“a mother sings you a lullaby before you are born, so that you’ll recognize the sound of her voice when you enter the world.”


i entered this strange place

and felt your warm breath on my face.

you whispered my name.

you pressed me close.

you held me tight.

you spoke in low musical tones

drowning out the multitude of others

competing for my affections

and chasing away the darkness

i had just come from.

i opened up my eyes…wide.

i gazed into your face.

i felt your love for me

transform this strange place

telling me i was home

to stay.



The weather of this past weekend has been awakening my senses for a beach bonfire. The afternoons have been incredibly warm, in the high 80s and 90s, which then fade into warm twilights and evenings with my windows open, drinking in the air of late spring nights.

Mondays are still a bit anti-climactic at work…which is why I am sitting at my desk catching up on writing and blogging and dreaming of things non-work related, when I should instead be brainstorming strategies on how to increase my productivity for the week. A couple weeks ago, I almost had a nervous breakdown in front of my immediate supervisor, due to heightened levels of anxiety caused by the looming weight of productivity expectations. These expectations are one aspect of this job I would rather dismiss. I understand that it is what keeps the clinicians accountable to the work they do, but for me, productivity expectations take the joy out of sitting, meeting, and sharing with my clients and their families. I’m not up to 100% yet, but I don’t have a full caseload yet either. And after my mini-episode of a couple Mondays ago, I have since told myself to let it go, to simply do the best I can, and that God will take care of the rest. But I still feel the weight of Productivity hovering just over my shoulders. Sigh.

Yesterday afternoon, I had the opportunity to play with two adorable children. They hail from a family I had been working with for the past year and half as a Floortime Specialist (also known officially as a “DIR Interventionist”). Bennie, my former client, is now 6 going on 7, and remains an avid lover of Disney/Pixar animated films, roaming the backyard and neighborhood, twirling plant leaves and stems, and dreaming up all sorts of schemes and plots in his mind, while looking for accomplices to help him carry them out. His younger sister, Tilly, is a bubble of joy and energy and sunshine, far more intelligent than any other 4-year old I have known… she calls me “Musette”, and yesterday she hurled herself at my knees in a very ecstatic expression of hello.

We spent the afternoon watching Toy Story and A Bug’s Life, playing with puzzles and big, bouncy exercise balls, while Ben engaged in his most recent passion of ripping magazine pages into l-o-o-o-o-n-n-n-n-g shreds.

I was reminded of how much I love this family and their children, and how special the work was that I had done with them. No matter how much I enjoy the work I am doing now, there is something unforgettable about becoming so intimately connected with someone that everything else following tastes a little bit more gray and bland.

I am grateful that though I am no longer a “Floortime Specialist”, at least I can work as Respite and provide the amazing parents of these children some time to live their lives.

Nonetheless, moments such as these are what gives flavor to my weeks, as days melt into weeks, which turn into months, which fade into years of time that pass by unawares.

I am sure this week will turn out to be another adventure. It’s only Monday. Who knows what more dreams may come?


i’ve been visiting with her again.

“After Davy had gone to bed Anne wandered down to Victoria Island and sat there alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, while the water laughed around her in a duet of brook and wind. Anne had always loved that brook. Many a dream had she spun over its sparkling water in days gone by. She forgot lovelorn youths, and the cayenne speeches of malicious neighbors, and all the problems of her girlish existence.

In imagination she sailed over storied seas that wash the distant shining shores of ‘faery lands forlorn,’ where lost Atlantis and Elysium lie, with the evening star for pilot, to the land of Heart’s Desire. And she was richer in those dreams than in realities; for things seen pass away, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”

Anne of the Island, p. 9

I know it’s all fiction and pretend, but in a very real way, these weathered books that i have read and re-read over the years keep me grounded… offer me ‘scope for imagination’ … and allow me to stay sane in the midst of insanity. I have read Anne Shirley so many times that she, and the places she lives in, have become real to me.



it was the driving force behind my thoughts all last week. in the midst of gray, dreary, overcast days (sometimes i appreciate these kinds o’ days but last week ’twas a bit oppressive), i told myself “He is Risen!” and felt instantly comforted by the magnitude of what such a claim means.

Easter is over, but in reality, every day should be celebrated as Easter.

This day last year, I was stressed out about competency exams, graduating, life post-grad school…

This year, I am working and thankful for God’s faithfulness carrying me through the intensity that has become this way of life.

Next year… I wonder?

he is risen.

first crush

i’m sure we all had one of those. Mine appeared in a dream last night. In that dream, he and I were able to resolve a never-answered question I had carried with me all throughout high school. And in my dream, I felt a sense of relief. He was the type of boy in high school I would never have imagined myself dating – but I liked him from afar, and there were moments I thought he felt the same way. But I never asked… so it was always a question mark.

I wonder how he’s doing today…where he is, if he has a family, what he does, if he’s happy… if he ever thinks about high school too… if he would remember me, if ever our paths crossed again.

I’d like to think that he would.


sometimes i feel like the events of my life are bits and pieces…disconnected…millions of stars burning cold and lifeless in my universe, swirling…spinning…lost.

i forget what i’m doing and where i’m going. i forget my purpose and the means to my end. i forget happy endings.

and then on sundays, everything comes full-circle… the stars align, the puzzle pieces connect… and the world makes sense again.

for those few hours, i remember. consciousness floods back into my memory. and i am no longer wandering lost.

not that i ever have. but it’s easy to lose sight and become blind during the week. i’m glad there’s someone guiding me.

how do i find that place where i keep joy overflowing? keep myself from fizzling out? the answers are right in front of me. but usually i’m too tired to care.

life is not a drama. it could be so much simpler. easy to have that mindset when the sun is shining and the breeze brings summer. on sundays, it’s easy to hold onto that.

passion. darkness before the morning. swirling into an expanse of almost-nothingness. but victory is found in the center of that expanse. just like joy can be found in the center of my stars… burning bright.