Written in the Drought

My thoughts are bleeding
Piercing my skull with only the dullest blade
Torn images
Broken hopes
My last breath a whisper

Why must the world
Strive against itself?
I sense its walls crumbling
As I struggle to stand firm
Midst the rubble

Where’s Your Hand?
I’ve found it.
I feel it wrapping around
Lifting my soul above
I see it now
The earth’s not failing
It’s shedding the old skin
You’re coming soon
So the dead must be removed
I’m waiting
I’m ready

You’re my Higher Mountain
I’m dwelling in this
Internal Limberlost
None can see
I feel the breeze
Taste the river water
Hear the birdsong
Inhale the flowers’ fragrance
The raindrops form crystals
Upon my skin
Until the day You return
I will be here
Clinging to the Promise
Resting in garden You formed.

Monotonous Love

I’m so tired of artists tearing down artists, family tearing down family, Christians tearing down Christians. What happened to being known for our love for one another? 

Is discouraging someone really worth that effort? Why not encourage? It takes half the thought. And if it’s taking you more, be silent and work your brain. 

We talk about global unity, yet can’t even smile at our neighbors. We talk about joining together as the body of Christ, then in the next breath rant about everything that’s wrong with the church. I know I’m guilty of this too, and please hear that I’m not trying to rag on Christians with this post, but it’s a dangerous trend I see and feel the need to call out. Prayer meetings are for prayer, not gossip. If an artist puts out work, that’s terrifying for them. Respect the pain and insecurity that no doubt went into that. Even if it’s not your taste, treat it with love. Even if you don’t agree with it, pray about it hard before you speak up, and remember that chances are, fifteen others are speaking up, too. Maybe they just need you to be silent and love on them. 

Maybe that’s what most of the people here on this earth need; quiet compassion. 


It’s strange, this feeling. I want to move, finish out the season with flying colors, be passionate about all the opportunities God has sent my way, but today, I can’t. We always are told to ask for His strength, to live off of it. But today, through various verses, through the words of my sister, through signs over doors, I sense Him telling me to finally be still. To complete only the tasks which bring repose, and not stress over the ones that, important as they are, can be done tomorrow. This is not a cry for procrastination, just the simple rest He may also be calling you to. These past twelve months have been a stormy sea of busyness and feeling stuck, but today I will choose to lay aside the projects I would so honestly love to complete, the ones that remind me that the future is beginning and adventure lies ahead, and instead grab a hot cup of somethin’, a blanket, and my Bible and rest in His Presence. The day’s last hours are His. RevisedDSC_0279_078.jpgDSC_0279 And tomorrow, I will rise with the sun, finish up all carried over to-do’s, and set to work. Tomorrow my hand will find the plow again. But for today, I will be still. Today I will simply breathe, and meditate on all He’s brought me through. Today I will push aside the doubts and hopes and fears and dreams, and relax in who He is. After all, His grace is an ocean, and we’re just sinking.

A Daydream

Dance in the greenRevisedDSC_0027_089
Befriend the trees
“They were created for you”
He whispers
While taking my hand
Lifting me above the stars
The ones made to reflect
His eyes.

“Diamonds on the grass
New ones laid every evening
Were meant to remind you
Of your priceless worth”
He sings
Spinning me around
Catching me in His arms
Tender and secure.

As the rain begins to pour
We find shelter in the RevisedDSC_0065_097woods
As the oceans begin to rise
We find warmth behind the waterfall.
There is truth in His eyes
And in light of His Presence
All things begin making sense
His smile is my home
His embrace my surety
That all is never lost.
With golden rays of dawn
We chase the sun’s ascent
Searching for the East,
For the Land of Eternal MorningRevisedDSC_0093_109

He knows the path
He is my guide
And on these seas of life
Where the waters join the horizon
We sail across the deep azure
Singing with the gulls
Dancing with the wind
There is hope yet
Joy never ending
Adventure unceasing.

Sunny Road


I don’t know how to capture these empty thoughts. These words all feel mediocre, like my blood has been strained, now diluted.

Will I ever be potent? Or always just a cartoon galaxy? Will these words return to the level they once held in my soul, or will I ever be chasing that hidden place of wonder I fear I’ve lost?

The possibilities rage, clouding this holographic mind. Will my words and stills one day find the magazine’s page? Who then would I be? Master of pen or lens? Poet or journalist? Must I be one or the other? My head screams resistance to society’s forms, while my droopy-eyed heart sighs assent.

I am His. That is all.

Still my bones ache to say words I can’t yet share. Innermost oceans beg sympathy for feelings yet unuttered. Perhaps tomorrow. Today I rest in His precious embrace, as He washes my tears with His own.

One day, perhaps, I’ll comprehend my own soul (and to those sorrowing over this same inability, remember that David neither could ascertain many of the melodies his harp sang), or perhaps some day I’ll grasp this unknown future, but tonight I’ll simply rest in His quiet breathing calling me to Limberlost once more.

These Happy Golden Years

Lately I’ve been in a restless season of in-betweens. Graduation is right around the corner, yet part of me still feels like a freshman on her first day. Every waking moment, I grow more and more anxious for Hawaii, to where my bones ache for it, while in the same breath home’s love song pours out of me. How could I ever leave this precious city who shaped me so completely?

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I suppose what I’m trying to figure out is the art of growing where you’re planted, while not losing sight of aspirations or roots. At eighteen, I am well aware that my entire future lay before me, yet I’m also aware of all I will be leaving behind when I take that first step. So today, I will choose to celebrate “these happy golden years,” as that is where I am now; tomorrow will be here soon enough. I refuse to let hope steal the joy from today’s adventure, how ever small they may seem in comparison.

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Because from the midnight drives with your best friend, just because you need to get out, to those morning discussions over coffee, to revisiting the statue we claimed that freshmen year, this is a golden time. So I suppose this whole post just stemmed from a need to share my thoughts on where I’ve been lately, and to share my love for the season of quiet interludes.

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Borrowed Words (Easter Service)

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Not in the turmoil of the raging storm,
Not in the earthquake or devouring flame;
But in the hush that could all fear transform,
The still, small whisper came.

O Soul, keep silence on the mount of God,
Though cares and needs throb around you like a sea;
From prayers, petitions, and desires unshod,RevisedMarch-April 2015 078_078
Be still, and hear what God will say to thee.

All fellowship has interludes of rest,
New strength maturing in each level of power;
The sweetest Alleluias of the blest
Are silent, for the space of half an hour.

O rest, in utter quietude of soul,
Abandon words, leave praise and prayer awhile;RevisedMarch-April 2015 072_072
Let your whole being, hushed in His control,
Learn the full meaning of His voice and smile.

Not as an athlete wrestling for a crown,
Not taking Heaven by violence of will,
But with your Father as a child sit down,
And know the bliss that follows His “Be Still!”

Mary Rowles Jarvis

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The kindness of people in this world never fails to astound me. From the best friend and family who took me in three years ago like the lost puppy on their doorstep that I was (and haven’t left my side since), to the siblings who forgive even the worst sides of me, the man stopping traffic so I with the camera gear can cross, to the blog-reader who heard of my stolen camera and, aware it was needed for YWAM this September, as well as for me to be the freelance photojournalist (of sorts) that I aspire to be, gifted me a new one, along with some of his own equipment. I can’t even imagine the stories this lens has told…


The blessing of Ellie (every tool of mine needs a name) is so much more than the struggle of this past season of dealing with the spiritual warfare regarding my blog, for the token was infinitely more than a camera.

It is a reminder that I am in the center of God’s will. It is a promise that all will be restored in due time, and is being restored even now. It is encouragement that someone out there who was once in my place as a young adult trying to figure out what I want to do with myself; someone who has seen my pictures and read my words and knows my hopes; someone who is now in the field I am chasing believes I have what it takes and was willing to invest in me.

It is the assurance that Adonai sees me, out of all the billions of other folks on this planet.

We never know why God is doing what He is doing in our lives; not fully. While we may harbor a notion, the entire masterpiece is rarely revealed beforehand; usually all we see are the brushstrokes. I’m not sure what He is going to do with my camera and my pen, but as of yet, I am thoroughly enjoying the lines of color. He restored what was lost physically, and I’m certain that through even this post, He is restoring what was digitally eaten. He is mending every scar, and so I will trust Him with tomorrow’s ministry. Today, though, let’s search for humans to bless as my beloved anonymous donor blessed me.

Look around you. Someone is hurting. Who is it? How can you be used as His vessel? Christ doesn’t only use nameless Samaritans. One thing I beg of you though: ask nothing in return.

Written During the In-Between (Once More)

We’re headed back to ourRevisedDSC_0086_105
Desert garden
Once more.
Thank You…

Thank You
For stealing me away
Take me further
Into You
Into Your Presence
Once More.
Help me crave You
Search for You
Wildly again.

Passionately, you carried me
Back to the place where
My words were secret
You and I alone
In the depths of this soul
Just discovering the dips of
Your own

And now You’ve released me
Back to spread this joy further
Is it yet time?
Shall we begin this love-journey
Once more?