Tag Archives: poem

When God says Wait


How about now, I mutter.



There’s demand in my voice.

I can hear the whine of a two year old

In my prayer

But sometimes I feel obligated

To use a more mature voice when I pray

As if I can hide

All the vulnerable pulses of my heart.

I trust you, Lord

I’ll surrender everything

I only want what You want

I’m being honest, but…

But it’s just this waiting,

It’s hard.


Daughter, beloved,


There’s a such tension

In this thing we call waiting,

Because the Holy Spirit is still moving

Exciting places, unexpected ways.

Through open doors and illuminated circumstances

Except not in this.

Why not this, I cry

If this isn’t your dream, Lord

Then let it die.

I don’t want it if it’s not Jesus.


Not yet, He whispers

Except I don’t want not yet

I want now,

I’d even prefer never, I think.

I’d rather have to surrender the dream completely

Then give up my timetable for it

Then to wait,

Continuing a daily surrender of my perceptions,

A liturgy with a grinding, uninvited, glorious trust.


Was it as hard for Abraham and Sarah

To wait for one hundred years

Without a child?

To live their lives

Pursuing God,

Embracing other answered prayers,

As the clock ticked on?


As hard as it was to carrying him up to that altar?

I wonder.


I sigh,

Today, that’s my surrender.

Whatever you want, Lord

I trust you.

Wait, He says again.

So I’ll wait.

A Prayer for Your Thursday Afternoon

Here’s why I love written prayers, poems, and stories: they often use words to explain the thoughts and emotions that we may not be able to fully articulate. As a visual, emotional, internal processor, putting how I’m doing or what I’m feeling into words is often a challenge. It’s not uncommon for me to voice something days or weeks after I initially felt it, after finally having worked it out in a way that can be expressed. Anytime I can borrow the words of someone else, I often find myself blessed and moved. It can make me feel less alone. It can put words to what I’m seeing or feeling. It can give a sense of eloquence and beauty to situations that often feel confusing and messy.

A friend shared this poem with me recently and as it’s been passed around our campus, I’ve realized more and more about how well it speaks to where so many of us are right now. Somewhere I will probably be for the rest of my life. A place of trust. A place of unknown. A place of waiting. A place of tension between the newness and oldness of what I see the Lord doing. A place of faith.

May you meet Jesus at the well today.


Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something
unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability—
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

Teilhard de Chardin


Be Still, My Soul

Oh hi. Me again.

Because it’s been two months since I’ve posted anything, but I’m not really in the mood to sift through my journal entries and try and compile what the Lord has been teaching me in the crazy past few weeks, I’ll give you this gem of a poem.

I’m not even sure where I found this, but it’s been a constant prayer of mine these past few weeks. The combination of commanding my soul to be still in the midst of so many unknowns, being reminded of the overwhelming trustworthiness of Jesus, and resting in the power of The One who stills the seas has been putting my tumultuous heart at ease.

As I lean on the words of others to give a voice to the depths of my heart, I pray that you find some joy and peace in this truth today. Know that you are loved more deeply than you could ever imagine!

Be still my soul, your God will undertake

To guide your future as He has the past

your hope, your confidence

let nothing shake

all now mysterious shall be bright at last

Be still, my soul!

The waves and winds still know His voice

who ruled them while

He dwelt below

K von Schlegel


Don’t forget: where you came from

I am from the back porch basking in the hot Georgia sun, from my journals and teen Bible quizzes.

I am from conversations around the kitchen table and the smell of coffee in the morning.

I am from the side-yard tree we tried to climb, whose weak arms never failed to hold us up.

I am from matching dresses and sparkly dance costumes, from MacMaths and Dixons, and from “buddy” and “double buddy” hand piles, followed by laughter. From my dad’s scratchy kisses when he forgot to shave.

I am from happy birthday cake for Jesus on Christmas, from biscotti and pitcels, from the fair where ggpa and ggma met, and from the boat ride into Ellis Island. My mustard yellow blanket with angels sowed onto the sides. . .

I am from the moments where we always say “yes, my Lord.”








We did this poem in my Art Survey class and it reminded me of something the Lord has been bringing up in my time with Him. Remembering. I’m working through reading some of the old journals I brought and highlighting the Lord’s faithfulness, goodness, and power in the overarching story of my life thus far. But as I contemplated these deeper, spiritual things, I was reminded of what I came from.

The many Clemson spring games. The waking up on Christmas morning. The pumpkin carving and dyeing easter eggs. Riding bikes, which we pretended were horses, in the cul-de-sac. Getting ready for dance competitions or cleaning out my dance bag. The talks alone in the car with my mom before church. The candy on Mrs. Clarke’s desk when we started homeschooling. The keyboard that played the theme song from Titanic. The many times we pulled out of the driveway, headed on a road-trip.

All of it is a part of me. All of it changed me. And some of it led to negative beliefs or expectations or memories that are being redeemed by the grace of God. But all of it is a stepping stone to right now, sitting in my dorm room, windows open (it got up to 50, y’all), waiting to go to brunch and then Chicago with a friend. And when I turn around, every moment of my time at Wheaton will be passed, and I won’t forget all that I’ve gained and learned and loved here.

Celebrating a friend’s birthday last night, it hit me that I turn 20 in December. And as I was trying to wrap my head around that crazy age, I began thinking of all that I haven’t done, things that I would’ve expected by 20. But somewhere along the line, the things I “missed out on” turned into thinking about the life I’ve lived. Even when people ask about freshmen year and I think of all the challenges and struggles this year has brought, I wouldn’t change a moment of it. I am not the same person I was when I came. I am not the same person in any of those pictures. But it’s because of every moment lived, it is because of the never-ending love of Jesus, that I am here and changed and filled with joy.

It’s an incredible thing – to contemplate where you came from and how the Lord orchestrated the moments of your life. Here’s the poem template to get you started.

Have a beautiful Saturday!