I can’t take my mind off of you.

Neither can all of creation; we know it has been groaning until the present time. Pastures, plateaus, plains, they groan. Mountains, they mourn.
When will come the time of rejoicing? of singing together?
We’re waiting on you–
only make us steadfast.
Spirit help us in our weakness,
with groanings too deep for words. with groanings too deep for words.


I’m thankful especially during a time as this that I know Jesus. I know he cares for me even if all the world fails to care. Lately I’ve felt so burdened by those in my life who have been afflicted with many afflictions, and I feel weary. Inadequate to intercede for as long and as much as I want to. Spirit help me. Help me to believe my care, my trembling, is only a sliver of the heart you harbor towards them, that you have plans for us, plans unknowable and eternally glorious. Humble us, Lord, let us not take offense when your hand is heavy upon us. It is good that you remind us we are but men, but women, but children… sinners whose righteousnesses are as filthy rags before you. Help us be still.

And draw near, God. Draw near to the oppressed, the perplexed, the broken, the bitter, the burning. Be faithful to your namesake, though we have gone astray and made you to be someone you are not. Arise and make yourself known; make me to know what it means that your grace is sufficient, that your power is made perfect in our weakness. Let these be the living and active words you breathed them to be… Spirit help us.

Let us run after your promises, for they are the only things that will remain. Though the night grow dark and the light grow dim, help us to run after your promises. O make your word to be a lamp unto our feet so that we might not slip, but stand steadfast, too. Spirit help us. You are mighty. Willing. Able. Sovereign.

and you love us. O, you love us.

2 Corinthians 4
Romans 8



if you ever read this, don’t misunderstand.

what makes someone desirable? is my question as I stare into the glass, running the toothbrush in circles over my teeth, foam around my swollen lips. it’s been four minutes since you drove away.
tonight we sat and talked in between phone calls, the light golden on our tired faces. there were occasional touches, a chair pulled close, an opening up of something, of the past, maybe the present. but mostly I enjoyed being next to you, being your friend.
you told me you couldn’t have this relationship with other girls, and I agreed, sitting in the passenger seat as you drove me home in the quiet darkness.

I wondered about the girls you’d written notes to, the ones you spoke first to, the girl you really loved way back when. and there is no regret, only a curiosity inside me. what makes someone desirable?

Curious about what you see when you look at me because I think the others share your eyes. and why do I want to be desired anyway. Curious and circular my mind. I don’t push it, whatever it is. it’s only the night–the cold air and the visible breath, golden street lights, drunk men, your hoodie, your car, your disjointed words and thoughts, your eyes on me, your eyes turned away, turned inward, your regret, your not wanting to be comforted by me, the softening of edges, the opening up of something, the closing, the driving away, the driving away, the quick goodnight, and now the toothbrush, circles, foam, staring into glass, and my question still,
what makes someone desirable?

after rehearsal

after all that was said and done and sung,
there was a sorrow still unsatisfied, all those layers of sin and selfishness.


got to sit still, so still in your presence,

eyes closed now, silence

all the aching inside from an unmet love and self-absorbed feelings,
shame about desire and dangerous dialogue.
the red face of a boy I feared would never want me for lack of things I couldn’t help but lack, and the nervous hiding, afraid of getting caught.
the annoyance, stretched thin and taut, you just can’t sing! the screaming repeated
over and over inside my head,
the distrust,
the ambition,
the covering up with false smiles and blushing, the fussing with hair,
the stooped arms.
the fatigue, the fear of being myself,
the fear of being myself, fully.

everything laid at your feet tonight, a sinner unsatisfied apart from you. I wept in your lap and you loved me. in your lap and you loved me. I wept and you loved me, that’s all.

for all this lovespeak

for all your talking, you haven’t got much to show.

why do you make me feel ashamed of weakness? why the silence that meets my tears?
why turn your head in embarrassment? when I am okay bleeding?

in my mind I sit across from you, the plastic table hard, the seats too cushioned and tall– claustrophobe. I stare at you, your hair, how the sunlight falls on it and makes it golden, even more so, and your eyes dazing in and out, what are you thinking about? I sit across from you, make small talk, look out the window occasionally and exclaim about the sky, how blue it is, the clouds, how they move, and inside I am dying to ask you who I am to you, if anyone, if anything at all. “recognize” has latin roots meaning “to think again.”  I sit across from you, I call you dear friend, and I mean it, I hope. but a small insecure part of me also holds onto the ends of those words, the ends of love
and care
and thank you. soft-spoken. sincere.

holding onto those ends, why do I do that? I’m still afraid to love in freedom. love-do more than lovespeak. still afraid of not getting at least a little bit back. am I wrong to fear? I sit across from you and wonder, I slurp my chickpea soup, it’s lukewarm.


biking in the rain

the sweet surrender of it, first the toes sparkling and then the pavement, the whole world glistening. rain falling, and leaves, too, the shhhhh of wet speed, everything silent and silver and alive.

wanting to share it with someone, the color.

wanting it alone.

flowers pressed against the floor, bright orange, thin as paper. the relentless wet, like spit, quick, hitting the face, slow… sliding down the slope of nose, the scented lips.


the rain it rustles, if you listen closely, has a rhythm to it.


someday maybe i will share this with someone,

the vision of glass falling and muddy waves,
the giddy gliding,
clothes wet and hanging off like second skin, free–
we’re washing wet outside, the world
a tub, and time,
mine to give–
given generously.

biking in the rain, the sweet surrender of it.