About Me

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I write, mostly to keep my head from exploding. It threatens to do that a lot. My blog is the pixelated version of all the voices in my head. I tend to dive into what connects me to God, my community, my family and my doubt. I do a lot of searching, not as much finding. I’m good with that. I have learned, finally, to live comfortably in the gray. In the meantime, I wrestle with God, and my doubt and my joy.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016


I heard no voice -
or perhaps
silence was its own voice -
Small, and so very soft.
It whispered, just beyond
my hearing.

But it sang
in my blood.
It ran through my body
and burned my hands,
which lay idle.
It drummed a beat
that moved my heart
in a syncopated rhythm.
Not a waltz
Nor a tango
But my feet,
which had been still -
as still as my idle hands -

They danced with the
Voice that had no sound
That sang in my blood
And moved my hands
And beat in steady rhythm
So I danced.
So I sing
the song of the voiceless,
the small and softly silent ones,
And stumble on broken bits of
scattered, shattered tablets.
And I dance,