My seventeen year old son recently released his first iPhone (iPad, iPod) game via Apple and a few hours later casually remarked, “You know, when you put something out there publicly, you realize just how much you care what other people think.”

My son had received some unfavorable comments and it hurt my heart. He’d worked for months on this game from concept, storyline, characterization, modeling, coding and application to applying for a developer’s license and buying Unity to working through multiple rounds of alpha and beta testing to finally releasing the game for approval by Apple. I knew the whole story. I’d seen the hours invested, the months, the dedication in the midst of illness that others did not.

My son has a 27-letter long, nearly unpronounceable GI disease. He takes lots of medications, gave up many of the foods he once loved, and often fights pain and nausea. As his mom, I see what others don’t. My son is sick and never complains. Ever. He simply pours himself into something productive, something challenging, something other than himself, which is why those critical comments hurt my mama heart. My son’s game isn’t perfect, but it is an investment – a part of him – something he’s poured himself into for months, and biased or not, I think it’s well done.

“I don’t really mind the criticism,” he told me later when I asked. “It’ll just make my next game that much better.”

“Oh, Lord,” I thought. “My son gets this and he’s only seventeen. How often do I – the 46-year old! – check the stats on my website after publishing a new story, another poem? How often do I check for comments or “Likes” on my webpage? I say that I write what’s on my heart and release the words to You to use as You choose, but do I? Really? Way down deep where nobody sees? Because if my words truly are an expression, a pouring out of Your work in my life, nothing beyond writing and releasing them should matter.”

Sigh…but it does. Somewhere deep inside, too often, it does matter, and every time it does, I sink just like the disciple Peter. When Peter kept his eyes on Jesus, he stepped right out of that boat and walked on top of the water toward Jesus, but the second he looked away, Peter noticed those waves and sank.

It’s the same with me. As soon as I take my eyes off Jesus, I begin to sink. “What do others think? Will my words encourage or incite? Are they enough? Am I?” And that’s the sting of pride, because it’s not about others, it’s all about Jesus – every thought, every word, every action, every breath solely focused on Him.

So focused it breathes out when we don’t even realize it, kind of like the title of my son’s game. I’m not sure he intended it to honor God, but like his life, it does. Infinity^3 is the scientific notation for infinity cubed, reminding me of the Trinity – Father, Son and Holy Spirit – infinite, eternal, all. For as we learn to focus our eyes on Jesus, regardless of our situation, in spite of the circumstances, we too learn to walk trusting and unafraid.

Sam’s game Infinity^3 is available in the App Store for $0.99.

Blessed to be sharing with the beautiful women of We Used to be You today.

Beauty is every breath in the Presence of a holy God…

“Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting…a cup of blessing.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science.” ~ Albert Einstein

“Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.” ~ Edgar Allen Poe

…spilled into laughter, wound about words, tenderly tucked into tears.

Sharing Stillness with Sandy:

And Beauty with Three:

And words and image here on Sunday:

like grace

Are they falling or merely
Suspended?

am I?

In this place between
Sick and well
Heaven and hell
Compassion and discontent?

How will these minikin flakes ever
Amount to an inch?

but they do

As I look away
To teach school
Fold laundry
Pack a box
Steep a cup of tea

They silently stack
One on one on one
To cover the ground
Dome the birdfeeder
Turn this patch of world

white

like grace

His gentle Presence falling
In moments too small to see

Until I squint sideways against the dark
the night
the pain
the sick
the loss

And see the flakes
Stacking one on one on one
To shield the heart
Heal the hurt and
Turn this waiting soul

white

Bloated words siphoning color
From dawn’s thin fingers

He was born today
A “Sherman tank” built to play

Throwing stones and balls and
Hotdog bites from his highchair tray

Wearing cowboy boots that didn’t breathe
So neither could we!
“Hi, ho, Silver, away!”
The call of his day

Trading up from Big Wheel and black Huffy
To BMX and curvy tracks,

Indian dirt bike to street-sleek Kawasaki
Navy pick-up to snow white SUV
With an infant seat

Decades of sun-drenched days,
Punt, Pass and Kicked into seasons of

Hockey, soccer,
Baseball and golf

Travel teams and
State champs

MVP
Team captain
Player, coach,
Ref, ump
Brother, husband
Son, daddy

gone…

There would have been 43
flames on his cake today

but his heart stopped

in June…at 32

A sun baked season of tears
As the opaque sky clotted in my throat
like wet cement

And little boys sprouted like spring grass
casting rods,
skipping stones and
batting balls into seasons of

Hockey, soccer
Baseball, football,

Travel teams and
State champs

MVP
Team captain
Players, ref

Jerseys steeping sun-drenched days
Into color

Glove, stick, ball, puck
Shoot, strike, goal, run

Score!

Daring to breathe
Cheer
Swallow
Live
L E A P

And embrace his cry,
“Go Forward!”

*In honor of my brother, who wrung every drop out his 32 years. Your cry, “Go Forward!” is ever in my heart, and I love you!

This post is part of the February Christian Writers’ Blog Chain on the topic “Leap” in honor of Leap Day. Check out all the LEAP posts by clicking on the sidebar links.

Breathe Jesus

Soul deep,
risking all,
holding nothing back,

Refusing to be bound by convention –
brushed on,
touched up,
colored over,
trimmed away,
lit right

empty

Because beauty isn’t
artificial

Its shattered days
sifted and soldered into
effusion of hues

Months scooped from ash
sketched across fresh canvas

Scraps of time
salvaged and stitched
to wrap you warm

Colored bits of childhood
melted and dipped to
bear flame, heat

pliable

Beauty is scarred hands
weaving, grafting
hewing, sifting
molding, sewing
piecing, piercing
turning, spinning,
gracing…

bleeding
brokenness into light

*Linking with dVerse for Open Mic Night. Come see what everyone’s posting tonight!

We all have a story to tell. I do and so do you, and every story is integral to the whole, each one a beautiful, necessary piece of the mosaic, incomplete on its own, insufficient, disconnected, but together a masterpiece, exquisite, finished, complete.

Think for a minute about what happens when we sit down to coffee or dinner with a friend. What do we do? We talk. Share. Catch up. Discuss what’s happening in our lives, what we think, how we feel. We work through struggles, celebrate victories, encourage, laugh, cry, and love one another through life. That’s friendship, good and right and necessary, but there’s more. God designed us to live, to “do life” together as one body, the Body of Christ.

That’s where our stories fit. Without God, our lives are empty and shallow, and sometimes hopeless, but as we begin to see God at work in all the details, personally and intimately, and as we step out in faith and begin to share those stories, the hope of Christ, with others, God begins to work, and others begin to see God at work in their own lives. That’s what made the disciples so powerful, not because they were extraordinary men, but because they told of an extraordinary God. They told what they knew – what they witnessed, heard, tasted, smelled, and felt – and they rocked the world.

When we begin to share stories of God at work in our lives, others begin to see differently, noticing Him in brand new ways in theirs, and we both grow, a beautiful picture of community.

How amazing that God chose us – ordinary, everyday women – to simply share what we know, tell others what we’ve experienced, how we’ve seen God at work in our own lives – God’s story – passed heart to heart to heart – one story at a time, knitting us together into the beautiful, intricate, diverse, extraordinary Body of Christ here on earth.

So this year, be a disciple. Step out and share your faith one moment, one heart, one story at a time, for our extraordinary God still rocks His world!

“Give praise to the LORD, proclaim his name; make known among the nations what he has done. Sing to him, sing praise to him; tell of all his wonderful acts.” (Psalm 105:1-2)

*Written for the beautiful women of We Used to Be You Ministries — sharing life experience, providing wise biblical counsel, and sharing the love of Christ with girls and young women.

I long to
Wrap you in red

To drape the
Jagged fragments
Of your pain in
Scarlet folds of love,

And gather wounded days
In love’s embrace

As crimson’s plush
Absorbs the tears
And time ticks by
Unseen,

To swathe you close
Against life’s chill
And heal your
Broken heart

Yet only tender Mercy’s blood
Spilled hard
Across the soul
Can enfold the
Broken shards

Of you
In Him

And make you whole.

*The cry of my heart for my beautiful friends Deb, Sandy, and Pamela, whose lives breathe Jesus, but whose hearts are heavy with loss, grief and illness. Just know that I love you and I’m holding you close in prayer, sweet friends.

I want to do something, Lord, anything to ease the suffering, the pain, to help in some physical, tangible way. Something, anything, to keep my mind and hands and heart busy, because it hurts to think, to feel, to experience this again and again in Your beloved children.

Oh, Lord!

How does Your heart not shatter into a billion shards a second? How do You hear and know and feel the pleas of Your children day after day after day?

It hurts, and my heart aches, and I pray, and that hurts too, for Your Word says I’m to rejoice in all things, always. But how?

How do I rejoice in pain and grief and sickness and death?

And yet somehow in the quiet, I do. I rejoice that my brother discovered You just before he died, that he’s dancing on streets of gold with his signature grin and a twinkle in his eye, absolutely loving his new life.

I rejoice that my beautiful friend’s husband shared precious words with her the week before he died, words forever etched in her heart before his stopped. I rejoice that he knew You and loves You, and is just beginning his grand new adventure.

I rejoice that my friend loves You, feels You, and trusts You even when it hurts. And it does hurt, Lord.

I would do anything to alleviate my son’s illness, my husband’s frustration, my friends’ suffering and pain and fear and weariness, but I can’t. I can only walk beside them and pray, even when I don’t understand.

So I’m back in that small space where fear slides in with the shadows to tie sticky fingers round my heart. And it hurts, Lord, this loving.

Oh… but You know that too, this agonizing love of broken Creation, for it cost You Your Son – agonizing Love that stood aside as we broke His body and beat His spirit and wounded His soul, all because You love us.

How is it possible, this love that sacrifices all, that loves us inside out, and costs You deep? And yet it is, because You are.

And it’s enough. And I’m amazed and humbled and awed to rejoice in the hard simply because You love, You’re here, You are. Amen.

*Written for my dear friend Pamela, whom I love like a sister.

To notice mercy
Spreading slow across the sky,

Beauty in the broken,
Embers in the ash,

Moments raining light
And love and grace,

Glimmers in grief,
Hope gently rising with the mist,

Cry of my heart
Poured into a single word

…Breathe…

That’s it?
That’s all.

Just breathe

And a dare to spill
A thousand gifts
In images
Across the year,

A word to speak,
A dare to seek

Joy, feather-light,
On wings of prayer,

The Heart and Hand
And artistry of God,

Rapture of creation!

Every moment,
Every fiber
Every breath

Drenched in untamed Love,
Wild and free

Breath of God
Alive…in me!

This post is part of Christian Writers’ January Blog Chain on the topic, “Quest.” Check out the other Quest posts by clicking the links at right.

I will also be participating in the 1000 Gifts Joy Dare this year, seeking to capture 1000 gifts in word and image, three each day throughout the year. The first of those images will be available soon here at Breathe Deeply. I invite you to stop back often and enjoy!

Be still my soul on this silent night,
Cupped in the moon’s embrace as
Grace whispers the world white.

Pause for breath on the edge of night,
As shadows lean low and long, oh
Be still my soul on this silent night

Still to hear His tender Voice invite
This broken soul to dance, because
Grace whispers the world white

Shattering the stain of pride held tight,
Seeping deep into wounds, oh,
Be still my soul on this silent night

Still to feel the warmth of His delight
Thrum through my veins in song as
Grace whispers the world white

And the embers of my faith ignite
As I hear His song low and long…
Be still my soul on this silent night as
Grace whispers the world white.

* This poem, my first villanelle, is a response to the poetry prompt through TS Poetry Press, an interesting challenge and one I truly enjoyed.