In 2024 I joined The Tupelo Press 30/30 challenge. Write 30 poems in 30 days. I decided to start with one line and then write each successive poem adding another, based on the day. The first poem began with 1 line. I figured I'd share it given how close we've gotten to the moon.

The Marine Corps taught me how to survive. How to steady my breath in the middle of gunfire. How to hit a moving target at 500 yards without a scope, like death was just math and muscle memory. They trained my hands to solve problems before my mind could panic. Trained my eyes to scan every rooftop, every shadow. Trained my voice to stay calm when the world turned to fire. But they never trained me for Gethsemane. They never showed me what to do when the enemy was inside my own skin. When the battlefield followed me home and pitched a tent in my chest. No one said that stillness could feel like danger. That silence could sound like war. That peace could feel like betrayal to a system built on survival. There was no manual for 2:17 a.m. in a kitchen dim with refrigerator light, where I stand barefoot and haunted— my daughter asleep, my soul still scanning rooftops. They taught me how to fight. But not how to hold a child without flinching. Not how to answer the door without imagining breach and clear. They taught me to survive the fire. But not how to live in the absence of it. Not how to sleep in a bed that doesn’t breathe danger but still wakes me up soaked in sweat, gripping grace like a last weapon. Jesus didn’t give me a drill manual either. But He met me somewhere between memory and mercy. He didn’t bark orders— He knelt beside me. Didn’t flinch at the blood on my hands— He showed me His. He didn’t say, “Get over it.” He said, “I was wounded too.” He didn’t rush my healing. He just stayed. Stayed when I couldn’t feel my own pulse. Stayed when the scripture made no sense but the silence between verses did. I came home with every limb intact. But sometimes I look in the mirror and can’t find the man who left. Sometimes I still wear my boots around the house— not out of nostalgia, but because peace still feels too soft, and I don’t trust softness. But He’s teaching me. Not how to forget— but how to carry it differently. How to unclench my fists without losing the strength that got me through.

Is anyone interested in joining me in reading and attempting the exercises of The Artist's Way over the next few months? I started today, bought the Kindle book for $6 and am excited to get to the exercises soon. This pursuit would take about 60-90 minutes a day for the next 12 weeks (plus you'll read the book along with us), and would help you unlock your creativity and come into yourself more fully. For those who aren't familiar with TAW, this is quite a popular text, promoted by Tim Ferriss among others, that teaches spiritual creativity. Most famously, it's the book behind morning pages, a daily activity of writing 3 pages upon rising, just to pursue clarity and loosen up expression. Reply below if you're interested in joining. We can allow some flexibility for starting timelines since I'm springing this on everyone suddenly. Ideally, you'll start reading and participating in the next week or two. Will be an adventure!