a woman of strength and softness

a friend of mine shared this poem with me when i was in malawi a few years ago. i scribbled it down in my journal then only to reread it this week. i think it's so beautiful and had to share it.

A Woman of Strength and Softness

Surrendered heart, not surrendered identity

a strength to be reckoned with

She does not demand respect

but you want to give it to her

Her presence invites you to rest

in fact she is like a tree

holding forth nurturing branches

not a spiderweb, trapping you for her soul food

Her vulnerability is so lovely

you cannot keep your soul out of hers

She is marked by genuine kindness

of one who has already forgiven you

for how you will fail her

She exudes the kind of strength

that trusts and waits and suffers

as unto God's purposes, not her own

She lays her own life down

like a lamb, not a dog

Her surrender flows from her love

not fear or desperation

Her surrender is a chosen thing

She lives in the vulnerability of her longing to be treasured

her longing to be known

her longing to be invited in

But she lets her disillusionment

tenderize, not toughen her heart

She does not hold the objects of her love captive

She does not make them pay

or tie them to her with guilt

or keep them in terror of her critical eye

But rather lets them fly free

Enjoying all the more the reunion

They get to choose to be with her

She lives at the mercy of no one

She is captive only to the Father

Thus she is free to love

Even if it means she loses

She chooses doing love over getting love.

Written by Lottie K. Hillard

I send you...

I wrote this for a few different friends who are walking through some very difficult times.
These are my words to them.

I Send You

I send you warmth on a cold winter's night.
I send you quiet moments to be still in the presence of your God.
I send you a tiny spark into your darkness
to light your way when you don't know which way is up and which way is down.
I send you hope in the most unlikely of people
to speak a kind word into your ear
or a smile into your eyes.
I send you freedom from secrets and expectations you've long held onto.
I send you freedom to change and to grow into the person you were created to be
and patience in the process.
I send you the strength to be laid bare and broken and vulnerable
before a community that loves you
and a God that loves you even more.
I send you peace in those moments of despair and loneliness.
I send you truths and stillness to calm your anxious thoughts
to give your weary body rest.
I send you strength and courage
to sit with the anger, the pain, the guilt, the disappointment, the sadness, and the loss,
to watch it change shape, soften and transform
into something new and holy and good.
I send you powerful moments of knowing
deep down in your bones and insides that you are kept and you are loved.
I send you grace.
I send you grace into darkest corners of your being,
places you wish to be left unseen.
I send you the lightness that comes with a burden lifted and sins forgiven.
I send you the feeling of God's love
in every pulsation of your heart and every breath let free from your chest.
You are so deeply loved.
Know that.

The Sacrament of Letting Go

I was swinging in the park yesterday during my run yesterday. It's true, I went running. And it probably won't happen again for at least a week or two as my quads hurt super bad. That's what I get for working out once every couple months... Anyway, I was looking at this huge mama tree as I was swinging and singing with my ipod and watched a leaf fall to the ground. At first, I just watched it sway back and forth with the wind and the pretty spiral of orange that was the leaf's journey. Then I looked back up at the tree to see the other leaves and they were all gone. I watched this last leaf fall. It was a cool moment to reflect on the loss of that last leaf and the end of a season. Winter is here.

This poem is amazing, by the way...

The Sacrament of Letting Go
by Macrina Wiedekehr

Slowly she celebrated the sacrament of letting go.
First she surrendered her green,
Then the orange, yellow, and red.
Finally she let go of her own brown,
Shedding her last leaf-

She stood empty and silent, stripped bare.
Leaning against the winter sky,
She began her vigil of trust.
Shedding her last leaf,
she watched it journey to the ground.

She stood in silence wearing the colors of emptiness,
her branches wondering, "How do you give shade with so much gone?"

And then the sacrament of waiting began.
The sunrise and the sunset watched with tenderness,
Clothing her with silhouettes that kept her hope alive.
They helped her to understand that her vulnerability,
Her dependence and need,
Her emptiness, her readiness to receive,
Were giving her a new kind of Beauty.

Every morning and every evening,
They stood in silence,
And celebrated together the sacrament of Waiting.

Remembering...Brian

All it took was a glance to the date on my computer screen.

Seven years ago today, you were still a teen

Early morning July 3^rd, the dawn was breaking

And your own life you were taking.

I know you had your reasons

I would have told you that life is worth living

And that we all have our seasons

I hope at the very least in that last moment

You knew you were loved

By a great and loving God above.

This day comes around every year,

And the strength of your character becomes that much more clear.

Boy did you carry that sense of life

That passion inside that flowed from your hands

onto paper, walls and canvas

you believed that love could change the world

Can this?

Poetic words spoken from your lips

Into our ears, hearts and histories

“Live to love” you said,

“Create love and be free”

It took losing you for so many to finally see.

It’s undeniable, the strength you carried

From your first breath until the day you were buried

In all your ways you breathed humility

And in the end I’m reminded of life’s fragility.

I wish you were here.

There are so many things I’d like to tell you.

And share perhaps over a beer

Your life has touched mine and others

Many mothers, friends, sisters and brothers

If there is anything to gain

I want you to know your life was not lived in vain.

One last and little secret I can’t forget.

Remember those prank calls you used to get?

Your favorite songs

played to you by a random somebody

All those years ago,

yeah, that was me.

Much love, friend.

Brian Betz (1983-2002)

almost poetry

(I apologize for being so verbose; this was written in a late night, sleepy state.)

some thoughts that resemble poetry..

I am a tattered and torn person in the process of becoming

Who it is I am meant to be

Into the image of the one I long to see

Transforming and changing

Imago dei.

If only I was cleanly cut with no jagged edges

Made to fit perfectly so,

Here and there.

Into the dreams I’ve so carefully drafted

Through the paths I’ve chosen

and will find again in pages unwritten

I’ve learned that the pieces don’t always fit just so

I’ve learned by going where he leads

and learning to let go

Must I still be learning?

I’m in love with our world.

That hurts and breaks

And in my hands I feel the warmth

When I hold them up to the wounds

In our world that is fallen and broken and crying out for hope

Daily I see pieces of a flawed and imperfect humanity

Yearning for redemption

Aching for heaven’s waters to spill over the earth and wash it clean

Yet, in the midst of a scarred world,

I can’t help but find myself in awed moments

Grateful for heartache,

That echoes within

And calls out to others

in a melody

that we all know

I am astounded by the immense weight of hope in the midst of suffering

In spite of dire odds and circumstance

We remain a people

Clinging to slivers of hope

And remaining faithful

As we lean a little more into

the next page

and into a love that is with us

until the end of the age.

Where I come from

I love writing exercises that switch up the way I think or write and this one was particularly cool to me as I love reflecting on the people and places that I come from. I saw the template on this cool girl's blog. It's called Where I'm From and I think all of you should try it as well. It's thoughtful to think through and it's a lens for others to see a bit of where you come from.
Go here for the template.

I am from salty beaches with seashells and sand dollars, from Peachios and cartwheels on the lawn.

I am from the orange house on Pleasant Beach, the aging speedboat and the tire swing twirling in the afternoon sunlight.

I am from hardy rhododendrons that bloom vibrant and fit perfectly behind the ear, the sweetly fragrant lilies that wake me every Easter morning and unwavering dandelions that push their way through cracks in the patio.

I am from road trips guided by theme parks, from stepping lightly after curfew, from Harmony in Korea, from Katherine Williams and Uncle Ambrose.

I am from great lengths for the love of family, from five hour drives every other weekend to keep our family together. I am from my dad’s heartbreaking stories of loss witnessed in a life-time of fire-fighting and service in the Vietnam War.

I am from wheelbarrows full of fuzzy caterpillars, play clothes and school clothes, and puddles you could jump right through.

I am from a house full of skeptics, wincing at street corner preachers, televangelists and abortion protesters, unconvinced that heaven could hold both a sinner and a saint. I am from youth leaders who never uttered a word about God or unfolded a prayer but always found time for flashlight tag. I am from that still small voice that whispered to me that we are all meant for so much more.

I am from the ferries of Bainbridge Island en route to Seattle and the leap of faith that crossed oceans for love. I am from Grandma’s Christmas goulash everyone pretended to love and the chocolate chip cookie dough that vanished before the cookie sheet appeared.

I am from first dates post World War II, running terrified from the theater when the opening scene exploded on the screen, the girl who could waltz in her sleep and double-clutch like a pro, and Clapper the Clown at pancake breakfasts, and walking in the fourth of July Parade to celebrate the honor of citizen of the year.

I am from puzzle time with old ladies, telling stories about their loves and the latest romance novel.

I am from beaches of drift wood and Hurricane Ridge, from hallways of frozen moments of awkward years, from dusty piano tops alongside Frank Sinatra and Etta James. I am from cold Christmas Eve nights on the porch listening to carols sung from fire truck speakers.

This is where I come from and I’m forever grateful..

To Be Compassionate

You’ve been tossed into the valley, into the mire

You feel lost and in the midst of fire

They tell you they will be there for you

They will help you through

They will stretch their worlds for you

To be compassionate

And we all want to be compassionate

But where are they now?

People struggle with pain

Pain in their own hearts, they’re always hiding

Their pain rises and meets yours and they’re colliding

It overwhelms, it stings and it’s just too much

To be compassionate

Compassion means to be with, to suffer with

And it’s too much

To be compassionate

But we will dig deeper

Stretch our hearts a little wider

To be compassionate

We will hold your pain

And be with you

Suffer with you

Tell you that it will all be okay

Slowly, ever so slowly

Time will bind you back up

And heal you

And you will believe us when we say that it will all be okay.