The one thing

 God comes to my friends in dreams.

 He comes in them to me.

He is

more complex more simple.

more mysterious more near







I once imagined Him to be.He doesn’t make sense and is the only one that does.

Those thought farthest away have the front row seat.

I’ll marvel forever at the twinkle in the eye suffering should have long snuffed out.

And at God’s holy hot pursuit.

He’s come for the broken poor. For the rejected and thrown away.

You tell me who is disqualifeid and I’ll show you who wins race.

I am her and he is me.

Truly, we’re the same.

I don’t know a single thing


Jesus is his name.



What to do when life feels heavy

What to do when life feels heavy.

Feel the weight then let to go?

Unwelcome surprises. Broken relationships. Money money money. Watching your favorite humans choose destructive paths. Someone died. Another waiting diagnosis. All this before clicking on the daily news.

Sometimes the most we hope for is a brief reprieve. It never ever completely stops.

Am I wandering in a cemetery or are my feet on sacred ground? Yes. Both. Always both. There is always reason to celebrate and always a reason to cry.

Breakthrough and heartache link arms in life. I’ve never known one without the other nearby. They are an inseparable pair.

Life is really hard and life is stunningly beautiful. One does not negate but somehow strangely compliments the other. I don’t get it. I just know until I embrace them both I don’t really live. And life is too short for that.

 But I am learning my power to choose. Chaos may touch but not define my life. Putting away the pithy sayings and on the gritty truth of who and why I am in a world that says I’m not.

I am realizing maybe not everything gets resolved. There’s not a pretty bow for every box. Some things stay unfinished. Some wounds may feel always fresh.


somehow in the mix and in the middle of it all my soul can bask in peace and bubble with joy and even in the unfinished mess I can feel complete.

Beauty I would have altogether missed had heartache not come too.

And life it too short for that.

Every passing day confirms I don’t know much more than I do. But I am certain of a few. Jesus is his name.

the beauty of broken things

img_2594I think God sent me to Indonesia to deliver a backpack.

I go shopping with a girl we love, once taken then pursued by Love.

A red shopping basket with new clothes, face soap and pink school shoes trailing behind her.

Attached to a new black backpack, I hear her say…

You see how kind God is to me? On the very day my school bag breaks, He gives me another one.

I realize in that moment I’m a go-between in a conversation and Love story not my own. She sees right through me. My credit card, the attentiveness of her God.

pink shoes

She thanks me, but  blushes when she speaks of Him.

I wish then for a broken school bag too.

All my broken things, (I’ve got more than just a few),  the secret tellers of her God who gives everything brand new.

Pink lips of God

Keep fighting, Valerie

That’s what she said.

All I could think of is the night we fought and she thought she won.

Ran away the next day and threatenend to disppear forever if we followed.

We did and fast forward…here she is.

Keep fighting, Valerie

I wonder at her whimsy and her joy.

More herself now than she ever was.

Keep fighting, Valerie

Of all the english words she stretched to string together.

Keep fighting, Valerie

I said I would.

And I will.

Marching orders from the pink lips of God.







A Different Day


She peeled tiny red onions for my Mama’s stuffing.

Played a brand new song on the keyboard.

And made sure I saw the glittery make-up on her eyes.

I listened, learned, laughed and marveled.


And thought about a different day.

Stolen from her home, brainwashed and sold.

Our first Thanksgiving together was her rescue day.

But today she made the deviled eggs.



We’ve been back in the states for nearing a year now. It feels like a blink and it feels like forever. It feels like a really long blink, I guess.

I never, in a million years, thought we’d uproot and move to Indonesia but coming home and starting again how we did, was nearly as unpredictable.

Honestly, I haven’t done too well. Rather poorly, really. It’s not so much a matter of geography. It’s the me inside myself that comes wherever I go.

We lived on an island there, I remained one here. My natural habitat is by myself. It hasn’t served me well.

I’m home in front of a crowd or hiding in a bathroom stall. It’s the mingling in between that is my hell. Betcha didn’t know that, or maybe you did. Thank God I’m not as good at hiding as I thought. ‘Cause if I could I’d live there all the time.

I’ve got anxieties and terrible thoughts and I love Jesus all at once. I’ve got next to nothing figured out, but lately I see a glimmer.

And for today that is enough.


img_2592I keep running away but home keeps finding me again.

This last stretch nearly did me in, it woulda except for Love.

Lost and found. Again.

Luke 15 over and over and over again.

Again and again. The story of my whole life.

I weary in the running but Love picks up it’s pace. Hard as I try, no match for its tireless pursuit.

It’s rigged, you know. The universe leveraged for our return.

Love will always make a way.

Love will be our home.


Dancing Day

“He jumped up, stood on his feet, and began to walk! Then, walking, leaping, and praising God, he went into the Temple with them.” Acts 3:8

A while back I did a scary thing and I asked my friend Shawna if she’d be my partner and come play with me.

She said yes.


We signed up as a team for my first  (her second) ever Crossfit competition.

It often feels like the same childhood fears again and again,  it just my playgrounds that seem to change.

But the past few months something started going wrong with my arms. It started as an ache in my hands and wrists and progressed into shooting pain through my elbows and sometimes all the way up to my shoulders.

Typing, texting, writing, driving and sleeping were excruciating feats even with two wrists braces and way too much Advil,

I hurt all the time.

I remember one day at Jaxon’s track meet,  a slight breeze blowing against my forearm hurt so intensely I wanted to cry.

I stopped writing which broke my heart AND started missing workouts which made me worry and wonder what to do about Shawna and our competition. I couldn’t grip a barbell without hurting for two days.

Then 14 days ago, in a crowd of thousands, someone said, “there’s a woman here with carpal tunnel God wants to heal”

I wondered if that woman could be me.

I’m sure how that all works.  I just know I once hurt all the time, now have a string of days painfree.

And I’ve been thinking about the crippled  man in Scripture who could walk again, but not without dancing, leaping and praising God for his healing. 

Well, Saturday was my dancing day.



Last weekend I traded my medical braces for purple wrist wraps and fear of things I couldn’t do for wonder of what I CAN.

Every high-five my glory hallelujuah.

Every movement my THANK YOU dance to the ONE who holds my heart, the healer of my hands.