A Vigil of Love (complete.)

•Beloved, you hold me and whisper, “Be Loved.” I hear your words and hold them in my heart.• You set a spark within my soul. Your radiance shimmers the shadow spaces.• When I am thirsty, you rain abundance. When I am weak, you pour grace.• You weave a fresh tale of hope. A yarn that lifts the lost and lonely.An epic of peace and justice. I hear my story in your words.• You don’t give up on me. You trek alongside on sunny days and moonlit nights. Where others have walked away, you remain.• I find you under the quiet…

Jesus 2020: Let Nations See Love (Again)

Do you know Him? Beloved OneSpirit formed, mother born, refugee child who crossed miles. Rules broken. Light BearerVisible speckles of light burst forthin the darkest of times. Hope given. Thirst QuencherCrystalline, living water wraps freelyaround walls of stone. Renewal found. Story WeaverA golden thread of Wisdom talestell the goodness of God. Love taught. Pilgrim FriendWalks the long road step by stepwith graceful gait. Presence held. Seeker of SolitudeMoves to quiet places to bewith Divine Love and fill. Peace sought. Lover of the LivingCelebrates children, honors women, notices fig trees. Inclusion modeled. Flamed by InjusticeTables flip with bold honesty to question…

Her Power Returned (Day by Day)

Her power returned to her the day she chose to place the stapler down from the boxy bulletin boardto move beyond the edges whereher creative savvy flew free. Her power returned to her the day she resigned from beating herself upfor “brokenness,” all she “isn’t” —to embrace the goodness and sacred beauty of all she is. Her power returned to her the day she traded cultural normsthat kept her quiet, small and politefor her inner wisdom which told her to move toward becoming. Her power returned to her the day she laid down the ingrained pattern to serve everyone before…

Curator of My Space

I am the curator of my hidden space.The revelations come as a trickle, a wink —a river of stars while I dream.Ideas are heldin the secrecy of growth,near the fruit of the womb,under the cloak of becoming. While I carry hiddenness,I no longer hide me.I’ve taken off the gray cloak of doom.Vibrancy is my outfit of choice.Even as I glow —My antennae explore the room for discernment.What is necessary to share, to refrain from speaking?With this inquiry,I become the curator of my open space. Sensitivity to myself and others is a gift I hold.I do my best to meet others…

There She Goes

a quiet launch,bread rises with no fanfare a summer silence,petal leaf opens to the light of the moon a first flight,baby bird wings span to trust the air Sandwiched in the middle ofriots and illness,anger and death, a door appears.Possibility greets her. The hidden Holy trails beside her,visible form emerges before her. She follows the splendor of ideasto see them come to fruition. There is no-one there to witness.No balloons lifted.No congratulations spoken.No pat on the back. It’s a silent reckoning.a nod to herself —she is doing the workshe is called to do. She sparks the sage,arms move to the…