• My Poems,  The Church Year

    Celestial Bodies {a #poem}

    My weary eyes need reminders to view the galaxies aright. Focused on the sliver of moon, they forget an entire orb hides in the dark. I gaze at dull concrete, traipse around the observatory, past an entrance where God stands in the doorway beckoning me to peer, Galileo-like, past roofs, across trees, into velvet sky. As feet pause on sure ground, a whisper beckons to dream above, beyond to distant beauty. Consider the immeasurable heavens inside, reckon my need as I’m handed a telescope. Brightened eyes rest and remember. This poem was written as part of Poems for Ephesians, an online project of D.S. Martin at McMasters Divinity College. I…

  • The Church Year

    Worry & Wonder–Holy Week

    “Only in those moments of vivid experience that made her come alive was she at home in her own country.”    –Marianne in Green Dolphin Country, Elizabeth Goudge, Hodder & Stoughton, 1944 Friend T and I were chatting on Instagram the other day about my favorite author (see above). There’s no writer I can recall whose stories have deepened my vision of the Gospel and my appreciation for the beauty of language quite like Elizabeth Goudge. But my heart is also quieted today, a heaviness at the back of my bones, weighted down by worry for the world and the myriad of ways we are messing it up. I’m afraid…

  • My Poems

    True Wood {a #poem}

    Pears thunk and plop on barren, yellow grass alone, uncarried. The tree bore fruit but there is no one to eat thereof. (is it still a tree?) Upraised branches, so much verdant waterspray towards the sky, still and soft against the blue– but no one to see. (is it still a tree?) Oaken limbs, worn with carrying children to and fro, pumping, playing jumping, but no one now hears the joy in the swing. (is it still a tree?) Carpenter fashions these woodly beams, rough-hewn splinter-worthy carried for miles to the top of a hill- everyone sees: It was a tree.