it starts with

Her eyes are soft and gentle and kind.

When she smiles you don’t doubt it – you embrace it.  She calms you and you find a quiet sigh escapes your lips. You wish the moment would stay there… but it doesn’t.  It moves along and takes you with it. So sometimes you look back.  You hope to find what you once saw.  You dream of finding that moment again and holding it tight.  Unyielding to looking away… but it doesn’t work that way because you can’t come back. You can’t return. You can only go forward.


during a quiet night

I often travel to old words and my heart beats hard –

it trembles at what it finds.

I feel the tears forming in my eyes and I turn away.

Do I acknowledge the private,

do I unveil the secret?

Or do I hide it in the shadows,



I am mistaken.

rambling words after midnight

Sometimes, I think words come in the most beautiful moments.  In times when my heart races or when tears are ready to stream down my cheeks.  These are times I wish to utter my thoughts but can’t bear the fearful revelation.  Moments in time when I feel scared or wish not to draw more attention to myself.  I realized years ago, I don’t like to let people see me cry.  It has happened, and most of the time it feels good someone has seen, but often I wish not.  I don’t want anyone to see the tears roll down or the hurtful words I express about how I may feel.  I’d rather cry in silence than give one the privilege of having seen me vulnerable, broken, lost, confused.  I would rather lock myself away, than later understand I have let others see my heart.  Mostly because I’m sure my heart is not always completely truthful.

Rather raw and exposed to light it does not know how to handle.

the guy i liked

On Facebook, the ABOUT tab has an about you section.  Years ago, as a sophomore who yearned to be understood as creative, I wrote: “I’m in love with words.”

Somehow, in my immature and younger mind, I comprehended the power and beauty of words.

I had just began this blog and felt a deep need to write.  My blogger page became my sole place of honesty (to a degree) and ritual.

A place, I found freedom to voice my opinion and emotions.  I could be real without the confrontation of negating eyes or vulnerability before another.  I wasn’t using writing as a mask to hide behind, but rather a medium of learning how to be confidant in my own voice.  And in a way, to discover its true sound.

Therefore, I was surprised when a friend of mine commented on the solidity of my words.  Using my love for them as an example of what I say or do not say.  Reminding me that because of this love, I was due to complete honesty and mediated spoken words.  I hadn’t realized others would comprehend me as one who only speaks without fault or without mindlessness.

Do you understand?  I was told that since I value words so much, the escape of the tongue (a thoughtless word) never happens.

Even a mediated thought, processed and well thought of can still, to a degree, be thoughtless.

But this, my friends, is the beauty of words.

When that moment comes.

A moment of true thoughtlessness, when speech happens and you do not control a thing.  You speak and then your mind automatically goes in auto correct or stumbles to find a way to cover up your slipped confession.  In this moment, a deep truth breaks forth.  Perhaps, a truth you never wanted to admit or forgot existed or lost along the way resurfaces.  Like a trigger it releases a certain amount of hidden truth you perhaps buried deep within your quiet heart.

“The guy I liked…” I heard myself say, an alarm in my brain went off.  Where did those words come from?  I thought.  Puzzled, I quickly went to fix my thoughtless words, “The guy…. that guy,” I tried, but found I was too surprised by myself.  A light chuckle escaped my lips and I shook my head, saying the guy’s name and smiling at the friend I was speaking with.

We both laughed.  I finished my story.

Later, I realized my tongue had escaped from running its words through my brain.  Among the months of repression and denial, I had forgotten that to one degree those words were very much true.

to be moved by a simple song

I remember the first time I heard this one song.

Two of my friends had just began co-leading worship at the church I was attending.  A newly founded gathering with few attendance and caught in the battle of recognizing itself.  As all new churches must learn to partake in.   This my was during my senior year of University, when it was completely up to me to decide where I’d spend my Sunday mornings.

The lights dimmed and the music ripped the vibrant silence.

As their voices began to skillfully follow the melody, I felt a chill run down my back.  This one song isn’t sad, but forever one that will shake my soul.  I peeled my eyeballs from those singing and turned my attention to the scrap paper in my hands, quickly writing down the tittle and artist of the song.  Internally so glad they’d put a slide up with the information.  Later, I would search the net and find this song.

When the lights finally came up, I felt the weight of the song lift as well.

I say this, because no matter the time and how it passes, this one song still moves me.  There’s a raw demeanor to it as a whole – complete of pureness.

And as I laid in bed tonight, unable to sleep, I decided to postpone trying and listen to this one song.  My forever battle to conquer over sleeplessness was overruled and put aside for now.

Why?  Because this matters.

Songs that move the soul are powerful tools of feeling.

And the thing is – I’ve shared this song before on this blog.  I’ve put up a clickable video of this song.  At first, I thought I would just do the same again, who cares if I’ve already done it before.  However, a few words about a song won’t show it’s significance, right?  I wanted to prove it.  This song both soothes and rests my soul, but also terrifies and strikes it.

I can’t get over how hauntingly beautiful this song is to my ears.

click to listen to this one song. ]

the right words

Words – decoys to a needed
expression.  I search them
but success doesn’t follow.  I feel
what a lack of

But how
can I talk
about it?  Since
I don’t understand it? Oh, yes,
maybe it’s pretense.


The unidentified feeling
in my heart
exhausts me.  For
I want words,
the right words to say:
it hurts.

at one point or another… death will come to bid us all farewell

One thing all beings have in common is death.  At one point or another, their heart stops and the blood no longer flows through a body.  They become lifeless.

I’m talking about death and not what comes after.

So far, there has been two people I’ve wished I would have seen before death took them.

My greek grandma and a good friend of my family, Andonis.

She was always a person of perseverance.  A worker who didn’t give up without a fight.  She would walk miles and miles to find food for her siblings and then head back miles and miles to feed them.  She was the oldest.  She was responsible.  She was lovely, with pure affection.  She always gave us little candy’s at church when we asked.  She’d come and do the dishes for us.  Clean our house and feed us.  We called her Rambo because she knew what we were up to.  She knew when we didn’t eat all our food; more specifically, she knew what we did with it.  She knew if we threw it down the toilet, gave it to the dog or put it in the garbage.  She always knew.  She was short, but very warm.  Her heart made her bigger and gave her a voice no one could deny.  She had a heart for animals and fed all the cats that came to her balcony.

I’ve heard the question – If you could have a day with a person long dead, who would it be?  Many answer Mother Teresa or other greatly known people.

I would choose my grandma.  I wish I could share who I am today with her.  Today, I am someone she can truly be proud of.  I wish I could tell her about my life and my accomplishments.  I’d like to sit down and have a cup of coffee with her.  Get to know her.  Ask for forgiveness for not spending more time with her.

I never got to say goodbye.

The worst is that so many people never had the opportunity to meet her.

As for Andonis, when I got back home this summer I knew he was in the hospital.  I wanted to go see him.  Sit with him.  This kind and gentle man, who holds a pure heart for the Lord.  The poor man has been suffering for over half a year.  I wanted to at least let him know he’s not forgotten.

However, I didn’t see him either.  Death met him last night, just as my grandma was met.  I will see them in Heaven, but dear are they missed here one earth.