This day is not unlike every other day, with its ebb and flow, its stop & its go. Its rhythm being what is, leaves little space for pondering or whispers, or me. Waking to hands fingering my eyes, begging for technology & breakfast.

Waking after little ones always seems to start my day a pulse behind. Always catching up, always running after, scrambling. I tinker with these thoughts of creating, of releasing that which is pent up in me. Breathing new life into new worlds into new eyes once dull. Inspiration, fleeting. There’s little time for sitting still or hand folding, or connecting to & releasing that which twists & burns inside of me.

My ears’ drum throbs at the beat of technology’s pace & volume. More. Go. Yes! Now! Room to room, all lights on, full energy, full force, full run until it’s a full scream from a partial break in a tiny foot that I was supposed to protect.

All of life: Pause.


Broken. I was trusted with him.

Breathe. Me. Now.

Self, to me, “breathe, now.”

Exhale, then, guilt. Guilt, the only thing that moves, drips, masquerading itself as tears. Should Have. Would Have. Could Have? but God(!) help me, I can not keep up.

It is through Him only that I am sustained for longer than heart’s beat, or a bone’s snap. And do I praise Him enough? Do my children know that when their worn down mama anchors herself to the kitchen chair & writes furiously, that the words from her heart are pouring into the Hands that knitted them together in her womb? That no man could ever comfort or console or uplift or encourage the way her Father does when gently rocks her back to peace?

Whispering Promises, up from the Holy Flame that burns, and into the place He knows she needs it most…

Do they know?

I wake up behind, but He is in front & He is guiding me, helping me ride this life through. Not gracefully, on my part, but He is ahead stitching together all the pieces He knows I will snag upon my selfishness. For His Own Glory, He picks up the pieces of my heart & anchors them back inside my chest, but this time, beating not for me, but for Him. He picks up the bad, comforts the aching, & breathes beauty into the broken.



And then I hear the laughter. He gives strength to the broken, and freedom to the guilty.

See this, my boys, & remember this. As you grow taller & stronger, & find your place in this world, remember: every single thing breaks. And some times it will be your fault, & some times it won’t, but it will happen &, in an attempt to make sense of it all, you will be tempted to blame. Do not slip down this slide into madness. Breathe. & remember, there is One who can comfort you & heal them, & turn broken pieces that, in present, pause the whole of your world, into areas for beauty.

Like that of a boy who can’t be kept down by the weight of a cast & a broken foot… He keeps dancing.

“There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”
-Leonard Cohen