slipping by | pt. 7

dear july —

ii. we talked about our feelings about the upcoming week. and he leaned over and said — hey, it’s gonna get better. and sitting side by side, my heart felt light. and for a second, i was sure that indeed it would… get better.

ii. names were called and a bullet went through my chest – sinking deeper and deeper, causing the already scarred walls of my soul to bleed all the more.

iii. you showed me how to risk being vulnerable and to open myself up to others. now, she is a safe sister i can vent to and one whose words are so quotable i write them up for keeps.

iv. i’ll be brutally honest and say sometimes my heart spills over with fury. but somewhere, in that wee little corner so far and yet distinct whispers that tugging command… to love.

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slipping by | pt. 6

dear june —

x. belly laughing until you’re gasping for air — the best kind of nights.

xii. i love you… the best three words given and received.

xi. he asked me if i was generally happy with my drawing, to which i nodded. he asked, “how about in life?” to which i was taken by surprise. thankful for little reminders to always stay positive.

xiv. my world was rocked upside down. i felt shattered. alone. broken. i could scream forever and still not be okay.

xiv – …. thanks for being there. for being “a ray of hope in my heavy and dark world”. for “paving the path to my recovery.” for listening. i still go back and read your words when i feel like i can barely hold on.

xvi. thanks for your gentle presence. for not saying anything superficial to fix things, but always being there to listen.

xix. thank you for my twinnie. she is in tune with the Spirit and on fire with You. she constantly and consistently points others to Christ. she listens, and when she speaks, it is Christ through her. thank you for her love and her courage to speak the Truth even when i didn’t want or know it.

xx. my stomach wrenched. i wasn’t sure how i would survive that day but i did. standing there, my toes wiggling in the sand … i wished it all away. i wanted to drown, to die in the waves. the sea – it called me home. but somehow, someway, that call was not answered that day.

xxiii. thank you for sisters who drop everything to make it all better. who can tell when something is wrong before i even have to say it. thanks hon for spurring me on, for lifting my head, for telling me that everything may not be okay, but it will be okay someday. you are so strong. you and me – we will keep plowing ahead. one step after the other.

 


and when the night is closing in, don’t give up and don’t give in. this won’t last, it’s not the end. you’re gonna be okay. 


ps. 28.7, 2 thess. 3.13, ps. 105.4, is. 26.9

slipping by // pt. 5

dear may —

xii. something sprouted in the garden. a newfound desire, an unquenchable hope. barefoot, my toes wiggle in the goodness of the fertile soil. arms high, i receive the refreshing pouring out of rain. i’m free, i’m free, i’m free to dance and sing

xiii. in the midst of chaos and unexpected worries, his gentle command retuned our hearts to center. why don’t we pray. with open hands and heads bowed low, we called out for deliverance. for revival. for courage. sitting there, in the garden, something beautiful had manifested and taken root.

xiv. her random love notes fill my heart to overflowing. grace comes like a wave crashing over me. the fact that we’re still friends at all is a miracle in itself. so hon, no need to apologize. because really, we’re still going strong by nothing other than the wonders of his love and grace. i love your beautiful soul with every fiber of my being.

xviii. for unanticipated conflicts and frustrations along the way, you taught my heart to tune to yours. in the quiet of the day, you reminded me to live out the very words we were proclaiming.

xviv. here’s to heartfelt, bittersweet goodbyes. my spirit is unwilling to let go. so instead let it be farewell. farewell to beautiful soulmates and gorgeous gems. farewell to treasured mentors and sisters who hold your hand in the darkest of days. farewell to missed opportunities to be that someone for someone else. farewell, till we meet again.

xx. ‘i’m sorrys’ and ‘i love yous’ calm my fear and anger as tears stream down my face and scars sting as they fester in my battered soul. and here i say to you: i’m sorry.


i know the night won’t last, Your word will come to pass. my heart will sing Your praise again. Jesus, You’re still enough. keep me within Your love. my heart will sing Your praise again… 


jer. 32.26_27, job 8.21, ps. 24.7_10, 1 samuel 15.29, daniel 4.35, ps. 63.1_8, ps. 27.4_5, ps. 31.21_24, ps. 86.5_6

slipping by // pt. 4

dear april —

iii-vi. you’ve shown how sometimes the highest of highs foreshadows times of brokenness and weakness. moments that cloud my head with pain, that heave my chest with despair. you’ve shown how every death leads towards a resurrection. you gave me just enough strength to endure.

vii. thank you for wonderful conversations in the middle of the unknown. your marvelous hand was over it all, and it’s so beautiful to see. sometimes we just have to look back to see everything lead up to direction. it is in the things of the past that shape us and lead us into everything good and perfect of what’s ahead. and i think that this day might make it into the books of the glorious life ahead. because it sure was an amazing one. dare to dream. dare to pray. dare to believe. ❤

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rise.

i feel all of a sudden stripped bare
left in the cold, reaching for something to hold
they say the father up above is looking down in love
and all i must do is abide

abide. to be still.
to rest, rest in the rivers of his peace
to release, release my control and trust his will

release —
open hands, eyes up.
unclenched jaws, uncrossed arms
crying hosanna, Savior come
hosanna, save me now
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slipping by // pt. 3

dear march —

i. thank you for heart-wrenching convictions. for wakeup calls. for shouting your voice loud and clear like a megaphone.

ii. i sit in a hard back swivel chair in his private office. so many unknowns. the future draws near and my head spins like the swivel chair. it’ll be okay. i’ll be okay. how easily i fill with despair.

iii. i’ve never felt so dumb in my life. maybe i was good for nothing. i gulp and turn back to the voice. so many voices. which one will i listen to? i sit in silence and ponder.

v. sometimes i wish God would speak to me. loud and clear. but then i realize even in the subtle moments his voice becomes clear. p.s. i hate migraines

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slipping by // pt. 2

dear february —

xii. i was lost in my worshipping. when she wrapped her arm around me and held me in tight embrace it was a rather pleasant surprise. she rested her head on my shoulder and remained for several minutes. all the while she didn’t utter a word — just stretched the sweetest smile across her face. warmth glowed from her eyes. i felt cared for and loved for who i was. i don’t even remember receiving a hug like the one during that moment. there have been passing ones, yes, but far has there been one with that tender feeling.

xiv. thank you for second sisters who point the way, who empathize, who care, who affirm, and who drop a “hello” at just the right moment. the amount of love i have for her is overwhelming. ahhhh. iron sharpens iron and this girl is such a blessing.

xiv. precious moments include waking up and watching the sun rise. treasured moments include doing something for the first time and totally bossing it. memorable moments include, after succeeding, people surrounding praising you but most of all your dear father enveloping you in a papa bear hug and saying “well done.” treasured moments include your teacher telling you did a perfect job. oh, to feel loved. oh, to feel affirmed. it’s moments like these that i enjoy life.

xiv. “i consider you one of our leaders,” stated the voice on the other end of the phone line. wow. this person of authority saying such a statement about me? this blew me away. thank you for surprise guides who spur me on to reassure me in what i’ve been doing and to keep living out.

xiv. hallelujah for confirmations and blending in with a bunch of nerdy thirty-year olds. what a road paver.

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