A Mother’s Love

To my mother who was told that at 22 the last thing she needed was a baby.

To my mother who did not get an abortion when asked.

To my mother who has never been unkind to my Dad’s mother.

To my mother who called me even when I hit ignore on all her calls,

To my mother who had a baby at 22 and has never said it was a mistake.

To my mother who decided her call in life is to be just that.

To my mother who never gave up on me.

To my mother who called every day when I moved out on my own,

To my mother who listened to me cry tears of loneliness over the phone,

To my mother for believing in me when I most needed you,

To my mother who worries about me when I am sick or traveling

To my mother who still listens to the CD I made her in Christmas 2012.

To my beautiful mother who doesn’t always believe me when I remind her of her beauty.

To my mother who always finds a way to take care of those she loves,

To my mother who fought for me when the odds were stacked against her,

To my mother who was the object of slander and lies that I believed and yet she apologized anyway.

To my mother who has made mistakes.

To my mother who has apologized for her own as well as forgiven me for mine.

To my mother-you are the mother who cares.

Thank you. There will never be another quite like my adoring mother.

You are irreplaceable.

You are indestructible.

Do not forget that you are Pocahontas-you chose the harder path by having me.

I love you Mommy.


Sour to Sweet Outlook

Like a small dot lost in the void or a cotton ball floating on aimlessly, I am a small seed. I have acted like a tree for quite sometime now. I pretended that I had a trunk and branches and green leaves. Yet when alone at home in my room tightly tucked into bed with the light off, I knew all along that I was seed. I was startled by this knowledge and burrowed it deep inside so that no one knew that I am still growing, I am still a work in progress. Often I get caught up in who I am supposed to be and who others expect me to be and I end up falling flat on my face. As I lay there with the lights off thinking about my seed-like state, I begin to have self doubt, pity, and delve into the world of depression. My thoughts turn into a battle between who I am and who I am supposed to be. Why aren’t you 30 years old with everything together yet? How can you be so alone? How can you not have a friend base yet? What is your mission on this planet? How can you not be an amazing Christian yet? No one relates to you. Be a better person; be a better friend; be a better leader; be a better daughter; be a better girlfriend. 

The seconds turn to minutes that turn to hours that turn to days and weeks and months of this self doubt attitude. I find myself evaluating conversations to see if people like me rather than finding an interest in them. Again, I remind myself that I am only a seed. I am growing, if only little by little. As I shake off this feeling of inadequacey, I look to the people and events and life going on around me that is yet to be lived and I forget. I forget who I am supposed ot be or who other people expect me to be or who I expect myself to be. I have begun to just be me.

Who am I? I am a child of God who is loved by my Father who art in heaven. I am an aspiring writer. I am a lover of indie music and a avid reader of novels. I am a girlfriend of the kindest man I’ve ever known. I am an estranged daughter and a hiker and a youth leader and a babysitter and a receptionist. I am a passionate 19 year old who fell in love with a harsh world. I have a favorite coffee drink and catch phrases and TV shows and movies that I have loved so much they feel like my own. I am healing from a lifetime of emotional abuse. I am a warrior princess who is more warrior right now. I am the beloved, I am an encourager, I am an advice giver, I am a friendly acquantence. I have the gift of mercy and I am still figuring out what that means. I love philosophy and teaching and children under 5.

Who am I?

I am seed that without my realizing it, has started ever so slightly, to grow into a small stalk.

The Confession

We all have become a movement; a fight for our own cause.

We all want so desperately to forget about the nights that give us pause,

I want to believe in the words that escape from us as we begin to wake,

I want to erase the words that remain from the haze of anger, but they won’t shake

You hold my little life in your huge palms, as I wonder when I lost sight,

You hold my hand and coax me to admit, coax me to stop the fight

“How are you?”

“Actually, I’m not doing so well.”

And with that small confession, I walk willingly into your arms.


The only way to fail at life is to abstain from it. 

Don’t you forget about me. Will you look my way? Will you walk on by? 

What does it mean to abstain from life? What does it mean to lose your way? To give up? To quit? 

To divorce? To commit suicide? To stop eating? To binge drink?

I wish that I could say that I know. I wish that I could give an amazing speech on the hope of humanity and tragic optimism and love never fails. I guess I could. 

What I have found is so much more encouraging, however is an older couple holding hands in the rain. Or a young heart going through depression find the light again through the eyes of a friend. Or the freedom to express the feeling of skinniness beyond skinny. Or the Batman who never gives up on people, even when they hate him. 

Don’t give up.

I can whisper that into the void of writing and never hear anything back 

Or, I can continue to live as I write and mean what I say. I will listen. I will hold your hand. I will be a shoulder for your quite tears. 

I will always intercede on your behalf. 

Again, I say: Rejoice. 


I am rich in life, and that is all the richness I have ever had need of.

“You must be successful. Go where you will succeed. Opportunities abound there; you will inevitably succeed there.”

But to what end? What is success anyhow? To grow up, marry a nice boy, get a mediocre 9-5 job and have a upper middle class family? Perhaps two kids, a boy and a girl? A white picket fence and a house on a hill?

This description is the American Dream.

a) the fact of getting or achieving wealth, respect, or fame
b) the correct or desired result of an attempt
c) favorable or desired outcome

Now just by looking at the first definition, I cannot view it as a valid defining of success. Wealth, respect, and fame do not mark success. Wealth can be seen as success, however it is not in itself the defining factor. Respect can be given in all forms, and it can be seen as success. However, some people get respect when it is not deserved, and that isn’t success. Fame is never ever ever a marker of success for me.

No. The correct definition has to be the third one. Favored or desired outcome. I believe the desired outcome is to matter to people in somehow or someway. And not to matter to people in the sense of fame. But to be a different to them, and to reach out to them and whisper you matter. That is success. Change.

Therefore, I conclude, as I have previously stated, that the opportunities abounding are irrelevant because that is not the kind of success I am speaking of. I wish to move towards a drama of life. Of work. Of love. Of change.

I will succeed only if I am rich

No no, no my friend. I contest that I will fail only if I value the amount in my bank account. Instead I will value the amount of smiles and connections I make a day. I will value the One who created us. And who gives us ultimate value.



Too often in life, we want to catch the next train or jump the next flight.
We’re so afraid of being late we end up not being able to jump heights.
I’m not afraid of death, and even in Fourth grade I remember I never was.

All I’ve ever been afraid of is not living, of not being significant to someone, in someway, somehow.

Don’t be afraid to love and laugh and cry if you want to. Experience it. Suck the marrow out of life. Don’t go off the deep end and swing naked on a wrecking ball, but don’t be afraid to try something new.

Just breathe in the existential possibilities of passionate life.

Broken Apologies

What does broken mean?

Why do people fall away?

Friends are here and then they aren’t. It’s not because I hate you. We just don’t have anything in common anymore.

I’m a Christian. You are still thinking about it.

I’m in a serious relationship. You think that’s stupid.

I’m going to struggle through college. Your parents have it covered.

Were we ever truly friends? Or was our friendship simply a product of convenience?

I’m sure I don’t know. All I know is you were there for me when I was confused. We bonded over silly things. We went shopping and got on tumblr. We laughed at pony boy. We listened to indie music and reflected on our favorite books. My first kiss disaster was solved just by talking it out. You understood me. But now we don’t understand each other at all.

Is this my fault?

I’m sorry. I loved you how I knew how. I guess I figured out I didn’t know how to.

Goodbye, Hello: The Transformation

I lost myself in your eyes. The ocean mist surrounding your pupils swallowed me and transformed me into a girl who is no longer a loner, but a lover of life. I easily fell in love with you, the same way two hands find each other unconsciously. There is no piece of me that you don’t know. There is nothing you could do to end this love I feel for you. I willingly jumped into that greenish blue and when I came out again I was fresh and new. I feel most like me when I am with you. I’ve waved farewell to what I used to be and found myself wholly in you. It is hard for me to imagine going any amount of time being no longer part of we, going back to just a me. I can’t figure out an exact day I knew, but I have found slowly and all at once that you are the one I’m meant to be with.


Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved herself. She hated herself, but wanted others to love her; however, the pride of loving/hating herself was the same as loving herself. She constantly thought of fantasies of ways people could show how great she was: kissing her, asking her on dates, praising her for style or grace or smarts, anything one could think of, she had imaginied getting praise for it. She was traveling down the path of life, joined by many others. It was a wide path, so many people joined her on it. When she met such people, she fell in love with how they could love her, not really them. She critisized and analyzed people, always either good or bad, worthy or not, loved or unloved. These people eventually would leave her for a much narrower path. She felt betrayed and hurt and alone and worthless when this happened. She quit stopping to eat along this path, she quit talking to people, she closed inwards. She shut herself off from love. There was a fairy who often flew alongside her on this path, even when she didn’t want her there. The fairy was kind and thoughtful, with impossibly curly blonde hair. The fairy annoyed the selfish, black-hearted woman, however, and she often shooed her away. When she didn’t shoo the fairy away, she complained to the fairy. She complained that everyone always left her, that her path was difficult, that she was unloved. The fairy always comforted her. One day, the fairy stopped coming to her. She also flew down the narrow path. Naturally, the young woman felt utterly betrayed by this fairy. She had always wanted that fairy to be there for her, to listen, to convince her to eat, to bug her, to love her. Crying and sobbing and outright pouting, the girl howled until the fairy flew over from the other path to ask whatever was the matter. The girl spouted off lines of selfishness, saying no one cared for her. The fairy looked hurt and angered, so much so that the girl stopped her crying and just looked at the fairy. The fairy pursed her usually smiling lips and said in a devastated tone a soliloquy that would make a giant cry:

I held your hand after every fall,

I kissed you after the weep and bawl

I presented you with a kiss,

Only getting a hit and a miss

Slowly I came to realize, that I

Have more to do than dry your ever wet eyes

I’ll always love you, can’t you see?

It was you who never truly loved me.

The girl was speechless and started to see every blind and selfish act she ever made to the beautiful fairy. The fairy smiled, patted her arm, but she flew away to her new friends, her true ones. The girl was jealous of the new friends, but in time she came to see that she could never again be with that beautiful fairy.