The Space between the Pen and the Paper

my pen is
hovering not
touching the

yet words move
through my

I wonder
what keeps
the pen

what exists
in the
small space
the pen
and the paper

maybe just

finally the
pen leans
and makes

or defeat?

Ash Wednesday

A little rainy this morning
Clean cars getting wet
Sky gray and dark
Motivation low

Air thick
ground thirsty
hearts preparing
for a desert season

Sunday reprieves
because we are human

while Jesus is human and God
Leading us to
the cross and
to the tomb

and then to resurrection
Whatever that means
I struggle to understand

My heart feels hope
and assuredness though
my mind cannot quite
grasp it

That is faith, I guess
A knowing beyond

Like Love.

Exactly like Love.


How it started….

I have been wanting to post more of my artwork, however, I often feel the need to provide a backstory. I went foraging for some childhood artwork and what I found, interestingly enough, was poetry.

So, here is how it started….

And no, I did not know cursive in First Grade. This was in a book of poems I put together in a later grade.
I did not know how to draw the body of a dog, so I cleverly hid him behind a wall.
I am not very good at rhyming so I am always impressed with anything I have written that rhymes.
A haiku
Another haiku
Hmmm, not bad
My first published poem in a school district anthology (1983-84)

Maybe I am a poet after all.

I Broke

It feels like I broke.

Three years in seminary,
questioning my call,
a global pandemic,
family illnesses,
the loss of six
close family members,
physical injury.

I broke.

Not in an unfixable way,
but in a not anymore,
at least not today,
stop everything,
and take care
kind of way.

A refocus,
kind of way.

So I stopped.
I am taking care.
I am breathing.
I am living.
I am healing.

Thank you
Amma God,
for rest,
for life,
for breath,
for healing.


holding space ~ holding time

my mind is day-dreamy today
     wandering from thing to thing

     kitten nibbles
     all the stuff
     blue jays
     warm coffee
     dappled sun on the neighbor’s roof
     resting shepherd dog
     curious cat
     whirr of the fan which I am now turning off

monday, early, the still before the storm

sometimes I want to hold
     this space forever

but then I would miss so much,
I would miss my life,
my wild and crazy beautiful holy life

so I will allow the world
     to spin and the time to tick
and I will live it the best I can


amen ♡

It Starts with a Breeze

It is hot and muggy yet I felt a hint of a cool breeze as I eased into the adirondack chair in my garden. The slightest rustling in the trees above. Maybe a remnant of a seashore gust. Maybe a teaser that fall is coming. Whatever it is, I’ll take it. A reminder that God’s Spirit is always on the move. 

The pace of autumn always catches me off guard. It comes every year, and every year I am surprised by its gallop. When I lived further north, fall used to represent long sleeves and sweaters as the cool air turned the leaves. Here in Texas, it has a different feel. The heat lingers and turns everything brown. A slow burn. No snow to brighten up the landscape, just dormancy as the trees sleep. A grayness settles over for the long months of winter. 

The transition into fall has been a struggle the past few years. I want to learn how to embrace the season as it presents itself here. 

Can I love the temperance?

Can I embrace the gray pallet?

Can I accept the release, the letting go?

Can I live into the dormancy and the fallowness?

I wonder if it is the pace of school life juxtaposed to the dormancy that throws me off. The earth is shutting down to rest while academic life is ramping up. Can I find connection in the dichotomy? Can I create space for and honor the dormancy while still participating in the cadence of school life?

The briskness of the autumn air in Wisconsin and Maine used to invigorate me for the deep dive into school. Maybe I can allow the late Texas heat to purify me and refine me. 

Maybe autumn in Texas is my yearly crucible. Maybe the Spirit really is on the move. 

The Heartbeat of God: From Junk to Worship

Last week I was cutting up junk mail.
I have always been irritated and angered
by all the junk mail.

Then, I was inspired
by an artist I follow
to see differently.

Instead of seeing it as junk
I could see it
as patterns
and free art paper.

As I was cutting,
I began to appreciate
the artistry behind the ads.
The choices
of color and pattern.

The art director,
the graphic designer,
the photographer,
the set designer,
the font maker.

Maybe even
the paper maker
and then the trees
it came from.

I could honor
their gifts and effort
as I created something new
from it all.

Maybe it could be
a form of worship,
praising God
for all our gifts
and our interconnectedness.

I felt peaceful
after seeing differently,
after collecting something old
to make something new.

Thank you, Maker God.
For your cycle of creating,
and for allowing me
to co-create with you
and others around the world.

In Jesus name,

~~Inspired by @finebergartstudio