Grandma Joyce-70 years of blessing

When I mature
and finally get my first strands of wisdom hair,
I hope so deeply to be a woman like you
I want to be as loving as you
and grace my grandchildren like you do
I want to care for my husband
with a friendship as true as you and Grandpa's,
which is so hard to find, these days
And I want to raise a daughter
as well as you raised my mother,
so that her children can be blessed, as much as I am
I want my edges filed down
into patient corners
for your composure is inspiring, and I want to be like that
I hope my cookies are as sweet
and my laugh is as lovely
and my knitting is as neat
as yours is
i hope my husband is as wonderful
and thoughtful, as Grandpa
and I'd love to play the bass
or learn something new, like you
And I am so blessed, to have a Grandma like you
and to know you're thinking of me
even from far away
And I want you to understand,
how deeply I admire
your heart
and how you serve without constraint
and I hope that I will be like you someday

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Standing at the door to Your throne room
I’m afraid to call you Daddy
I can feel the matted fur clinging to my back
And falling in my eyes
Sticking to my forehead with my own sweat and tears
And my nails so long
And dirt underneath
From digging in places I’d rather not mention
My eyes are so glazed, I can hardly see
And in my haze I drop my shoulders towards the ground
And mirrors are glued to my feet
I frighten me
With the wandering lull I’ve been humming
I keep falling asleep
Even when I think I’m standing
Everything’s just alright
But my whole world’s spinning and turned upside down
And your voice
It comes second to mine

In my inner me I want to be known by you
But my mind tells me Guilt will never allow it
And that I’m a perpetual beast

I gnaw on my own arm sometimes
When I think I’ve done wrong
But everything looks hazy
And I’m tearing silently down to the bone

If you wanted me to be in this place
I’d chain myself to Time
But something soft
Way deep, down inside me
Whispers the cadence of Your heart
And sometimes I remember the joy that I had
When you put me in a white dress and called me Lovely
And I would have died just to hear you say,
Well done
But right now, I’m not fit to be a rug under your feet


I will wait for the day of awakening
When mud in my eyes becomes sight
And you, by deep grace, trim all my matted locks
and patch some unknown hole in my dry-walled heart

And I love that You’ll say,
And are speaking, right now
That You loved me

Even when I was a brute beast before You.

familiar stranger

Sitting close, cool up to our necks
Warming the pool with our burns
Watching my cousin’s hair dance over her face
And thinking nothing, for once

Then, walking down slow,
With her husband in tow
A stranger, I felt I knew well
This is a queen, no mistaking her grace
Her eyes met mine and smiled
And I wanted so deeply to be known by her
And to be called her Grand-Daughter Girl

How can I tell of the beauty she wore?
Even in old age,
remarkable
Smile gently stitched onto her lips
Hand sweeping the fake waterfall

I felt I must love her

And seldom have I admired so deeply
A stranger etched into my heart
And I thought that if I should reach those rich years,
I’d want to be just like her-
With ivory skin,
Wisdom in spades,
And gray curls tucked right into place.

Turning my head as I walked away
I regretted leaving that place

And seeing her there almost brought me to tears
For lack of knowing her name

every ladies' lie

beauties in linen dresses, whimsy packaged in floral prints, melting brown eyes and the sheen of their hair pinned in soft curls with lilies tucked in. Knit cardigans draped over delicate frames so perfect and yet so real.

Why am I the way I am? Tailor, please stitch me up, better. Oh, how it'd be best if you just started over. Some days I despise what you've made.

Try on similar things--lovely things like they wore. They don't look the same on me, don't make me pretty. I am not lovely like them.

Here are two dresses, painstakingly found, now I am the rose, petalled by each soft flow of their feminine ease, frail and fragile, just as I should be. But modesty clips at my heart.

Might as well pull out the paper bag. Might as well hide in the potato sack. If we run far enough from all hints of evil, then beauty must just be a dangerous sin.
How there is no win. Here we are, stuck between conscience and the need to feel lovely. Two hours or three, how long has it been, since the search for a single shirt was set into place, and still no suitable wear. How much time is thrown out in trying to balance a tipping scale?

How do you erase scars from a biting lie that cuts through our hearts? How do we come to believe truth when we know it in our minds and still can't believe it in our cores? How do we accept what we've been given without settling the matter by stating we're lesser? We don't need to be told anymore, how lovely others think we are. Just open our hearts to believe truth like we should, please let it seep down deep in our souls, so that we KNOW that we KNOW what You've made is beautiful. Teach us where beauty lies. Tell us, oh Love, what is our beauty. Tell us, King, how to ravish Your heart.