Four years ago

In a dash

Across the country

Momma dying

Can’t recover

Reaching for the phone

To hear her voice

Text stream

She’ll never

Respond again


In slow motion

Time stands still


Nothing is the same

Baby blues

Missed laughter

July pain

Grief swells

Without warning

Unconscious realization

Four years ago

In a dash

Across country

I lost

My trajectory

And time

Has stood still

I will never

Be the same again

But that whisper


My brain

That becomes a


A rage







I miss her






You died on a Monday
I wrote your eulogy nine times
She left with you
Things will never be the same again
Rusty sorrow
Grief creeps in unexpectedly
A ship at sea
Uncertain how to navigate
My now
Let alone my tomorrow
We’re here
Left missing
Poor communication
Slippery slopes
Where do we go from here?
I want you to fight
For me
For you
Broken glass azure blue
I need you
Wall so tall
We forget what once was and simply….
You are still here— fight
Be all that you can be for your love of him
And what was
You’re here now
Find your joy
Find your peace
Find your happy
I wait
For you
Missing him
Missing you

Your Mission

Wind blows

Legs pumping, swinging higher

With every push and pull

Snakes slither in the grass

Under your feet

Cotton whisks by in the wind like stars

Your mission accepted

Battle star galactic, a star ship officer

A princess

A Jedi

A secret ninja

Cotton puff lands on the tip of your nose

Tickles, sneezes and laughter

Time was so easy then

Not a care in the world

Except facing make believe giants

Wondering what was for dinner

The swing is rusty now

Dangling and broken on one side

The snakes are long gone

And the wind has stopped blowing

The stars wink in the stillness of the night


What is your mission now?


You wear your masks so perfectly
Hidden secrets
Smoldering anger
Deep sadness
But those masks
So perfected
You’re funny
You’re laughing
But your eyes
Are flat and tired
Your makeup is
You move with
Such precision
All for others
Those masks
Will crack
And pieces
All over the floor
Broken pieces
Find yourself
Get help
Seek joy
Return to who
You are called to be
Do you know Him?
Hear Him calling?
Only grace
Will remove
Those masks
To find
The authentic
You ARE meant
To be


I have them
Lots of them
They mark my body
In woven connect the dots pattern
They tell my stories
Of a fighter
The life of a scrapper
A survivor
A dreamer
A believer
Broken pieces
Taken out
Stitched together
I step
I keep stepping
Can’t stop the wheel
Because if I stop
And deal with the scars
Will I like the woman looking
Back in the mirror?
They are my story
Of redemption?
Of peace?
Of hope?
Dark eyes stare back
I touch the scar on my cheek
Two inches
Covered in make up
Sewing scissors
Do you remember?
I don’t think she did
Broken pieces
It is coming
I hate it
This process
I think I would rather just step
But those scars… they are mine
The woven pattern of a life
Worth living
And worth telling
One day
But first I must connect
The dots
The pattern
Of this life
And stop
For a time
To grieve each scar
And put them squarely
At your feet, not mine
I may carry the scars
You won the battle
Please stitch me together again
Only better

Even When

I had the joy of being the guest speak on PF Women Radio today.  I shared this poem at the end; enjoy the listen and below is the poem.


Even when you can’t take one more breath,

You doubt

You cry

You can’t imagine life alone

You feel unworthy


You feel afraid and lonely

You’re hungry

You’re sad

You stand in disbelief

You think you can’t do this for one more second

Let alone one more day

The walls feel like they are crumbling in around you

You no longer have joy

Your marriage isn’t something you hoped it would be

The pain gets so great, you wonder if you will ever be the same again

Your children no longer want you in their lives… they’re grown

You picked out a name and the miscarriage took that name and dream away…Multiple times

You miss your Mom who died too soon

And you simply want to stop crying

You struggle to let go and let God

The diagnosis is death

You mourn those who have died

You think you will never be the same again

Even when one or all of these things are true

In this moment

This is NOT the end of your story

God is our life, our strength, our hope, our redeemer, our rainbow after the storm

Our everything

Our What’s Next

Our miracle

Our healer

Our joy

Our warrior

Our peace

Our everything

Even when it seems like the walls are crumbling around you

Hold on to Him

He’s got this, He’s fighting for you

He rights the wrongs

He fights for us

He holds every tear in his hands

He is for us

He loves us


Even when you think things will ALWAYS be this way

God says… Not today

God says… I am here

God says… I love you

God says… follow me


Even when…

Her Chair

A place of wisdom

Well worn, re-fabricated

And re-purposed over the years

A place where they flocked

All came for words of wisdom






For soft and loud wisdom of a woman who was beautiful

Inside and out

She’d work the room like a fine conductor

Everyone waited

Everyone wanted

Everyone welcomed

Everyone heard

Everyone accounted for

Everyone mattered… to her

Everyone got her insights

Sometimes if they wanted it or not

Her chair

She sat in on days she didn’t feel well

Or could not sleep

An area that was tidy

Resourceful and bright

Just like her

Whose eyes twinkled with inappropriate thoughts

She’d never dare say

And funny innuendos of those who irritated

But she always loved and cherished

Her Chair

A place of grace

Christmas packages

Unable to separate memories of Christmas and that chair

The cane that rested on its arm

For the lady who never complained

About her pain

Her life

Or others

Never ever, others

Grace. The best belief in others always offered

She embodied strength


Zest for life

Passion for her Savior

Adoration for her husband

Love and awe for her children and grandchildren

Her chair

He sat

In her chair

A little lost

Soaking up her scent

The memories

The laughter

So much laughter

He sat in her chair

It was hers

He couldn’t NOT sit

In her chair

It was a part of her story

Their story

A beautiful love story

Of 67 years of a gorgeous love story

That is precious and inspiring. A legacy

He sat; it was touching

Wonderful and sad all rolled into one

We are the ones left missing

Missing her

Holding court

Conducting the room

In her chair

In Memory of Janet Maurine Paulson McCreary- I love you.

9/10/1931- 4/6/2016

Jeni McCreary 4/7/16

Her Chair Photo