Tag Archives: birthdaymonth

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Self-Published 

So many times, we're told
that we are the writers
of our future, 
but after some reflection...
I think we're most likely...not. 

Oh, we like to imagine 
we have a little control - 
What shall I eat?
what shall I wear?
and even...
Who shall I marry?

But then, realization
dawns - a foggy sunrise.  
We cannot control  
whether our very next 
breath will arrive. 

It is automatic, and
we were not given
the keys to that ignition. 

So I think...
in the big picture,
our imagined control
is just to placate us.  

However,
it can be very freeing
to realize you are 
a character in the story,
and not the author. 

It is especially 
encouraging 
when you summarily 
realize, 
that your particular
author is a best-seller, 
and clearly,
already has the plot 
all figured out!





Thank you for joining me on my 28 day birthday month celebration. It has been a challenge, but also a unique experience, and I'm pleased with myself for completing it. Thank you also for all your kind words and encouragement...they have made it all feel extra special. 🙂
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Self-Helpless 

I am the opposite of "self-help" - 
I am here to say that you cannot
do it on your own.

You are not strong enough, 
or powerful enough, 
or even really smart enough.

Not you. Not in your own
human-ness. 
So I wonder why - 
there are so many self-help
books that essentially
repeat the same mantra.
You. You. You.
When it's never been you
it's always been
WHO. 

Who do you put your trust in?
From where do you get 
your inner power?

If it's you, then,
oh dear, how fallible.

If it's Darkness, then
oh my, how temporary.

But- 
if it's the Light of the world, then
Oh yes, how powerful.
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Direct My Path 

We wander through the woods
of our lives,
tripping,
winding, 
pulling away branches,
and getting caught in the
brambles. 

It is a long road.
A rough road.
And then, a clearing up ahead.
We breathe the sweet nectar
of the open field,
feel the sunshine, 
and cooling breeze.
It feels like heaven. 

But the dark woods draw us back,
and soon we find ourselves,
tangled,
tired,
and bruised.

All the while, 
the Lord goes before us, 
clearing the path,
absorbing the blows, 
and wishing 
we would only take His hand,
so He could lead us to
the next clearing, and
the path of His design. 

Even so, He walks ahead.
Never forsaking us 
and our chosen pathway.
Even when He knows His is easier, 
He allows us to choose.

And then He clears the way. 



Happy Birthday to me, and my dear friend Olivia, and all the other souls who celebrate their arrival on this earth today. 
We made it. Keep walking the path, the destination is more beautiful than we can possibly imagine.

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New Life 

At first glance, you would not
consider furniture 
as an item needing rescue.
But it is. They do.

Cooped up, buried under
garbage and piles of
paper and humidity -
A table, a chair, sits - 
waiting to be remembered
to be cared for - to be clean.

It is made from material 
that was once alive -
and after being plucked
from purgatory,
and given a new home, 
it almost audibly sighs
with relief and gratitude 
for the gift of new life. 

Useful, Hopeful, and Wanted,
but most of all, 
Restored, 
in every sense of the word.
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Dinosaur 

Dino-saur.
Dino-Roar.
Why do we obsess over 
that which scares us?
To regain power? Control? 
"We never had control." 
But! 
We always have the power. 
Fear is what we allow it to be.
Whether it's the dark, 
or spiders, 
or a large, scaly lizard
that ROARS. 




Dedicated to my first best friend and cousin, who shares my love of Dinosaurs, and so many childhood memories, and whose birthday is today. 
Happy Birthday, Lauren!
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A Great Man 

Which is better? Or should I say - 
Which is worse? 
To befriend a great man, 
and un-appreciate his greatness -
OR
To meet your hero...
and see him fall
- unceremoniously -
off his pedestal? 
Both are shameful, I suppose - 
We are all human -
Great & Good & Weak & Bad.
If only the scales would balance -
and we could recognize the difference
immediately...
what a great deal of misplaced
affection we would avoid.
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Location, Location, Location 

Where we are born
is not who we are
But it shapes
who we become.
Whether we embrace
or attempt to escape -
there is no undoing
the circumstance
of birth.
We are plopped on this earth,
exactly where 
we are supposed to land -
in order for us to become,
who we are meant to be.
The reality of location
and the fantasy of aspiration.
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The Very Last Piece 

What will you give Him?
What is the thing
you love most in this world?
What is the object, the person, 
the corporation, the "thing?" 
That thing, that MacGuffin, 
that is the last thing 
you have to lay down.

It should be the first, but,
it is usually the last.
Why that thing, you ask?
Because it is the last,
the very last barrier
between your heart and His.

What has He ever given you, 
you ask? 
He has given you Everything -
He has given you Jesus.
He has given you Himself. 

The least we can do in return -
the very least, is give Him
all of us....every last morsel. 
Even that bit we've been 
holding back, saying - 
"Yes - you can have it all...
except "This.""

"This"... is exactly the last
of the currency.
But fear not, for the rate 
of exchange is priceless.

You give Him 
the very last piece 
of your human heart,
and He gives you Eternity.
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Why Do We Write? 

Why do take up our 
proverbial pen and write?
Why do we take the time
and make the effort 
to share our thoughts
and feelings and lessons learned?

Perhaps for the same reasons 
that generations before us did.
We are compelled. 

Words spill out of us 
and onto the page, 
liquid puddles of letters
that become words 
that turn into sentences 
that form complex thoughts
and emotions,
that leap from the page
and into the mind of our reader
who is perhaps contemporary,
perhaps generations ahead of us,
but who all say, 
"I understand what you mean." 

Writing is a form of time travel. 
A message from one kindred spirit
to another. 
Between the lines we say,
"I've been here before, 
just as you are here now. 
I survived, and so shall you." 

And our recipient, who may 
not yet even be born, 
closes their eyes and sighs, 
reassured that life will go on.

And that, I think, is why we write.