Thursday, January 16, 2014


In my hand, I can sense, your desire to emerge. Black liquid that splashes upon the pages that call out to you, "Come."

Empty canvas, tan colored sheets, welcoming the black fluid that is dotted, lined, scribbled and drawn like tattoos on the body, beginning a story.

I hold you and it seems that as my thoughts race from within me, you are able to collect and hold each syllable and spill each sound unto my page. The things I want to say, the things I wish I could, as quickly as they rush forth from my mind through my arm, even more quickly you allow them to glide through you on to parchment that remains waiting. The paper will not object and it will not move away. You carefully allow me to pour the waves flowing within me in to your safe keeping.

Words. The words I have for so many and for so few. Words that should be silent and yet need to be spoken if only to the darkness of my own journal. So many things that should be written and yet so many things written that will never be read, that will never be seen, and that will be read but never understood.

To the one who is hurting I want to write words that make music and leap from the page, to dance around you and make you smile. For the one who is tired and weary from life's struggles, I ask my words to give birth to wings that can carry you on and fill you with strength. I see the one who needs to be reminded they are not alone, they are loved, and so appreciated. I write and write, but sometimes it seems hopeless for they don't believe the melody of life bouncing off each sentence and reaching out to them.

Pen, as I sit here, take each word yet unspoken but buried in my heart, and create a tapestry of love, words that give life, lift up and restore. Parchment that allows each letter to become a word of hope upon your back, arise and cry out until everyone that is supposed to see you, turns away changed because they've been in your presence.

You are loved. You are amazing. You can make it.
The words of life pushing to come forth and on to the paper, come from the One whose words have always given me life. The words in my heart for the broken and in my mind for someone who is confused and afraid, all those words come from Him, who is The Word, who is Life. He directs my pen and I am only the hand, ready to say, "Yes."

Hurry, pen, and write my words. You hear them as I sing. Move on the page and conclude with this, that God truly loves them, so very much.



By Angeline M Duran Santiago  The storm rages on and the winds buffet the lands in violent twirls. Some say it is the season for hur...