Quiet Contemplation

Meditative, reflective content that matches the peaceful, introspective rhythm of the soul seeking rest.

A Glimmer

Photo by lyrical ethereal

In a world saturated with difficult news, rising anxiety, and collective trauma, many of us are carrying invisible wounds. “A Glimmer” speaks to those moments when life feels overwhelming—when disasters strike, when headlines stress our hearts, when even those outside the military find themselves battling PTSD from simply living in our modern world.

This poem acknowledges the weight we carry while pointing toward the unshakeable hope found in faith. It’s a reminder that even in our darkest days, God’s light never fades, and we are never truly alone in our struggles.


Many disasters strike.
Our hearts grow heavy.
The winds of life beat against us
’til countless anxieties rise.

Worried.
Weary.
Troubled.

By all the things
that leave us burdened—
longing to be free.

The news today.
The wars that never cease.
Another headline fades,
we’re struggling
just to breathe.

PTSD,
straight up, PTSD.
And many of us are not
even in the military.


Let’s hold on to this glimmer—
the hope that lives within us.
Even in the darkest days,
His Light will never fade.

And still, we rise unafraid.

Above The Storm

Written while gazing from a plane window, this poem explores our ability to rise above fear, doubt, and chaos through faith in God—the One who commands the storm. It’s a reminder that nothing can shake those who ride in Divine hands.

Flying Above The Storm

Dark clouds with clenched fists
full of thunder,
try to pull me under—
but I ride
with the One
who walks on wind,
who commands the sky,
who speaks—
and storms fall silent.

I sit in the chariot,
the bird of fire,
feathers like flame,
and rise—
above every voice
that threatens
to crush my gentle name.

What dares to come for me now?
His peace
wraps like vapor
around my tight ribs—
a mist
I breathe
you cannot break 
my wings.

Wind glides on wings
built from prayers
and prophecies—
through fire
and holy breath.
Upon His misty breath,
I sing.

Below,
the thunder weeps—
searching
for something it missed.
Rise, beloved.
Rise above it all.

The storm can’t touch
what rides with God.