Endless Tears

pages of destiny
in faded brown on cream
blindly falter forward as

colors of death
fall red, orange, and yellow
before the bitter brown

remnants of the dream
catch in twilight, midnight, rose
lost in the glare of dawn's

streaks of desire
dripping grey, dark, and deep
slammed against the glassy

chill of despair
riding icy, pale, and blue
as hope escapes in flight on

ashes of destruction
popping black and orange to white
chilled by setting day's

masks of delirium
that hide hollow, soulless, shadowed
brightness fading into night's

pages of destiny...


I Am...

Who am I and why am I here?

It seems like right now, my purpose is nothing more than waiting. I'm spending a lot of time just "being" these days.

I've been through the "doing" phase and have come to realize that I have defined myself in terms of my productivity (or lack thereof) for most of my life.

In the past year or two, I've come to define myself in the "feeling" phase. What I feel is who I am, which means I've been ruled by my emotions (and ~ as a result ~ my inability to control them).

So here I am in a new phase. Trying to redefine myself by who I am, and that means a lot of waiting. It's a lot of deferring to people around me out of respect for their opinions and feelings, and not feeling the need to analyze reactions, but to just hear and see and be there for them. That's what I've learned that waiting is really all about. It's always dependent on someone else, isn't it?

I have failed a lot and will continue to do so as I am human, but this waiting is the growing. Because, just like waiting on the people around me, this means waiting on God, knowing that there's a plan, and just waiting to emerge into the beautiful, strong, and capable creation that (S)He intends for me to be.

But, I'm not there yet. And the path is long.. and rough... and often very lonely.

So, here I am. For as long as it takes. With whatever this brings. I'm here.

I am waiting.



What can be said here that hasn't already been
as words flow like sickness over soul~weary men?

There's little more left here than anyone cares
ensconced within solitude of lateral stares

In moments solicitous we carve this facade
from remnants of people our intentions forgot

And we feign that it matters in eternity's end
so attempts of feebleness can make some amends

Checking the Score

Today's score is:
  • Universe/Fate: 10
  • Nean: 0
Let's break that down, shall we?
  1. Didn't finish my coffee this morning (ruined it by adding too much syrup which made it disgustingly sweet AND curdled the creamer).
  2. Little Man is home with pinkeye (and doesn't feel sick enough to stay in bed, but isn't well enough to DO anything).
  3. Baby Girl is incredibly whiny and doesn't know what she wants or needs (and is fighting a cold so I'm sure she doesn't feel well).
  4. Have no desire to eat today, but get scolded when I don't.
  5. Computer overheats when I try to work on projects.
  6. Gmail/Gtalk is down.
  7. Called by doctor's office to reschedule a highly unnecessary and LONG appointment (for tomorrow) for the third time.
  8. Headachey.
  9. Tired.
  10. Irritated.
Hmmm... Wonder who's winning.

My sneak attack to retaliate? Hot chocolate, a nap, and/or a creative outlet... OH... and friends and family who understand and love me anyway.


Sleep Tight

About a month ago, my cousin and I, who frequently encourage one another to write, decided to experiment with co~writing a story. She wrote from one character's perspective and I wrote from the other. The following is the never before published prologue to the story published for Gloaming Gap, Sleep Tight.



Dr. Frederick von Bedstein hid under his girl's bed, a silent tear running down his cheek. His girl knew he was real, but no one else believed in him. Her parents had long since killed their bed monsters and even her friends were skeptical. Bed monsters life spans were getting shorter and shorter. He sensed he would outlive many of her friends bed monsters, but it was hard to hear himself describe as “nothing.” Eventually he would be called nothing enough times that he would become nothing, but not as long as his girl still believed in him. He gave a gentle loving tug to her blanket. The blanket jerked back out of his hand, telling him his girl was still awake.

Emmi giggled nervously and jerked the blanket back. "Mumbly-Boo!" she whispered fiercely. This was the name she'd given to this creature when he first arrived. She was barely able to talk then, but she'd been fascinated by the chartreuse tail that he never quite seemed to pull out of sight in time. It had been like he actually wanted her to know he was there. She'd been mildly afraid of him in the early days, but her fascination and the fact that he never hurt her had earned a wary trust from her that gave way to familiarity. He was her oldest friend, even if he terrified her sometimes.

He could show her parents he was real... Frederick silently cursed himself for considering breaking the oath he took. The greatest law of all was to never harm your child and he was actually considering leaving a mark on her... It would be better to turn to nothing. He again cursed himself for the stray thought he'd allowed to penetrate his mind, and comforted himself in knowing she still believed in him. After all she was the only one that really counted.

Emmi's blonde pigtails brushed lightly on the floor as her head poked under the edge of the floor. All she could see in the dark was two glowing red eyes which could be mistaken fairly easily for her brothers evil cat if she didn't know better. "Hello, Mumbly... Whatcha doin'?" She tried to speak as softly as possible so that she wouldn't alert the rest of the household that she was awake. At 7 and a half, no one believed she could be "sociable" (whatever that meant) if she didn't go to sleep "at a decent hour." Seriously, sometimes grownups said the silliest things. At least Mumbly made sense.

Frederick smiled at his girl's nick name for him. He didn't know where the silly name had come from, but at least she didn't call him Boogie Man. His friends all thought it must suck to get a kid that talks to you and won't just go to sleep so you can leave and have some fun, but he loved his girl and wouldn't trade her for anyone. He flicked his tail out from under her bed and watched her eyes get big. When he was new to the job he wasn't always quick enough to hide his tail, but now that he was quicker he sometimes flicked it out just because he knew she liked it when he showed her his tail.

Emmi squealed delightedly at the sight of the familiar tail, and then quickly covered her mouth to stifle the sound from traveling outside her room. She tried uselessly to catch it before it disappeared but, as always, Mumbly was too fast for her. She pouted playfully and threw her head dejectedly back on her pillow. She sighed dramatically to begin the next part of the nightly ritual, "Come out Mumbly!" She tried to sound as whiny as she could without raising her volume, "Wanna see the rest of you!" She knew it was pointless, but she'd almost gotten to the point that she couldn't sleep without this. he never came out, but she'd never stop asking him to.

Frederick snorted at her request, and tried to sing the lullaby he'd heard her mother sing so many times. The words came out in a low grumble, but it didn't matter. He knew what he was telling her, and he could tell by the way her breath got slow and quiet that she recognized the tune.


Read Sleep Tight at Gloaming Gap.
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Coffee Girl

She stirs
A little coffee
Into her cream and sugar
Intense effort hiding
The salted drops
That percolate

When she thinks that no one sees

She shrugs
As slowly testing
With mug raised to her lips
The unnaturally sweet
She chokes back
Feeling wrong

When she knows no one will hear

She drowns
Guilty waste poured
Like syrup down the drain
Traded for frigid cubes
Treading bitter black
Stinging her


On the Dangers of our Library System

There's something that's really been bugging me recently. I'd say for at least 3~4 years now (minutes actually, but who's counting?). It's this library thing.

Does no one see that the entire library system is nothing more than a back~door entry into the socialism that is slowly creeping over our nation, infecting the minds and hearts of America's innocent children?

First off, let me just point out how early this indoctrination begins. Turn on PBS and note that in between any of the kids shows, you will see advertisements encouraging you to READ to your children, to instill a LOVE for this reading thing, and to TAKE YOUR CHILD TO A LIBRARY. There are entire shows dedicated to enforcing this idea. And it's insidious. You see the "top~down" agenda here, right?

I give you "Between the Lions," which you might assume to be fairly blatant, but most parents see it as nothing more than a cute family of lions who just happen to live in a library, and tells cute little stories. Surely there is no hidden agenda there, right?

Even beyond this, however, are shows like "Reading Rainbow" (no longer on the air, of course, because someone, somewhere, must have seen it for what it truly was), a show that makes books so enticing to our children that they NEED to run out to their public library and get them. And of course, there is Sesame Street, just one of the many "literacy" programs available to children. I quote "literacy" here to emphasize its use as merely a euphemistic term for shows created to cover up the library system's hidden agenda.

And what is this "hidden agenda?" Why, it's fairly obvious that our nation's librarians must be stopped in their plot to make the educated tax~payers purchase books and learning resources for the lazy slackers who can't even get their own.

If people want to read, they should be prepared to pay for their own books. They are cheating the publishers, the authors and illustrators, and those of us who spend our hard~earned cash to purchase said books. Why should I have to be the one to support the reading practices of an entire community of people just because I am a literary minded individual who believes in the value of books in learning? Why should my tax money have to go to pay for their unwillingness (or inability) to buy their own books.

The "flaming liberals" who actually donate their time, money, and even used books to the library system make me sick. Seriously, the concept of people VOLUNTARILY donating books to the library system implies that they feel there's some merit in participation in this socialist structure. These are not the free~market thinkers we want to model ourselves after.

And this leads me to my next point. Just think of how this will hit bookstore sales, and places like! How many millions of people will be out of jobs when we truly understand that libraries are making book sellers into an antiquated and expensive method of obtaining one's books? I mean, seriously, who's gonna buy books, if they can just read them for free?

But really, everyone knows that if you can't afford to buy your own books, then you obviously have no right to read them, right? Because, if they REALLY wanted them, they'd find a way to pay for them. They'd get jobs! They'd work harder! They don't need a "government~run" system to have the privilege to read for free. Why should we make them publicly available when the rest of us have to actually PAY for ours.

Don't EVEN get me started on what will happen if illegal aliens in our country get their hands on the books that I help pay for. I can't even THINK about that.



Yeah, I've hit another one of those weeks. The ones where I feel like a monumental failure. Granted, I seem to have these more often than most people, but I've been doing a lot better lately. At least, I thought I was. I just finished up a treatment of intensive therapy sessions to deal with some major depression, anxiety, and bipolar swings ~ all of which have been affecting my relationships in increasingly negative ways lately.

So, I went from feeling incredibly loved by a lot of people around me a few months ago, back to feeling completely abandoned and alone not long after that. And you know what I've discovered? It's all me. Someday, I'll learn how to be grateful for what I have, instead of pushing people away just to test the boundaries and the "trust" in the relationships. It's interesting how this testing becomes a self~fulfilling prophecy of sorts ~ something I had to learn the hard way.

I push to see if you're gonna go. And when you do, I blame you for not loving me enough to stay. Huh? Can we say dysfunction?

At any rate, to those of you still tuned in, thanks for staying with me through all this. I would love to let you know how much I truly do appreciate you and thank God that you are an integral part of my life, but I confess to being horribly inadequate in this area. So I'll just say thanks, and hope and pray you'll know I mean it.



stretching beside you
not yet even aware
of anything but this sweetness
in this place of escape
where confusion's erased

it's been long~since forgotten
where i was
who i am
the taste of your body
dipped in new wine
just solemnity matters
in my lover, my friend

in this rush to remember
in this need to explain
what i know
what i feel
just one still finger
pressed soft on my lips
stilling my babbling
with the tenderest of kiss

wrapped safe in your arms
encircled in words
far more than sweet somethings
"my darling, my bride,
you're beautiful, dear"
my protests yet silenced
by the light in your eyes

"ssshh, listen, my love,
you're the beating of my heart."


Equal & Opposite

Tiny spark flickers to raging fire
controlled disaster lingers
lurking behind feigned nonchalance
as if nothing burning matters

in place of carnage wrung like ragnarok
over reticent chaos mystery
leaving only the irregularity
of a disquieting serenity
bequeathed behind the shadows
of scattered remembrance recycled

Typescript's Wednesday Writing Challenge: Word Play 2.0


Flight Lessons

constantly fighting
beating and diving
never getting far

relaxed in non~effort
with whispered support
high above the world

bumbling errors
eliciting terror
effectually leaving scars

sole purpose of grace
symbolic of change
and solemn mystery unfurled

Photo courtesy of Becky Woodhouse


Beneath the Reflection

when one truly sees
beyond what lies
moments melt into this
clarity of face
acknowledgement of grace
overcomes waste
when eyes dive inside
deep as truth only is
somewhere beneath

layers of time overgrown

the mused nymph speaks
drowning senses in pools
of the untainted forbidden
on moon-misted moss
delving into the depths
where the self is known

Saint John's Cross

Dark is the night
where stars blink and fade
and the moon turns its face

Tranquility fights
with shadows that invade
and I'm lost in this place

without burden of light
for slipping souls saved
from love's lonely embrace



In the event of emergency
keep your thoughts to yourself
no one wants to see you panic

instructions will be given
which you'll be expected to follow
regardless of your will

you may not be a drone
but your opinion only matters
if emergency events are avoided

Writing Prompt: "In the event of an emergency..."



into the air and out the window
that's the last it was seen
it seems to always be in the last place
you expect it to be and you never think
to look

it's tired when you're awake
it's hungry when you're full
and it's angry when you're at peace

but never expect the flip to be okay

it's not you know because you have to strike
while the iron is hot or you just have to live
a life of regret for the lost thoughts or dreams
and forgotten ideas

remembering yourself
forgetting the rest
knowing it doesn't end
the way you expect


Statement of Faith

Because it bears repeating, and because this is an incredibly important piece of who I am and want to keep this in a safe place where I can refer to it, here is my explanation (as posted on the great Facebook debates of 2009) as to why I no longer call myself a "Christian":

I believe God is love. I love God. I believe that the greatest motivation in ALL we do should be this LOVE.

I believe in Jesus Christ and the fact that He is the Son of God and gave the ultimate sacrifice of His life to redeem mine and that He is alive today to walk with me on this journey of life.

God is worthy of all my love, affection, and worship. God (LOVE) is the ONLY thing worth dying for. And this is based on years of research and study, life experience, and observation of humanity.

God's spirit breathes life into me everyday and makes all things new.

As a human I fail frequently. I don't have anything figured out and I'm okay with that. God is my guide and my love and my life.

But no, I've seen Christianity, and it looks like division and derision, and I'm just not interested. Things are never as simple as we wish they were.

Black & White ultimately fade to Gray.

Socially Aware

I am yet again, in the midst of a political debate on my FB wall. I LOVE social media. I tend to be the type of person that will say something just to make people think; I exaggerate to the extent that there are always those who call into question my faith. And while I'll admit to sometimes going overboard or going about things in the wrong way, it's truly in the interest of intellectual discourse. I find the best way to get people to tap into their passions is to push them with something they have no choice but to think about and form an opinion of their own on.

There are a lot of issues to address in this current debate (so look for further posts here), but it will take me a while to sort it all out and respond, because I do believe in responding with intelligence and thought (aside from the exaggerated statements I use to get the conversation started).

The particular issue I'd like to address here is some personal attacks against my family regarding whether we are capable of essentially putting our money where our mouth is. We've been accused of "spouting political rhetoric" about the "idealism of socialistic economy" while not actually doing anything practical to assist in solving the problems. See above note about tapping into passions, because any accusation of this magnitude will do this for me.

I'm gonna say this, anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that what I have is yours. You have a genuine need, I'm gonna supply to the best of my ability. I'll bend over backwards to make sure my friends have what they need and my hubby and I work VERY hard to make sure we're instilling this value into our children. My door is always open and I may not cook gourmet meals, but as long as there is food in my house, I'll feed you if you're hungry. I will sacrifice my comfort and luxury to help you pay your bills if that's what you need. How many of my friends have found random checks in the mail just when they need it the most?

My family frequently donates both our money and our time to local (and some national) charities/ministries. Most times we don't really discuss this or broadcast that we're doing so. We're not trying to brag, or prove how "wonderful" or "spiritual" we are. We do it for the sheer joy of helping and giving, and because we strive to follow Christ's example.

However, we have been challenged by several people recently, who would like to know what we're doing (aside from attempting to encourage the world around us to get involved), so here is a list of just SOME of charities and/or ministries that we've directly supported in one way or another recently:
Unfortunately, in the past year or so, we have had less extra time and money to donate due to various circumstances that have limited us. We're not rich, so we work hard and we do what we can. What we have belongs to God, plain and simple.

I shop at discount stores and use generic brands as much as possible to stretch what we have, so we can have more to give. We buy clothes at re-use-it shops when we can, at places where proceeds benefit various social causes (like prison ministries, community outreach, etc.) and clean out closets and donate back as we can. We've even re-evaluated our holiday gift giving practices to reflect the values we want to teach our children in this area.

Perhaps the biggest sacrifice of our time and money is the hugest reward for us as well. And here is where the passion for this topic becomes so intense that I have to answer this challenge. Our daughter, who is now almost 2-years-old, is adopted. She is part of our family, and I don't like to "use her" as an example of our "social awareness" because God brought her into our family and she's as much a part of it as our son who was born into it. However, we have taken a severe hit to our financial stability as a result of a desire to adopt her, sacrificing things like vacation trips and a "nicer home" in order to pay the adoption costs.

We chose to work with Bethany Christian Services for our adoption specifically because of their stance on providing for the needs of the birth-families of the children they place in care. This means, when we agreed to care for our daughter, we also agreed to care (however indirectly it becomes as time goes on) for her birth-mother as well, because part of our fees for the adoption cover her costs for medical care and counseling through her difficult decision to place her child in an adoptive home.

We believe that adoption is a socially responsible way of expanding one's family, as well as an intimately practical way of helping with society's overpopulation problems (which lead to increased poverty and crime as well as a decrease in parental involvement in the lives of children). Sure it's only one child, but if we could afford more, emotionally and practically, you know we'd be first in line.

So, my apologies for "spouting" about all this. I'm not patting myself on the back for what I do. Honestly, I'm well aware that there's so much more to be done, and I wish I was able to contribute more to that. But I do what I can, and encourage others to do what they can.

So... my (incredibly non-judgmental) challenge to you: What are you doing to make this world a better place?


Something of Value


Waiting for the treasure
Dormant underneath


Noticing to Remember

There are a few bible stories that really stand out as favorites from when I was a child in Sunday School. Some of them I don't even think about much anymore... until my husband is reading one of them to my son at bedtime, and all the memories come rushing back, and I remember it all over again, in the same way that I heard it when I was a kid.

Tonight's story was, of course, one of them. It was about Peter being miraculously released from prison by the angels. Now I've always liked Peter and been fascinated by him. As an adult, I think there is something about his brashness and his incredible "guilt complex" that reminds me of ... well ... someone I know. I'm thinking bipolar depression wasn't really a "thing" back then, but if it had been, I'm pretty sure Peter would have been the poster~child.

But I digress... because it wasn't actually Peter who caught my attention in this story. Not as a child. It was the little girl. Rhoda. No one ever remembers her name, but I do. Maybe because I had an aunt named Rhoda and I thought it was cool that her name was in the bible. But I think it's far more likely that I remembered her name for the very same reason that I am drawn to her story.

Rhoda starts with three strikes against her: 1) she's a child, 2) she's a girl, and 3) she's a servant ~ worth little more than a doorstop in this story. But, here's the beautiful mystery: Much like Mary in the garden on that first Easter morning, Rhoda was the first witness to a miracle. And not just any miracle, but the very miracle that all the important people in the house were praying for, waiting for, even fasting for. And, of course, the important people didn't even want to believe her.

Now, somewhere in my 4 or 5 year old mind when I first heard this story, I connected to this little girl. Something about feeling small and unimportant, perhaps, but I believe it's far more than that. This little girl had something very important to share with the world, something that no one... all of the important people gathered in the house for the sole purpose of waiting for (and supposedly expecting) THIS specific event to occur... none of those people would believe her when she told them what she knew.

Because, she wasn't supposed to be the one to know.

She wasn't supposed to have information that they didn't have.

She was only supposed to answer the door and do what she was told.

And she did.

And she saw.

And she knew.

And, as usual, in situations like this, no one believed her. Not until they saw for themselves.

And even then, after seeing for themselves and finally believing the truth of her message, I'm not convinced that any of them really even noticed Rhoda then. But I'm glad that at least one person somewhere in history noticed her enough to remember her name and tell her story... even if just in a couple sentences.


Liberation Sails

Before yesterday
the flowers understood
and only songbirds saw
the glass audience
pointing to your dignity

The signs say she chose
but I was mistaken
because the open sky blinked
and given the flames
everybody knew that
a breathing statue was born
as the others started walking
and the lost multiplied

For Typescript's Wednesday Writing Challenge: Word Play IV