I’ve been grieved by the number of people I see online criticizing a fellow believer. Not for something unbiblical, but from their own opinion of conviction. Can this way of being truly build up the body (our body)?

Yes, the church is made to be His bride, pure and holy. We are meant to judge within her. But for this to occur, didn’t Jesus himself model that relationship is required to know and change hearts?

Merely saying my piece just feels like a dagger hidden beneath a white robe. Still the same sin of pride within me (wanting to be right), just disguised behind “His righteousness”.

So what do we do when we don’t know what to do?

We pray.

Prayer is the only way that softens my heart to who my log-blocked eye sees as Pharisaical (and if I’m honest, that person is often myself).

So here is a liturgy for any creative fearing to be seen because they will be perceived poorly. If you’re feeling discouraged to keep creating for Him because of fear of criticism, this is for you.

May your heart be softened to the Spirit of truth who leads us into all truth. (John 16:13)

• A question to sit with.

• A prayer, liturgy, or poem to remind you of God’s promises.

• A short reflection to help you notice what God might be doing in the ordinary.

You don’t need more inspiration, you just need space to see it all.

With love and holy wonder,

The news has a table. Noisy, always. Tense, mostly. True, seldomly.

Your algorithm has a table. It’s catered directly to you (how thoughtful!).

Your job has a table. Your friends have a table. Your desires have a table. Your fears have a table.

And all it takes is for you to pull up a chair and linger at just one… until it’s half past 10pm and where has the time gone?

We each sit somewhere— in our thoughts, attitudes, lives… a familiar place nourishing us with either food that satiates or quick bites that somehow make us more hungry.

Whose table are you sitting at?

A Liturgy For Before Scrolling

Oh God who prepares a table for me in the presence of my anxiety,
I sit with you.

Oh God who prepares a table for me in the presence of my fear,
I sit with you.

Oh God who prepares a table for me in the presence of my insecurity,
I sit with you.

Oh Lord who always offers sustenance when we complain in the unknown, when we sit with thousands seemingly unseen, when we couldn’t reach you on our own, I have wandered from your place for me. I have pulled my chair up to the clamouring noise and traded distraction and entertainment for your feast.

Would you open up the senses of my spirit to taste and see how good you are again?

You are not just a fleeting drink, but living water who can replenish every dry thought in my mind.

You are not just a fancy dish but daily bread who can constantly nourish my hungry heart.

May I refuse to believe what is seen is what satiates.

May I rest in the victory you’ve given me, this safe dwelling place, even when circumstances beckon me to lose faith.

Because you did not turn from the cup, oh Jesus, I can remain at this table and witness a cup overflowing, a life of abundance without dread of scarcity.

By your grace, not my works,
I sit with you.

By your provision, not my striving,
I sit with you.

Fill me with gratitude for this everlasting banquet today.

Amen

Scripture

He prepares a table for you in the presence of your enemies. (PSALM 23:5)

PSALM 23, EXODUS 16, MATTHEW 14:13-21, PSALM 34:8, MATTHEW 26:39, JOHN 4:14

with love and holy wonder,

These weekly liturgies + poems will be available in the future to my paid subscribers. Become one and I’ll send you a pause every week for sowing into your creative life:

• A question to sit with.

• A prayer, liturgy, or poem to remind you of God’s promises.

• A short reflection to help you notice what God might be doing in the ordinary.

You don’t need more inspiration, you just need space to see it all.

Subscribe now

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p.s. i read this liturgy for you here :)

2/13 Update - preorders are closed! The book is now available on Amazon here.

I couldn’t help but start this celebratory announcement with this collage of archives from ages 5-7 (thanks for sending, Mom).

Little girl Katie was already dreaming of words and books with her freshly sharpened pencils timidly tucked into her bright red school box. A dream she held close to her chest for quite some time…

My dear readers, you are now a part in making this dream come true. Thank you, thank you!!

Letters from the Shore is…

words for the weary to help them see wonder afresh.

a companion for the dreamer to sit with as they faithfully become.

hope for the hesitant to hold close as they venture into unknowns.

Below are two ways to preorder before it is officially launched in early March (please read the fine print carefully). Preorders will close February 5th.

What you will receive with your preorder:

• One signed copy of the book

• A small artful thank-you surprise tucked in her pages

• A book not printed by Amazon (haha… but still grateful for you, Amazon)

LAUNCH PARTY PICK-UP

SHIPPED TO YOU

I hope these words can rest ready on your night stand and near your heart for those moments you need a friend to help sort through all the noise.

Most of all, I pray that by these words you are inspired to contemplate and take strides in your own journey of big-hearted dreams with our loving Creator.

Thank you for being my most dedicated supporters here. You will get the MOST insider scoop (and once my brain can think clearer after March, some perks down the line…)

Art is kept alive by it’s cherished beholders.

with love and holy wonder,

Subscribe now

The abundant amount of whimsical doors along the cobblestone streets of Lisbon and Paris flood me with awe. Upon any turn you take, there seems to lie an option of adventure— a new beauty waiting for eyes to behold… and maybe even knock.

Yet en route back home after our trip last fall, my sense of wonder came down with the plane’s decent.

Below is a poem I wrote about the tension of truth and mystery of wonder.

How at times, embodied truth only makes sense in that subliminal space opposed to the concrete. Those miraculous paradoxes that somehow hold the greatest surprises within their wild way. Much like the ancient way of this season of advent we find ourselves in.

The eternal born to finite flesh.

The most high King of heaven brought low to our humble home.

The great I Am fashioned to a name beaten and misconstrued.

It is here amidst the tension (rather than in the seemingly close yet forever unattainable life apart from it) that I’ve seen God’s light go beyond momentary festive glimmer, His voice beyond casual party chatter to lovingly mend what is hidden in the deep. To surprise me with unexpected doors that open to daily wonder rather than the hidden alleys of insecurity, apathy and self-pity.

Doors that open to childlike awe even upon engaging in this broken world.

Doors that open wide to lovingly direct conversation after an offhand comment rather than closing tight to offense.

Doors that open to story, purposeful and authentic, in which our perceived weaknesses are exactly where strength meets us.

So where we once walked aimless, we may choose to walk with Jesus instead. Not as a band-aid to our scraped knees from the journey, but as the redemptive Healer who is in the business of transforming hearts by His holy presence.

Immanuel: the well in the wilderness, the blossom in the desert— both truth and mystery, a door made forever open wide to all who will believe.

Surprised by Cellar Doors

They say I’m not a career woman
because to me that ladder
appears to lean insecure,
so how could it not be true?
But I write everyday like words are a currency.

They say now is the best time
to become a mother
because no other work measures up,
so how could it not be true?
But each day I am still guided toward
garden-like creation unshakably for me.

They say ‘you live the most exciting life’
because we often make our way
to distant shores,
so how could it not be true?
But I wake up most days as one who stays,
slow mornings in the secret place.

These words I love so dearly:
are they boxes or cellar doors?

Hastily named in permanent pen and
cast into attic taped tight or
a passageway to unknowns,
curiosity essential
to each step of exploration.

Dictionaries make great home to definitions,
bodies great home to breath.

This constant beating of life
I have come to know as becoming.
Clothed in skin
maybe
covered in stamps
they choose to stick on
out of ease.

A name rings flat without flesh.

When is the last time
you let surprise stand eagerly
by your listening ears?

When is the last time
you welcomed story to linger
without waving conclusion to come in?

To know intimacy well
is to believe mystery as essential.

And with tender hands
hold dear
all that is brought
to
the
light.

With love and holy wonder,

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Thank you to the door held open.
Thank you hot latte in hand.
Thank you for the kind words.

Yet often my thank you is led astray when I don’t get what I immediately desire.

How do we stay grateful amidst our pain without suppressing its palpable sting?

Here are some poems I wrote while reminiscing… Words of paradox and encouragement for you or to share with those you love that are not walking in a season of celebration.

Because the thing is,

thanksgiving

is

a

heart

posture.

A choice of who or what we give praise to, for we will always be giving it to something. Not a dismissal of feelings, yet a freedom cry to not be captive to them.

For even when my circumstances are altogether favorable, the brokenness still remains— a reminder of my constant need for a hope more lasting than what this world has to offer.

A reminder that to this hope, I can pour out my heart in tears toward the unknown while still offering my thank you that trusts He is good.

with love and holy wonder,

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A momentum hits strong and pure and we get in the boat, creating our sensitive hearts out. There is an outpouring of words or filled canvases, our calling crisp on the wind, almost tangible with purpose and inspiration.

Then eventually, our head lifts with longing to bring others into this treasured world. So we step out of the boat. And if you’re anything like me, you take a few steps on the water…

first few footfalls strong and sure…

and then…

sink.

This is often where I end up after a few months of preserving obedience. After a distracted day of too much time on social media, I hit a moment where it seems like there isn’t a point to keep going… regardless of having seen God’s faithfulness countless times.

I am the Israelite in the wilderness, always wanting more than the daily manna provided.

Long-time friends know– I’ve had my fair share of stints in the arena of artistic endeavors. Painting, drawing, book reviews… There are too many past Instagrams to count at this point.

The common theme that runs through each time I’ve quit is this:
My sowing was in the flesh so my act of creating was not rooted in faith.

There was no cornerstone but self-gratification, and this crumbled with the slightest burst of wind…

Here is a poem I’ve felt in my core countless times (and know I will again). A spoken word for the ones putting themselves out there vulnerably, as artist or in the great other many ways of life we leap into…

This artful piece is meant to be listened to, so please watch it here.

I am an awed witness to the beautiful ways God transforms and redeems when we lay down our everyday anxieties and offer up our weakness. He is teaching me that all I can do is everything in faith. He alone is in charge of the outcomes.

Is this what it means to sow in the Spirit?

To live out a gritty faith, active in every moment of our day, uncertainty the dirt we must let touch our skin?

There is no question that this kind of being must be rooted in something deeply true. Something that you decide irrevocably in your core to be the most real thing.

A rock, fortress, hiding place.

To live a ‘do it all in faith’ life, we must believe the past and future promises of our faithful God. My most uttered prayer of late: Lord, I believe, help my unbelief. (Mark 9:24)

When all flows from this place of communion, trivialities find their place trampled in the dust. The fears of man, not being enough, feeling misunderstood– still all battles to fight, but we will begin to see our access to the weapons that prune off branches that lost their way of abiding.

In my current call to writing, I have not had huge visible success. Yet here lies the paradox: this is one of the most invisibly beautiful growing seasons I’ve ever lived.

I am closer now than I’ve ever been to knowing what I love and don’t love to do.

I don’t feel like I’m wearing layers of masks– alone or with others.

I am creating from a place with God.

So I read back each time I’ve put myself out there as a chapter of bravery rather than failure. I’ve tried enough to begin to see what sets my heart ablaze with the focus that only God-given purpose can.

Will we choose to define success as being deeply formed or shallowly liked?

When the Holy Spirit is doing a unique work in us and we’re absorbed in it— it becomes harder to compare our life with someone else’s because the richness of abiding becomes our reality.

This is the home I want to live in as I continue to venture into all my unknowns. Imperfectly, but held by grace and the spurring of one another on.

Faith is not confidence in what is seen, but unseen.

There are the measurable unseens of future circumstance: influence, money, fame, etc. I pray that together we would not waste our life’s dreams on such small pursuits... For although these can be great gifts used for His glory, they make a cheap substitute for the real riches we were made for.

Instead I pray that God would shape our vision of the unseen into a more expansive faith…

Faith urgent with the satiating hope of the homeland to come.

Faith believing daily manna will be provided.

Faith thinking like the work we do here on earth inherently matters.

Faith trusting that when we step out of the boat, He is there with us—
and by fixing our eyes on His eternal presence we will never sink.

with love and holy wonder,

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They are alive, they outlive, they bring life, they bring death.

In the beginning was the…

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light…

Words wield power.

Yet most days I treat them as a common necessity rather than the vitalizing vessels they were shown us to be… Do we give words much thought in our everyday?

What is it about words that, for better or worse, stick to us so effortlessly?

The old playground mantra on sticks and stones doesn’t age well over time. As we move through life we find the words spoken over us as children shape how we view what we are capable of. Both the sweet honey of a second grade teacher and the bitter bite of an offhand comment from a roommate.

It’s an inescapable aspect of doing life as humans…

“Poetry, says Marie Howe, hurts a little going in. It soothes and deepens and hurts a little all at the same time. ” (Becoming Wise, Krista Tippett)

I believe this to be true because poetry tends to hold great honesty. The personal and universal stirred intentionally into language to prepare a great feast of words to savor.

Poetry is potent.
Each word matters in its beautifully succinct way of being.

Can we make poetry of the words of our everyday?

To animate and invigorate them to stand with significance as they leave the tongue...

I’ve been reading about language for the past month– speech, words, linguistics. It’s probably obvious but when we speak, the windpipe and the lungs are quite involved. Our words inhabit the world as sound in a breath out— from the organ that supplies oxygen to our blood.

I think it’s beautiful that God created our primary way of connection to be through breathing– that act which keeps us alive.

When we don’t hold the power of words responsibly, I believe we become less free. The way we connect with ourselves and others is watered down, a richness is lost. The very thing God gave us to powerfully be in the world together becomes inconsistent.

Yet to hold our word with integrity, mustn’t we have faith in what we say to be true? If not, it falls hollow on ours and others ears. The root of much anxiety: when our being misaligns with our outward portrayal to others.

What does your word mean?
Do you believe it is powerful, weak, purpose-filled, empty?
What could your word mean?

We say we love a friend, yet what does this actively require of us? Love gives grace. It chooses sacrifice, seeks to encourage and says the honest life-enriching truth over flattery. To pass out the word carelessly cheapens its richness and integrity for the real thing. How does our professed love tend to actually appear in reality?

“I will not dare to call You Lord
If I don’t mean it”
Tiffany Hudson, Obey

This beautiful song led me to another example… We sing claiming that God is the Lord of our life. Is this proclamation in alignment with how we live day to day? What does this say to others about God when we live inconsistently with our praise? What does it say to God? I say this not to shame (for my own conviction burns), but to bring our eyes to see that words aren’t cheap trinkets... They are alive and active– amongst us and others.

“The tongue of the wise brings healing,” but rash words are like a “thrust of a sword” (Proverbs 12:18).

Proverbs contains over 100 more verses referencing speech and the tongue— the most emphasized theme in the book. All of them regard wisdom being present when there is discernment over how we choose to speak.

Allowing the Holy Spirit to work out this question in my own life has sown seeds of purpose and perspective. I began first by looking at the things I said to myself… are they truth rooted in how I want to belong here? Then at how I tended to respond to others. What I saw here was that I was often hurriedly reactive rather than intentionally proactive with my responses.

And the only way to be proactive is to create space for it.

Rather than my words coming from the place of truth I deeply knew, they conformed to the noise I consistently heard more frequently. I could see the way I was allowing my life to be dictated by unintended voices rather than the One who speaks truth.

I saw my word as hesitant.

I was not decided on my purpose, so how could my words flow any differently?

The way John uses “Word” in the book of John and Revelation is λόγος (logos).
This word had a variety of meanings: word, speech, account, reason, principle, or ordering logic of the universe. Scholars believe that John’s word choice also pulled from the Hebrew word dābār, used throughout the Old Testament, meaning, word, speech, matter, thing, event.

There is much mystery and wonder in these passages, yet what I see currently is that both in the very beginning and when God embodied flesh, He chose to directly show us the creative power of what we speak.

Is it possible that how we shape our lens of words as precious, life-giving vessels in the everyday will further bring to our reality scripture as alive and active? I have often found that the divine encounters I desire are already occurring all around, merely waiting for me to arise to their beauty.

I write part of this from the rooftops of Istanbul, bustling foot traffic below by balcony flowing with words from unfamiliar languages and foreign tongues.

Traveling reminds me how impactful one right word can be amongst a sea of many— water, toilet, thank you… A willingness to hear and understand can save a parched being or a husband in desperate need of the restroom…

Yet often amongst those I am most familiar with, I diminish the impact that each of my words can hold, their power lost on me replaced by the custom forms of language we have regarded as our norm. Not all bad— ‘how’s the weather’ or ‘how are you’ have at times led into lively small talk I’m sure for all— yet I suspect we leave rich opportunity at the table in our neglect to look at the feast already prepared.

The most impactful way I’ve created space for God to transform this in me is simply this: to ask and to seek.

The asking– “God give me the grace to realize the impact of the noise around me. Guide me to that which is pleasing to you. Help me desire to know the truth of your word more.”

The seeking– Engaging in getting rid of noise and replacing it with beauty.

This can look different for each of us. For me, it was a long break from social media for a season and not continuing to read media and books that weren’t poignantly life-giving. I decidedly filled this time and space with worship, writing and conscious consumption. By no means have I done this perfectly, yet within the flawed effort, God’s grace has sustained me towards a transformed becoming.

“Grace is not opposed to effort, grace is opposed to earning.” Dallas Willard

We notice the fruit of the Spirit ripening as we sow in the Spirit. It is God’s transformative work yet our abiding yes.

This I know (and maybe tell you too often…): what we consume we become.
In regards to words– this can be counted on.

To have our word be vitalizing, we must take in the same. We must familiarize ourselves with truth, and regard it holy (praying along the way that God gives us a greater appetite for holiness). We must recognize the seemingly small daily happenings for our attention as battles taking place, already won, yet in need of the victory to be claimed, the authority to be practiced.

An active asking and seeking in partnership with our advocate– the Spirit of truth (John 14:15-18).

I want to contribute words to all I encounter—

rooted in power,

saturated in love.

Not merely crumbs dropped carelessly, but a feast offered with intention.

with love and holy wonder,

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If there is ever a universal time for reflection, is it not autumn?

ablaze -
1: being on fire
2: radiant with light or emotion

Both a burning and an illumination.

When I asked you all on my instagram last week what your one-word for fall would be… paradoxes abounded.

Cozy / crisp…
Resplendent and whimsy / vanitas and change…

And isn’t it usually in paradox that the most truth lies?

This poem is my prayer for the season: that this time would be one of ignited refinement to lead us more toward people of love that multiplies.

I hope that as you gaze at the vivid fall leaves and read these words— they remind you of past seasons of God’s faithfulness and encourage you to remain in Him amongst whatever steps of obedience He is leading you in.

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Ablaze (Autumn’s final breath)

There is the crisp of air awakening
afresh after its
lengthy days of light.

There is the yellow confetti
this delicate marker of departure
crunching with each footfall.

There is the fluttering whisper
amidst the rising sun—
this golden touch
such

like

a

kiss

I am giddy.

And even as these
veined wings fly no more
there is a familiar ring
to this life let go—
an unspoken truth
I have come to know.

To be intimate with eternal comes at a cost.

To die each season with hope
we bring vibrant glory on high
like our petaled friends.

Maybe here is why
God chose the most brilliant hue
for a final breath.

Maybe here is when
we were always made to be
shook back toward surrender.

An abiding that shares its vibrancy
believing more will grow.

This faith in the
tender breaking of things—
a gritty seed we will soon get to sow.

with love and holy wonder,

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I set this stage purposefully

so you know I come honestly from the middle,

not arrival or rose-colored hindsight.

This is where I am.

There always tends to be one (ok maybe more…) instance on a trip that I find myself in a funk. I’ve been tracing the thread and have begun to unravel its winding…

I perpetually tend to want to maximize– my day, my life, my vacation (your reminder that the heart of my pieces on rest were as much for me as anyone, as all my writing hopes to be). Where I have found my maximalist mindset to run rampant is in the steep highs and lows of expectations and reality– specifically in travel. The newness of a landscape in which I know nothing of, all undiscovered terrain ripe to be explored.

It’s here the question never satisfied begins: What is the most I can do in the short time I have to get the best out of this experience? (upon naming it and writing specific words out, they are frighteningly harsh). Yet it seems a practical perspective to me as I look at traveling to places halfway around the world, spending money and the gift of precious time... So what is it here that is lacking? How could I be somewhere so beautiful and my senses still hunger for more? (and then often comes the guilty thought of, why am I not enjoying myself more when this is such a privilege?)

“Why do you want to follow someone else’s itinerary when this is our trip?”

Alas, the great question of the hour. What my wise and loving husband who never takes me too seriously (thankfully) reminded me through this inquiry is this– let’s make this ours.

There is much truth to be found in the heat of friction if we choose to look, rather than disregard it as merely ‘how it is’, our ugly sparks.

We all know that the ease in which social media has brought visibility into the lives of others has brought us both beauty and burden.

The beauty: I can find endless information on all the best to see, eat and do in Istanbul.

The burden: I can find endless information on all the best to see, eat and do in Istanbul.

Take this beauty/burden and apply it to any subject. The reality I found subtle yet glaring in its clarity was that how I approach travel is how I typically approach all of life– in its own pressure-cooked way. I look for how I’m supposed to live and be amongst the screenshots around me instead of remaining attune to the rich image within me.

The voice of truth.

Both whisper and fire.

Adonai.

We set expectations through what we chose to look at, whether realizing it or not. Yet my favorite moments of the trip have been the unexpected ones: befriending and praying with the grad student Paula at church, holding hands with my husband on our walks to-and-from while humming made up tunes, bathing on the ancient marble of the hammam, and accidentally taking the long way at the local run club only to find a language barrier the key to making new friends.

No itinerary could have told me this.

Others do the best they can from where they are, but no one is here, me, being.

We each speak from our own experience, or that which has been passed from hand to hand (or reel to reel…). I don’t think getting rid of all suggestions is the way to go (sharing can help us discover beauty we hadn’t realized before), but I think we must consciously choose to first have eyes to see a bigger picture than just the plentitude of zoomed-in shots of others.

A wake-up call to the path of our life.

A let’s make this ours acumen.

An expectation set on what God could do with our specific, gifted day.

Those who sow in the flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction. Those who sow in the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life. Galations 6:8

Although from the outside I’ve often been labeled as peaceful or laid-back, this quality is a learned one, in more ways than one. From an early age, I learned that easygoing equaled likeable. So I adapted.

Here came my masquerade of peace only later seen in hindsight as suppression. A constant sweeping under the rug to please others. The true face of peace discovered only upon taking off this mask to lay at the feet of another…

And by His grace, I’m being transformed.

Peace is a fruit— not a seed, stem or branch. It becomes in us through abiding. It grows through strong roots– in truth and a surrender to what the One who knows us deeply may have for us if we take the time to listen and obey.

To open all up to be touched by the powerful hands of the Creator of it all– it is on this ground alone I am able to surrender my anxious thoughts and find real peace in each step. (Note: I mean this quite literally lately… I have been practicing naming my restless thoughts and physically laying them at Jesus’s feet)

A great plan ready yet an attitude of humble eagerness to partner with God and those beside us to make it ours His.

“Grace is not opposed to effort, it is opposed to earning. Earning is an attitude. Effort is an action.” Dallas Willard, The Great Omission

Past trips I was truly someone else– maybe not obvious to others, yet to myself, I hardly recognize her. Motives of being perceived or recreating an exact replica of a moment I only saw a glittering photo of…

There is more authentic joy now. This is what truth brings– a lens.

I want to carry communion everywhere.

I want to create our own moments, unique to where Abba calls us, even here in Cappadocia.

Moments of inspiration…
Moments of rest…
Moments of conversation…

What beauty is waiting to be revealed?
What attitude will I carry to see it?
What new words will I find here amongst the ancient rocks?

It is here that the gap of expectation vs reality can begin to be redefined as we learn to have eyes for Him in our everyday lives and have faith that He will show up.

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. Psalm 139:23-24

The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand. Psalm 37:23-24

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Here’s a glimpse more of our trip… meant to be viewed like a scrapbook now that you’ve heard some of the story.

with love and holy wonder,

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We are not immune to the flurry of words let out at the tidied kitchen table after dinner and dusk is long past. We know conflict well, though not greeting him as friend or foe. We are most people’s proven theory of ‘opposites attract’.

So to say our love is easy is not meant to be a dismissal of reality. It is very authentically how I tend to feel— but I want to clarify that this is not from some hidden source of knowledge only available to a select few .

The ease we know is not sustained from our love but from knowing another’s.

His name is Jesus— our strength and our joy.

Beyond this, there is much mystery that I cannot explain. All I know for sure is that love must begin/abide/end with Him.

And of course, poems tend to always address enigma best...

When I say our love is easy,
what I really mean is…

Hallelujahs
are not shy in the halls
but join the chorus of
everyday holy,
brick by brick
to build a home.

Ivory sheets of grace
cover us
morning and midnight
after all our
bowed
bodies
do
is choose everlasting rest.

We run from the cave
of resentment to seek
broader hills:
the spacious place of
green pastures and
a prepared table
where only the presence of truth
can claim ground
and fill cups.

We hold tears from the night
tenderly to the light
with faith,
even there,
firm hands touch.

Laughter bends battles.
Embrace wins the war.
Freedom found—
palms up to sunset sky.

So when I say our love is easy,
what I mean is...

heaven’s gifted our why.

with love and holy wonder,

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There was a time I gave little thought to who I was becoming.

This poem was written in the beginning of a decision I made to arise— to my life, my future, the inner who that I longed to be whom rested somewhere in the deep soil work ready to be tended.

A simple poem of reminder—

What we notice, chose (or don’t chose) and spend our time contemplating is who we will become.

Communion awaits us,

here and now.

I Want To Linger Wildly In Communion

If behind the great oaks
glittering lace leaves
there lies a secret,
I want to befriend its burly body.

If between the bee and bud
a poem unfolds
at the desk of springtime air,
I want to lie in its literature.

If within the shape of shadows
there is speech
with the brightest of days,
I want to ask questions of hope.

I want to linger wildly in communion

and

name

each

moment

prayer.

Hushed or thundered

hungry 

for 

holy

a child at play in this

deep breath air.

With love and holy wonder,

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p.s. for my more robust exploration on our daily becoming, look here.

Once upon a time, I found myself clicking on the Partiful app with a mounting sense of dread…

This probably sounds comical to most of you (and yes, it might be slightly dramatic to get the point across) but to those of you who understand, this inquiry into invitations is for you.

To be frank, I’m writing this for me (as I always tend to write).

For the me restless on our living room bench lacing up my sneakers wondering why I am ‘investing so much in community’ yet feeling so burnt out… For the me desperately wanting to commit to plans yet feeling that creeping sense of hesitancy… For the me that knows there is a unique calling on my life that requires time and space to step into, and simply cannot step into it because I am constantly distracted…

I am writing this for the me (and you) who longs to live with purpose.

Invitations are a gift.

To be thought of and asked to participate in a gathering is a blessing I want to continue to hold in high regard. Yet like anything, when we unquestioningly start following the perceived norm of how things are done, we can miss out on the greater purpose that we genuinely seek.

What is the purpose we seek in showing up to a gathering? I realized for myself, I don’t typically take the time to define this, both overall and case by case. It is here where I believe we can begin to unravel the forms we’ve come to know as conventional to step into a new atmosphere of holiness...

In my experience, so many of us are questioning if we are doing it all right. Not on a moral scale necessarily, but on the scale of life-giving potential versus wasted time. This is a scale I have weighed heavily on my days of overthinking.

Should I go or not go?

Who will be there?

Will it be worth it?

Will anyone care?

Not at all bad questions. But are they the right ones to use as a foundation?

These questions all focus on the same thing— the setting details.
What if instead, we began to make decisions based on the main plot of the story?

I have directly experienced that it is how we show up holistically (spirit, soul and body) to each gathering that determines the integrity of our social lives. This translates to a plethora of internal symptoms that manifest in the health of our being, (when our doing aligns with our being) or its sickness of insecurity, restlessness, loneliness or straight up burnout (when all we are doing does not align with our being).

So then, what is the main plot? The great question we must each wrestle with…

Although I do not claim to have all the answers to this expansive question, as always I love to start asking and seeing where they lead— both in the quiet and amongst my community. For once we start seeking with eyes open to the kingdom, God reveals His character in freshly ancient ways.

Often I find my actions aimless with nothing but good intentions as their roots. And the reality of a Spirit-filled heart is that we will deeply long to be led by the God we are in awe of. In light of this, here is a somewhat practical progression of 3 questions (my poetry loving self won’t let me get too applied) that I’ve started to ask myself before I commit to an addition to the calendar.

There is generous wisdom in sitting in the vivid flowers and weeds of how we each uniquely chose to spend our time—for we never know how much of this precious commodity we will be gifted.

1. Does the gathering align with your current calling?

Jesus was interruptible but not aimless. He gathered crowds and he went off to quiet places— knowing who He was in every situation. We see that he lived with an incredible sense of focus, both inwardly in whose he was and outwardly on what this meant for his actions. He then gave us a mission to be focused on too… (Matthew 28:18-20)

We see this same focus in the Father as he worked 6 days creating and then rested the 7th. There was intention here. We know that our God was not burnt out or tired from his creating. His rest was not an accident. This thus means that his rest was an act of delight, a step back from all His grand doing, from all he had created, to find pleasure in it.

“Burnout” for me always happens when I’m doing a lot of good things, but not THE thing God is uniquely calling me to do (that thing no one else can tell me is “right”). To answer this question, I truly believe we must sit in a spacious place and ask. To learn how to fill the space we’ve been gifted, we must first be willing to surrender it— less we risk running headfirst into the tyranny of the urgent and are left aimlessly confused.

“The soul is like a wild animal—tough, resilient, savvy, self-sufficient and yet exceedingly shy. If we want to see a wild animal, the last thing we should do is to go crashing through the woods, shouting for the creature to come out. But if we are willing to walk quietly into the woods and sit silently for an hour or two at the base of a tree, the creature we are waiting for may well emerge, and out of the corner of an eye we will catch a glimpse of the precious wildness we seek.”

Parker Palmer

2. How will you be able to show up to the gathering?

After the overarching alignment question, I try to thoughtfully consider if I have the capacity to participate. I think we all desperately want to be in the game yet we tend to blame others for putting us on the bench of burnout when it’s simply our own doing… An issue not with the outward constriction of time, but with the inward intentionality of presence.

Something again modeled in Jesus was that he always showed up present to his time with others. He was not haphazard or lukewarm. (I’m speculating, but I also doubt he ever wished he was somewhere else...) Again, like with his focus, this directly ties with him knowing who he was. In this instance, I see it having to do with his trust that his Father was good. He knew he was the son-with-whom-He-was-well-pleased, and this allowed him to truly believe that on this narrow road, God was lovingly directing him. Without the fear of missing out, He could show up and do the work God called him to do, with deep, peaceful, intentional presence.

A last note on this one: when I show up to something without truly choosing it, I disservice everyone involved including myself. The victim mentality of obligation is a slippery slope. It leads to the sad reality of not purposefully showing up for your one wild and precious life.

3. Are you living into politeness or purpose?

Keep in mind the humbling thought… if it’s a large group they most likely will not be offended if you show up or you don’t. There is room here for counter argument, but for small, intimate gatherings, I’ll text, call or send some sort of physical invitation. Yes, there are exceptions to this, but I speak to the instances that we beat ourselves up about and don’t need to. We cannot make everyone understand what God is calling us to do… nor do we need to. There is a beautifully, crisp air freedom in living intimately with God in making decisions with purpose.

We are not loving biblically by showing up, accepting and inviting everyone to everything. Jesus did not invite everyone over to dinner at once. Jesus asked specific people to specific moments. He appeared to the masses and retreated. He had his 12 and 3. His way shows, we can invite, exclude, and say yes & no with generosity and kindness (though it may not deny awkwardness at times as we practice this in a world that does not always do this tenderly). Truth and grace are not always tied up presentably by the ribbon of politeness. Unapologetically, they are what they are.

My final word is merely this….

do

not

quench

the

spirit.

Root yourself firmly and sow in His way, then watch and see all that unfolds…

With love and holy wonder,

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If rest were a friend
have I treated her well?
Do I open my door to her story to tell?

Or do I assume
because her companions are quiet and
hidden from view
there is less to the silence.

Is my yes to her yes
and my no to her no?
Do I welcome, make plans
give her space here to sow?

Great friendship takes faith in the unseen at work
like we see in the oak drawing strength from the dirt.

The undercurrents hold more sacred than the seen
a great kingdom ready for those who believe.

More often than not
its away from the noise
we can

be

still

and

know

the sound of true voice.

So let us not wait for rest
to come knock at the door.

Let us cherish her ways
as great faith into more.

With love and holy wonder,

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p.s. For a more robust intro into heart-engaging rest, find my exploration here.

It is to you, my dear readers that I humbly admit…
I have had a second cup of coffee at 3:30pm for the last two months. This is not typically my normal routine… but has become it (shout out Mango Tree and Corvus). Hence my most recent curiosity: what does rest look like in a season of abundant plans?

Every sun-out-till-nine July brings me both energy anew and a weekend-inked calendar. Filled with great measures of both work and play, it continuously seems to be summer where my disciplines of rest hibernate for a season.

As someone who loves margin, slow living, and paper & pen (enough to center many of my articles on it) when life speeds up I can mentally shift into the perspective—

I’m not living how I should be…

I need to get back to how it was before…

This is wrong…

While I have come to dearly know wisdom’s voice that choosing how we spend our time is at many times just that— a choice, and thus our own doing; I have also acquainted the questions: What does this mean for all the seasons of unchosen chaotic circumstances that we each must face? Are these discredited from a certain atmosphere of holiness?

Times when work needs a bit more of our capacity, a friend is in a season of heavy struggle, and 3 of your people have birthdays within a span of 2 weeks… Times when the moments we do claim for quietness feel overwhelmed by a speedy brain attempting to slow down without space for any deeper practice.

Are these times made of less? Are these to merely disregard as “how it is” ?

I have found in my life the answers to those questions can be both yes and no… And where I am currently exploring is that the life-giving or draining essence of these seasons lies in where our awareness has built its home.

When my home is built on the foundation of my own desires, expectations, plans and ideals: these seasons are chaotic. I become drained. I am working and playing from my own ability, hence frustration sets in because I never can do enough or rest enough.

Contrarily, when my home rests on the abundance of mind and power available to me through the victory of Jesus and generosity of his Spirit— my awareness is shifted to greater realms…

Rest is a state of being, not merely another check-the-box action.

Thus I’m finding…

Rest

takes

great

faith.

Therefore, since the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us be careful that none of you be found to have fallen short of it. Hebrews 4:1

I do not believe that God does more in the quiet— his work range has no limits. Yet it is in the quiet spaces our presence sits still enough to notice all He is doing and has done. This space then builds from a specified time around us to a peace we carry within us. Silence and solitude bring us more awareness of the Holy Spirit in the wilderness of our interior being and the wildness of the world we walk in.

And I have found that there is no short cut to true rest.

To rest, we must stop; we must be still and know. We must put away all our well-meaning projects and cast our anxieties on the Lord. Only here will we come to know our beloved identity as inherently chosen without (often unintentionally on our end) mixing it with being based on all that we do (good or not good).

Yet the age old sentiment also remains— whenever an action eclipses the heart of the matter, hollowness rings. We remember that it was the religious Pharisees performance of righteous acts that was compared to an empty tomb. Because of this, I am learning how to both prioritize and hold time more open-handed. Rhythm over ritual. Dependence over confidence in my own plans. Allowing interruptions to take place in faith.

This understanding is entirely perspective based, yet it is always in the renewed mind that new breath comes to my low-pulsed life, not necessarily the attempts to change my actions (although this is often needed too). My day-to-day drastically shifts when an interruptible, Spirit-led, submission starts to be the blood that pumps through it. It is the aliveness in Christ that Paul describes in Romans 6.

So it is not time we must master: the perfect balanced schedule, flawless boundaries, a faultless routine… all things I’ve strived for. We actually do not have to master anything… Striving hasn’t ever been able to save us, only surrender can.

Abiding. Trusting. Seeking first the ever present kingdom of God.

Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you. (Psalm 116:7)

This psalm is one I come back to when circumstances are reaching to claim my peace. When I find my heart not desiring to return to rest, I know my faith is straying to works alone rather than dependent trust. The calendar is not usually to blame, my foundation is (Matthew 7:24-27).

Returning to rest…. A rest that is not mind-numbing but heart-engaging, soul-enlivening. The kind where we sit in the silent discomfort for awhile as the heavy, ill-fitting coats we’ve layered on are stripped off one by one… While we gaze and wonder at who God is and then put on our immaculately gifted new garments (Romans 13:11-14).

I truly believe that our love for God increases when our awareness of Him increases. It’s the nature of a softened heart that knows the gift of grace. This awareness is active— a seeking, an asking, a resting. It is a humble cry for God to then fill all our lack. To help open our eyes and expand our view of how his holiness touches time’s empty tomb and redemptively breathes life into its ticking walls.

More on deep-breath rest to come…

With love and wonder,

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I do not take lightly you sharing in this venture by reading my words. I hope it sparked wonder afresh in you. You are sowing into me by being here, thank you.

It stems from the question I’ve been asking myself lately— what am I filling my cup with, and what will I be drinking and serving in times to come because of it?

This old drawing of mine seemed to pair with it well. I hope it stirs wonder in you.

The empty cup greets me silently
in the early morning light
her round pocket longing to be filled
as the day’s dance begins—
dewed grass blowing in the wind,
distant voices beckoning to be let in.


Awakening too,
or merely in motion I move,
the choice not always observed 
by my hungry nature,
this inherently ravenous being. 


And boldly
the black coffee steams
like it tends to do.


And generously
the gushing water streams
like it tends to do.


And rapidly 
the red rogue runs dry 
like it tends to do.


And all was good.


Yet this good asks nothing

except 
maybe
in 
whisper

easily drowned 
as pour after pour
eliminates emptiness without lessening my lack.


Still the whisper resurrects.
Still the whisper stirs the wind,

loosening my strands of hair 
like it might know each one,
inviting the whole silently 
to come undone.


As curiosity begins to lift my head, 
my gaze follows pursuit.


And wildly
the weathered oaks dance
like they tend to do.


And lovingly
the lush lilies bloom
like they tend to do.


And faithfully
the firm vines flourish
like they tend to do.


So I set my empty cup
at these roots
only to find 
my fill already prepared for me,
satiated by the surrender
of another.


This expansiveness awoken upon beholding—
a kingdom of abundance,
a portion unceasing. 


And in His holy garden
my thirst finds rest. 

with love and wonder,

p.s. For more curiosity toward this question, part three of my inquiry into rhythm is waiting for you…

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I do not take lightly you sharing in this venture by reading my words. I hope it sparked wonder afresh in you. You are sowing into me by being here, thank you.

“What’s new with you?” — the question I get asked most often upon starting a conversation. And I do understand it’s root… what have I missed? Fill me in on the happenings of your life since we last met.

A portal to desired connection.

Yet I find in myself at times the need to come up with big answers. Oh yes, we took a trip last month… My sister’s baby came… My husband and I started a run club…

But sometimes I leave with the thought, did we miss it?

Did we miss connecting on the texture of everyday life that we all share in our own nuanced ways? This raw majority of our time that we truly need generous and courageous communal wisdom in.

Texture
noun

Dictionary definition

1. the feel, appearance, or consistency of a surface or substance.

My living definition

1. the daily detail that builds into a whole emergence of living

It’s in these moments that I find myself desiring better questions. A process requiring much aid and imagination, which I hope we can hold together...

I have spent the last few love letters exploring the act of wide-eyed paying attention— a way of being, starting with beholding and deepening with stillness. Yet from our way of being eventually must catalyze our acts of doing.

So here it is: the last question in part three of our curiosity into rhythm,

What are we filling our cup with and what will we be drinking and serving in times to come because of it?

In part, I mean what are all the drops of wonder, content, thoughts and conversation that make up the rituals of your day. (What would each moment of our day have to say? How do they speak to the greater story all around us? Yes, the specifics are important.)

Yet really I am more curious toward: what are the underlying truths or ideas you are believing that are informing these choices of action?

Are we choosing this dwelling place powerfully or allowing it to passively choose us? Is it merely convenient or worthy of our one wild and precious life?

We see the great ocean— its horizon and graciously sanded shore— and choose to live in some creative, purpose-fueled way in it’s midst, or we sit in its beauty: unable to clearly see because wave after wave breaks over us. Both hold a form of surrender.

We surrender to what we deem worthy or,
we surrender to what overwhelms us.

I have missed out on vital virtues of living if only the means to an end is performed… My beating human being heart, soul, consciousness, intention, depth… whichever language you want to use to carry the form, craves more.

We each have the capacity for the doing to come from somewhere great and transformative

From a well of overflow, a strength outside our own.

Yet this abundant living will not materialize magically (or at least never for me). There is great choice and thus responsibility to set the table for this presence to claim belonging in us. For how can we expect something greater to be our portion if we do not prepare a surrendered cup? The dregs of consumption, production or selfish ambition can be continuously sipped if we so will it. I have tasted and seen this way, but found no full life in its supply.

After many nights of confusing tears linked to a subtle burnout of energy put in places not becoming me, I chose to surrender my cup.

The reason I purposefully picked up my pen again is because of these drops of surrender I speak of. On examining my life, there were countless good things filling it to the brim. Yet instead of overflowing with love and purpose, what mostly spilled out was overwhelm when I had a moment to myself.

I was living supposed-to’s instead of spirit-filled. Clutching control instead of tending creative calling. And most of this was from ignoring wisdom’s quiet voice…

For too long I lived equating surrender to people-pleasing. Any invitation that came my way was an opportunity I was supposed to take— for I assumed this made me lovable and kind. Any enticing way I witnessed on social media was a direction I was supposed to claim for myself— for I assumed the most followed voices are the most worthy.

But assumptions are a sneaky prison… They limit the world we’ve subconsciously created to something so much smaller than it actually is, typically without are knowledge. Yet where assumptions lead to confinement, wisdom leads to freedom.

The formative truths I was asleep to:

1. I was not created to please people (Galatians 1:10) but to love people (John 13:34).

2. My yes without discernment is not always love (Philippians 1:9-11).

Surrendering to the fear of man can deceivingly look like surrender to God. The acts on paper may actually be the same. But in my experience, it is our own heart posture that befriends or betrays. If we fear man, we will constantly worry about how our actions will affect our image and capacity to be loved (pouring out anxious presence). If we fear God, we will constantly choose to seek first His kingdom and make plans from being held by love (pouring out peace-filled presence).

Our place of being while doing good things can be drastically different… and the one who created us uniquely deeply cares about our being— for all else flows from it.

The well that we fill from drastically affects the ways that flow out.

So here I am again, choosing this rhythm of emptiness to be made full.

For me this has required many no’s to open doors to more resounding (rather than reluctant) yes’s. Letting go of how I want to be perceived as an artist and surrendering to sharing the way God is uniquely shaping me has lightened my living as I leave all the weighty ‘shoulds’ at His feet. A daily unlearning.

God, I want more of you. Show me where you want my yes’s and no’s. I want to follow you…

And then I get to watch him be

my guide,

my provider,

my strength,

my song…

filling my cup and in this, the textures of my everyday.

The slow work of drinking truth and responding to it builds up muscle of genuine gratitude and wonder— all by His transformative grace. In our active choice to dwell on the beauty which satisfies, we begin to reclaim the abundance of life lived in replenishing communion with Him, where we belong.

What are we filling our cup with and what will we be drinking and serving in times to come because of it…

We close our inquiry on rhythm with this final question to open ourselves up to the subtle daily rhythms that do indeed monumentally shape us. When asked with open curiosity, I hope it can be a path to discovering and reimagining the underlying truths of our days that don’t often see the light.

A reminder to turn our consumption into communion.
An invitation for our rhythms to be deep encounters of becoming.

A parting practice:

Rather than giving you a list of acts of doing that have been filling my cup (because I fear that we all too often think imitating someone else will be the key to our redemption and I am hands-in-the-dirt sowing too), I want to show you some physical textures I’ve been noticing in my life, textures of my everyday. Taking these macro photos has made me pause a bit longer, look a bit closer at what is right in front of me.

If you want to join me in this prompting to aid in staying wide-eyed, behold and commune with our own beauty-filled life… please do.

The chat box is officially open and ready for your noticings.

holding space for you with love,

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I do not take lightly you sharing in this venture by reading my words. I hope it sparked wonder afresh in you. You are sowing into me by being here, thank you.

For awhile, each time I attempted to sit down and write for you here, my process had me stuck. There was nothing to say and everything to say. This left me frustratedly staring at an empty coffee cup and empty page…

Yet after a gentle, prayerful nudge, I realized what was stopping me was actually the same idea I wanted to write about.

Because in stillness,

depth

comes

to

surface.

My assumption of how a piece of writing ‘should’ look left little possibility for what God wanted to uniquely create with me.

So I find myself back at the start, or rather reacquainted with the way of writing I’ve been conversing with since age 16, in the midst of heartache and questions. Short rhythmic verse that somehow captures the essence of what my voice deeply longs to say— in formal language, poetry.

Poetry as an art form has been my home for so long that I am new at attempting to catalogue outside of this process. I don’t want to completely unwind the mystery of the language because I genuinely hope that the unresolved nature brings greater reflection in your own life.

I admit all of this to you in part as the groundwork of vulnerability I hope to always share, and also because through this directional push, I’ve been reminded of what I ultimately want to create here for us— space.

A space to sow— where words give way to questions that unwind the presuppositions we have allowed to become our normal form. Maybe even air to find some lived out means of answer if we sit in the garden long enough.

So here we are again, at the beginning.

In stillness, unwinding the heaviness we may blindly carry. So with this in mind, and a deep breath in, let us begin…

If behind the great oaks

glittering lace leaves

there lies a secret,

I want to befriend its burly body.

If between the bee and bud

a poem unfolds

at the desk of springtime air,

I want to lie in its literature.

If within the shape of shadows

there is speech

with the brightest of days,

I want to ask questions of hope.

I want to linger wildly in communion

and

name

each

moment

prayer.

Hushed or thundered

hungry for holy

a child at play

in this

deep

breath

air.

Lately I’ve been listening to jazz as I chop the sweet potatoes for our dinner. With great notes of trombone and ringing melody, this repetitive act is taken from merely surviving to a life playing out in a Wes Anderson movie (especially when it’s the French café playlist).

I’ve experienced this soundtrack syndrome on sunshine flooded drives with windows down, bouncy pop blasting on my speakers as well as on chilled winter walks with slow ballads keeping me company. The right song can almost always take me from a leisurely jog to an an energetic sprint.

Music sets the course of my actions powerfully. And life becomes intentionally richer when paired with a rhythm coming from outside my humble being...

In part one of this invitation into the daily dance, I introduced the idea of rhythm. Of how I’m learning to live in it and how my eyes are awakening to deeper life through beholding beauty— a catalyst for communion.

My curiosity has now taken me to the possibilities that open up for us when we choose this rhythm of communion, of conversing with the great Author of life as we live moment by moment.

So often I’ve conformed to cultures wave of what has been accepted as status quo. It is all too easy for me to grow numb to the familiar form of my day. In this way of being, the wonder ceases. The noise overpowers. There is little room for creativity within the confines of what we have presupposed to be ‘the way things are’.

Without first a pause, there can be no space for questions. And where there is no curiosity, we tend to miss out on possibility.

If these are the rhythms that are my becoming, are they the daily dances I want to make up my one precious life?

Although rhythm includes regimen or routine, it is not defined by it. Nor is it reliant on spontaneity. Rhythm both beats its drum to familiar repetition and cymbals unexpected crescendos, but these movements are secondary. They are the activity of instruments doing that arrive from the rhythms heart beat.

So then, to be in tune with an artful rhythm,
what we must first do is listen;
what we must first be is still.

And stillness lives in more habitats than we often believe it can…

I have found in bodies of stillness there is room for truth to speak more clearly. Of course, wisdom is whispering in every open field, business meeting or family dinner, but amongst deliberate, quiet seeking our ears are given the sheltered atmosphere to hear it.

Stillness offers space for deeper presence.

Because what are we default listening to without deep presence?

What is becoming our home passively if we are not actively engaged in building it?

I have come to know one song that rings with a truth that fuels— this rhythm of communion eternally available for our feasting. Its music does not begin with ritual or acts of doing (although they joyfully become a part of this dance), but rather commences with surrendered receiving.

The song from the great Maker himself that rings of our belovedness.

On opening ourselves to the one whose body became the poured out wine and broken bread, we open up to life irrevocably filled with nourishment. Jesus was emptied so we might be full of abundance, if we dare choose to be, in all acts of the daily dance—

the chopping of the sweet potatoes…

the rising early for another work out…

the drive to get the popped tire changed…

I have found no beauty deep enough to continually fill me but the source of love itself— holding me close and guiding me intimately. When I’m listening, I no longer have to worry that what I do is worthy because I rest in the worthiness of the one who penned my song. This frees me to have nothing to prove.

My rhythm is set. I am chosen and loved.
Movement thus can come with this tone set deeply in my inner core. And circumstance is revealed more rich because of it— this quiet, eternal conversation carried lightly everywhere I go.

We are all listening to something.

The not choosing whom, no sneaky alternative but a path of allowing whatever wants our attention each moment to claim it. Often for me, it is my own voice of limitation, assumption or apathy that holds my ears captive to discovering deeper presence. I must reawaken to the expansion of the discovery every morning through what I choose to set my eyes and consequently my mind on (this being the leading thought of part three of this inquiry, coming soon). If not, the noise subtly stifles the song.

I don’t want to listen to voices that limit, I want to listen to the only one that frees. The rituals then become rooted and the spontaneity becomes sacred, as I am starting to observe in my own way of being.

Our beholding finds an object of gaze that never loses beauty and is eternally available for conversing— a rhythm full of true purpose and wonder.

Fragments I’ve been beholding lately that shaped this inquiry:

holding space for you with love,

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I do not take lightly you sharing in this venture by reading my words. I hope it sparked wonder afresh in you. You are sowing into me by being here, thank you.

I’ve been fixated on one word for quite awhile, letting its definition make a home in both words and in living: rhythm.

The daily dance is my first written exploration into this artful way.

I have been making great space to ponder the mysterious question of why I do the things I do… This age old inquiry uncovering what feels like forced steps and what feels like a pirouette of momentum unique to my design.

Together, I hope we can discover layers often mistakenly worn out of assumed obligation that no longer fit. I hope that we can each choose garments of hope within the regular realities of our routines.

Listen are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?
Mary Oliver

Last summer the will-remain-unnamed platform bestowed her mysterious algorithm power on one of my videos and it got millions of eyes on it…

Now I’ve been off said platform for four months and my own eyes have not felt this wide awake in ages.

This is no bashing party or cue to throw in the towel— this is merely my own unraveling story of relearning how to see. The past held a version of me enraptured by the motion of the world around me and seeking to imitate the actions. All in hopes that my desires, often good at the seed, would eventually come to fruition.

The key dilemma in hindsight: I was blind to my thin definition of flourishing.

After said content gained traction, I was certain— this was my time. I had tirelessly worked to make beautiful things and now my moment to become the grandly possessed version of myself that I had always envisioned had arrived.

Visibly I was gaining. Invisibly, I could feel the slow spiral of shallow presence begin to take hold. The tension arose in the fact that while there were great growing questions being neglected at my center, it also felt somewhat easy to simply continue going on with my patterned days.

It wasn’t until my call to write began to beckon again after a trip to Europe, then fully blare it's trumpeted horns as winter ensued that a gentle inquiry began to unfold within the patterns of my pen—

If these are the rhythms that are my becoming, are they the daily dances I want to make up my one precious life?

The answer (whose words were my life) was scattered with yes’s and no’s. My longing heart was not content with this. I desperately wanted to live a life of resounding yes— not just in activity but deeply within my being.

My core.

My song.

My secret place.

So I began to take some honest inventory, not just of the what of my days but the whys and hows, holding each up to the soft ends of morning and night.

And the light here greeted me earnestly.
And the light transformed everything, like it tends to do.

You see, I had some essentials backwards.

If beautiful things are the end,
where does that leave me?
But if beauty is the invitation leading into a greater kingdom—
there is life to be found in the beholding.

I was making the beautiful to be noticed rather than noticing the beautiful to be made.

And this making of my being turned out to be the shelter I was after all along, the home that the Creator was and is generously architecting.

To behold thus became a catalyst for communion.

To purposefully pay attention: an open door for the equivalent of a candlelight dinner discussion to commence at my core.

It is within this conversation (in which all the senses can generously participate) that I’ve found my rhythm to life beginning to be restored. This often unspoken exchange that starts at the surface of things and, with constancy, slowly captures our notice until life again begins to reach the depth of our being.

There is no coincidence to me, there never is, that this happens in the relationships to our present realities— because isn’t it always in some form of loving, here & now intimacy that we are most transformed? The Maker of all things uses the nature of all things to draw us into daily dances with deliberate depth.

So it is here at the birth of this inquiry that I will leave us, for now, to ponder and pick up soon… Waving adieu with poem, of course.

There is a current amidst unseen
which sweeps along
that which buoys on haste

is
this
all
that
there
is

a pebble skipped—
the first rebellion.

I look left and mighty pines
pass me by and by.
I look right and delicate flowers
blur color in the quickening pace.

To
where
am
I
headed

I ask the shifting tide to no avail

when in my despair
I hear a whisper on the breeze
somewhat muffled
yet startlingly pure.

I shout and I cry and ask

what
could
it
be

though deep down
I know how to be sure.

First I sit up and the dripping
is cotton plucked out of my ears
already the voice is less quiet
an invitation ringing loud,
becoming clear.

The first step then wades hesitation
yet the movement has now begun
I shake in the cold of awareness
and it’s then that my eyes see the sun.

Shining near
shining far
shining bright
shining sure
singing purely
for all who will come

the rhythm has found me wanting

so
desperate
and
dancing,

I run.

Holding space for you with love,

P.S. The wild red filtered looking photos were shot on Harman Red 35mm, art play born from my husband’s beautifully adventurous mind.

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I do not take lightly you sharing in this venture by reading my words. I hope it sparked wonder afresh in you. You are sowing into me by being here, thank you.

Deep in the soil of my heart, I know my life was made to be in communal rhythm with God— the paramount artist, abundantly intimate love.

Yet this ‘life’ from the abstract to the practical is forever being fragmented into years, days, 9-5s and dinner dates. It’s Monday morning reluctance to get out of bed, runs at the park, a scandalously pink sunset and chopping the onions for dinner (again?).

So often I find it challenging to move through this life with deep-breath intentionality.

To accept the way culture tends to fill the calendar’s straight-lined boxes has always left me wanting. As I tried to keep up, the days I let life truly penetrate my soul (typically with lay-on-the-floor tears) I was left exhausted and unfulfilled. The hurried pace I let myself believe the world wanted for me was not sustainable nor aligned with the life I hoped to build.

Where does space for prolonged silence find its slot amongst the noise?
Can curiosity birthing creativity really compete with the beckoning phone notices?
Is there a way to live utterly connected to others while also making great room for aloneness?

If you feel any inkling of this rebellious rhythm planted within — welcome.

My hope is that we may sow, together.

I have found that although certain concrete things are beneficial to all vegetation— sunlight, water, air— the comprehensive acts of gardening are beautifully unique and dependent on countless factors. Therefore the work of caring for a seed of rhythm is no easy formula, no disciplined how-to.

With this in mind, this space is not meant to be a sermon or form of self-help. My hope is that these love-soaked words will serve as a well-soiled ground stirring us to sit, dig, water and nurture those hesitant seeds longing to see light.

As I prayerfully seek and knock on the doors of daily life opening to creative, holy wonder— my heart longs to share in this mystery with you.

So if it is unforced rhythm and rest you crave, I hope you’ll join me in the pursuit to cultivate this goodness. A Space to Sow… taking on various endeavors as a place for my budding writing practice and a wide open field for our beautiful questions. Let us scatter seeds together and live expectantly as the Creator of all things turns our offerings of contemplation into deeper rooted life.

Now to end with a poem (as you’ll soon find I often do…)

How easily I admire 
the tender petaled tree
brightly bursting blooms 
for my eager eyes to see.

And how the branches spring forth life
breath blowing with the wind
an undisputed glimpse 
of heaven’s chorus ushered in. 

Yet far my admiration runs
when now I hold a seed
small enough to be dismissed
still slumber's weight pauses me.

But whisper of a song unfolds
stirring gently the tap of my feet
until no longer can I sit
the dirt so rich underneath.

I know not if or when or how 
the sun will chose all I grow.
All I do know: bright blooms come and go
only sheltered with 
a 
space 
to 
sow.

with love & wonder,

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I do not take lightly you sharing in this venture by reading my words, thank you. If you know of anyone this may spark wonder for, please feel free to share.

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