someone broke into my house

mine not yours

someone broke into my house
and tried to steal my furniture
she said they were hers

shocked was an understatement
I felt goosebumps rise
like porcupine hairs on my arms

I told her, I got them with my two cents

she stared back, confused
and I said
you know that doesn’t make any sense right

how can you be in my house
telling me what's mine is yours?

but maybe just maybe
I was more wrong than right, right 
come to think of it
isn’t that life?

my story is yours
and yours is mine

where my reality doesn't just get
tangled with yours
but that my breath and yours 
are both mist on the same mirror 

your victory, the fuel telling me
that mine is near too
isn’t that really life
where we all face the same things
grief. insecurity. fear.

if we don't ever step in each other's 
living rooms
slipping our fingers over the mahogany 
wooden desk in that right corner

or lean back on the cold couch 
that spills secrets

will we ever realize 
we're more alike than different
I was there but God story
have knocked on our doors too

I can't help but think
your story is mine
and mine is yours.

[ 31 March 2025 ]

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Heart Call:

Our stories are are similar. They say I was there in that pit, but God.
This year I’ve learned to just keep looking for “me too” moments. And If we met, I've seen His hands on your life too.

And they overcame him because of the blood of the Lamb and because of the word of their testimony, and they did not love their life even when faced with death. —Revelation 12:11 (NASB 2020)

• Do you appreciate the beauty in your Jesus story?

• How can you practice slowing down

  (at the grocery store, on your morning jog, etc.)
  to hear those stories you might otherwise miss?

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  Photo Credits: Katja Rooke