Look at me, jumping on a trend for once. But I felt like waxing poetic, and this prompt was just the thing. I would be so glad if you’d use it as a springboard/inspiration to make your own list! ❤
I am rich…
because the November sun makes the edge of gray skies glow pink and lavender as it comes and goes // because I drink root beer and read poetry with my grandma // because mochas are a thing // because all the music I could dream of is at my fingertips // because my parents and siblings are so close, to my home and to my heart // because I have room for an ever-swelling book collection // because I can sing myself hoarse in corporate worship without fear // because my tomorrows are held firmly in the hands of a loving, sovereign God // because long-distance friendships work // because hours fly by with the dearest of friends // because candles and twinkle lights and fireplaces exist // because my aging car has stellar speakers // because there are “good morning” and “drive safe” texts // because brokenness is not the end of the story // because God said “no” and “not yet” more times than I can count // because He is writing a story much longer and deeper and more glorious than what I can see // because I have so many memories behind and an eternity with Christ before me //
I wrote a poem earlier this month that I thought I’d share here. It’s a reminder I need often! What a gift it is to walk with a sovereign God through “ordinary” days.
I haven’t shared a poem on the blog in…a very long time. Let’s change that today, shall we?I’ve come to find that I love referencing seasons and months in my poetry, and this poem reflects that. I hope it can be an encouragement to you.🫶🏼
Beauty Even Here records a weariness familiar to many: one of aching restlessness on a stretch of unwanted road. But often it is that road, running through the depths of our grief and near despair, that can lead us to catch clearer glimpses of God’s goodness in our waiting, His steadfast love in the midst of our suffering, and the glimmers of hope He tucks in the cracks of our shattered dreams and expectations.
Laced with nature imagery and alternating between cadenced pieces and freestyle poetry, this cathartic collection is for the weary Christian, and seeks to offer a fresh yet deeply honest way of seeing our seasons of prolonged pain for what they are: an opportunity to long deeper still for another world, and to see more clearly the heart and love of Christ.
✨Coming August 26th, 2025✨
I can’t wait to share this collection with you!! Preorders will be opening soon, so stay tuned.🫶🏼
I was flipping through a book of my handwritten poetry the other day and found this poem I wrote a few years ago. It’s just a little thing without a ton of meaning, but I like it, anyway. If you’re familiar with the song “Homeward Bound” it might mean a bit more to you.🤭
“Am I to understand,” said Reepicheep to Lucy after a long stare at Eustace, “that this singularly discourteous person is under your Majesty’s protection? Because, if not–“
Sometimes you start with nothing and hope it all works out. Not sometimes—every time. All you really have is your willingness to fail, coupled with the mountain of evidence that the Maker has never left nor forsaken you.
I started a reread of this on the plane to Tennessee. Andrew Peterson’s appreciation of and hunger for hope and beauty is catching.
i may wake to morning stars or thick darkness yet, but maybe – hope against hope – it’ll be Day. soon, He promises, and that’s enough.
Hosanna and I did a book swap in Tennessee, and I’m savoring the journey through this chunky book of hope-laced poems. Hosanna has a passion for Jesus and His coming that is contagious, and she articulates her heart so well in this poetry collection!
“Everything and nothing. What you did today, what I did today, what we’ll do tomorrow. About God and how He’s working in our lives. About my work, about your work, about life, about love, about what’s for dinner and how the roses are doing – do they have black spot or beetles…”
So far, I’m loving the second book in the Mitford series even more than the first! It feels softer, cozier, even more full of warmth and gentle healing.
Even when we’re only given fleeting seconds of connection, we almost always have the opportunity to share the touch of Christ, if not in our actions, certainly in our reactions.
I’m still savoring this book!
Through Him we have received grace and apostleship for obedience to the faith among all nations for His name…
Romans 1:5
From the journal…
Oh, God! Get it through this hard head of mine that nothing shall be impossible for You, and that You have not left the business of redemption. Open my eyes to see the chariots of fire. Open my heart to wait on You and You alone for provision…there is joy set before me…and so I can endure.
Help me, Lord, as I walk the rim of the darkness, staggering towards the light and holding it in my heart. Thank You for this time of grace…this opportunity to stand firm in the darkness and hold high my torch. You are so good…always, even when the world continues to fall apart around me.
Thank You, Jesus, that You are sovereign, and that Your kingdom shall reign over all the earth.
Instead of seeing every bad thing as a failure of God’s goodness, why don’t I see every good thing as His grace?
Let me not be defined by what I lack. I am not a dry tree. I am planted by Your river.
This post contains affiliate links, which means that if you purchase something through one of the links I share in this post, I receive a small commission…at no extra cost to you.:)
It’s spring in my corner of the world…on the ridges and in my soul. Here’s a new poem to commemorate these days.
the world is coming alive again,
and so
am
I…
spring is yawning green,
pushing its delicate fingers through the loam
that knew death with such intimacy…
but it breathes again,
racing to meet a cloud-studded sky
at the horizon to dance a jig
where death has died.
words flow, inky black
yet so alive
from my pen.
funny how, in the months where
the world stretched barren,
my pen was barren, too…
and now,
as the fields are wooing my heart,
my fingertips spring to life with the words
I fought to snare all winter.
a gift, a gift,
it’s all a gift…
the chorus echoes through my mind
and thunders through my ribcage.
all these God-formed hands can do is
plant,
water,
weed,
gather the increase that comes
from the heart of God and never
from my own sweating brow.
fear melts with the last of the snowdrifts, and
I poke warming fingers into the grasp
of an Almighty hand…
grateful,
eager,
in love.
P.S. I had to revamp my newsletter because I was running into some issues with my hosting site…so if you were subscribed to receive my newsletters, you’ll have to re-subscribe here if you’d like to continue receiving them!
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Laurel Luehmann 