a poem Prayer belongs to the broken hearted, the weary, and those who keep their souls guarded. For those who leap, spilling laughter while picking lilacs of the land. For those who run laps around the spectators, whose senses lie dormant, begging to awaken to wonder. But even there, prayer holds the aching and the waiting. In the suffocation of clenched fists and the exhaling surrender of open hands, prayer is a wisp—finding its way into cave and pasture. For the griever swa

a poem Palms flutter in the wind of the King. Those in need for rule beyond self and those who see, walk in His dust. Blessed are thee. Some scoff and in the distance they remain. Not everyone knows how to walk with meek mules.

a poem We forget our passwords and papers, our Chromebooks and combinations, but never those moments of belief— a handful of kind words and a pocket of praise is all it takes to transform rotten days. When our hearts are heavy, shoulders stressed, and motivation slow as Monday— take a sweet sip of your diet coke, practice patience once more, and show us that we’re worthy of hope. There will be a day, when the sun rises, and we are no longer thirteen. The morning glow will h

A poem Facebook comments, every text, the calls I was too busy for— extensions of God's spoken belovedness over my life. Her words paved a trail of assurance, one that’s hard to find with her no longer here to guide. The sun’s brilliance stamped upon lilies,