This poem reverberates of winters gone by, a mother’s memory of a fearless girl full of zest. Today she is an ever-changing beauty who teaches me about seizing life.

Here are 10 things that kept me from caving to creative burnout in 2021. Instead, I found sanity, and quite miraculously, ways to thrive, even in the midst of a pandemic and starting grad school.

A poem about reconnecting as close as a pandemic will allow:

Smiles, big eyes.

How the heck have you been?

Delight of recognition,

A triad, a row of connection, through three car windows

You were made for this. To take whatever is in your hands and make something. Also, I’m ANNOUNCING my new podcast!

I am an Easter disciple.

A beloved child of the King of the Universe.

I belong to an ancient people of new birth.

A meditation on John 14 :1-7

Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

There is a path I can sometimes see in early morns or closing nights

When suns exit and enter,