An Advent poem about light.

The phrase “staying on the hurt line” is from a classmate's mom in a class I took at the beginning of summer: Art in a Time of Crisis. What does it mean to remain on the hurt line? Is it somewhere between joy and pain? Is it a bittersweet truth that life is both hard and beautiful? Yes, yes, and so much more.

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.

What's saving your life? From the fog, disillusionment, pain, uncertainty. What’s bringing you life, salvation, and hope? Someone asked that question in a small group I was in recently. For some it was mystery novels. For me, it was the Psalms and some sonnets.

In the tension of racial injustice and pandemic, it’s important to curate places of peace.

The kind that stills.

The kind that heals.

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

There's a woman in your life. She's the one behind the scenes. Mom or not, she needs to know she matters.

I asked one of my podcast interviews what he was learning about himself yesterday and he turned the tables on me, “What about you?”

Oh, me? I think I said something about living life more slowly. Yet the question sticks with me.

Let’s go deeper. What am I learning about myself? About how I operate in the world? About how I relate to others?

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.