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,

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Refinishing Antique Frames and Uncovering Beauty Along the Way.

And there they were. Dark. Wooden. Antique frames. You heard the story about them being tucked away. Waiting to be thrown out with the day's trash. What once hung on older walls now collecting dust. Disheveled. 

And your mind ran wild with the thought of the dimly lit garage. The dusty corner they must have been stored in. The heaping pile of garbage they were destined to be thrown in. Before they reached the dump a woman's hand must have swept back the dust. Dust that covered the beauty unseen. 

Her smooth hand tracing the detail. Details lost in the dark. Light revealing what was thought to have been lost. And she... She saw beauty.

One day her hands passed the frames to you. Believing you could do something. Something beautiful. 

So... you did what most women do. Searched Pinterest. With inspiration and antique frames stretched across your table you start to fill in the broken pieces with thickened Plaster of Paris. Pressing your finger delicately across the bends. Once dried and gently sanded you begin to paint. Metallic gold across the darkened wood. No fear. Just trust. Trust.

After a night passed you slathered on light blue chalk paint. Nervousness started to shake your hands as the details of the frames were being covered. Blending. Brightening. A different look. Not quite beautiful but there was no turning back from here. So forward you must go.

Once the frames dried you slightly buffed the light blue chalk paint revealing the gold that was hidden beneath and a smile highlighted your face. You were starting to see beauty. And you... You were pleased.

The final touch. Dark antiquing wax. No one can prepare you for the dark wax. Covering up hours of work. Moving quickly you paint on a layer. Believing. It would come off perfectly. So you grab your soft cloth and begin to work in circular motions. Trying not to say, "wax on, wax off."  Please.. wax off.

After some time, you take a step back half amazed. It worked. The wax clinging only to the detail. Pulling forward the beauty. Beauty that once was covered beneath dust destined for the dump.

You snap a picture and your 15-year-old daughter says "Mom, that's Pinterest worthy!" You smile. Pleased. You deliver them to the hands that saw beauty. The hands that believed you could do something beautiful. And a story hangs on a dining room wall. Beauty for all to see.

As I type this post I see the beauty of my King. So many of us are disregarded. Tucked away and headed for the dump. Often times feeling less than garbage. Unloved. Broken. Unseen. But His spirit moves over us. With a gentle touch of Him, the dust is brushed off. 

The hurt. The offense. The pain. Blows away in His presence. He gently fills in the gaps and presses into us overwhelming love.

He stands back and He doesn't have to believe. He knows we are beautiful. The broken are healed by love. His Glory. His manifested presence hovers over us. Encouraging us. And that which was once disregarded becomes the one He uses to dust off and pick up others. The one who once felt so unloved is who He chooses to pour His love through.

And somehow that which was once broken now builds. Builds up the broken.

He loves you. He will give you beauty for your ashes. Joy for your mourning. A garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. And you.. you will be called trees of righteousness. The planting of the Lord and He... He will be glorified.

Like the frames, that bring beauty to the dining room wall. You are beautiful.

Linking up with:
Sarah Celebrates

Blessings and love,

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Something Beautiful!

And there it sat. The lonely pot hidden behind my tomato plants. Filled with dirt and somehow crying out to be filled with beauty.

Before it was tucked away it was on display. First on the kitchen counter, then in the windowsill slowly making its way outside onto the patio table. 

The seeds my seven-year-old had pressed in the dirt grew. Not quite looking like the flowers we expected more like long straggly stems. Stems that bent freely over the terracotta pot. 

And I.. I don't grow flowers. I buy them. Already in bloom from local stores and plant them in the ground. Enjoying them as they flourish in season. 

So we were excited! We moved them to the patio table where the Houston humidity kissed them and the hot blistering sun.. killed them.

And for a moment in time my seven-year old's heart was sad and tears lined her face. So this momma moved them out of sight and almost out of mind. Behind the hearty tomato plants. 

Each morning we watered the tomatoes then moved along to our peppers and somewhere in between drops of water dripped into that terracotta pot.  The terracotta pot filled to the brim with dirt. And out of the dirt grew one lone stem. One lone stem.

One lone stem that sparked wonder within me.

It looked nothing like the sporadic greenery that burst out of the dirt and died. This was different. It was strong. It was sturdy. It looked like a pepper plant to me.  So I watered it. Everyday.

The tomato plants blossomed and so did the stem. The stem that grew out of the dirt. Turns out that stem wasn't a pepper plant.

It was strong, it was sturdy, it was a flower. It wore red beautifully.

My son saw this beauty one day and snapped a picture of it, somewhere in between a million selfies. He saw beauty. My thumb swiped through the pictures in my phone deleting, cleaning and creating space. And there is was. Beauty. 

Beauty that wasn't expected. Beauty that was hidden beneath the dirt. That was moved outside and thought to be dead. And maybe that's it. That's us. Hidden beneath dirt. And we blossom only to realize that parts of us need to die. To be more like Him. To look more like Christ.

When we go to The One who provides the water that never runs dry we grow. We become strong and we blossom with life. And we... we wear His red beautiful.

No matter where you have come from, where
you are at or where you are going... know this. He sees your beauty. It's blossoming underneath the showers of His water. It's what draws others to come closer. Leaning in to smell the fragrance of Him. 

Your beautiful!

Blessings always,

Sunday, August 23, 2015


And then there are days.. that you want to throw in the towel if your hands could grasp one. Curl up in a ball and just be done. Days where sentences start with unlikely words like and.. as if its caught you off guard, showed up a little late or mid sentence.

I get it. I've been there. Curled up in that ball. Somewhere in between a tear soaked pillow and empty tissue boxes. Where words and people made their way too close and tore me down.

I used to wallow in it.

It wasn't a comfortable place but a familiar one.

That place seeped out in my words, trickled down like tears over my days and tried to define me.

People tried to remind me of who I was and the mistakes I had made. In my days of spinning words I almost slipped back into that familiar place. The road was easy to find. I knew the turns, valleys, highs and the lows. I could feel it pulling me back.

But when I turned to look back warmth fell on me. It had a hold on me and I couldn't let it go.

It called my name.

Love called my name.

Love invited me in.

And I...

I accepted the invitation.

Love uncovered who I really was.

Reminded me I was never alone. For it was Love who never left me.

When I was a prisoner it was Love that set me free. When I was hurting it was Love that healed me. When I didn't grasp love... it was Love that held me.

Held me still. In a place where I was comfortable enough to let down my guard. In that place I chose to tear down my walls. To let them go. All while Love was present and never looked away. It didn't hurt Love to see my brokenness. My abandonment as a child turned into me becoming like a child abandoned in complete surrender for Love. For what man did or didn't do wasn't bigger than what Love did.

Love held me. Love filled me up. Love inspired me to be more. Love encourages me to look like.. Love.

To a broken mom. Love.

To a mourning widow. Love.

To an old friend. Love.

To a cashier not having a good day. Love.

In a broken world. Love.


You see Love is wildly chasing us. Pursuing us. Love is calling us deeper.

The more you sit with Love the more you begin to look like Love. You learn from Love. You learn how to approach like Love. You begin to talk like Love. And Love stops you mid-sentence and tells you who you are. And the earth groans for this moment. Waiting for you to awaken to Love.

The moment you walk in full understanding of who you are and what you were created to do.


The broken mom you love.

The mourning widow. You hold with love.

Your old friend you welcome with a hug and love.

The cashier not having a good day you shower with kind words and love.

And in the broken world love shines bright.


God is Love.

Don't be afraid of who He has called you be. Let go of the lies that have been written on your heart. Listen to what Love says about you. The earth is waiting for you. People need you. God wants you. He has created you for such a time as this.