Tag Archives: future

The Slow Days are the Hardest

13 Sep

Sometimes it’s the slow days that are the hardest
When we go go go we aren’t forced to face ourselves
All the raging inside becomes mute in the busy

When we’re moving forward
We can look out the window at the landscape
Even if it’s stark
The motion of the road
Stirs our imaginations
A circus act appears
And anything can happen

There’s infinite possibility in the chaos

Photo Credit: Chris Campbell via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Chris Campbell via Compfight cc

But when we’re standing still
The future seems so small
Our insides so enormous
Like the stretch of our emotions is pulling us apart
And we don’t know how to move anymore

So we cast the blame
Dreaming of glory days of motion
Even if they were full of terror
We only remember going somewhere

Sometimes the still days are the meanest
When everything collides inside
And we can no longer hide from ourselves

Crossing The Sea

19 Mar

The page feels extra blank today, and I think maybe I have nothing to say.

But that is a lie, because the thoughts don’t stop rolling.

I try to live in the present, but my mind takes me far in the future.


To the smell of salt on skin, and tiny hands pressed into mine.

To walking by a paperback, my heart printed and on sale for $9.99.

To a place a young girl can rest her head, now only haunted by nightmares not reality.

To bad days and good days, love growing and an aching missing.

To emotions I can’t anticipate, or I will be overwhelmed now.

To all the things I’ve wanted so bad finally coming to pass, only to want more.


To wondering at the woman I have become, and I who will continue to be.

Hopefully stronger.

Hopefully less afraid.

Hopefully less prone to believe the bullshit and the lies,

or to put up with them.


Hopefully more myself than ever before.

In love and content.

Creating and thriving.

A peacemaker and a fighter.


Today, this is as vulnerable as I am going to be.

Hinting and scratching the surface of tension that floats upon the great wide sea within me.

But the question remains: How do I cross this ocean, that separates my dreams and my reality?


The only thing preventing me is a a few hours of time, and a few miles of fear.  

Slowly, I Open My Eyes

14 May

“Open your eyes wide,” he says intensely, lovingly.

I don’t look at him. My tears are hot, formed by some unknown frustration and anger.

He knows me. Well. We’ve had this conversation more than once. It used to be often. Not lately though, lately I’ve been fine. 

But something made it’s way into my soul, some discontented itch I can never scratch.

That deep seeded longing, that feeling like something needs to change.

It’s a feeling I’ve grown to hate. I don’t know how to shut everything up and just go through life happy.

I start to feel trapped.

“But what about…”

I start blaming him, blaming my time in ministry, blaming my own fear,  blaming the future I was so sure of when I was 19 or 22.


When I was small, I made up stories in my head constantly. While I ate cereal, I would picture whole groups of tiny people living in my bowl, a cheerio as a flotation device like in the terrifying scene from Honey I Shrunk the Kids. But a bite wouldn’t kill them, it would just force them to move, to set up home inside my stomach like Mrs. Frizzle’s class in The Magic School Bus learning about digestion.

Lying in bed at night, I’d stare into the darkness until I saw shapes and colors. I convinced myself I saw things, people, spirits, other worlds. I was sure that that’s what was real.

When I took a bath, I’d put my ears under the warm water close my eyes, leaving my nose in the air to breathe. The world would fade away and the only thing I’d hear was a deep methodic pounding, like ancient drums calling out to me. Sometimes I’d think if I listened hard enough I would be able to decipher it. Those thumps would quicken and I was convinced that it meant in my sleep I’d meet some horrible monster or be stuck in a pit without being able to get my legs or my voice to work.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized it was just my own heartbeat.


I still make up stories in my head.

I project myself into a future where I am blissfully happy, or exceedingly miserable.

I romanticize moments in my past where I think I was more myself, more alive because I was doing this thing in that place, having some adventure.

Of course, I exclude from my memory the times my heart ached, the times I wanted to give up, the times I just couldn’t wait for it to be over.


I turn to him, frantic.

“Life is so short… I just want to have an adventure.”

He smiles.

“You are an adventure.”

He reminds me of the good, shows me the beauty.

Slowly, I open my eyes wide.


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