I drew this picture during a time of deep inner growth for me during my sophmore year of college–a reflection of beauty and affliction.

You are alive—aware,
A unique being;
I marvel at you as I hold you close
Your soft steady breaths tickle my arm
And I cherish your limp, sleeping form
Molded into my own.
I feel your heart beating against my breast;
You are separate,
You are you.
I bury my nose in your hair
Drinking in your sweet, familiar smell,
Relishing the circle of peace surrounding us—
Where are your thoughts, little one?

You are emerging
Your delicate leaves unfurling
I see you each day exerting your will
And no longer doubt your humanness.
At times I’m shocked by you
And wonder how to respond
To such fits and moods.
You are separate,
You are you.
I accept you, dear Gift,
Delighting in these fleeting moments
Growing in love,
Embracing you.

Date: March 22, 2006
Location: Hyderabad, India

After nursing Aria one evening, I held her sleeping form close to my own, drinking in her sweet smell and cherishing the dear little breaths tickling my arm. It inspired me to write a poem to her.

You’re looking at freedom through tainted eyes
Thoughts of gain float through your mind
You grasp it tightly in your fist
And you frantically twist and distort it
Can’t you see that your wings are breaking?
Freedom is too delicate to manipulate
It must be held in an open palm
You must be willing to submit to it
…Not use it.
Only then can you soar.

Date: Fall 2003
Location: Bethany College of Missions, MN

This poem was an assignment for a class that I took while in college. The course was taught by Ed Dudek and was called “Freedom and Obligation”. In it we studied two epistles of the New Testament: James and Galatians. It brought a balance between the controversies that swirl around grace and works–a wonderful class and great subject to study.

I step from the tall stone building into the street alive with sounds piercing the early morning stillness. Squinting, I gaze up towards the small piece of sky, grey with clouds above me, then I set off down the narrow street. I smile at the passing people as my eyes search out a place of contemplation. As I round the corner my eyes light on a tiny café tucked into a rough stone building. I venture over and peek in through the open door. A young man is wiping down the tall counter as he chats with a girl behind him making coffee, their language spilling forth like sweet music.
He looks up as I enter and questions, “Prego?”
I order a cup of espresso and then glance around me. The café is as tiny as it appears from the outside with hardly enough space to turn around. In opposite corners of the narrow room are small tables with two chairs, inviting an intimate conversation, or perhaps the morning paper. By the door is a tall counter for those who prefer to stand as they sip their coffee; the front counter also seems to serve this purpose. Accenting the dark walls are pictures— many pictures. They are mostly photographs of cats: here one’s in an old doorway, there one’s looking up, intently watching something with his curious eyes. Something about those cats with their dear peculiarities lends an air of warm comfort to the small room. Above one of the tables for two hang two photographs of nature— and sky— such lovely expanses of sky! They cause me to dream. I’m brought back from my thoughts as my cup of espresso is set before me. I sigh and smile as I lift the little cup to my lips, content to let everything go for these few precious moments.

Date: August2003
Location: Bloomington, MN

After coming back from my nine-month internship in Italy, I couldn’t get this dear café out of my mind— it etched itself in my memory. I had to bring it back to life on paper and it has had a place in a story I am currently writing.

I stand here silently
Breathlessly waiting in the stillness,
Chilled air filling my veins
My eyes straining to see.
I gaze far below me,
The frozen river stares back.
As I stand motionless
Enveloped in moonshine
Darkened shadows lie all about,
Yet still I wait.
The evening sky is closing in
As the brilliant sunset fades,
Just a lost echo of the day.
Finally, without warning it appears,
The first star in the dusky sky
Twinkling softly in the vastness;
How can something so seemingly insignificant
Be so completely amazing?
How can it touch my soul like this?
It seems the very essense of serenity.
As I turn to go I look back,
Remembering the magnificance of it all
Emblazened in the imagery of my mind.

Date: February 19, 2001
Location: Bethany College of Missions, Bloomington, MN

One evening, in mid-winter’s frosty chill, I took a bike ride through the frozen streets to the nearby Minnesota River. Standing on the arched bridge that spans the wide river, the stillness of the night impressed itself on me as I waited for the first star to peek through the darkening sky— a reminder of the awesomeness of creation in the things that seem so simple at first glance.

Strong of limb, fair of face,
We are of the watery deep.
In stream and fountain, lake and spring,
We lay ourselves down to sleep.

The sun is sinking, slowly sinking,
Into the ocean it does fall.
The age-old moon is rising, rising,
Sheeny silver covers all.

As twilight fills the land with shadows
And Earth is calm and still,
We naiads waken from our slumber
And rise from brook and rill.

Unlike the mermaids of the deep
We are free to tread on land,
Gathering in the fragrant vales
Dancing gaily, hand in hand.

Violets crown our silky tresses
Our gowns are of moonshine,
Our arms are white and gleaming
As we wander through fir and pine.

Laughter echos among the hollows
And rises to the knolls,
It fills the gloomy forest
Joy is bubbling from our souls.

The moon is sinking, slowly sinking,
Into the ocean it does fall.
The mighty sun is rising, rising,
Glowing warmth covers all.

As morning fills the land with light
Earth wakens once anew,
We naiads flee towards the waters
Across the fields of dew.

The water ripples gently
As we fall into our beds,
For another day slips away
And winsome dreams fill our heads.

Date: 1998 (fifteen years old)
Location: Tecate, Mexico

Having read The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis at an early age, and again in my teenage years, I was facinated by the characters in his stories such as fauns, dryads, naiads, and centaurs. Undoubtably, I was influenced by those beloved beings of fantasy when I wrote this poem. It is written in the rhyming pattern that was characteristic of all my early poetry.

“To be at rest
Inner stillness in spite of external chaos
Like sitting down for a cup of tea
In the midst of a hectic day
Like closing one’s ears to the city traffic
And hearing unearthly strains of music
A child’s tantrum dissolving
In the warmth of its mother’s embrace
I need to know this rest.
The world is unsteady underfoot
I feel the danger of toppling
The sand shifts beneath me
My frantic thoughts drive away peace
Yet there is a promise of rest
It fills the air
I taste it, breathing deeply
And the ground is steady once again
Like a rock beneath my feet
And strangely, in spite of circumstances
I find myself in rest.”

Date: September 17, 2004
Location: 1825 Haight St., San Francisco

In San Francisco I lived in a house with easily over a dozen people in it. There came those times when I needed to clear my head of the clutter, noise, and busyness simply to find rest. One morning I woke up earlier than the majority of the household, made myself a cup of tea, and sat down to drink it by the windows in the back of the house. My view was a parking lot, but in the corner of the parking lot was a tree. She was deciding to change her foliage early and so I was blessed with a preview of autumn’s splendour in her coloured leaves. And as I enjoyed the early morning stillness, this poem was birthed.