how did this magic come to be
that my hand bonds to yours
so naturally, like magnets
drawn together by
invisible forces, lines
of indelible attraction
pulling each constantly
toward the other?

it may be the same enchantment
that now makes me take notice of
blue mason jars and
giraffes and daisies, when
i’d never before given them
a second thought.

i find myself collecting keepsakes,
ticket stubs and playbills and postcards
in a blue lunchbox (bigger on the inside–
which is also how my heart feels lately,
swelling with each new wave of affection).

today, i celebrate you, my dear.
i never expected, a year ago,
that a sweltering Wednesday in
this hothouse June
could mean as much to me
as this day
your day

my heart is on an airplane headed north
and yet my soul still sings, because You
are my true strength and best song.
and when i am with her, I praise You
and when i am away from her, I seek You
and when i remember her kindness, i see
a glimpse of Your generous provision of
words to buoy my sinking heart
hope to lift my doubting eyes
warmth to dispel my chilly isolation–
gifts that point to a gracious Giver.

for You are my greatest desire,
and so she must never be, for
she was never meant to bear
all my hope and need and weakness–
the shoulders meant to carry those
burdens bore cross-timber and sin-weight
in my stead.

all she must be is a signpost of glory
a shadow of the brighter promise
a joyous reminder of my joyful final home
and in her arms, i am both known and still waiting
to be known fully by my soon-returning King.

my heart is on an airplane headed north,
and when she returns, we will praise our
beloved King together and anticipate the
beauty of His arrival.

(By request, the poem I wrote three months ago–this is what happens when an English major dates someone incredible…)


“was this the face that launched a thousand ships?”
perhaps, but i know my own little bark is now fully adrift
and i have no one but you to blame,
my helen, my penelope–yet
could you be the promised end to my wanderings,
closing the book on the sirens and scyllas
the cyclopses and calypsos
the almost-but-not-quite nausicaa’s
that have plagued my battered, storm-tossed heart
and left me clinging to driftwood
and praying for home?
if only there were a Chorus to confirm what my
too-frequently-confused heart
now holds resolutely to be true,
i could raise my arms in defiance
of all the lesser gods and monsters
that presume to stand between me and thee,
mistress of my bright hope.

note from a phonebooth.

June 14, 2013

in these four glass walls
I spin faster and faster
(changing from mild-mannered to Something More)
preparing to face the enemies that
threaten from all sides, and
in the quiet at the center of the vortex,
i block out the shouts and snarls,
close my eyes and retreat into the
steady hum of my own rotation. in that
swirling stillness, i think of you at your keyboard,
typing, brow creased, intent–
and i smile, because i know that
you’re the hero for many who will never
know my name or see me soar,
and your words are the ones that will
inspire people to step into the light

i want you to know, though you may not
believe it, that you inspire me in more ways
than I can begin to count–you who drew me
away from icy solitude and into the warmth
of the happier sun

i don’t know what’s coming, or what may fall
from the skies, but if need be, i will
face down Doomsday to defend you,
no matter the cost, because to me you are
the jewel of all worlds,
unique and precious and praiseworthy.