Stormy Sometimes

I have a few writer friends who I met with the other day. They reminded me that when words aren't allowed to come out sometimes it can trigger depression or at least the feeling of being depressed. I will be writing more to let the words out. I honestly am not sure why I am not just blabbering away in Word documents and keeping them on my hard drive. I guess I think that if I am challenged by something, I am pretty sure I am not the only one. If I am, or you think I am, kindly please keep it to yourself ;)...

Here are a couple of poems that fell out of me as I considered how I have been feeling for the past several days.

Black Hole

Black hole
Vortex threatening
Loud suction
Resist pull

But land low
Deep pit
Thrash, then sit

Want out
Still but in motion
Waiting at the bottom.
Not alone.


Not Forgotten

Living from the joy
Within me pours freely
Like an endless fountain

Until...

The black clouds storm
Coping and reasoning
Under rapid fire from
Lightning and thunder.

The wind of anxiety
Courses through my blood
With tornado like force.
Building tension.

Suddenly I'm thrashing
Like a favorite shirt
Forgotten on a clothesline
In Nebraska

I cry out for help
Rescuers come
Strange forms they take
Unexpected some

I'm battered, bruised
From the storms within
Beloved ones too
See the devastation.

I reach for the Healer
Within the tempest.
He is with me.
Always.

The joy, deep peace
Perfect Love
Hold me tethered, stable
Unlike shirt on string

I am not forgotten.
I am chosen. Blessed
By the One who speaks
And storms end.

Letting Go

I have this dream.
It's in my heart.
I no longer imagine it.
I can see it - complete.

Told to wait, believe and trust,
Sure my heart will ache
Until I see this
Dream of mine.

Then the peace floods.
God is building more
Than my dream.

Being a Mom - Things I Hate and Things I Love

I hate hearing fighting as I step into the shower.

I hate feeling like I am failing more than I succeed.

I hate missing their hearts and focusing on their behavior instead because it's in my face.

I hate that I am selfish - sometimes I want my comfort more than their training.

I hate knowing that someday they won't need me, even though that is what I am raising them to do.

I hate loving them so much it hurts.

I hate my pride that is exposed every time they resist my correction in public.

I love hearing Legos dumped out looking for that one important piece.

I love each of us singing and praying on the way to school.

I love the sound of rowdy Nerf-gun play coming from the basement.

I love the prayers prayed over sleeping heads.

I love the smiles that show me my efforts are not in vain.

I love the angry frowny faces that reveal the needs of their hearts.

I love the remiders of how long I prayed for them - before they came - even when it hurts.

I love being a mom even though it is the hardest most challenging part of who I am.


I love my God who not only gave me the one child I cried out for, but three more from my womb and many more birthed in my heart.