The courage that my mother had

 Edna St. Vincent Millay

The courage that my mother had
Went with her and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried;
Now granite in a granite hill.

The golden brooch my mother wore
She left behind for me to wear;
I have no thing I treasure more:
Yet, it is something I could spare.

Oh if instead she'd left to me
The thing she took into the grave!-
That courage like a rock, which she
Has no more need of, and I have.


Beautiful poem. I'm so grateful for a mom who shows me what courage looks like everyday!

Happy [Belated] Mother's Day!

Break the Chains

This song....love it. Misty Edwards is incredibly talented!

Smile

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky
You'll get by
If you smile through your pain and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through
For you

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile- What's the use of crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile.

That's the time you must keep on trying,
Smile- What's the use of crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile.

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile Even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky- You'll get by

That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile- What's the use of crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile.

Smile - Charlie Chapman

What I learned from loneliness.

So much has happened since I last wrote that I don't know where to start. Life is flying by at a speed that leaves me spinning. Hopefully, I'll be able to make my posts a little more consistent, but it is crunch time for those of us in college - so don't hold me to it. :)

On a whim, I flipped back through my old journal of last summer and read through my thoughts and memories during that time. Some were really painful, others embarrassing, most pretty dramatic - the kind where you wince a little as you read, ya know? All of it though, was very real, and very difficult.

I learned so many lessons last summer, and grew a lot. It was far different from what I expected, in both positive and negative ways. I learned more about campus ministry (which I still have a heart for), and got to do things like sit in on meetings and help with summer projects. I started new friendships, and caught up with the ones that can easily get neglected in the business of the academic year. But the one word that described my summer overall, was loneliness. 

It was tough. I spent a lot of time by myself, or with people who (in my opinion) just didn’t “get me.” But almost a year later, I can honestly say I'm glad for it. I don't say that lightly, but it is true. After reading all of those entries, I felt like I should write about them, a different perspective at a different time. I started with a free-write in my current journal and wanted to share it, so here it is.

It hurts,

But I’m never completely alone.

It bends,

but does not break entirely.

I learned to count my blessings,

and treasure each moment with those that I love.

I learned that it’s easier said than done.

and that the toughest storms are sometimes internal.

I learned that God is closer than I know.

and His silence is different from his absence.

He never lets go,

but challenges me to be something greater than I am.

Those changes hurt, push me to my limits,

but in my weakness he still moves.

Through my foolishness he whispers wisdom.

Through my hurt he speaks of hope.

Life is full of contradictions:

            sweet and sour

            kind and harsh

            gentle and fierce

            lack and excess

but none of them have to control me. 

------

Some things can’t be taught, only experienced. I am better for that summer, although I couldn’t see it then. So if you are in that place, chin up, and look for moments of learning despite the tough stuff. I don’t say this to belittle what you are going through now, but you gotta know that the other side will come.

As always, I want to hear your questions, comments, or thoughts.

(Also, if you have any ideas on how to improve this poem-ish thing I have here, please let me know that too. I would love to hear [constructive] feedback).

My Passion

Do you ever hear a song and wish it had been you that wrote it? This is one of those songs for me. They lyrics speak so powerfully. The song is My Passion by Jesus Culture from their album Come Away. 

I'm alive to bring, glory to You, King.
God of victory, You are my passion.
It's in the way you are, You don't change at all.
Great and humble God, You are my passion.

My strength in life, is I am Yours.
My soul delights because I am Yours.
Your will on earth is all I'm living for.

Jesus I glorify.
Jesus my love is Yours.
You are my heart's desire.
I live to know You more.

Light that breaks the darkness, showing what true love is.
Always full of goodness, You are my passion.
You never do me wrong, the meekest man but strong.
The most perfect song, You are my passion.

A Little Victory - Day 7

This is a poem I wrote a few days back to share with my chuch. When I wrote it, it symbolized hope in something that hasn't fully come to past. When I read it, it became about courage in spite of fear. It's hard to explain that in a few words....but I'll try.

I felt an incredible amount of fear for something that should have been so small. It was to the point that I wouldn't even think about it because I'd physically feel ill. I was up and down the whole time -  praying, getting to a place of peace, then tumbling back into fear again. It was stressful. And frustrating.

God definitely gave me courage though. And He gave me people. A really close friend - more like a sister - came to me and was willing to listen. Her support meant so much because she pushed through the icy walls of "I'm fine" and "everything's okay" that I tend to put up when I'm really a mess inside. She was the first person that I actually read the poem aloud to.

My boyfriend was so incredibly supportive as well. He challenged me to follow through instead of giving up. He also told me something that I don't think I'll ever forget. I was nervous about working on my poetry in front of him - I usually work alone, then share what I've got. What he said went something like , "Don't feel like you have to go away and get perfect before you can come to me." I can't really explain now why that meant so much, but it did. And it ran deeper than just the poetry.

So, no matter what anyone may think about this poem, to me it was part of a growing process. I know that I'll be able to look back over this and remember it as a victory.

Me = 1, Fear = 0

------

Your love is spilling over

 the rough edges of my heart

I’m still flawed and unfinished,

But you don’t give up.

Your love reaches down

through time,

through sin

through fear

past pain

and all the voices that claimed

That I can’t make it.

That I’m too small,

 too weak,

Strange

and unequipped for the changes ahead

These words leave me restless and full of anxiety,

You break the chains of false security

confusion and selfish pride that keep

me from running to You.

But Your grace is enough

You make all things new.

                 

It doesn’t make sense to me

How deep Your loves goes.

The starkest poverty can’t exhaust your riches

Your light is so bright it cannot be eclipsed

Darkness can’t blind You, /Shadows can’t hide You

night is like day,

and tragedy just intensifies Your glory

Use my story

As part of your plan

To speak truth,

heal broken hearts,

and cut through sin’s cages

You’re the God of the Ages

And to You is the kingdom.

You have all the power.

You reign, King of glory

Forever, and ever, and ever

Amen. 

 ------

-- Psalm 34:5

Hope in the Unseen

I found this quote today. I pray that at the end of my life, I will be able to say these words.

“I asked God for strength that I might achieve. I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey. I asked for health that I might do great things. I was given infirmity that I might do better things. I asked for riches that I might be happy. I was given poverty that I might be wise. I asked for power that I might have the praise of men. I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God. I asked for all things that I might enjoy life. I was given life that I might enjoy all things. I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for. Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered. I am, among all people, richly blessed.”

-- Anonymous

Midnight Poetry

It's late and I should go to bed but I want to write something beautiful,

something from my heart.

But my brain is limp and craves sleep and there's no beauty, just cotton.

so I'll leave you with this instead.

Wild Geese 
Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

-----

Mary Oliver, your words are magic.

Where are you from?

"Where I'm From" poems are simple, beautiful, and as unique as snowflakes.

I wrote the one posted in the right column of this page. Writing them is always an interesting experience, because I think of so many things that were a part of my childhood. I've written more than one, and the really great thing is they're always different and I learn something new every time.

If you'd like to write one, you can find the template here. If you aren't sure where to start, check out the one written by the founder of this style of poem, George Ella Lyon. There's even a place to listen to her read it aloud which I strongly encourage you to do. Poetry is mean to be voiced!

If you write one and don't mind sharing it, I'd like to read it. You can e-mail it to me....at least I think there's a way to do that.

-Apple