There’s still time

The cry came suddenly. 

A cry that turned into untamed, pain-filled sobs. 

The sobbing soon became the loudest sound in the church, completely outdoing the soft playing gospel music. I, along with everyone else seated in the wooden pews, fell silent and agonized with her. Each moan of her sorrow cut to our hearts and caused our vision to blur. 

I watched Amy as she made her way to the casket to look at her father for the final time. I heard her sniff and softly weep as she gazed. 

It was such a sad scene to view so I closed my eyes to pray… 

And think…

About my own father…

I wonder how much longer he will be on this earth? 

Do I spend enough time with him? 

Does he really know how much I love him? 

About my family… 

When was the last time I told my mother how much she means to me? 

I don’t think my sister knows how much I care about her. 

My aunt is such a good woman. I don’t think I’ve ever told her that. 

About my friends… 

Naomi is always so supportive. I really appreciate her. 

Dylan is a wonderful friend. He’s always checking on me. 

Chrysanthemum truly is my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without her. 

I don’t want to say accolades that can no longer be heard. 

Or buy gifts that can’t be enjoyed.

Or give love that can’t be felt.  

I don’t want anything to be left unsaid when it’s time to say any final goodbyes. 

So I’m deciding to say everything, to do everything now

While there’s still time.

Great Expectations

This feels heavier than faith. 

Thicker than hope. 

Firmer than belief. 

I’m reclining on air with my feet crossed at the ankles, my hair nestled in the palms of my hands.

I’m jumping double dutch on the ocean while wearing chrome stilettos that grip the water like cement. 

I’m cartwheeling on quicksand without sinking. 

Without any fear of sinking. 

It’s more than faith. 

Closer to certainty.

For the past sixteen days, I’ve been listening to the rhythm of assurance that beats within me. 

It’s an inexplicable melody that only I can hear… for now. 

I look to heaven in amazement.



This year, I’m expecting something great. 
…”for You answer our prayers…”
-Psalm 65:2


Even though it was Sunday, it didn’t feel like it. 

The afternoon sky was painted a milky gray. Thousands of fat raindrops plopped onto flimsy umbrellas and streamed down Evan’s car windows as he drove down the wet street. 

“Maybe I’m going through a quarter life crisis,” he said. “There are so many things that I thought would be different.”

I nodded in total agreement. I began to air out my own qualms about my life. But the inability to articulate my frustration made me speechless for a second or two as I searched for the right words.

But Evan filled them in, saying, 

“You just know you’re not where you thought you’d be.” 

I’m absolutely not where I thought I’d be. 

I step outside myself and gaze at my comings and goings at this moment in time with my lips parted, my brow wrinkled and my eyes widened, all in disbelief. 

This portrait of my life appears incomplete. 

There are dark spots of ink there that I wish I hadn’t spilled.

White spaces that need to be filled.

Scenery that I wasn’t expecting. 

A missing face that needs to be penciled and colored in. 

I’m absolutely not where I thought I’d be. 

But I’m exactly where God wants me to be.

I don’t hold the paintbrush. He does. And He knows exactly what to do with it. 

He will add just the right color. 

Sketch in the flawless visage. 

Blend the ink blots expertly into the rest of the image.  

All at the right time. 

There are times when I look at the picture as it is now and frown. 




But then I think if the painting was up to me, would it be as beautiful as it will be when Jesus is finished with it? 

Absolutely not. 

I won’t be incomplete forever. 
Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.
-I Corinthians 13:12