The Siren Song of Something More

Hiding in the shadows, the sinister force beckons

Maybe happiness lies here just beyond your reach

If you could just get a little closer it would all be better

Greener grasses, bigger houses, more money, more love, better friends, deeper relationships…better you

The something more you can’t quite attain but give all to pursue

The something borrowed you want to own

Others have and you covet

The goals you haven’t reached

Chances you haven’t taken

Questions you keep puzzling until the answer is lost beneath the mystery

Pain you choose to numb instead of heal spreads like virus to the soul

She lures you until you’re too near the crash to turn without injury

And then you’re left wanting more

Wanting the past to come around again or wanting to wallow in it

You’re blind by the beauty

Then you’re gone

And I sit wondering if anything will ever be enough

He calls from the mountain

Come up here and find rest while you tune Him out with the noise of singing

Beware weary wanderer

She’s coming after you



O Ye Stubborn Masses

I come from a long line of stubborn women. I too, am stubborn and opinionated. It’s just a fact, plain and simple. It can be a gift. I will not quickly bow to the fanciful voices of other gods vying for my attention. I firmly stand in the face of opposition with confident composure believing wholly in my cause. I am a woman of great faith. But like any great strength, once overextended it can be an area of weakness.

There are two areas in particular that come to mind where this is the case. One, when the stubborn individual is just flat out wrong. I don’t mean in cases that are subjective either. Have you ever met someone who is holding firmly to something without foundation, baseless and formless? They try so hard to stand on the vapor and can’t imagine why anyone would proffer the suggestion that it may not support their weight. They’re falling, yet every attempt to catch them only leads to more insistence that they are just fine and dandy. The rest of the world is forced to watch, helpless, as they crash. It’s so frustrating and often leads to the second area where stubbornness can be a problem, when two stubborn people face off.

The stubborn face off can occur when one stubborn individual confronts another stubborn individual on matters of principle. Both equally passionate parties will live and die for their ideal. Neither will yield or compromise. Neither will even entertain the notion that the other party may have even the slightest bit of sense behind their argument. So they lock in and stand off. Most of the time, both have an element of rightness on their sides. Sometimes the argument is beyond pointless and doesn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things. The wise man, in such a case, would agree to disagree and walk away, but we’re not always wise are we? I vividly remember arguing with my brother for days when we were younger because he insisted that the sky was never blue, it was in fact purple. It seemed a noble cause at the time.

Other times, the argument is of vast importance. In situations like that, shots are fired, wars are fought, governments are shutdown…okay I’m not going there.

To the stubborn individual, rightness is a necessity. I know one stubborn person (who I am in a stubborn face off of sorts with at present) who will idly throw out a remark and the run before I can respond. It irks me and makes me laugh at the same time.

The truth is, I’ve decided that sometimes peace is better than rightness. Though I would be tempted to fight the battle to the end and slay the demons that I deem to be clouding the truth in another person’s mind, if I know the battle will not lead to healing, the fight will lead to deeper cuts in an already wounded soul, then the most loving thing I can do is to remain silent. Sometimes words I offer with the best of intentions, fall on deaf ears and further divide the heart of this person who I long to see live free. It is then, that I, the stubborn one, must learn to love instead of lead. I often need to learn to bind up what’s been broken instead of proving truth to a heart not ready to hear. This is not an easy thing.

Do I possess enough love for another that I can surrender my sword of correctness to offer support when the vapor isn’t going to hold? Maybe I can even come underneath the falling soul and break their fall with kindness and mercy. Maybe that is what Christ did for us. When we were blinded by our own agendas and sin, Christ loved us enough to be crushed, bruised, beaten and scarred. Then he rose victorious, taking with him the keys to all the things that could come against us. He held captivity captive and freed us from the prison of…us. He, the only one who was actually right all of the time, was willing to die, not to prove himself right, but so we could be right before the Father.

I would venture to guess, eventually we will all realize that we don’t know nearly as much as we think we do.





Time, that slippery substance

Catching and tripping through our fingers while we brace and hope for more

Time, that present wonder

Existing here, already gone

That blip between eternity future and eternity  past

Over so quickly while we sleep

In waking we ask ourselves if we’ve missed the moment we’ve been waiting for

We watch as hair grows gray, as creases deepen from smiles and worries long forgotten

We watch while young ones grow taller

Love blooms in babies who yesterday sat wobbly on our knees

Now eyes glimmering with the promise of tomorrow

We smile at the milestones

Mourn as the hour of passing comes swift while we ponder legacies and what the future will be like without them with us

We walk on steady or limping

Mainly because there’s no way to stop moving,

No way to capture the moment still

except memory

We know the path will lead on into the fray

Through the tempest

Through the cold and shadow and light of joy

We know the clock will tick tomorrow and we hope for wisdom

Time, illusive tyrant

Fleeting friend

Giver of hope

Great mystery

Can you stop just long enough for me to take it all in?

With that, here wakes another morning

Words, Words, Words


Words are a powerful thing. With their assistance we brave daunting emotions and weighty issues. We express our inmost thoughts and our deepest fears.

Words can cut through the soul to the inner man bringing both healing and harm. Words can be followed by joy, embraced by laughter or lost in sorrow.

There are words we set to flight that we’d like to grab back quickly like the bug the fly snatches mid-air with his rasping, sticky tongue.

There are words we could repeat infinitely and still never exhaust; the “I love you’s” whispered, yelled, proclaimed, declared and given freely.

In the inexhaustible I find a sweet malady. When I’m struck with more emotion than I could possibly utter. Those 2 a.m., “watching the baby sleep” moments. I’m there grasping internally for a way to describe the sentiment and find myself empty but so incredibly full.

How do we pinpoint love on a page? Many have tried but is such greatness definable?


It’s no wonder the heavens declare the glory of God because we would never be able to scratch the surface of the topic. We are so limited in our vocabulary, with our finite minds and detail-oriented natures. Yet there He stands, incalculable, boundless, limitless, vast and grand. And we should be in awe. We should stumble and wrestle with our verbiage in attempt to bring Him the praise He’s due. We do this not because we know we will succeed, but because what else is there?


We bound through life tossing words around like confetti, littering the landscape in an effort to bring joy, excitement, inspiration and meaning. Let us also fill the air with words of thankfulness and praise like the stars that paint the heavens as each word floats on frequency to the ears of one who hears it all.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John 1:1

Words are a powerful thing!

Sing me a Song

I’ve been singing and playing music in church most of my life. I wrote my first song when I was three and my mother insisted that I sing it for everyone. I clearly remember refusing to do so unless she held my hand…she did. It was my solo debut. To answer the most commonly asked questions, yes, I still remember the song. No, I won’t sing it for you, but here are the lyrics (bracing for the embarrassment…remember I was only three)

Jesus, I love you

Jesus, I want you to be my friend

Jesus I’ve heard about you

How you hold the future in your hands

Jesus, I love you

Will you live inside my heart forever more?

I’m guessing it was adorable! That was all it took for me to decide I was meant to sing and sing I did…constantly.

We lived in Houston, TX for a while when I was four in a pretty rough apartment complex. I remember three things about Houston: my boyfriend whose name was Jesus (he thought all of our songs were about him), the SWAT team coming through frequently to collect whatever maniac was wielding a firearm that day, and getting up at 6 AM every morning, standing on the balcony and loudly singing to the world “See the bright light shine, it’s just about home time. I can see my Father standing at the door”. For the record, the neighbors didn’t think I was quite as adorable as everyone else did.

I was the “song leader” for my Daddy’s church when I was six primarily because we didn’t have microphones and I was the only one who could sing loud enough to be heard above everything else. I have always loved to write music. I am working on two new songs right now. We just played a new original of mine in church last Sunday. I’m not trying to toot my own horn here, just laying a little groundwork to let you know that I am very passionate about worship and music. It’s a part of me.

What I’ve realized, however, is that the thrill of operating in my calling is absolutely nothing compared with watching my daughters operate in theirs. I mean NOTHING! They are now teenagers (13 & 16) and play in the youth band at church and are on the worship team with us in ‘big’ church. Sunday, as we played the newest song I’d finished writing and my daughter’s bass guitar was ‘rockin’ it’, I was caught up in the moment. It’s a great thing to operate in your calling. It feels amazing to let God take over and use the gifts He’s given you to minister to others. It feels even more amazing to see your children or others that you’ve poured into, use their giftings to further the kingdom of God.

Proud Mama

My pastor has told me many times that I should always work myself out of a job. The best thing we can do as believers is to find someone to come alongside us that we can pour into, mentor, minister to, teach and encourage. After all, the things that will matter in the end are the legacies we leave behind. What footprint did we leave on this earth? Did we use our time to further our own agendas or did we use our time to leave a lasting impact on another person?

Parenting gives us a unique opportunity to impact another human being. Sometimes the impact our parents make on us is positive, sometimes…not so much. As I think back on my life, some of the most profound influences and inspirations in my life were people other than my parents. There were the sisters in Christ who arranged “gigs” for me throughout my teenage years. There was the pastor/worship leader who would push me to reach higher, sing louder, let go and go for it. There was the dear sister who told me the phrase I still think of every time I step out to lead worship or write something a little extra personal; “Don’t hold back”! My grandfather inspired me to play guitar. My best friend has spent countless hours with me writing and playing music, polishing lyrics and trying to discover new chord progressions. My parents definitely inspired me, but these people spurred me on into my calling.

As I think of the impact I make in the lives of others, I’m forced to evaluate how important it is to me to take the time to make a difference in someone else’s life. It is taxing sometimes to spend hours on the phone with a friend whose heart is breaking. It is hard to put work and household duties on the back burner to go have coffee with someone who wants to get to know you better. It takes an effort to teach a guitar or vocal lesson or read over lyrics or poetry written by someone you barely know and give honest feedback that will encourage them to keep going. But these are the things that matter. The encouraging words spoken today may grow into faith in the soil of another heart. The time spent just being there for someone may make all the difference. The prayers shared together may bring just enough strength in a moment of weakness. The honest critique may birth wisdom. The lesson may inspire greatness.

We may never fully know the impact we make, but even if we aren’t afforded the opportunity to eat the fruit that springs forth from small seeds we’ve sown, we are rewarded for our faithfulness to the author of life who inspired life within us. That alone, is worth more than anything.

On Days When it Sinks in

You know that feeling when something hits you? I mean REALLY hits you! Those moments of clarity when something you’ve heard a million times suddenly is alive with meaning. I think of Isaiah’s words in Isaiah 6 when he says “I am undone”. The gravity of what God is doing or has done finally sinks in with all of the weight of glory it carries and I’m left “undone”.

look up

Today, I heard a rendition of the classic hymn “How Great thou Art” by Stuart K. Hine. I’ve sung this song countless times and still do break it out in a moment of impulse when leading worship. I KNOW this hymn. Yet today, as I heard the third verse, it grabbed me by the spirit and pulled me into a new state of awe at the wonder that is my God.

“And when I think that God His Son not sparing, sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in. That on the cross, My burden gladly bearing, He bled and died, To take away my sin”

I know you’ve heard it before. I know it seems simple.

I scarce can take it in…

There is a God. I’ve met him. He’s wonder beyond definition. He breathed the stars into being. He spoke and the earth took shape. His hands molded man. Every cell and system was imagined by him. Every hair on every head is numbered. No tear or smile escapes his gaze. The universe declares his praise with vastness we can’t fathom. Numbers don’t go high enough to measure him. Words, as much as we love them, can’t even begin to fully describe him.

Yet, he loves me though I’ve done nothing to earn acclaim. Though I am dust and water breathed to honor him and have failed so many times. Though I have turned away and forgotten time and time again. He sees me, a prized creation, a masterpiece.

His son not sparing…I scarce can take it in…



It pleased him to take my burdens, my shame, to reconcile me to himself. He considered it joy to bring me peace through his suffering. “For it pleased the Father that in Him all the fullness should dwell, and by Him to reconcile all things to Himself, by Him, whether things on earth or things in heaven, having made peace through the blood of His cross” Colossians 1:19-20

And now I stand…free…not by works of righteousness which I have done, but according to His mercy He saved me. (Titus 3:5) Every sin banished forever, taken away and remembered no more. Every mistake no more than a memory.

I scarce can take it in…

Every now and then, it hits you…those moments when you realize what the gospel really means. Those moments when I realize once more how great he truly is. I am undone.

Tranny Slip Blues



I’m all in and I’m not here at the same time

Divided and conquered by complacency

I’m willing and driven but my ‘tranny’* has stalled

when I should be moving forward I find myself slippin’

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak

There’s so much to be done but my brain’s asleep

Oh Lord, let my love for you be my motivation

Be my strength today while I keep pumping the gas

Eventually, it will all kick in and I’ll be off and running again

Until then, I’ll just keep going

*Notes and explanation for those of you who drive vehicles that actually work properly. “Tranny” is what my fixer-upper family has always called the transmission in a vehicle. I’m not sure if you’ve ever had your tranny slip, but it sometimes feels like this: you hit the gas, get half way through the intersection and it just won’t accelerate anymore. If you pump it enough, it may kick in and then you jerk forward and take off and sometimes this happens repeatedly before you can really go anywhere. You listen to the engine rev but you’re not moving. It’s not fun! I’m thankful to say this hasn’t happened to me in quite sometime. We had one vehicle awhile back (affectionately named “Burt, the van of Destiny”) that did this for a long time before we finally broke down (no pun intended) and got a new transmission.

I sometimes have days where I feel like good ol’ Burt. My “get up and go” just doesn’t want to “get up and go” though I have the best of intentions. I’m sure lack of sleep or lack of coffee are contributors to this phenomenon. Either way, I’m hoping God will rejuvenate my giddy-up and infuse me with a little strength to accomplish great things today. In the meantime, I plan to just keep moving. One little thing at a time.