Our Story
the poet lives.
“The poet lives” are the words God breathes within me whenever I feel overcome by the world around me. He reminds me that more is still being written.
“I’m grieving,” I write.“The poet lives,” He declares.
“I’m defeated,” I write.“The poet lives,” He declares.
“I’m scared,” I write.“The poet lives,” He declares.
I return to these three simple words often. Over the years, they’ve become deeply embedded in my heart.
I’ve learned that in every season, in the valley or on the mountaintop (or in the in-between), I can lay the words of my heart at His feet.
My anxious thoughts, my fears, my doubts. But also my dreams, my hopes, my victories.
They all live somewhere in the ink stains.
Writing helps me slow my racing thoughts, find release, and give my mind and soul a place to rest.
My journals have become altars where He meets me each time I return. Together, we’ve made a home for my heart on messy, imperfect pages.
And that’s what I wanted to create for you, too: a home for your heart.
A place to return.
A place to abide.
A place created just for you.
I wanted that home to stay with you, even after the pages were full. So the booklets inside are refillable. You can fill the pages, begin again, and keep the cover that holds it all together.
My hope is that it carries a soft whisper into every season: He remains the same.
And each time you return, may you be reminded by the One who knows you fully: