Color Drain

Hello there. I just want to first say I appreciate all of you so much, dear friends! Your continued warmth, encouragement, and prayers are treasures to me. I cannot thank you enough.

I have had what I will just call “pit days” for quite some time now and I am realistic enough to know there are likely some pits ahead, but I do feel the fog lifting, praise God. 🙂

Now,  I alluded last time to different ideas I felt God might be downloading for revitalizing this space.

I have even toyed with the dreaded word “monetize” in order to boost our family’s situation, seeing as most other roads seem closed at present, but there is nothing concrete there.

That said, monetizing or no, I have to acknowledge there are inklings…and I am finding myself with a rather interesting problem as a result.🤔

I have several different inklings…and the unusual quandary of which ones He’d have me to follow.

This from the woman who has had her creativity more or less frozen for nearly a year.😏

So…what are these inklings I speak of?

Well, in general, being a creative sort, I have been pondering the ways which stir my creativity most and still keep the necessary “Just a Jesus Girl” component. I mean, I really don’t think that should or ever will change.

Of course, tops is writing. That cannot and must not end (Well, duh. 🙂).

Then, I thought of my baking. I have considered if I might have an avenue for sharing some of the cookie secrets that have had my family and our youth group happily sugared up for so many years…

My passion for oldies- be it movies, music, books, or television- is a little tougher to call a creative pursuit so much as sharing my joy of others‘ creativity, but this fount of trivia inside does cry out for someone else to listen sometimes-besides my poor family. Believe me, they get plenty of my rambling 😁 (Though it has given two of my kiddos the respect of being experts in rare trivia in Scholars’ Bowl, so it has its perks) .

And then, last of all, is the thing I landed on introducing first…

And that is my art.

Ok. Now, if you take a trip in the Wayback machine to the archives, you will occasionally see a hastily scribbled doodle or two from me, but it has been a long while since I shared any or attempted anything in earnest.

Like many things in the winding walk of depression, it dropped off after a time.

And then, one day-down in the pits-the painful scratching sensation deep inside begged to be excised. I picked up a charcoal pencil, a few oil crayons, and began to sketch out what was happening within.

Now, I did it at first with no notion of really showing it to anyone. This sort of art was a far cry from my classroom bulletin board days.

The sort of expression which I guard perhaps even more closely than any other.

For, perhaps, it is a level of raw exposure even beyond the written word.

Not to mention the tastes on this particular medium are so very much in the eye of the beholder…

And I am so often reluctant of my oddities being under the observation of said beholder. 🙂

But, I have been stirred in my heart of late and encouraged by friends there is worth in opening the door a little further.

So…in the spirit of sucking up courage, taking another mincing step in trust, screwing my eyes shut and pushing the publish button, I present my first piece in a long while, along with a poem inspired by it…

“Color Drain”- done in charcoal pencil and oil crayon

Minutes drag in snagged up lines,

Yet years seem to swallow the hours on a dime…

Heart was once a brimming palette of hues

Yet emptied now of any power I can deduce.

All the color feels drained from my being

And harshest winds hiss a hideous refrain:

“Nothing is true. Nothing is freeing…”

I know it’s not so.

It cannot be.

I was sure there was a time

Someone set me free.

But something in the mad swirl

Of watching my joys cast themselves off

In this bleak downturn of my world

Steals at the strength of my resolve,

Makes me forget He on whom it should revolve.

Oh, Lord, help me gather these scattered pieces of my soul!

Remind me that, even in these draining days,

You and Your truth alone remain in control…

Thanks for reading, dear friends! Blessings and prayers! ❤ May we each remember He alone remains in control.

Wherever the Road

Hey, dear friends. Wanted to be back to some in-depth writing. Didn’t want this to be a prolonged break…but, looks like it will be. I just can’t seem to summon up anything but the dreariness I have been facing…and this space isn’t intended to be about that. It’s in the byline-It’s not about me. It’s about Him.

So…all this to say this honest little bit of poetry is my final piece to you- for a while. I hope to come back down the road a ways.

Thank you for your love, prayers, and concern. Know I hold the same for you in my heart.

I can’t do this anymore…

At least, not for quite a while.

Not packing up exactly,

Not erasing these efforts as in days past

Nor leaving an empty store.

To that determination I’m holding fast.

Just…can’t keep coming here right now

With my dialed-in smile.

Feels like any could spot it as a fake

For half a mile.

Nor can I keep comfortably coming,

Wagging this laundry bag of sorrow

And try to claim it’ll be scrubbed

Bright for the morrow.

Right now…it’s just not.

And I am caught

Without a pretty phrase left to my coffers.

No ready cheer, no heady offers.

So…it’s silence for the time being.

Not sure how long

Nor what this round of solitude will bring.

All I do know is that

I know Jesus is wherever the road takes me.

All I can rest in is that He never forsakes me…

And so He never forsakes any of us.

Until such a time as I feel He’s calling me back to this space…

Thanks for reading. Blessings and prayers to you, dear friends. ❤

At the Well

It’s been a long while since I really spoke of my hurt.

It occurred to me recently that many of you newer readers may not even know that much about it beyond snippets still given here and there.

A dig through the more distant reaches of my archives would enlighten, of course.

And I can make it more convenient by indicating that you may click here for perhaps the best rundown, if so inclined.

But, overall, there are reasons I resist touching too much on it.

I haven’t wanted to feel as though I am eliciting sympathy or sinking down into the past and staying there.

I also don’t want to dip into any unfair comparisons from past to present.

Insecurity has a way of painting everything in dark, foreboding shades.

What may, in fact, be unintentional on the part of a loved one now looks like the same heart-shattering experience as before when glimpsed through the lens of an oft-wounded soul.

Still, I am nothing if not honest here.

The fact is, though I speak often of “Be still and know that I am God”-something I am truly striving to live in the light of every day-there is a growing melancholy weighing on my heart at present.

A deep-seated sadness settling in that is stealing at my ability to rightly express it.

Depression has long been with me, mind you. We are certainly not strangers.

More than once, it nearly snuffed the life out of me, in fact.

Now, it is something that hovers in the background and makes itself known by turns.

Right now? It’s a “making itself known” season.

I fight to go to sleep with this heaviness these days, reawakening frequently, an unidentifiable fear cloaking me in the midslumber haze.

Where it is coming from, I can cast about a few ambiguous notions, but, where there are some aspects of my life to definitively point to as a source, I can’t necessarily call too much of it concrete.

Is it all rooted in my past, so littered as it is by abuse and abandonment?

Or is it my ever-present anxiety over signs that such pain, real or no, is or is about to revisit me?

Angry shouts do ring in my head long after they have ceased and have an unfortunate tendency to visit me in my dreams.

It’s quite the challenge to rest my soul in any “it is well” feeling, even when life is managing fairly pleasantly, let alone when it is not.

For there is the nearly constant question mark in my head:

“When’s the next time the wounding will come?”

How will it come?”

And-“Will I be able to sustain myself following it?”

Now, there are days I can rightly shove this aside and recall to myself just Who my sustainer is.

Most days, in fact.

But, other days?

Ah, other days, I find myself forgetting.

Perhaps, it is the old recordings in my head getting louder, stating in dismissive tones how try as I might, I’m still just no good.

A loser.

A wimp.

A tramp.




And I know that I know that that is most emphatically not true-not in God’s eyes!

But…circumstances make my hands slow to switch off the tape sometimes.

So…what do I do?

Dig myself further in one way or another.

Either into deeper wells of sorrow, cranking up that ugly noise and feeding upon the slow death of it.

Not a good thing!

Or…the better part-

I dig in deeper to prayer.

To worship.

To His words-to me and for me.

The far superior well to spend my time in by far!

Full of Living Water ready for the drinking in.

Bread of Life to feed upon.

Brothers and sisters that come alongside and nourish you even further in encouraging words.

And, of course, The One who intimately knows sorrow to carry the burden of it beside me.

It doesn’t mean I don’t still feel what I feel.

There’s a funny little truth about hurt.

It does not disappear in a snap.

Painful memories are long and thoughts often remain reactionary.

Trust is a shaky rope bridge at best.

Time to heal is key and, even then, some scars are prominent.

But, in that gift that is time, wounds can be eased, joys resurrected, trust finds firmer feet, and life continues on…

With all its seasons of delight and grief, smooth planes and blessed bumps alike.

Not absent of hurt by any means.

But, perhaps, richer for it.

Whatever season you find yourself in, dear friends, may you find the well full of the riches of life in the Lord! Blessings and prayers! ❤