man is the stone

water glides seamlessly over the rock bottom creek. 

stones standing still create ripples from the passing flow.

light dances off sky reflections as liquid rolls pass.

man watches as energy envelops stillness

motionlessly standing.

questioning what can be taken from the images casted. 

numbness presents chills to limbs

sensation unnoticed.

questions without answers

wonder remains

man is the stone.

Wishing for Waterfalls and Wondering :: Am I Alive?

“What does it feel like to be alive? 
Living, you stand under a waterfall. You leave the sleeping shore deliberately; you shed your dusty clothes, pick your barefoot way over the high, slippery rocks, hold your breath, choose your footing, and step into the waterfall. The hard water pelts your skull, bangs in bits on your shoulders and arms. The strong water dashes down beside you and you feel it along your calves and thighs rising roughly backup, up to the roiling surface, full of bubbles that slide up your skin or break on you at full speed. Can you breathe here? Here where the force is the greatest and only the strength of your neck holds the river out of your face. Yes, you can breathe even here. You could learn to live like this. And you can, if you concentrate, even look out at the peaceful far bank where you try to raise your arms. What a racket in your ears, what a scattershot pummeling! It is time pounding at you, time. Knowing you are alive is watching on every side your generation's short time falling away as fast as rivers drop through air, and feeling it hit.” -Annie Dillard

Never meant to be O R D I N A R Y .

"NO child on earth was ever meant to be ordinary, and you can see it in them, and they know it, too, but then times get to them, and they wear out their brains learning what folks expect, and spend their strength trying to rise over those same folks." Annie Dillard

I see so clearly in my girls that they are not meant to be ordinary. They are extraordinary humans! I know so many adults who seem yearning and bewildered by the wonder of who they are. I wish I could have known them as children and invited them to lay beneath the redwoods, and climb within the trunks. I imagine if my children were children when I was a child we would have been close friends. There is something sweet about being free to play in nature without expectation of results or achievements. I wish every child could come and play, and know that they are extraordinary. The redwoods have a way of reminding us that we are all special. You see, I have never been ordinary, and so I see the extraordinary even when others don't see it in themselves. I hope you know you were never meant to be ordinary, so be who you were meant to be. Be EXTRAORDINARILY you!

She Played The Guitar :: I Sang A Solo

photo taken by: orion pahl, 18,march,2012

My eyes are dry
My faith is old
My heart is hard
My prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me

But what can be done
For an old heart like mine
Soften it up
With oil and wine
The oil is You, Your Spirit of love
Please wash me anew
With the wine of Your Blood

My eyes are dry
My faith is old
My heart is hard
My prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me

But what can be done
For an old heart like mine
Soften it up
With oil and wine
The oil is You, Your Spirit of love
Please wash me anew
With the wine of Your Blood
My Eyes Are Dry, Keith Green


Tracy was from Quebec, Canada. She would sit in the back of the bus as we made our way down the potholed dirt road to Butterworth. It was the closest town to where we stayed in the Transkei. I was sixteen years old, spending my summer on a missions trip in South Africa. As we bumped along the road, I sang along with Tracy as she played my favorite Keith Green song, My Eyes Are Dry. Abigail Ousteissen, one of our team leaders heard us singing and told us that we would perform the song in church that day. We laughed out loud, and she said, "No, I am serious!" The church service lasted for over six hours. The song only lasted a couple of minutes. We all ate together, laughed, cried, shared stories, and built memories I will never forget. It is still my favorite Keith Green song. She played the guitar, and I sang a solo. The lyrics mean so much more to me twenty two years later.

When Walking With Grief

art by: Eric Swanson-Dexel

Do not hurry as you walk with grief;
it does not help the journey.
Walk slowly, pausing often.
Do not worry as you walk with grief.
Be not disturbed by memories that come unbidden.
Swiftly forgive, and let Christ speak for you unspoken words.
Unfinished conversations will be resolved in him.
Be not disturbed.
Be gentle with the one who walks with grief.
If it is you, be gentle with yourself.
Swiftly forgive; walk slowly, pausing often.
Take time; be gentle as you walk with grief.


When Walking With Grief
Common Prayer; A Liturgy For OrdinaryRadicals

Sometimes We Just Need Scripture :: Psalms 27

Psalm 27

The LORD is my light and my salvation—
   whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life—
   of whom shall I be afraid?

When the wicked advance against me
   to devour me,
it is my enemies and my foes
   who will stumble and fall. 

Though an army besiege me,
   my heart will not fear;
though war break out against me,
   even then I will be confident.

One thing I ask from the LORD,
   this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
   all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the LORD
   and to seek him in his temple. 

For in the day of trouble
   he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent
   and set me high upon a rock.

Then my head will be exalted
   above the enemies who surround me;
at his sacred tent I will sacrifice with shouts of joy;
   I will sing and make music to the LORD.

Hear my voice when I call, LORD;
   be merciful to me and answer me. My heart says of you, “Seek his face!”
   Your face, LORD, I will seek. Do not hide your face from me,
   do not turn your servant away in anger;
   you have been my helper.
Do not reject me or forsake me,
   God my Savior. Though my father and mother forsake me,
   the LORD will receive me. Teach me your way, LORD;
   lead me in a straight path
   because of my oppressors. Do not turn me over to the desire of my foes,
   for false witnesses rise up against me,
   spouting malicious accusations.

I remain confident of this:
   I will see the goodness of the LORD
   in the land of the living. Wait for the LORD;
   be strong and take heart
   and wait for the LORD.

A Dream :: horseback and hot air ballon

i do not always speak my dreams out loud or write them for others to read, but these past few weeks have been filled with grief, trials, and long hours of work.

when i was seven years old my grandma stowell died. i remember my aunt lou had a horse sometime around then. when my family would be on road trips, i would stare out the window and imagine my grandma riding on a horse  off in the distance, with her silver hair flowing behind her. even when i flew at age sixteen to africa, i remember imagining i could see my grandma riding a horse off in the distance, galloping over a blanket of clouds. i love horseback riding. i love the power of a horse trotting up jagged hills, taking me effortlessly to new heights. there is a rush of freedom found galloping across an open range, charging forward with momentum. i want to ride horses in new mexico. my mom use to always tear up when we would be driving to farmington, new mexico to visit family. as she saw the red dirt out the window, she would always tell us it was grandma stowell's favorite dirt. i want to ride horses across the red dirt in new mexico.

in sixth grade we drew report topics out of a hat from ideas we had brainstormed as a class to write reports about. i had suggested hot air balloons as a report topic. as classmates took topics from the hat before me, i finger-crossed hoped no one picked hot air balloons. as my turn approached, i reached in the hat and i pulled out abe lincoln. jennifer had suggested abe lincoln to be funny, and clearly the joke was on me. i had seen a hot air balloon one time as a child when we were driving out to new mexico. it was big and bright and it seemed to command the sky. even the beams of sun seemed to dance around it. i want to fly high above the desert dirt of new mexico.

my dream is to slip away for a weekend with my family and some friends to a ranch house in new mexico. we can ride horses for a full day, hot tub and stare into the desert sky at night, have a picnic brunch after taking a morning hot air ballon ride, and shop it up at some of the roadside native american trading posts.

i do not always speak my dreams out loud or write them for others to read, but these past few weeks have been filled with grief, trials, and long hours of work. i turn forty in a couple of years, so who knows, maybe these dream can come true.