Fierce Mama

No meek and mild lady,no pasty, polite socialite —This one, a woman after God’s own heart,brave virgin girl,clips the string of expectations,snips the cord of cultural norms, carves space in the depths of her being—Falls into a wide open, “YES”,stretches into wily woman. Shesteps toward the one who embraces,supports her in tender growth.Together, wombs leap, life sparks.Now, this one, fire in her belly,glorifies God amid trial,stands tall for justice.She moves to the rhythm of mercy,the song of the Spirit.This one, fierce mama,births brilliance in open air, ina span of dirt and crumbs.She and her beloved area mysterious, spectacle of love.Wise…

Making Room in the Darkness

You see, dear one There are mysteries you don’t understand, tragedies you don’t comprehend. I am the Mother who hovers and veils all my children with steady, beating love in times of darkness, with rolling waves of compassion in the waiting. I hold the sorrow of hearts and place them in the night sky, a remembrance of luster and ebony twirling together. I live within the container and beyond the container— vibrations of my voice heard even in the driest desert. Remember me? Blessed Mother Mother of Grace Mother of Strength Holy Mother Mother of Jesus Mother of You. I…

Am I an Artist?

She sat on the stone steps at twilight looked at the emerging moon. She spoke aloud the question she’d been carrying for some time, “What does it take to be an artist?” Does it take paintings in galleries with large, fancy openings? Is it a book announcing your name on a shimmery spine laid upon a bookshelf? Does it take the right amount of schooling with the perfect technique and style? Of course, what she was really asking is, “Am I an artist?” She realized that children never ask this question. They dare to believe themselves amazing artists and it…

While You Wait

You, girl of the ocean, swimmer of the sea, washed up ashore displaced amid her honesty. And, now — you, the ever curious one, wonder, 
“What do I do while I wait?” Well, dear one, as the dry air rushes past, nearly knocking you down, let the tears fall and nourish what you hold. You, holder of life, keeper of the flame, bearer of sparks, whatever you do — don’t rush it. Really. Allow the space of emptiness hold you. Listen. Hear that? A lullaby from your inner Spirit whooshing you to sleep— dreams and visions laid on your heart….

She. is. becoming.

I have quite a few friends these days who are taking brave risks in their lives. I’m amazed by the way these fellow kindred souls are challenging the status quo, saying yes to the daring and keeping their hearts open to where the Spirit is flowing in their life. This poem is dedicated to those of you who are taking one small step toward your becoming. Cheers to you and your courage! She is becoming. She’s not finished yet. No, she still has loads of color to splash around. A palette of rainbow to fling toward the universe. She has…