Friday, July 15, 2016

Created to Fly.

She stands on the edge
Feet digging into the dusty ground
Somewhere between impossibility and destiny

She looks out over the ledge
Beauty drips from the landscape
Beckoning her to rise up and be
Who she was created to be

Her hands hold tight fists
Sweaty palms
Heart beating out of chest


She walks back
Away from the edge
Each step filling with courage
She turns swift
Her eyes focus


One heart-pounding step at a time
She runs to the edge
Silence surrounds
Only hearing her own deep breath

She feels every step
As the dust kicks up
She breathes in
And closes her eyes

She. Jumps.

Wingspan opens


The earth rises up
With great applause
The trees stand tall
Cheering her on

She. Flies.

The landscape changes
As the light, she carries
Illuminates love
Colours burst brightly as she soars

She. Flies. 

Upon wings, she kept hidden within
Wings. Dreams. Destiny.
But that day life changed
When she started to believe

She didn't turn back
No, she didn't stop
Change was too great to buckle to fear
The earth long-awaited her

With wings outstretched
And the wind beneath her
She flies into her destiny
Defeating the enemy

She. Flies.

And the world around her will never be the same.

Fly my sweet sister! Fly!

Much Love and Blessings!

Friday, December 11, 2015

She Forgives.

She Forgives. 

An original art piece and imperfect prose from my heart to yours. 

She held the stone tight in her hand
In what she thought was self-defense

And the longer she held it the heavier it became
Strength no longer in her grip

It slipped 

The stone turned to many on the ground
Looking down at her weakened hand
She wondered how she had carried so many for so long
And as she stared deep into the curves on the stones
She realized they weren't her defense

The were her offence 
Stacked high shaping unforgiveness

She realized they drained her strength
Made her weak

She stopped in this place looking
long, hard and deep
There was a Peace in the air
And as she stood still
She was moved inside to forgive

As she let go
She was not only able to move
She was able to run

And that which was meant to hold her back
Launched her forward

She got lost in the moment
But before she got too far
She glanced at the rocks
And in their place
An altar

She knew then that the peace that met her there
In the unlikely of places

Was Him
the Prince of Peace
Her King
And at that altar
She was transformed
By the kiss of

Forgiveness sets us free of our own captivity and in the presence of the Holy Spirit, we are transformed to look more like Him. Pouring out His unconditional love on all. Without even knowing others lives are radically changed because we bring Heaven to earth. Be Blessed this weekend friends. If you are on Instagram connect with me there by clicking the button in the right column. I've started sharing original artwork and the story behind each piece. As always I love your comments here and I return all visits. Thank you for stopping by today.

I am linking up with

Missional Women


Spiritual Sundays

Much love!

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

She is Anchored.

An imperfect poem from my heart to yours.


She held the rope tight in her hands. Ready to throw out the weight into the unseen.
The place she read about heard about but never trusted enough to believe.

But there was something growing in her while she walked on the outskirts. Something growing out of the rich dirt. Dirt that covered her bare feet and smudged the knees of her jeans. Dirt that at one point buried her and all of her dreams.

A seed. 

A seed deep within was blossoming new life. Unveiling roots of love.
Love she had not tasted before. Love that waited for her.

She stopped to savor the moment. Bare feet standing before Love. 


She could almost make out His piercing gaze as His presence covered her.

She began to believe again. In life. In love. On purpose. 

With the seed of great faith growing out of the depths she gained the strength to throw the heavy weight.

Out into the unseen. And she believed.

 The road would no longer push her down. Leave her abandoned in the dirt. For the Father who adopts, found her.

His blood runs through her. His breath fills her lungs. And her dirty feet. Washed clean. 

She was no longer intimidated. No longer held captive by fear. No longer chained still by opinion.

She believed in Him and what He said about her.

She was strong. She was loved. But she didn't stop at contentment. No. She became love. 

Her hope was in Him. Tucked behind the sacred threshold. Sitting in the Heavenly realm.

No nothing could tear her down. Nothing could stop her now.

For she was anchored. 

Anchored in Him. 

One of my favorite translations of the bible reads, "We have this certain hope like a strong, unbreakable anchor holding our souls to God himself. Our anchor of hope is fastened to the mercy seat which sits in the heavenly realm beyond the sacred threshold, and where Jesus, our Forerunner, has in before us..." (The Passion Translation) It's encouraging knowing that He has gone before us and I imagine Him cheering us on. When we lose sight of this He often sends others across our paths to speak a word of life. Listen to Him. What He is saying about you. Brush off the dust and run my sister run.

I'm linking up with

Rich Faith Rising


Women With Intention

Blessings and love always,

Monday, December 7, 2015

She Paints.

"Why do you paint?"

The question lingered in her mind and danced across her soul as she gripped her brush tight.

Paint dripping down the wood soaking into the grains. She stopped right there and stared deep into the lines. The natural lines in the wood created by Him.

And it was Him who first painted.

It was Him who first created.

She imagined His spirit like a paintbrush sweeping over the dark and coloring life. There were no shadows in His color. Nothing lingering in corners. Darkness was pushed out and beauty was exposed.

His art. His creation. Breathed long before her.

And it didn't hang on walls. No. 

It hung among stars. 

Twinkling bright in the nights sky. And She walks upon and with His artwork every day.

With the paint brush clinched in her fist, she breathed in. Lungs expanding in His Hand. She is one of His most prized creations.  

His hands shape her still. Even as she creates. He presses her, molding her from the inside out. He takes His time. She is His masterpiece.

He pays close attention to every detail. Every detail unseen by the naked eye.

Softly forming, gently loving.

And as He shapes and bends, she creates. Her words. Her brush. Colors vivid. Splashed on paper and soaking into the wood.

Painting. Writing. Opening every day a little more. Her alabaster box. Everything she was given she hopes to pour out onto Him. This is why she paints. With brushes and with words.

For Him.

She will create like her father until her last breath is breathed deep. And when she steps from time into eternity and her creations turn to dust, she hopes that you can see the greatest artist of all signed His name on the picture of her life. Elohim.

Yes, this is why she paints.

Sharing with


Spiritual Sundays

One of my pieces of original artwork was featured on raahheart.com, please stop by Jessi's inspiring blog by clicking here.

Be encouraged. The greatest artist of all time believes in you and the dreams He has placed in you. You can do it!

Blessings and love always,

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

His Pride

He moves steady and with focus

Through the dry desert land

Where trees are scarce and others migrate to water sources

A sudden wind breathes across the dirt

Stirring the stillness in the air

I turn to shield my eyes and see He is here

Burning right before me


All consuming

Peace falls over this barren space

As Love kisses my being life awakens

Nervousness rolls through me

I want to hide behind the lone olive tree

That one over there

Don't you see

My back pressed up against the smooth bark

But I.. I cannot run 

I cannot move

For I am captured by intimacy

His gentle gaze settles upon me

For He is my protector

And I am His pride

My words stop here

No more to write struggling to type

For intimate places you carry deep. sacred. in your heart

You grasp them tight

Trying to keep them hidden

Like a dress seen for the first time on a wedding day

Hearts pound

Love awaits

In that place He beckons me

Out of boxes made in minds

Stepping into freedom

His invitation


Waiting to be opened

By those He loves

As His breath kicks up the dust

That covers us

Dry bones

Start to arise

For He is our Savior

And we are His pride

Imperfect words for a perfect Savior. Our Lion of Judah, an original picture completed with thousands of dots. 

Blessings always,