What Moves You

rainy days, clouds in the sky again
my limbs protest but my fingers rage
pen and ink, feathers on the floor
find me something to live for

what pretends but never apprehends
the apathy my soul seems to bleed
pen and ink, breathe life into me
find me something to live for

can you feel me
can i even breathe
pen and ink, sink to the ocean floor
find me something to live for

poor poets crush their hearts on
cement floors, dark halls, blue ghosts
pen and ink, make my words dance
find me something to live for


After a long and weary road of being Jonah, I have once again (finally) come to the conclusion that surrender is, after all, a beautiful thing. Whether we run away from God because of hurt or pain or apathy or anger or whatever other reason, we only end up hurting ourselves in the process. Surrendering to God always brings intense relief, peace, contentment, and a sense of grounding. The floor is no longer shaking beneath my feet-it’s solid and real.

I don’t know why I keep doing this, but either way, it’s good to be back in His arms. It’s not safe, and it’s not easy, but it’s the best and most peaceful place to be. The most secure.

A while ago, I wrote this poem, and I’ve shared it a few times on this blog. But I keep experiencing layers of it, and today is yet another day when Like a Dance is relevant, so here it is once again. Happy Monday, everyone. xxx

Like a Dance

I am not interested in the mediocre.
Destiny, breathless, alive, fire.
These are a few of my favorite words.
I am not interested in living on the edge;
I am interested in jumping off it.

Let me fade, let Him grow clearer.
Where I am, I am in the way.
Where I walk, I walk in the wrong direction.
He is a breathless symphony;
He is the beat in my heart
and the fire in my chest.

Where I am mediocre,
He is extravagant.
Where words fail me,
His song always prevails.

He is adventure; He is love.
He is raging fire; He is a silent wind.

Being with Him is like a dance;
a dance none of us know,
a dance we once knew
and now must learn.

He leads and we follow;
He goes and we go after,
into places strange, unseen.

God of mountains, God of seas
God of the tempest and the firestorm:
take me there.

Soul Machine

gears grind like gnashing teeth
chopping up the bowels of me
blood gushes, thunder rumbles
the soul machine never ceases

once there was a person here
her heart still beat and wind still
roared through dark, damp snakes
the tunnels in her lungs

blood pulsed to a thudding beat
skin warmed and shoulders shrugged
off worries like little snowflakes
sweat glowed, body shivered

the soul machine grunts and groans
scrapes heavy metallic feet on the
icy steel floor, leaking red ink and
words fall to paper like forest leaves

Soul Machine, a collection of poetry, will be out soon. To stay updated on new releases and special deals, subscribe to my newsletter here! -V


not my image
not my image

I am contemplating what it is to be the change. To be the miracle.

I am tired of feeling like – and being – a hypocrite. A traitor to myself and to what I believe. A traitor to my King. A traitor to the world, the broken world in need of change. In need of a miracle. The hours I waste. The stuff life is made of, like water through my fingers.

It is like the truth is there, in the center; quiet and constant and everlasting. The truth will not defend itself because it speaks for itself. The truth will not shout to drown out the cacophony of noisy lies because regardless of how loud the noise becomes, the truth will not flinch or shrink or decay or fall into ruin. We are the ones who choose to fill our minds with noise. To fill our souls with a false peace. To fill our hearts with empty love promises that go unfulfilled and cold embraces of statues that cannot come to life. With words that once meant something and now crumble like ancient scrolls no one ever reads anymore.

We drown out the screams. We have done so in the past and we do so now. The screams of people outside, and the screams of our own decaying selves. What have we become? What have we come to? Why do we not care about the fast fading light? Why do we not see the midnight hour? Why do we not protest the slow, torturous death we are witnessing? Are we asleep? Have we given up?

The fast fading light. A glowing ember in the dark. Who has breath to blow it back into existence, that fire we can create? Immensely gifted, wasting hours, hours, with a dying ember in the dark and breath to ignite the fiercesome flames. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

Yara and Aaronashe

So, you may or may not recall that my niece was born about two and a half years ago. I wrote her a poem, but never posted it. I am SUPER happy to say that her little brother, Aaronashe, was born on January 3rd, and he got a poem, too. I thought I would post them here, since I’m an excited auntie and seriously, for real, have the coolest family ever. (P.S. – I feel very privileged to have been able to be at both of their births, and that their awesome parents are so willing to allow us to share their lives).

Yara and I, the day after she was born
Yara and I, the day after she was born

YARA – June 24, 2010

Tip-toe, tip-toe, don’t wake the worry;

let it sleep, let it sleep a while longer.

Wait an hour, wait an hour or two;

it doesn’t help, doesn’t help to worry.

Sit here now, though the room is unlit;

still, don’t wake, don’t wake the worry.

The air is light, not heavy, light and clean.

Doesn’t it know how heavy it should be?

The waiting, the waiting makes us worry.

Will the princess show her face?

Please, God, let them be as right as rain;

we are undone, we are undone.

Then finally we go to see

the princess in her tower.

Here the air is sweet and filled

with Someone’s fragrant breath.

A golden glow warms up the dark

and angels surely have attended

when the princess’ face appeared

to lead her gently in.

When I hold her, she is strong,

unafraid, this little princess,

with long fingers curled in fists,

with dark eyes of knowing wisdom.

Life is just a passing breath

like mist that flees before the morning sun;

but when a new life dawns,

it’s no less glorious.

Aaronashe and I, the day after he was born
Aaronashe and I, the day after he was born

AARONASHE – January 3, 2013

Tonight, tonight

aflame and bright

your little heart

gave a beat in the light;

Your little lungs

breathed their first sigh,

as your bid your home

a quiet goodbye.

Out to the world,

a place unknown;

adventures wait,

a warrior’s own.

Your paths made clear,

your soul held dear;

your Father’s hands

to steer your plans.

The world awaits;

the warrior come,

the journey begun,

the flame has sprung.

No fear, here;

no weak reserve.

The warrior come,

the fire has begun.