pillow talk

You’re not like the others. You’re not like the sand, shifting and eroding, ebbing and flowing as tide comes and leaves. or star—born, sparkle, implode. breath, comes, goes. there’s grace laced throughout Your royal robes and burning eyes, leaving no trace of former scars or lies. You love to forgive, You love to forget—You don’t count my mistakes, or look at my forsaken state of mind. but call me beloved, found, Yours… all along. this false reality—me me me—ice melting beneath, nowhere to go but sink, is taken in a blink. when You look at me.

and taken, I am. Your gaze undoing every corner and crevice of things I thought I knew. unraveled, a puddle of yarn and knelt knees. I can barely stand that You would look at me. this love, so intense. I feel like rowing away. yet I’m drawn ever sweetly, stayed. can’t make sense of this, don’t even wanna. i’m this beckoning fits my longing like a gloved hand. here we are, together. I never knew I missed You till we met. this Sun never stops shining. this Guide never stops giving. this God never stops pursuing. i can’t get away from You, why, why would i want to? nowhere else to go. even if I leave, You love.

You don’t leave. day 693, still. the same. unchanged. unmoved. like gazing at fire licking air on crisp night, I stare, at You. You don’t get old and You’re never boring. like Christmas morning or my wedding day, how can this elation stay? yet You elaborate, showing me more, then more, somehow more love. right here, so present. how do You be this way? so unlike all the other lovers, who left, never stayed. who left me hungry, wanting. chip bags full of empty, air. staring into vacant stands. reaching for green paper to buy another new, same disappointment. an island of misery. why did no one ever tell me I could be free, for free? given everything—You.

*this is an excerpt from my book, Microwave the Moon. i hope it blesses you! Available on Amazon: https://a.co/d/040vdod

liquid prayer

Closets of souvenirs—the trinkets we stuff the baggage we hide. Trashbags of teddies from ex’s, flesh chards from that internal forest fire in ’05, vial of the water coughed up from drowning, and our own urn. That’s what we hide. The ugly. The things we think if someone saw, they wouldn’t want us. Yet, that hidden scarlet letter is our passage point to the heart of God. To connect with the God of caring and kindness, let your wounds find air. Expose them to Him in open cries. Find the water in the weeping. As we let go—salty droplets, closets unhinged, downpours from drowning soul…He meets. He hears. He responds. He comes. He loves. He cries with you in rain. That flood of love waterfalling us in those heartbreaking soulaching screams… that flood of love overcomes. All the pain eclipsed by His love.

Those cries—the 911 of the soul—move the heart of God.

There’s some wounds only tears can find.