Archive for ‘about God’

September 22, 2011


steady i am not
but sure of this
He holds me in His hands
and i am His

ready maybe so
to kiss my face
or whisper words He has
and bestow grace

favored yes i am
and so are you
chosen we are called
and get to choose

Love in all it’s splendor
doesn’t force
only presents itself
wanting to be yours

Maker of the stars
Son of man
Saviour of the world
Great I am

what choice does my heart have
but to Love
the one who formed my soul
and raised me up

September 12, 2011













a little perspective goes a long way
looking back
there was not
is not
a day without Love
He never left me
never will
in every hard heartbreaking moment
there He is
in every victory too
the quiet days
untouched by chaos or crisis
there He sat
and still He does
oh no
because here i am now
fallen in Love
with my whole life
and each step i’ve taken has led me here
call it predestination if you want
i call it Him working all things together for good
and grace

July 23, 2011


Here’s something silly I do: beat myself up about beating myself up. I’m terrible at cutting myself slack. And I totally get that having a little grace is pretty crucial, and still, I call myself an idiot when I don’t do it. And then I waste time feeling like an idiot and then I feel dumb for making myself feel like an idiot. It’s a super fun cycle. Also, it’s incredibly distracting.

If I’m wasting time in this cycle, there’s no way I’m going to have the energy to get to the root of the actual problem.  An issue has come up in the last few months that has totally thrown me for a loop- This Amazing Guy, my Amazing Friend’s hubs, he has become my friend. And for some reason that made me want to curl up in a ball and stare at the ground. And he is truly one of the greatest guys I’ve ever known, so curling up in a ball and staring at the ground made me feel- you guessed it- like an idiot.

In an effort to break out of the cycle I decided to try and explore the reason behind the freaking out. At first I only got as far as figuring out what I didn’t believe, even that was helpful though, working through the list of lies that I thought I might be thinking and checking off the ones that didn’t apply. I gave myself a little pat on the back and a break. And then I talked to Jesus about it, and before He helped me figure out the lie, He offered me a little grace. And I took it.

I’m not awesome at receiving grace (or love, really). (Working on it.) Fancy Nancy used to applaud me for being normal and it annoyed the crud out of me. “Please don’t congratulate my normalcy.” She was pretty insistent though, “Honey, you should not be normal. Your childhood, your marriage, should not have produced a normal person- and look at you! You’re doing so good!” Like my own personal grace dealer, she pushed kindness, affirmation and mercy on me every time I saw her, there was no refusing.  She taught me how to swallow the pill. And I learned to like it. It still isn’t my default though. (I really am working on it.)

Last week though, I went to Jesus and He offered me grace because I didn’t have any for myself, and I took it, stopped beating myself up for long enough to get to the root of the lie. And it. was. awesome. Maybe someday I’ll write about that whole process, but it’s way too dear to me right now.

I will say this- So much time was spent being anxious about being around this Amazing Guy and his Amazing Wife, and hunched over studying the floor when he was around, and then punishing myself for acting like a fool when I got home. So much energy was spent pushing through that anxiety and guilt to figure out what was wrong. And then so much grace, the best medicine I’ve ever swallowed, remedied the whole thing. And we had dinner last week, and grace gulped, and that lie disbelieved- I sat across from one of the best men I know, saw him and was seen, laughed, talked and sighed, and received buckets of knowledge, a hug, and loads of healing.

You guys- grace: Really good stuff. The best.

July 19, 2011

We Will All Be Changed

Paste at SXSW: [Video] Seryn :: Featured Videos.

“We can shape but can’t control these possibilities to grow
Weeds amongst the push and pull waiting on the wind to take us
We can write with ink and pen but we will sow with seeds instead
Starting with words we’ve said and we will all be changed”

July 18, 2011


i think i thought the first man i ever knew
wrote dark words all over me with his dark hands
and i think i thought that anyone with the right
(or wrong i guess) set of eyes could read me
i think i thought i was what he wrote
thought he, all of them, loved me, that was Love

funny thing to find out how wrong you are about
something you’ve held onto your whole life
funny when being right seems so important
but the thing you think you’re right about is a lie, is death
and finding out you’re wrong means Life

maybe it’s not funny at all
being wrong
but it makes you laugh nonetheless
to see all those words washed away
to be wrong about yourself

to be Loved
and Know it
and Write it
and Read it
have it Shown to you
and Said to you
to Hear it
and See it


July 12, 2011

Story: coming soon

You guys!! Have I got a story for you!! Sooooon. Promise. Until then I’m pulling my poetry stuff over here, because, seriously- who needs two blogs? Not me. I’ll be mixing in some old and new.  For now, here are two recent ones:


this forgiven girl
flesh bared
head bowed
heart scarred and forgotten
holds hands hides eyes
stifles words better brought
into light
out of dark
hiding has never gotten her
anywhere but hidden
and hidden never helped

this One she thought Him
just like the others
then He knelt
scribbled words
up her spine
she felt more than saw
and free like a bird
into light He did draw
her hungry soul
with hands in the dirt
and then on the ground
fell tears full of hurt
and then on the ground
right where He knelt
fell all the chains
once she had felt


long have i chased answers
longed for timeless truths
to tether me to ground unsteady

steadying though is that ground
and questions now
spill out of me and over me
and the grace that i am growing in allows it

the grace that He is showing me
becomes the answer

unwavering is His Truth
sure and steady is His grip
i am not lost or falling

not sure what to do but run
my feet my hands my eyes
let go of looking for anchors
and race instead towards sky

answers will not save me
questions will not bring me down
holding on so tight seems so unnecessary
when so much grace abounds

June 30, 2011


Sitting child’s pose on my floor last night and thinking- this is where my forehead belongs, resting, not pressed on this ground. I am tired and there is so much- and this curling, this stilling of my hands and feet, I need it.  And this, giving over, not up, this laying down, it is good.

Child’s pose because I am a child. I am His and He fathers well. Never has he forsaken me. Never have I placed myself at His feet and been abandoned.

And let me just say- everything is good. My life is good right now. But I am worn just the same. There are things to be done, even in the good times, that make escaping exhaustion impossible. But this tired, it is not only from working hard during good times. This tired? It is weariness of trying. My forever and ever, going and going figure-it-out-problem-solving mind is fatigued for sure.  My feet, they need a break from running; I am no sprinter and my lungs burn. And my hands most always holding something, they need unfolding.

And so here I am, or there I was- child on the floor. Not so much an involuntary collapse, (though I’ve had plenty of those), as a willful surrendering.

I am tired. He is able. The end. (Beginning?)

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us…” Eph. 3:20

June 21, 2011


(Went to bed and woke up with this in my head, just a little piece of the story God’s given me. Maybe not the most insightful, profound thing I’ve ever written, but indulge me please.)

Every morning I woke early, with the sun, and sat at that big round kitchen table in front of that grand window. And I pulled out the books. I opened them all with such intention, Bible, dictionary, thesaurus, my then new but already well loved and much highlighted copy of Abbas Child, her well loved, faded and worn copy of Practicing the Presence. And I studied and I prayed and I wrote and I cried and I sat and I watched and I listened. All in an effort to fix… everything.

Through my separation and divorce I stayed with them. Oh them, how I treasure them. My Debby, so wise and so… full of more grace than she knows. And my Paul, the man I will forever and always credit with showing me more clearly than anyone else I have ever known- the strength, kindness and devotion that is fathering. They had some extra room and I didn’t want my children’s lives to be completely disrupted and so, instead of having the kids go elsewhere to spend time with their dad, I went to the Tedesco’s and they stayed home.

And my mission while I was there was to fix… me and my marriage, my husband and then eventually it became to save the whole entire world. But we’ll save that story for another time.  I sat every morning waiting for the self-timed coffee maker to brew enough for me to pour my cup. And I worked on understanding why my life was such a disaster. And sometimes I had very good epiphanies. And many times He spoke to me. And sometimes I rediscovered things I already knew, like John 3:16. And sometimes I just crawled deeper into the darkness that was trying to overtake me.

And this poor, wonderful couple did humor me through it all. Waking every morning to find me exuberant, placid, ready to talk, ready to cry, it was anybody’s guess really. But one morning, one very hard morning after very little sleep, (as happens when your marriage is falling apart and you are forced to leave your four children, including your six month old baby with a man you harbor much hatred for), I woke with what I thought was a very good idea. I thought it was a brilliant plan as a matter of fact. I thought it was perfect, maybe even from God. Debby woke up, came into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across the table. As she took her first sip, before I said “Good morning” even, I said “I just won’t love people anymore.” And I was dead serious and stoic.

Do you know what I almost never am, never have been? Dead serious and stoic. I was twenty seven at the time and life had honestly just beaten me down. Not a little, a lot. Not over the past year, over the past twenty seven years. And not loving people anymore seemed like a wonderful remedy for all the pain I had. Not that I had worked out an elaborate plan or anything. It was just a conclusion I had come to. One that many people come to.

Debby is Debby though. Debby is the one who helped me perfect my debating skills. Boy did I get sharpened over the year or so that I stayed with them.  And she’s not even really a debater per se. She’s just always so right.  So I let her know what was going on. No more love. That’s it. I’m done. And she sat back, unflinching, crossed her arms and looked out the window, and then back at me and said “I don’t think you can do it.”

But I had studied all morning. I had read and written and thought and worked and calculated and it was the only logical conclusion I could come up with. “I’m not going to get hurt like this again. I can’t” She sipped her coffee and leaned forward, elbows on the table and steadied her gaze “There might be people who could do that; you’re not one of them. I know you.” I sat back, looked out at the enormous Bradford Pear across the fence in the neighbor’s yard, “Well then I’m just not going to love as much.” Like a ten year old, I tried to argue my way out of it. “You can’t not love big. It’s what you do. It’s who you are.” And without giving pause to the fact that I might have another argument, she got up and went to her room to get ready for her day.

And I went outside because on the other side of that window that I spent so many mornings looking out, there was fresh, cool green grass in the shade of that tree I adored. And I spent the rest of the morning, arguing with Him and railing against Him and begging Him and not speaking to Him. And then I spent the afternoon, quiet, listening to birds and breeze and airplanes and the children playing on the other side of the fence. And finally I sat with Him and I listened to Him. And I would not tell you now if I could the sweet, intimate things He spoke to my heart. And when Debby came home at the end of her day she opened the patio door and asked if I was ok. And I was- sprawled out in the grass, a little bit sunburned and totally high on Love.

I stayed that way for months it seems, like a school girl in love. I wrote poems and daydreamed and talked all high and giddy about Him. I’m guessing it was kind of sickening for everyone around me, but oh well. It was good for me. And I have at least a hundred other wonderful stories from my time with them and there were many days very similar to this one. So many times I wanted to give up or in and quit. And so many times they, my Debby and Paul wouldn’t let me.  And so many times He met me there and pursued me and loved me and showed me. And I don’t know where I’d be now if it weren’t for all of them.

So, thanks I guess is what I’m trying to say. And Love and love.

June 18, 2011


Father’s Day falls pretty low on my favorite holiday list. And I almost didn’t write anything at all because there are so many beautiful things being written about fathers and dads and papas, and nothing in me wants to take away the joy that people feel when they think about the men who raised them.

My dad skipped out around age two and flitted in and out of my life, mostly drunk until I was seven. Big happy celebratory fireworks do not go off in my heart when this holiday rolls around.  It has been a mostly empty holiday for me most of my life, save one year when I was about ten. I bought my mom a Father’s Day card and wrote a note of appreciation for the ways she had tried to fill in the dad gap in our lives. I saved it until late in the day, almost bed time, because I knew she’d cry. And she did and I brushed off her thank you’s and hugs and went to bed.

There were men in my life while I was growing up to be certain, plenty of them. There was Papaw, he was around, steady and quiet, gardening and playing checkers. He was most certainly a Papaw though, and not a dad.  There were uncles, two of them, big and strong and funny.  Caring- yes. Fathers- no, at least not mine.  And then there were the guys, so many guys, in and out of my life, all around my mom and her friends. I still shiver at the thought; they were not good guys.

And then about ten years ago I had this baby boy. And then there was a dad to celebrate. And he was a pretty good dad. And I loved him dearly, and he loved his boy and the rest that followed as best he could. And then he dropped out for the most part. “I really like not having all that responsibility” is what he said when he’d been gone a week. And so if I am quite honest, the last couple of years I’ve filled it with bitterness.

All of this to say- as an adult there are plenty of absolutely wonderful men who have come into my life. There are outstanding fathers and amazing dads all around me. And some of them have even reached out a time or two to father me.  And when fathering is missing from your childhood it looks and feels strange and awkward and warm and fantastic.

When you are twenty-seven the first time you really feel fathered by a man, it is quite gripping, and foreign, and moving. I still remember clearly, this great man that I love more than words was protective of me, and it silenced me and brought me to tears (no small feat since I am terrible at being quiet and even worse at crying). It made me realize that my past is my past though.  I am not living in it anymore. And though there is much to grieve about my childhood, I can choose not to let it determine how I spend my present.

When you are twenty nine the first time you realize there is plenty to celebrate on Father’s Day and you are free to do with it what you will, it’s pretty sweet. I have pseudo-families galore. I am loved well by Amazing Friends. And my job, photographing life, allows so many great peeks into the beauty of fatherhood.  Also, I’ve been adopted by one Great Dad, the realest Father I know. And the sweet thing is, He allows me to choose how I spend my time. If I took the day to grieve He would love me no less. If I spent the time doing nothing at all, He would smile upon me still. I get to choose what I focus on. 

My life is full of Love and spending a day dwelling on what I don’t have or didn’t have seems like a waste of time. I have grieved those losses time and again.  An opportunity to celebrate is honestly, quite welcomed. So- Happy Father’s Day to all of the truly outstanding men that I know. To the ones who have directly impacted me with compassion and love and to the ones that I learn from as I watch them live such great lives- The world is no doubt a better place because of you.

June 13, 2011

This Amazing Girl

This girl was born a miracle, a story I wont go into today, but lets just say she was saved at birth 😉  She was deemed the princess immediately and took on the title like a pro. A quiet little daydreamer who loveloveloves attention and affection.  She is not the wordiest, that would be Gracie. Emmy dances and laughs and reads and just is.

When she was about three years old, she walked in my room while I was having quiet time, crawled up in my bed and held out her soft, dimpled three year old hand. Her hand was empty but she looked me straight in the eye and said “See my keys?” We both looked down at her hand and she smiled. “I have keys but they don’t open doors, they open eyes”.  And then she bounced off to play again, laughing at my inability to see her imaginary keys. And I sat in amazement, closed my eyes and prayed and then wrote it all down.

So she’s kind of special.

Last night she brought her Bible to church.  She got this little green, pocket KJV Bible about two years ago from I don’t know where, but she adores it. (Who has a tattered and worn, highlighted and fraying Bible at the age of six? This girl.) So last night, every time a verse was called out, she handed it over so it could be quickly found and then she read it over and over until she heard the next verse. It was kind of amazing. She stood during worship and raised her hands as high as they would go, told me her shoulders hurt between songs, and then put them right back up as soon as she heard the first riff of the next song. And it was kind of amazing.

And then at one point she asked for my journal and a pen, and she wrote this.

I love you God because you take care of us and you made us and you are the Best Father in the whole entire world because you are the King and you died for us.

And it is kind of Amazing. She is kind of amazing. One of four very amazing children I’ve been blessed with- And I am kind of amazed.

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