Emma Veronica

Dear Falks, It's me.  I guess you've been on my mind recently as I hear all this talk about life and death, joy and loss.  One year ago you left us. I've been contemplating why your passing has affected me so deeply.  No offense, I just feel that we weren't very close.  And yet, we were.  I vividly remember the first time you heard me sing.  I was absolutely terrified.  I have such a small voice and I knew you wouldn't be able to hear me.  And of course, you'd take that to mean that I didn't know the music and I would fail, and you'd be disappointed in me.  But you proved me wrong.  You took the time to hear my voice and not only did you listen, you reminded me that my voice is significant and strong.  I never told you, but that meant the world to me.  Now I think of you whenever I'm feeling small. I really do miss you dearly.  Thanks again for everything Falks.  Love, Emma

Breathe. Inhale... exhale.  I am alive. The first fragile snowflake falls in December. A field of flowers swaying in a spring breeze. A star shoots past the moon on a warm summer night. The low roll of thunder when a storm begins. A broken pot that sits on the shelf in an old potter's home. I see my Savior in all these things-- my Anchor -- but not in the broken pot. You see, the broken pot is one that simply sits on a wooden shelf.  It collects dust. It is known for its brokenness and it does not serve a purpose. It does not know why the potter keeps it.  But the potter knows. The potter has never forgotten the pot. I am the broken pot. I sit on a shelf collecting dust. I am helpless, hopeless.  I cannot serve my purpose.  Nor any purpose. But one day, the potter takes me from my shelf.  My shattered edges shift and crumble.  It hurts. The potter with gentle hands and loving fingers takes on broken piece ...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To an utterly broken world, Why? A question so frequently asked, but is it ever truthfully answered? So many horrid, horrific, unspeakable things happen day after day. Many to innocent persons. Many overlooked. Dear world, there is one who knows your suffering. No, not simply knows, but feels it in an innermost way, understands so deeply, so intimately. In fact, he suffered every pain this world has to offer. And he still bears the scars. Consider Lazarus' death.  The biblical story that holds the shortest verse in scripture: "Jesus wept." He knows the pain. No matter how big a scar it leaves on your heart or how long it lingers within you.  He knows. He knows and he weeps with us.  He holds us close during tribulation, and he reminds us that he has overcome it all-- we do not have to be overcome by it all. When dark...

This is a piece written in multiple points of view that each offer a new outlook to the same story.                                            -------------------------------------------------                                                          “I stand on the shore and watch as Father helps Mother out of the boat.   Mother said I could take Spot on our outing as long as I watch after him and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.   Now I have to run after him because he keeps ...

Girly, keep choosing joy. Joy that only your Heavenly Abba can give. Trust Him. Let Him show you the wonderful ways love can work in your life. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved. Think about what this truly means. It's not just a phrase. It is fact. It is truth. It is mercy. When love is able to grow in you, you will overflow until all your broken pieces will spray out love. Submit to God and the devil will flee. He'll run so fast, because Love is a powerful name. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. Though the days come when your hair just won't sit right, and those dark circles and spots seem to be making themselves more noticeable than ever, you are beautiful. You are made in the image of God.  He does not make mistakes. Girly, keep choosing joy. The days are long and hard and the to-do list never gets shorter. The anxiety, depression, anger, and fear all seem too big ...

A Piece of Micro-Fiction: It was midnight.   She got up from her bed because she was hungry and Mom had made brownies that afternoon.   Her room was dark, but she could see the light from the hallway shine in from beneath her door.   She saw the light in the kitchen was off, so she would go downstairs to see if Grandpa had any snacks.   She definitely didn’t want to wake up Mom and Dad after the week they had.   Apparently Nana had gone to see Jesus but hadn’t come back yet.   She began the descent down the stairs to Grandpa’s apartment, step by step, blanket in hand.   The rickety wooden railing wobbled in her grasp.   She could see the shadowy living room come into view through the rails as she neared the bottom.   Nana’s rocking chair was still empty.   Grandpa was already in bed and she didn’t want to disturb him.   She tip-toed through the dining room on the creaky floor boards, past his bedroom door that was a...

This past Sunday at some bizarre hour of 1: something in the morning, I posted a status on Facebook saying goodbye to social media.  I know what you're thinking, but this will not be a rant about why I hate social media. I also know that I don't have to offer any explanation to justify why I left it all behind, but I feel that I should.  So here we go... Recently, I have simply been feeling quite discouraged.  Transitions are always difficult, but the transition into college has been especially hard for me.  I almost feel like an awkward middle schooler again.  A small girl who struggles to find her place in the world.  Everyone else seems to make friends so easily, and now I can look practically anywhere and see groups of people acting like they had known each other for their entire lives.  I have felt confused and alone. Some people may say I'm experiencing some kind of...