On Becoming

With eyes full of stars, a heart of joy,
And simple life, full of affection.
Content to just be who you are!
And that has been perfection.

But now you are becoming more,
No longer gazing at the skies,
Maturing from the child you were.
And tears, not stars, now fill your eyes.

You are growing into who you will be,
Not losing who you were before.
Becoming is not a loss, but a gain:
You are who you were, just so much more.

You wonder and worry about who you will be,
And mourn what you are succumbing.
May your eyes fill back with stars when you realize
The radiant, true self you are becoming.

True Light Has Come

Do not pretend, oh you who are distressed,
That darkness your weary heart does not bind.
The joy and hopes of ones so long oppressed
The falsely merry lights of Christmas blind.
But truly, Light did not so come for light -
This Season is not just for the merry -
For what matter is light if not for dark?
And who is Christmas for, if not the weary?
Oh merry Christmas, what true light hast thou
For our deep darkness here? So now please shine
Thy soft, sweet Light; lest darkness we allow
To reign in precious body and the mind.
But Grief is welcome, with hope alongside,
Because true Light did come at Christmastide.

Telling Your Story

She worried about telling her story,

She worried it would not inspire.

She worried about sharing so much of herself,

And the honesty that it would require.

Others had gone before her

With stories so moving and fierce.

And though she knew knew better than to compare

Still she worried with eyes full of tears.

Why should I tell my story? She pleaded.

What does it have to add?

A story without a brave heroine;

A story, not moving or sad.

She thought of stories she’d heard all her life

Of characters so brave and true:

Testimonies of God’s faithfulness

And all that He’d brought them through.

All stories have a main character

The One who directs the plot.

Was she the one who guided her story?

And then she realized, she was not.

She was simply an instrument

To play His beautiful song.

He was the one to write her story,

She just had to sing along.

So she told others of her story

And though she still felt small,

She finally learned to embrace her story

Because it wasn’t her story, after all.

Ode to Audrey

She dances in glee around the garden

The sun shining off her golden hair

She counts our new sprouts with eagerness

While I enjoy her sweet presence there.

Inspiration guides her as we head inside

Where she pulls out her crayons and creates.

Dirt and seed and vegetables

With Pictures and words she elaborates.

Creation inspires more creation

and my creation inspires me.

I look into her sparkling eyes

As she hands me her book so excitedly.

A sweet little story, the life of a garden

Planting, watering, growing our seeds

Her masterpiece on sheets of paper

Mine standing in front of me.

Her likeness of me, a gift from Heaven

His wondrous Creation in my care.

I marvel at her creative spirit

And whisper praises into the air.

I water, nurture, and attend,

Cultivating this beautiful sprite

And up she grows, from seed to sprout

And I must pull out my pen and write.