Your Love

Your love is a mountain
I venture to climb
Your love is a river
So endlessly wide
Depression destroyed me
It tore me apart
But Your light did find me
And entered my heart

Your love is a refuge
My sanctuary
Your love is a fire
That’s burning in me
The wolves closed in
They tried to steal me
But You are my Shepherd
I belong to Thee

Your love is a fountain
Your love is a spring
Your love is an ocean
The calmest blue sea
Your love is the rock
Your love is the shore
Your love is the strength
And the hope I adore

It’s real and it’s true
For You are my King
Thank You for loving
And rescuing me

– Written on Valentine’s Day 2014
in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic

The Cure

I am my mood
My mood is me
Speaking
Whispering
So softly
A kiss of the wind
A gentle breeze
A song I sing
So longingly

Stillness settles
What mood is this?
Content to stand
Or kneel
Or sit
I have a hunger
Of this I’m sure
But how I find it
That’s the cure

Golden Glitter

– written August 16, 2011
as I began to explore the world

Perfect Love

An act of love prompted by guilt isn’t really love at all. It’s selfishness, to ease the guilt we’re experiencing.

But real love isn’t selfish. It’s selfless, putting the well-being of the other person ahead of our own feelings or well-being. This cannot be accomplished through guilt, because of the way guilt-based motives are inherently self-focused; meaning, the focus of this “act of love” inevitably becomes us, ourselves, instead of the the person we’re supposed to be helping/loving.

Love also can’t be accomplished through fear. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.Black and White Graph

Spring Sun Rising

This is how I feel: a spring sun rising over a cold, winter sky.

It’s been a long, dark night, but dawn is approaching….

Midnight in Paris

Stillness, like a heavy cloak, stretches around me. Hugging myself, I amble toward the parking lot. My ears detect the sound of rushing water. A fountain sits at the center of the plaza.

lit pathway
Lamp Unto My Feet

I pause, listening. Watching. Lights reflect off the glossy streams cascading through the stone fountain. This place is like a dreamscape, a sweet little bubble I’ve fallen into for a short time.

Too short, I think to myself.

nightshot
Late-night stroll, after a late-night movie

Sighing, I climb the cement stairs that lead to my inevitable reality. The sound of the fountain fades, and the rush of cars speeding along a freeway replaces the dreamy little world I’m leaving behind. The wind kicks up, nestling into the folds of my clothes….

marquee

And then I’m back. In my car. Heading home. My little excursion was nice while it lasted.

-Written August 17, 2011
after seeing Midnight in Paris