My take on ‘modern love’

little heartbeats
for every message sent,
or received.

          Tremors spread against
the cool cotton bedsheets–
a lifeline, [limbs restless]
   a friendship, [eyes lidless]
only motions in the
dark, dusty night.

Two hearts can beat,
fast like ‘tricity,
         but telephone lines do little to bring us together.

A short poem I wrote maybe a year ago that reminded me of some articles I’d read in the Modern Love column of the NY Times.



I’m asking for grace to choose to believe He really loves me even now when I’m reluctant to bow low before Him and so hungry for my own glory.
But one thing I believe (God help me) is that His love is better than life. Self glorification is so fear-filled and insecure, nothing like the freedom that comes from confessing with my whole heart that He is good and I am not.


You really came to set me free.
You really came that I may have life and have it abundantly.
You really are the way, the truth, and the life.
Your love is truly better than life.
You discipline those who delight in.
Your love is steadfast, forever, wide, long, high, deep. And it will never fail me.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.


I am homesick for a place I have never seen before.

In English class we talk about you a lot. It seems no one knows you very well, but no one likes you too much. Tell me, is it because they fear you? You know their hearts–theirs are not mine to know. Do their words and thoughts fall on you like spit or like the blows you felt walking on that darkened hill? Or are your eyes still burning? Do you not feel the hurt anymore? What do the recesses of your heart look like? It feels like home to me, my refuge, my resting place. But do you keep from me what I can’t ever dare comprehend? How much do you hurt?

Your love goes deeper than these mortal wounds, I know. But I want to know you more. The more I’m with you, the less people see of me. It hurts, but I will say over and over and over again that I am okay with that. In my heart of hearts, this is what I want. You know my desires, and you satisfy them.

I’m okay with that. Sorry if it’s half-hearted or un-believed while you long for all of me. I’m still praying: take it all. take it all. take it all.

Quote #5

“I always did something I was a little not ready to do. I think that is how you grow.”

–Marissa Mayer

from etsy

Learning how to let go of fear and live in freedom. Unapologetically beloved. The words sound pretty and promising, but they have been smeared and stained and soaked and built and burned with prayers, heartaches upon aches upon aches, self-doubt, small faith, sleeplessness, and the beginnings of surrender.

thank You.

To Thoreau


From the woods near his home.

There is a giant crater filled with moving glass, and up above another one, filled with infinite blue, surrounded by light, surrounded by pine. Above and below two craters that cannot be filled. I am here at Walden pond, a ways away from where you built a humble home to ponder and perceive, perhaps pick out some meaning which you had thought could not be found in the city. But here where the wild grass is trembling, barely holding onto flowery caps, here where the wind is an invisible yet powerful breath, here in this moment, only gratitude escapes the pen and writes itself upon my page.

Continue reading “To Thoreau”

Like children

At church, I play peek-a-boo with 17-month-old twin boys and watch them approach me with a curiosity both timid and adventurous. I wonder who I am to them. A big human? And are they just little people? They are… a spectacle, falling over their cute little pants and waiting for their mom outside the closed bathroom door, pouting and almost-crying until the door whooshes open and they forget their early tears. They are pink and they are the epitome of laughter, of joy, of wonder. They are new. They are beautiful. The boys giggle, so shy behind the familiar fabric of mom’s dress as I continue to hide my face behind plastic chairs and other furniture to entertain them. Perhaps I am all the more amused. I wish to pocket them and take them with me, to take this sunshine home.

And at home, the youngest is entering her teens, popping blue bubblegum she insists is green while painting her toes an odorous red. I love making fun of her new training bra, recounting my own stories of having walked down the shiny aisles of Target looking for female cashiers. I wish to be the older sister I always wanted, but my human-ness often gets in the way. I argue with her and then apologize, swallow my pride, feel silly for getting angry with someone so… young. That’s the thing. Growing up as the eldest of four, maturity and responsibility has been/is expected. I need to put their needs above my own, and in doing so, prove myself. “Act my age.” Aren’t I too old for silly games? Don’t I know better than to throw tantrums? I learned early on that my parents’ word was final, that I was to set an example. If I left the house, I should look back and find three smaller shadows. But I was never so good at following house rules. Many mistake my younger sister to be older. I blame her straight posture, but I know the strangers have a point. I am torn because I want to be known as the eldest, as the one who understands her dad’s sleeplessness, as the one who is quick to wash the dishes, but… but. I am quick to cry and needy for attention. I watch my sister seek independence while I cling to my mother’s skirts, afraid of what the future holds. The irony. I am full of contradictions that keep me restless and excited and curious… and constantly in need of a savior.

Right now I am watching my mom read storybooks to two girls. I watch their chubby faces light up in delight as my mother changes the tone of her voice to fit different characters. I wish to be curled up beside them, but I know the over-read book will not hold the same magic for me. Instead, I watch. The girls are talkative and fun and annoying. They know everything and they know nothing. They are endearing beyond comprehension. They are beautiful.

I know I am growing older, but I do not think I will ever be old. I will throw the occasional tantrum, and I am thankful my heavenly father is never quick to anger, as my earthly father might sometimes be. I will cry easily and then feel both sheepish and relieved while wiping dry my eyes. I will crave sweets for a long time to come and immerse myself in hide-and-seek and peek-a-boo and silly games exploring the woods and mountains and beaches. And I hope to be more like children as I grow: to forgive easily, to laugh without apology, to be filled with wonder, to seek help when I need it, to believe, to love freely.

A day in the life

I found an inchworm in my bowl of berries this morning. It was hidden under the purple-black-blues of the sweet fruits, a ways away from the tart red of the fuzzy raspberries on the right side of my plate.

I took it on my index finger and it wriggled and wormed and rolled around on my pink skin until my dad told me to squish it, but I looked on it with compassion and took it outside to the leafy garden where the little guy inched its body around the jagged edge of a leaf. I watched it move and wondered to myself what a day in the life of an inchworm would look like. I will never know, but it seemed it’d take an entire day for it to find its way around such a small plant. What a change in perspective. Continue reading “A day in the life”