On a whim, I wrote a short phrase on my arm to meditate on during the day. It smeared as I went about my tasks, but the comfort of seeing it there was enough to try repeating.
Written on the Doorposts
Pancakes Everywhere: a MicroFlash challenge
There were pancakes everywhere. The whole house was covered with them. There was no rhythm or logic to their placement, no obvious tale they were meant to tell. Yet it was clear that they were the key. The issue of the issue.
But What If I Have?: Reflections on Psalm 7
O LORD my God, in you do I take refuge; save me from all my pursuers and deliver me, lest like a lion they tear my soul apart, rending it in pieces, with none to deliver. O LORD my God, if I have done this, if there is wrong in my hands, if I have... Continue Reading →
PHQ-9
I want to believe I have this under control. I want to believe if they just give me another 6 or 9 months I can figure this out.
Salt Stained Rain
After a while, people stop wanting to hear about what you've been through. And I feel guilty talking about it half the time anyway, because I doubt my memories, and even when I stand firm, people still don't believe me. My birth family surely doesn't. They called me a liar, a lover of drama and... Continue Reading →
Maybe Next Year…
But I am of the eternal diaspora. One of many wandering children dwelling in tents in this vast wilderness. Home is a memory that I can’t remember. Rust and decay have eaten away at its core and corrupted its foundations.
Sonnets for Advent: Sunday week 4
Based on Isaiah 11:1-10
Sonnets for Advent: Friday week 2
It's week two of Advent and the next installment of my “Sonnets for Advent” series is up. The poems are based on the daily readings from my home church. ❤️
Fiction as Pretense
The longer I write fiction, the more I realize that my version of "write what you know," looks like me working through my trauma by writing it. The first time I knowingly wrote my trauma into a story was when I wrote about a character being molested. It was supposed to be her story, part... Continue Reading →
Trapped
It was nauseating to listen to the high whine of the fly’s wings while I attempted to eat my breakfast. The sickening extension of each thick silence that stretched between moments of terror.
R. C. Svendsen 