in this moment


i have currently done more work on this blog than I have in months.

i’m very thoroughly inspired right now.

sprawled onto our sinking carpet, fireplace dying down, i love embers so much. hozier is singing on my phone, i’ve consumed a lot of tea. i’ve laid down hopes that i had been holding for a while, and that’s freeing. i have a really hard time dropping hope. i’m good at hope. but sometimes you have to let hope die, and that’s what i hate. i want to hope, crave hope, hope is always there, so why shouldn’t i hold onto it?

but sometimes God shows me that this hope is too heavy for me right now, that it’s not something i should be carrying. it’s not for me.

and honestly, i struggle a bit.

i want to hope.

want to dream.


He knows better than I do. He knows what’s best, and i trust. Your will be done.

comparison is a killer.

sometimes i worry.

worry that my writing is not as profound, as weird, as inspiring, as raw, as deep, as truthful, as dark, as hopeful, as living, as clever, as someone else’s writing. i get intimidated.

i hate that i do, but i crave approval. i less hate that i crave being different, i crave to touch people. i want to write words that hit you in the heart and have an impact.

a verbal maul that will strike you, and plant a seed to grow, however it need to and in whichever direction it should.

the struggle emerges when i read other people’s writing, and start comparing my words to theirs. which is silly! everyone has their own voice, and i will be the first to say that that is a beautiful, wonderful thing, and that you should use your voice, no matter what others say or look like!

no one else has my voice, i don’t have anyone else’s voice.

i personally believe that all flowers are beautiful. and some flowers bloom slower than others. pretty much all of them are different, and all of them are so lovely in their own way. it’s ok to bloom later than others. it’s ok to bloom faster than other people.

take your time, grow how you need to grow.

perfection is overrated, let it go.

free your voice,

look at Him and speak.




soft glow

blankets everywhere

procrastinating on sleep

so instead

stretching out every muscle group that I knew how to, just for fun, for about an hour or so.

feeling muscles lengthen, realizing I just hit some goals and am farther along than I was a few days ago, listening to breathing, rain, and the dryer humming down the hall from me.

the human body is fascinating. I have seen and touched many, as a massage therapist, and they never fail to amaze me at how different and complex and beautiful and unique they all are.

working again has meant my “massage muscles” are coming back, my forearms and hand muscles are looking like how they used to, my “slug muscle” is slowly forming and building up once again.

stretching and watching your tendons shift, your muscles contract or relax, feeling all of the sensation, i don’t think it’ll ever fail to fascinate me.

God made us in His image. And we’re flawed here on earth. But these flawed creations are still so beautiful to me. I can’t wait to see what they’re like when we’re whole. 

september 8th 

do emotions or logic make you tick? what do you first notice about people?

who or what do you first think about when you first open your eyes and take that conscious inhale in the morning? 

why do you stay up at night?

do you really believe that God has a plan laid out for you and you can’t mess it up? 

have you ever watched a plant grow and bear fruit and die and learned lessons from it?

have you ever sat under a tree and felt it’s comfort?

have you ever felt music while on a beach and you *desperately* wanted to run with complete abandon and dance, no matter who was there? did you regret later that you didn’t do it?

does a tomato smell red to you too? 

have you ever had so many thoughts and questions and FEELINGS and the desire to yell and also hide and shrink and grow and stomp in a dance and cry without caring, to go and run fast and dodge blows and feel adrenaline all AT ONCE rushing through your body so hard and overwhelmingly, that you simply sit there and listen to the person talking to you and shake? Or stare out the car window like nothing is actually happening?

do you like small talk or big talk? 

are you content with just feeling? or do you crave intensity? 

do you actually want to KNOW what people are thinking and how they process things and what their response is to different situations? what type of food they like? And why? 

what does their grandparents house smell like?

Mine smells like old wood and their laundry detergent and antique furniture and my grandpa’s hugs. 

how long can you spend with your grandparents before you get tired or they stop talking? 

did they pass down things to you? I inherited my grandpa’s love of writing (he was a Seattle Times reporter), my grandma’s love of gardening, good food, and collecting cardboard boxes so you have just the right box for whatever needs it. 

do you sit up late at night and look through your photo roll on your phone and relive every memory and choice there and come up with questions and curiosity?  

V. 1 

Life line

Thoughts breaking out of daytime boxes 

Floating into the comforting layer of velvety dark 

Moonlight sifts through the branches



Kissing the ground that rests and the dreamers who don’t sleep 

The world deeply slumbers yet is 

Vibrantly awake 

Flowers blooming for the moon, moths being nocturnal butterflies

Restless hearts dancing or thinking. 

      Nighttime whispers to emotions that they can come out and play, that it has put up a filter, no one can see. And once they’ve been coaxed out, they confidently wander all over the mind. 

If daytime sees the typical life that we put up for show, perfect smiles and overly optimistic and matching instagram feeds, nighttime sees the raw, vulnerable side. 

Night sees heaving tears and aching chests, shredded hearts, sitting on the windowsill with tired eyes and a sick soul, maybe just feeling numb, screaming at the moon, dancing fiercely, pleading,  saying words to the stars that we’ll never ever tell the people we want to. 

  Night also sees earnest, intense thoughts. Dreams, sweet whispers, hands tentatively brushing as they stare at the stars, blushes hidden by dark. Small glances, long hugs underneath the porch lights, fireworks and celebrations. Eyes shining. Contentment. Long talks of getting to know people, wrapping in a blanket to protect from dew and wind to stare at the stars, laughs and laughs and laughs. 

I wonder

 at how when the sun and moon trade places, the world transforms in so many different ways.