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Misty Woodland


Church Interior

A n t i c i p a t i o n

C r e a t i o n , b u r d e n e d,  g r o a n i n g 

Y e a r n i n g  f o r  r e l e a s e

A n t i c i p a t i o n

J e s u s,  p o i s e d  u p o n  H i s  t h r o n e

W a i t i n g  f o r  H i s  c u e

A n t i c i p a t i o n

C h i l d r e n,  h e a v y  w i t h  s o r r o w s

C l i n g i n g  t o  t h e  H o p e 

~ D o n n a  P a u l s e n

D a i s y  F i e l d s

Where once the fields of daisies grew,
There lays a deathly snow.
The time of summer’s eager heat,
Seeming so long ago.

The chill, shuddering through the air,
Reaching to deepest soul,
Freezing what once was burning heat,
Breaking what once seemed whole.

It’s easy to gaze deeply here,
And wish for what was then…
Forgetting that when winter’s o’er,
These flow’rs will bloom again.


~ B e n  M a s t


In The Waiting

by Rae Paul

Open Hands

V e i l e d

by Bethany Paulsen

          She stood at the edge of the pier, her sandaled feet aimed at the rolling, glossy waves. The sky was shielded by gray clouds, folded in on themselves like wool blankets. Her body was eerily still as she waited.

          The young woman’s mind was in a disarrayed, groggy state, having suffered yet another sleepless night. The consolation for her sleep deprived state, was the anticipation of a glorious sunrise. She had been informed by the students in her study abroad program, the sun rose at 4:00am in Greystones, Ireland. They had assured her, the sacrifice of rest was well worth viewing the suns’ splendor. The students themselves had risen early in the previous week to witness it for their own pleasure, while the young woman had determined that sleepless morning, it to be the lesser of miserable options.

          She stood an hour without moving, staring vacantly into the distance, but the folds of gray matter hovered low, obscuring even the slightest sunray from reaching her optic nerve.

          Her lips began to move slightly, whispering her agitation to God. Her murmurs grew louder, transcending to a shout. In quick progression, she found herself screeching outright in his supposed direction.

A New Day

Open Hands                  

                         by Ellie Mouchet

Daisy Fields


The sun dawns new time

with warm rays comforting my skin

Thy grace anew as the day begins

I rise to be greeted by Thy mercies

Who am I but wretched man,

to deserve the perfect love of Thee?

A mere speck of ground’s dust

cannot help but settle within

the grasp of nail-pierced hands,

of which I may never be removed.

Thy light shines brighter

than dark shadows in the field.

Where am I to go

from the shining love of Thee?

My flesh begs my soul

to flee Thy presence

as my soul longs to drown

in the fruits of Thy Spirit.

Dearest Abba,

let Thy name be all the more glorified!

Shooting Star
Every Winter Will End (1).jpg

This piece is inspired by the dormant state many plants experience during the winter: days are short, nights are long, the earth is barren, the ground is hard and frozen. Many seeds require a period of cold to germinate. Despite the long, cold winter, we live in expectant hope of a beautiful spring. Similarly, God uses periods of waiting in our Christian walk to prepare us for growth.

~ Laura Piper


     A few days ago I was very restless. I tend to get that way when I'm between life stages, or when waiting on something the Lord isn't providing. Thoughts and questions flood my mind, my focus lapses, and I can no longer tolerate sitting still. So, after a day at work where I'd been immobile at a desk all day my insides felt like they might suddenly find themselves outside the bounds of my body. Imagine the headlines...Young Female Explodes at Work; imagine the new statistics: One in 4 billion  Females Explode from Restlessness; imagine the eye witness accounts: "Yeah...uh, (wipes forehead, mouth agape) I looked over and saw her just sitting at her desk...steam was pouring from her eyes like a tea kettle...she convulsed like her insides were boiling...and within 2 minutes and 15 seconds (ironically the amount of time it takes the best of electric kettles to boil water) her colon was splat on the desk and her spleen was over there (hand points, shaking) against the wall."

     And close the door on my morbid sense of humor and return with me to the present. Welcome.

When in a state of restlessness I've found that often the best way for me to help relieve the anxiety that accompanies it is to be outside and to move. 

Go Back 

         and Wait




S t e a d y 

a n g u i s h    r e s t r a i n e d 

l i m i t e d    b y   e x p e c t a t i o n s  

h o w   l o n g   o r   h o w   d e e p   

o n e  s h o u l d   m o u r n 

~ M e g   C l e a r y 



by Allie Miller 

She is talked about by each face

And we curse her pace

Either she is too slow or too fast, rarely “just right” for our taste


She is misunderstood and often laid waste

She has learned to give grace

By teaching each race

Teaching them that

Her tempo is consistent and gives rhythm to life,

Still, humanity twists her arms causing her strife

We live within her, we fight against her, and we try to keep up with her

She pleads with us to look around and let her seconds turn into her minutes

A minute to see what is beautiful preceding her, in her, and ahead of her


She knows she is a gift, even when she is looked upon like a disease

She hopes that all will find peace

She does not exist only to tease


She was created to be enjoyed

Yet often she gives herself only to be destroyed

She cannot fill our man made voids 


Be thankful, dear creature, for our Father gives her to us that we may not be devoid.

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