So I’m writing a book, a second memoir of sorts. It’s been an interesting process and also emotionally exhausting. I’ve rediscovered and also uncovered new things about life, faith, and pressing in to life. None of the writing has been easy, but I think it has been worth it to dig in to the whole truth hidden behind doors. Of course, writing memoir can take a lot of a person. Be gentle with yourself. Sometimes you come to the page blank. Words won’t come. You’re staring at a blank screen. Nothing is making sense. I had that moment the other day. Continue reading Still You Are Here
There was a dream I once held I my hands
It always belonged to me.
Somewhere along the way it slipped from my hands
It slept soundly for years, hidden from view
Its deep swollen cries ignored
It began to whisper in the lingering moments of evening
Breaking through a thicket of lies and broken pieces
It slowly become a lion’s roar
The sound was deafening
The dream is on fire, blazing vehemently
The crackle and incessant hiss demands to be heard
There was a dream. It is now. It is alive.