Update No. 3

Morning Air, Morning Light is officially available for preorder! 

For the past three years, a bevy of my creative attention has been devoted to the collecting, writing and editing of this piece. Morning Air, Morning Light is a poetry collection with words stitched together depicting a sequence of events: memories recorded, experiences documented, restoration tangibly read. This tiny book holds all the moments I felt pulled to press to paper, the words that saved my life.

Revelation embarked while writing and healing was tangibly held in the palms of my hands, though conceived through simple obedience—placing my pen to paper. 

The collection is comprised of four chapters: Nightfall, Lavender, Golden Gaze, and the title chapter, Morning Air, Morning Light. In anticipation for the book’s release, a poem from each chapter has been paired with a film in collaboration with Elizabeth Miller, with music created by my talented husband, Ricky Smith. These videos will be released throughout the progression of this month, leading up to the launch. 

Morning Air, Morning Light can be preordered here and will be released on September 5, 2018. On this date, I will be performing several of the collection’s poems at a Listening Party and will be selling and signing copies. 

I haven’t kept a regular cadence of updates–rather relaying a sporadic script of status regarding my debut poetry collection, but you can find the other posts regarding its progress via Update No. 1 and Update No. 2 (you'll find that I was wildly off my timeline). 

To help spread the word of the Morning Air, Morning Light movement, join our Launch Team or preorder a book for you and a friend! The ultimate vision is to be able to share this simple healing and hope to those that find themselves within a void, offering a small drop of tranquility to exponentially expand into overflow. 

San Francisco in July

Towards the ending weeks of last month, I went out to San Francisco for a work trip; after work hours I wandered on-foot into local bookstores, hiked upon hills, came across community gardens, and watched out onto the city. I was fully entertained, though requesting dinner reservations for one.  

I remember how I use to pull away from solitude, how it was a space to abuse my body and cycle the cognition my mind would stammer about my existence. I didn’t know then what I know now, as time and age often matures into a sweeter standing.

Present day dwellings, solitude is an opportunity to take an unfiltered open-eyed look at my intentions and actions, the habits that my mind instantly acts upon. This is the act in which has enabled me to grow comfortable with being alone, for this practice is one that I try to often pulse. I find enjoyment in analyzing how and why I react to circumstances, and its realignment. 

Since I was away for a little over a week, this ensued as a fluid flow throughout the trip's duration. Several traits that I didn’t know that I had surfaced to eye-level—both the beautiful and the brutal. 

I discovered that I love on others more than I think that I do, and that I always aim to stay in a state of stillness. I also found that I had subconsciously linked the contrast of my life from yesterday to today as a currency to salvation; a fraudulent thought that had been utilized to chip away at forgiveness for myself for the past few months. 

I’m sitting next to myself, a mirror—black kerchief folded and knotted around my neck, brown hair slighting spilling over my shoulders.

My heart is pooling in grace and mercy, forgiveness and favor. I will always be in a state of gratitude, giving thanks for conviction, and the stillness that softly speaks truth. 

• • •

j u l y   2 3

Misson & 18th

I sit among the street vendors
selling soggy dried books and soiled t-shirts, 
we engage in conversation. 

I look out and watch; 
each passerby
engaging in this air, 
traveling towards their next destination. 

The younger man with
baggy jeans, and black sunglasses
tugging at the collar of his shirt. 

The older woman crossing the street,
pushing her daughter in her stroller, 
dodging the street’s cracks and holes. 

The ‘clean fuel bus’ slides across the skyward strings, 
holding several hundred hearts a day, 
their heads jounce in unison
to the awry asphalt. 

The stranger wandering, 
not familiar to a smile, 
though we smile anyways.  

Melted posters paper-mâché 
the sides of the telephone poles, 
and wooden walls are covered
in metal diamond patterns,

akin to all, 
foreign to none.

• • •

j u l y   2 5

Atop a red rocked hill, 
overlooking San Francisco in July, 
where cities and sky intertwine; 
pastel houses stacked, 
buildings climb high. 

The wind is heavy here, 
eager to even take this pen and paper away, 
to have me only captivated by its whirl, 
for it has a jealous mind. 

City shaded, 
fog rolling in, 
dust becomes unsettled. 

Neither weak are the mountains
nor my bones; 
the red rocks
and my blue blood.

• • •

j u l y   2 7

This week has been
gold purified by fire; 
tried and tested— 
results revealing, 
conviction gentle, 
grace abounding.

Nothing on this earth
can touch
or take away
your obedience.

We will always be guided to light, 
as long as we open our eyes.
 

Surrender

m a y   8

With a quiet mind, 
and soft spirit, 
either you will show me or teach me; 
though they are synonymous.

• • •

m a y   15

Just take a moment—
I tell myself—
to lay and look up at the sky;
see how small you are, 
beneath the myriad of the white billow’s bloom. 

Oh, how our woes,
could never crumble the clouds—
my eyes are drawn and drift, 
along their lull. 

All else evaporates. 

• • •

m a y   25

I hear the red cardinal call, singing the song of today with the occasional hum of a modern day machine. I’m practicing open awareness, the simplest form of gratitude. To acknowledge everything in existence, and to soak in all surroundings. I look at what’s ahead, along with each fuzzy-faint fragment happening within my peripherals. I’m amidst a stagnant scene—neighbor boy, not even four years of age, playing with airplanes while a maintenance man fixes another’s air conditioning. 

Recognizing it all, without label or thought. Solely existing, inevitably followed by gratitude. 

Little pieces of tree pollen fall on my head and tangle in my hair. Alternating bees linger around my yellow mug, filled to the brim with hot tumeric, ginger tea. The breeze picks up and releases more pollen, gravity pulling it to ground. 

This is where serenity dwells, within the stillness. My tired mind has finally been emptied of its clutter and clamor, and now is solely taking up space. I get lost in this space, buried in gratitude. Amidst this space, this blank scene, anxiety isn’t able to erupt in any form nor capacity. For I am breathing freely, standing still with a wide-lens view, encompassed by my surroundings. I’m allowing myself to hear, feel, breathe. 

• • •

j u n e   8

It’s a pause of a page turn, 
mid-way. 

A thin piece of paper wavering; 
no camaraderie nor support from either ends of the book; 
rather stagnant, enveloped only by air, 
connected, only through the shared spine. 

The pages which lay left are known, 
their words well read, 
though the words on the right, remain unrevealed—
though a few catch my eye; 
terms recognized, 
restless to be read, 

but it’s a pause of a page-turn, mid-way.

• • •

j u l y   4

My shaky knees sit together, 
with feet on the wall, 
propping me back into the posture-failing chair, 
a few feet away from my mother-in-law in the hospital bed. 

I peer out the blinds onto the small-town city, 
saturated in the sunset’s glow. 
It’s harsh light glares through the blinds, 
onto the wall that’s been begging for its light. 

My mind is a mixed up ball of yarn, 
a thread of thought that’s been tumbled and knotted—
stature matching my stomach. 

A low quality audio recording plays to her in the background, 
along with the occasional gurgle from obstruction in her lungs, 
accompanied by the throat humidifier’s hum that moonlights as a white noise machine.  

My hummingbird heart and half open head tosses confusion, 
fights with frustration; 
I ache for her bones that have been touched by pressure ulcers, 
I have sorrow for her skin that feels the fabric of the hospital gown, 
of every pinch and every needle, 
though isn’t able to move a muscle. 
I pray for her mind that working in full capacity, 
but can’t communicate verbally. 

I breathe deep.

God’s never left us,
and hasn’t now. 

He hasn’t vanished for even a second within this all-enduring wait; 
though we wonder when this hour will be over. 

He’s in the humidified air,
alongside the shoulders holding a cinderblock weight, 
and in the bright blue eyes of my mother-in-law. 

He’s there when our hearts lay so heavy, 
when the diagnosis offers months, 
when doctors share the prognosis with tears welling, 
when my soul feels shattered.

He’s in these moments where her husband feels peace, 
one that surpasses all understanding; 
He’s in the hearts that the nurses carry, 
their patience and diligence. 

He’s holding us, 
calming our minds, 
holding our hearts, 

even amidst the mess.

Uncapped

September 30, 2017

I wrote this letter a few days back for my husband, Ricky, as we approach another marriage milestone. Each year is a milestone, in our era, where the divorce rate is a heartbreaking fifty-percent. There is no couple that experiences only the sweet drops of honey, without encountering the sticky moments, too. I wanted to share this letter, with the permission from my love, along with some old disposable-camera photos I sifted through earlier this week. I couldn't be more thankful for our growth and the beautiful love that we reflect and ricochet, a mirror-facing-mirror. 

. . . 

I’m seated stationary on the big block of concrete that overlooks the green ivy leaves and the dingy downtown river. It’s our favorite urban escape, where we bring our twenty-pound pup on our thirty-minute lunch breaks. 

Tomorrow is our third year of being married to the other—a momentous occasion. Though our dating year was darling and the newlywed hours beautiful, this past year holds paramount. We stood together, against all odds, fighting for each other rather than opposed. A deep, saturated love is birthed when it is a committed choice, rather than a happenstance feeling. For feelings flee faster than a lightning strike, vanishing in an instant, revealing its true selfish state.

But commitment and engaging to love through all endeavors is where true love runs, rich and pure. This is the love that refines every atom, our makeup challenged and tested. How a partner acts within adversary is when honest intentions are uncovered. 

I have had both these types of love with you. 

When we got married, during the golden hour’s amble, I didn’t think my selfish love capacity could increate any further. As the breeze which defines evening from afternoon nipped at our lungs, I was wholly smitten. I was naive in the art of loving through commitment—as all those who have not pulled a witness to sign, expressing direct vision of oath and vow. 

These past few years have been heart wrenchingly beautiful, exposing and expunging all that does not mirror our maker. You’ve never stop trying to, either—the greatest trait that I unknowingly own in a husband, life partner, three years ago. It’s rare to hold a loved one who consistently strives towards conviction.

I'm thankful that you found that in you. 

You have been patient and gracious with me, honest and true. I’m thankful for this endless transparency. My heart still sings when I’m with you, and you join in—together singing praise and giving thanks. 

Your transformation as a human is unparalleled. You are my home, the recipient of all love letters, my greatest joy on this temporary earth; we hold a love no capacity can climb. 

---

Airplane

August 27, 2017

I went to Atlanta a few weeks ago, for a business trip. We boarded onto a tiny eight-passenger plane, an intimate aircraft where pilots told us to tap their shoulder if we needed anything and where strangers conversed with others. For our flight total duration, we trailed along the sunset–shifting from Nashville to Atlanta. It was magic. I scribbled a short poetic note on the flight, and I wanted to share it with you. 

Airplane 

Ears popping, my eyes scanning the pesticide track patters within the circle and square lots below. My eyes meet the river lines—their origins and their outpour. The clouds, watching the drops percolate through the weightiness of the world, creating something beautiful for bystanders below. 

I’m thankful for the view, snapping a few photos every moment or so, naming the thanks even in the small things: this book on my lap, the forty-thousand foot view, the gentle drops of the aircraft, the chatter of one stranger helping another. 

To the right are a plethora of beautiful billows, foamy and frothy. To the left are the cotton ball clouds lay beneath the aircraft, wind-raked and lightly packed, transparently texturing the sky. I hold on to this moment.

We drift along the sunset. In the distance, I see a series of clouds that remind me of those shared in view with my husband on our honeymoon cruise. I don’t wish to go back, though. Eyes hang in the thick of the fog, unmarred by nostalgia’s notorious spill. Every while further from the last provokes deeper understanding, prolongated past with each mile leveling a closer parallel to the sun’s stage.

 A deeper, richer color saturates our love—kindred to the day’s finale.

Lately

Light dances on the morning comforters, golden meets white, as the sun surpasses the horizon. This always stirs a spark of excitement for the day, all the potential fruition to be birthed, beauty created within the world.

The past several weeks have felt hollow where joy poured out. I was salt that lost its flavor, the bright yellow that lost its shine. Our house had flooded from an A/C issue, one that we are still in the recovering stages of. I had been giving every last drop of energy outward, through people, work, family. With my introverted personality, I inevitably became empty. Instead of taking some time to rejuvenate, I crashed. I stopped caring for myself, slipping off my supplements—causing my body to crave necessary nutrients.

The deficiencies caused me to boil and steam, translating to mis-directed anger and a frenzy of anxiety. I was pulled back into a lot of counteractive thinking, seeking for control. As one who has experienced the hold of eating disorders earlier in my life, the desire and urge for control contributed extra anxiety to my already flustered mind.

I went into a large room with concrete floors and black walls, and listened to a message sung gently beneath string lights. I had a tear stream down with each word spoken. It resonated with me deeply.  

I shuffled home and flipped through some lavender-streaked bible verses I recently highlighted. I accumulated a few to calm and direct my mind when I felt anxiety begin to unleash, or when I felt depression attempt to dampen. As the week progressed, I would add to this collection when stumbling upon another string of words that echoed peace within me. I’ve listed a few of the bible verses below—the ones that grabbed both of my hands with a firm grasp, and yanked me out of the quicksand. 

Proverbs 4:25-26
Let your eyes look right on [with fixed purpose], and let your gaze be straight before you. Consider well the path of your feet, and let all your ways be established and ordered aright.

Romans 5:3-5
We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.

Philippians 4:6-7
Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18
Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.

Colossians 4:2
Devote yourselves to prayer with an alert mind and a thankful heart.

Luke 11:36
“If you are filled with light, with no dark corners, then your whole life will be radiant, as though a floodlight were filling you with light.”

These verses have been held within the palm of my hand, recited and remembered when thoughts approach or intertwine themselves with adversity. This practice has my perspective evolving—adjusting a melancholy focus to this fixed gaze set much further into the horizon. 

For every dawn-to-dark has been redeemed through Christ’s death and resurrection. 

I begin making tea, to sit and spend some deliberate time bathing in this beautiful thought—it’s stirred, dissolved, yet lingers. Dwelling on these good thoughts, is when my contentment always flourishes. I’m thick within contrast as now these days are no longer burdened by anxiety, worry, or probing for control. I follow the tea leaves within my glass pot—they intermingle with the boiled water. I feel that although the past few months have felt turbulent, the outcome has been brewing something strong, rising and sinking and to be poured outside myself. 

It’s been a beautiful metamorphosis—I laugh when I write this, for only a week ago, I mentioned to a friend that I felt amidst a rocky transition. I’m now flowing within water, rather than resisting the rapids. I’m within my cadence, my song—filled with alacrity and excitement. This was breathed into my being, long before I was born. It has replaced worry with confidence, anxiety for joy, exposing all dark corners to light so that I can be a floodlight, pouring out to all others. 

I finally feel like me again, a relationship where conviction can gently tug me back into the word. I’m working towards being better, always, yet harmoniously comfortable within my mind and skin; attentive to the small, still voice within my head.  

When the air is fragrant with basil, and when my lips can’t help but smile, is when the dark thoughts try to stick and stay. I remain within the peace, and remember my relationship. For my mind is a dwelling place for the Lord, so there is no room, no place and no tolerance for those thoughts to get further than their knock at the door.