from 2016

this was from 2 years ago.

having a hard day already and wanted to remind myself…i have worth. i may be a pile of problems, but who isn’t? difficult people are a product of difficult circumstances.

I am 5’10”. I have broad shoulders and big bones. I have pale, gray eyes—a dark blue ring around the edge of my iris, gold-green rips bursting from the pupil. I have the same down-turned eyes and mouth as my mother, Grandma’s droopy, Buddha-like earlobes and doughy German cheeks. My dad left me his posture, his jaw and his poker face.

I am overweight. I have Shingles scars on my cheek, eye and temple and almost no upper lip. There’s a space in my bottom lash line where the lashes won’t grow. My forehead is beginning to fold. My cheeks are brown and freckled.

My hair is brown. Probably. Inside my head. Probably graying. I color my hair, so I wouldn’t really know. It’s usually blonde on the outside, sometimes red, sometimes pink. Short. Like a man’s would be. I keep it short because I have a deranged, panicky hormonal reaction to wisps of hair brushing the sides of my face. And because I have no thyroid (cancer). My hair misses that organ terribly. Refusing to grow from sadness and grief.

I am odd. Breathtaking. Unique.

I would say my eyes are my kindest feature.

They look deep inside. They search out truth, soft and certain truth. They search for the broken parts of others. They listen and wait. They are patient, sad and silent. They run at the drop of a hat and love so quickly. They never lie. They do not fail. They can always see what’s real.

I am still all these things. I still get sad. I still get mad. I had a hard day today, too. But I’m breathing. 200 lbs lighter. Healthier than I’ve ever been. Ever. And oh-so lavishly, undeservedly loved.

Isn’t it wonderful that we can be so flawed and loved so much. That is hope.



Lilli, my daughter, is pictured with multiple shades of hair color styled into a faux-hawk with YOLO glasses I made for her on the last day of school. LOL I LOVE this pic.
I wrote the following in January of last year for my daughter, but I think it applies to all women.

Don’t worry what people might say about how you look or what your voice sounds like. You know we (Mom & Dad) love you and we would never hurt you or be dishonest with you. We certainly wouldn’t misguide you. You can trust us when we say, your voice is important and beautiful. You’re special. God made you that way. If you didn’t stand out, no one would hear your voice or see your beauty! If someone doesn’t like it, they are either jealous or confused!

For all you ladies who might feel like you stand out, that’s not a bad thing!
Have a great Friday!!



from 2014. i’m better now. almost.

so, okay. i have this terrible condition that rears its ugly head every so often. i start to feel bad. mentally, internally. then it sort of morphs into something worse. a terrifying feeling of not being loved. then i set about to let everyone in my tiny family know about it. i moan and shout from the next room, “No one loves me!” then my family rushes in and kisses me and reassures me. “We love you!” it’s a fun, silly game, but one that i need sometimes because while i make a joke, i still need that comfort and love to bolster my fragile mentality.

well last night, i finally realized, what i really feel is, “I’m unlovable.” i begin to feel as if no one in the world could possibly love me. that i’m too fat, ugly, annoying and selfish for anyone to love. so i said, from my bedroom last nite, “I’m unlovable!” then my family rushed in, Lilli who is so smart, “I love you! And God loves you!” I said, “No, you don’t. You can’t possibly.” and she made some silly joke to make me laugh about how i was being impossible. and then Guy rushed in, hugging me and kissing me, singing Voice of Truth.

…and the voice of truth tells me a different story,
and the voice of truth says do not be afraid…

which is his subtle-not subtle way of saying, “Shut up! Stop lying to yourself.”

and that’s what i am doing. i’m lying to myself. i’m listening to that tiny, crazy voice that tells me:
i’m worthless.
i’m scared.
i’m not loved.
and that’s not the voice of truth, that’s not the voice of God. that’s the voice of the enemy–my own thoughts OR the twisted up world OR the devil.

i am lovable. i am loved. if for no other reason than God loves me. i am thankful for my family. for my husband, who is the voice of reason. for scooping me up and sparing me from my own terrible thoughts, for giving me undivided attention even when i’m pretty obvious about it. i love you, Guy. thanks for the reminder.


UR in Ruin

You’re in ruin.
Not from your doing.
Rejected, brokenhearted, beaten, betrayed
By brutal behavior–reckless and unstaid.

You don’t deserve that.

Rise from your ash.
Emerge from the crash.
Carefully remove the plunged-in knife.
Take control of your internal life.

No one else can.

Dig out the buried artifact
What was your heart, not just an act.
Discover the soul of who you are.
Soon you’ll erase that fading scar.

I believe in you.


I’m No Angel

Angel wings and halos
Aren’t always what they seem.
Perfect teeth and tits
Are nothing but a dream.

This body gave life.
This belly gave birth.
This face has laughed.
These hands do work.

My breasts have fed
A tiny baby girl.
This mind has created
a from-scratch, new-found world.

I wouldn’t really try
To change a bleeding thing.
After finding my own voice?
I’m totally gonna sing.

Why not?
So what?
Go after
Pull down
The things you want.
No one cares.
No one stares!

And if they do?
Chalk it up to hate.
They’ll have to answer for that
Portion on their plate.

I’m too busy living life to wonder what small-minded people think
about this big-hearted person.

HEEEY! *snap* bye. *flap, flap, flap*

YOU! bettah. work!


Growing Doubt

If you’re going to plant something, make it your:
Reliance on God.

Don’t plant doubt. Doubt is a weed.
Grows fast and takes over everything.
No fruit or flowers can grow
With doubt around.

Doubt will have your well-maintained yard of confidence
Looking like:
A Jungle. Chaos. Hell.
In no time.

Who’s the:
Constant Gardener?

Holy Spirit

Doubt is like poison ivy:
Starts an itch that can’t be satisfied.

Once doubt takes over, I can’t stop it.
I’d have to burn my whole house down
To the ground
To beat it.

Scorched earth.
Have no worth.
I steal my mirth
With a Confidence dearth.

I can’t keep this yard on my own. Ask for help.
I’m an inexperienced novice with no skills.
No one ever taught me how to be awesome.
Everyone only reminded me of fear and failure.

God’s been doing this since the beginning of time.
OG-Original Gardener.
So pay attention.
Leave intention.

Oh, Petal. Doubt has no place
In a garden of self-esteem and worth.
Stop tearing up this dirt, sweating over the hurt.
Stop watering negativity with tears, bitterness, and concern.

We were made to blossom and thrive, Buttercup.
Don’t worry, Late-Bloomer.
Every plant has its cycle. Be patient.
Sometimes, the most rare flowers take the longest.

My value and worth aren’t earned.
Or learned.
They. Are. Inherited.
Passed down from my Father.

Genetic. Kinetic. Poetic. Prophetic.

No one can take it away.
No one. Not even myself.
Unless I give permission.
So how can I doubt that, Tulip?