but in summer . . .
sunglasses pool.jpg

though I cling to its very last moments
I must recognize
the time has come—
summer is at an end

I feel its waning hours
in the depth of my soul
and I admit—
a sorrow silently persists

yes nature in beauteous array
arrives in autumnal splendor
and when cooler air prevails—
I hearten

yet with fall at hand,
the slow rhythms—
late nights, late mornings,
sweet summertime—
come to a close
and I miss its comforts

I am refreshed, relaxed, renewed
in summer
gone is the stress
gone is the regular routine

I am sabbath—
and I wear it well

I laugh with friends & family
laid back conversation
trips off the tongue
no place to head next
we take our time

in the space we find our voices
things silenced the rest of the year

in fall, in winter, even spring
no time to stop
no time to listen
on to the next thing
our to-do list demands

but in summer
we take time
to see one another

but in summer
stress melts away
and our walls come down

but in summer
life is a little less heavy
our spirits brighter

maybe in summer
I find the best in myself
maybe in summer
I find the best in all of us
and that is what I miss

maybe if these summertime lessons
could take root
just maybe the best in us
would last the whole year through



Photo by David Lezcano on Unsplash

Kelly CarrComment
Trend Alert: the Slow Read

Today I was editing for a client, and I came upon a tip that tripped me up. The more I worked, the more emotions came bubbling to the surface—I tried to make the blog post accurate while simultaneously feeling that it went against every fiber of my being. 

Sure, controversies abound in our culture today. But the one I speak of is: fast reading. 

Gasp! Yes, as you can see, I wade right into the hard-hitting issues of our times. But hear me out. This is my life's work, so I have some feelings on it. 

I get it—we have no time. Or we've simply trained our brains to move on, move quickly. This blog post won't be long because you have not the attention span to read it, just as I have not the attention span to craft it. But if you are willing to take a beat and give the right author more than a skimming glance, you could be surprised by the way every word affects you.

I read slowly—and I'm OK with that.

Have you ever soaked in a pool of adjectival phrases, dripping with delicious delight? Have you bounded up a stairway of stacked action verbs, leading you to new conclusions? Have you gasped in the grip of poignant prose—sharp, snarky, and staggering?

Full disclosure: I write words with painstaking deliberation, and it is my secret hope that you will pore over every one as you read, just as I pored over their particular placement on the page. While I know this is an ideal that only my parents and my husband (maybe?) will attain to, it's my pipe dream nonetheless.

Well-crafted words have power. Ancient poets agree: "A word fitly spoken" [or written] "is like apples of gold in a setting of silver" (Proverbs 25:11). I'm not sure the market rate for precious metals shaped like fruit, but this seems valuable?

We remember verbal barbs aimed to maim us. We feel the surge when powerful lyrics sway our beings in song. We quote hilarious quips from our favorite films. Politicians debate year after year, reinterpreting words the founding fathers scribed on ancient documents to beget a nation.

Someone took the time to create all these memorable words, for good or for ill. The words upon your screen could hold just as compelling hidden gems if you search for them. The trick is finding the authors who are worthy—writers to whom you will lend your precious time. 

Like a hipster embracing old school items and making them trendy again, I advocate for the slow read. Join me in reading every word.

Kelly CarrComment
I'm Always Writing
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Feel frustrated as a writer when your words don't get published? Don't worry. Keep writing. It's about the craft. You ARE a writer, even if it never gets on a page. Here are some words to motivate your work:


I’m always writing—
In my mind, at least.
Creating words,
One thought juxtaposed with another

Sometimes they're filled with rage
At injustices that pervade
The hurt, blatant lies
The degradation of lives created in the image of God

These words leave a bitter taste on my tongue.

Sometimes they're filled with tears
Probing inquiries with no answers
Why? What now?
Where do we go from here?

These words come out in cathartic spurts.

Sometimes they're filled with creativity
A need to put together phrases
As if my sanity depends upon it
An itch that needs to be scratched

These words blossom with potential.

Sometimes they're filled with compassion
Reaching out in text or card
Letting those around me know
They are seen; they are valued

These words create connection.

Writing doesn’t always happen
In published books that line the shelves
In 280 characters that all the world can see
In lyrics fit with melodies that stick inside your brain

Writing happens in the heart
Where jumbled thoughts sit entangled
Mixed with emotion, faith, and lived experience
Put together to make sense of it all

These words define my soul.



Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash