You are a warrior.

You are a warrior.

You are a warrior.
You’ve walked a
tightrope –
steady –
the balance
hope and grief,
joy and pain,
digging in and
letting go.
You’ve trusted.
And you didn’t fall.
Somehow you
found a way to
be present in the
midst of holding
so much.
How did you
manage to dance
on a tightrope?
You’ve learned
and relearned
who you are;
who you are
meant to be,
created to be.
You’ve discovered
both your need
and your strength.
May you see,
dear warrior,
the way
you’ve grown,
the way you’ve
been held.
Hey, skinny jeans.

Hey, skinny jeans.

Hey, skinny jeans.

I know that you have 

felt my absence. 

It’s nothing personal…

I still like you. 

I also like breathing. 

Things have changed 

in the last 10 months 

and what was once 

‘fit like a glove’

is now painful contortion. 

It’s not you. 

It’s me. 

You can’t encompass

the results of

my coping mechanisms.


ice cream, 

sitting in a chair and writing, 

watching movies with the kids,

and lots of snacks, and not an

equal amount of walks,

have been my regulars.

It would be unfair 

to us both 

to ask you to

hold all of me. 

I should tell you, 

I don’t feel badly 

when I pass you over

each day.

I don’t feel guilt or shame 

that my curves no longer fit 

within your seams.

You require that I be less, 

but I am more. 

I’ve changed.

I am stronger than I’ve ever been before.

I’ve seen more and felt more. 

I’ve hurt more. 

I am softer. 

I am more reliant. 

I need more than I thought. 

I need less than I thought.

A paradox like the rest of life. 

Skinny jeans –

It’s not you, 

it’s me. 

You ask me to be less,

but I am more. 


Hope made a way

Hope made a way

The pieces don’t fit. 

I want to finish

this puzzle so that 

it makes sense. 

It’s a mess and there are 

pieces missing

so I am not sure

why I keep going. 

I am losing hope

that I will ever see

the complete picture.

I am missing pieces. 

I am not where I 

thought I would be

or maybe who 

I thought I would be. 

Nothing feels complete and

I don’t have hope that 

this puzzle, this life

can be redeemed.

I sift through pieces,

I look for hope,

I get out a magnifying glass

to aid my search. 

Tears of frustration

make it difficult to see as

I try to match things up. 

I sense someone beside me.

He shifts the magnifying glass

so that I can see 

the strong 

thread holding the 

pieces together 

where there’s a piece missing. 

Hope fills in the gap.

He shows me 

that beauty exists

where I see only chaos.

He sees what I cannot. 

He shows me that hope

touches each piece

of the puzzle –

even though I can’t

see a picture coming 

together at all.

He asks me to trust 

that my story 

will have 

beauty and glory – 

hope has made a way.



The best thing

The best thing

You are 




Me too.

I am 

really trying

to be there 

for you – 

to be what you need

even though it’s

not my role to fill.


When there are 

tears –

I want to fix it

as if it’s blood, 

not salt.

When you have a  

hard question,  

I want an answer

like I want breath.

When you feel 

like you are 

coming undone

I want to

stitch it all up

and make 

your world 

cozy again.

The thing is 

I don’t have 

the fix, 

the answers,

and I can’t mend myself

or you.

Let’s lean in together.

Let’s lead 

each other to peace. 

Let’s rely on the 

strength that’s

the same 




This is the 

best thing

I can do for you, 

for me. 



Veil of fog

Veil of fog


Thick, real.

Joy and hope

play a game

of hide and seek

I did not ask

to participate in.

The future holds

question marks –

so many unknowns…

The fog

clouds vision,

tangles emotion,

and I just want to


The swath

of clouds hangs

over every area of life

and I wonder

if this veil will

lift and what life

will look like

when it does.

Where is the sun?

Has the fog

smothered hope?

I look down

to see there’s

a rope in my hand.

I am tethered.

I am not lost

to the fog.

I will cling

to what is

holding me.












My world has been


It’s been a 

painful shaking,

an imposed surrender.

All that I once

held with a tight grip

is no longer

something I can

cling to.

Some of what I held

dear has fallen

through my hands. 

What remains 

is precious, 

their importance –


I open my hands

to examine 

what is left. 

There’s not much there.

And yet

it is all that I need. 

My heart is full 

and my hands 

have room to 

to serve, 

to give, 

to explore,

to give grace.