P erson, public—often at odds—
E ntering monologues and dialogues full of
A ccusation and assessment—sometimes brutal and quite often blind—
C alling for change and definitive answers that cannot
E xist except that we lay down our swords, beating them back into plowshares.



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Sensing the need to feel

Important, –> that thoughts, actions, and

Gifts really matter, not just in the big scheme of things,

Not just ticks on nature’s timepiece,

Intertwined with myriad others, who

Fashion a purposeful life, a fanciful life, going somewhere–>

It is inbuilt, this need to belong, this feeling that

Creation matters, that we matter,

And that I as one lone voice matter,

Not just as a cog in a

Cosmic wheel–> but as imagio deo–

Everlasting because He has given me significance.

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Daily Prompt: Overwhelmed

O kay, I can’t live like this–all this tweeting, and FBing, and

V blogging, as if I need to know

E very single inconsequential thing about your daily

R ituals, what you’re selling, what you’re pushing.

W hat I need is quiet–physical and mental–a

H iatus from personal and political rants and

E nd-of-the-world diatribes. If the world is

L ost, then let me at the very least live

M y last brief moments

E njoying the illusion that people really

D o love and respect each other–at least now and then.


Daily Prompt: Scent

S omething stinks, and the decay

C omes creeping, creeping, over Facebook and

E mail and Twitter—whatever. And I would have

N ever thought the divide so wide, the pit so deep, and

T he resolution and mending so impossiblly far off.


Daily Prompt: Ten

T wo U.S. candidates plus rancor bipartisanship

E quals bitterness, chaos, and mind

N umbing diatribes. Chill everyone. Take five . . . no, take ten!


Daily Prompt: Devastation


D oom and gloom, sometimes of our own doing;

E ven if not, we can choose how

V aliantly or cowardly we respond.

A cceptance does not mean

S urrender.

T olerance does not mean

A ll points of view are true. But

T o live, thrive, and love

I n this crazy, reeling world is to

O nly and in all things hope,

N ot giving destruction and despair a soul-hold.




I ncreasing in time and distance, pushing back, back, back and forward                      again,

N ever finding a beginning or an ending. It is like the game I used to play                     as a kid,

F illing my mind with as much intentional emptiness as I could,                                                pushing, pushing to see

I f I could drive my way back to where there is

N othing.

I t never quite worked because somewhere in this exercise my brain would                               stop—just stop.

T oo full of thoughts to be empty, expanding space. Too busy and impatient                                               to persevere to the end of my self. Vanity. Human.

E ver seeking the end of things, the majesty where God lives and where He                         finds it in Himself to love even  me.


Happy New Year


N ow has accelerated through another day, another week, and

E very moment I thought I had left has evaporated into yesterdays

W ith unfinished to-do lists and unmet obligations.


Y et with this new beginning, I take a fresh look and a fresh breath, which reframe what

E ach new year can be—a chance to forgive, to forget, to dream big again, but to

A ccept my limitations in the context of what is possible. With

R enewed hope and a prayerful heart, I face what can be in this New Year.



The Daily Prompt: Mope

M elancholy muse–a formative part of myself, but

O nly a part, since I also love to laugh and live light.

P erhaps it is manic to observe from the outside, but to me my

E vanescent emotional swirl is the color of life.