Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Air

The scent of laundry falls out of houses as the sun begins to set on another spring day. Or is it a fall day? Hard to tell. But the air is definitely filled with something crisp and fresh and new.

Can you feel it?

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Your Grace

Your grace is like the deepest lake: I drink it in; I can never exhaust it. It is pure and life-giving: a freshwater haven of immeasurable breadth and depth. All the salty tears of my sin can never stain it, not even the slightest bit. I dive into it head-first and it's always there to catch me, envelop me in its healing coolness. There are no rocks or stumbling blocks to get between me and this treasure. There are no obstacles to surmount, no tasks to complete.

I run to you and your arms are open, for you have claimed meI'm yours.

Monday, March 5, 2012


I wrote this last night. A week and a half ago I moved, and though I only moved about five miles away, I apparently moved five miles closer to train tracks. The trains make it hard to fall asleep sometimes, but they've also been inspiring me, so I guess it's not so bad.

It’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep, so I will walk down to the trainyard where the rusted rails keep secrets all their own. I will hop into a lonely, forgotten boxcar and paint the inside walls lavender to keep my spirits bright like the springtime. And I will hide away as the towns and landscapes whisper by.

Dear Mr. Conductor,
Won’t you take me far away—someplace I’ve never been—like Chicago or Seattle? And if you promise not to tell anyone I’m leaving, then I promise I will write out on the freight car walls all the words that everyone is thinking but is too afraid to say.