I think that I think about stuff too often. I think about too much, too much of the time. I think of things while I should be thinking of others and think when I shouldn't be thinking at all. I over think too many areas of my life and think too little of others.
I think of Jesus, the God in the flesh, the Lord, the Alpha and Omega, and remind myself that he too is thinking of me, contending for me, praying for me as Aly reminded me. God does not wish failure for me, does not hold me back from success without good cause, does not think too little of me, but is rather wanting the world for me. For me, he thinks highly. For me he thinks fondly. For me he thinks, and his thoughts alone are enough to get me through a long sleepless night, a long slumbersome day, or one long good morning!
Good morning!
-Toby K.

Post-Noc Shift.

My eyes feel heavy as if cinder blocks sit along my eye brows, and my skin feels thick as if laid with bags of moss, but the mornings air reminds my lungs how much they love the taste of honeysuckle and cherry-blossom. Long leafy tree-branches reach out over the roads, shadowing the sun that has now begun to rise. My feet clap against the pavement, clic clic clic, my car keys clang between my fingers, and my hair, still damp and scented of tea-tree oil, hangs over my shoulders brushing my neck as I walk. It is still too early to here the hum of bustling cars or the laughter from kids marching in groups of threes or fours along yellow signed school zones; it is still too early to go to the store for milk or pick and poke and prod fresh produce at the morning market; too early to mow the lawn or vacuum the floors, too early to pick up a coffee or get my hair dyed. But the clock lands on the six and as I walk across the cold pavent, clic clic clic, I listen out as the bird chirps' fill the fog and know for someone this day has only begun.

Life As I Know It.

     My stuff is being sorted into boxes, those boxes are being sorted into leave or keep piles, those boxes that say keep are my life as I know it. This room, it's walls are becoming bare and white again. My cat walks in wide eyed as he stares at the different picture this room now paints. He paws at the corners of the cardboard and sniffs the floor where things once sat.
     My parents are losing a daughter, sooner than expected. This was never their plan, this was never mine, but here it is. It is here in these boxes, it is here in the little brown house with the little white swing, it is here in the rain outside my window, in the breaking of my heart. I often wonder if I made the wrong choice, if I should of listened to my sister, if I should of gone to college, if I should of just stayed here in my comfort...but it's done, the decisions made, the key has been passed into my palm and in a few short days this will be the end of life as I know it, and my new life will begin.
  Tonight was the first time I realized that, and tonight was the first time I cried about it.
-Toby K.

If I Were A Great Writer...

Take me down down down, down to the rivers and boats. Take me down down down, down beneath the lands. Take me far and beyond through the valleys, through the pass. Bury me down low with waters and crystal sands. Roll me through the honey comb and brush it in my hair; cover me with sunflower seeds and grow me any where. Take me down down down, down to golden shore. Take me down down down, down past the whispy hollows. Take me down to where the meadows clear, and open me up wide; spill out my soul in the sun light and beckon it to shine.

Words That Flow.

Tuesday March 15th 2011 at approximatley 8:15pm, Kaylee Gemm Johnson recieved her first word from Pastor Steve Pennick.

I knew it was going to happen. I sat at the altar, legs crossed, playing with the buckle on my leather heals, periodically glancing at Pastor as he moved through out the crowd giving words and leading prayers, and I just knew. He moved past me going to Rigo and then moved passed me again towering over a shockingly silent Daniel, and then paused. I could see his slow footsteps out of the corner of my eye as he marched towards me. What was going through his head? How long did he have my word in there? Did he know what he was going to say or did it all come in that moment, the moment he stood above me and said "I'd like to pray for you sister". I couldn't breathe at that moment. He began to tell me about a scripture in Proverbs 13 (I think) and about the words I speak. So much was going on in my head. I didn't know if I should cry or laugh hysterically with emotion. Afterwards Jaime ran up to me, "Ha! I knew you'd get one." She was right all along, she knew I would no matter how many times I rejected them.
So many times I've seen words given but I never wanted one, never ever ever. I used to pray not to get one. And then tonight during prayer before service started, I prayed to God saying, "If you want me to have a word, I'll take it- I'm ready". And I was, so ready.
Now I just need to figure out what to do with it....
-Toby K.

What Great Power It Has.

I've written and deleted a million blogs in the last couple of weeks, I've written songs and rewritten songs, I've helped edit essays and even thought up some slightly original pieces of imagination...but where is that all now? It's back with my other forgotten thoughts, reminiscing with my childhood birthdays and every first day of school since kindergarden to the day I walked down the green with my red cap and gown, their throwing a game of catch with the little girl on a tee-ball team in small town Minnesota, playing twenty questions in the back seat on another sixteen hour drive for another move across little america; those little writings are lost in the collection of journals under my bed, missing beneath the paintings and books and articles and miscellaneous music videos and empty toothpaste tubes, knots of blonde curls strung through distracted far off fingers, and every complicated piece of simple me. They got misplaced between work and weddings and conference and revivals and skit and concert scenes and new songs and puppet team and Tuesday morning coffees and sleep and life. Those little things got imbetween me and writing, my second love. That's a pretty big deal for us...we'll need more remedy than a single blog to mend this gapping hole life's created; were gonna need some slow time, when the wind moves soft and we can just be us, simple us.

Set Fire To The Rain.

This is me dancing in white, circling and circling around and round till the wild flowers dizzy and faint. This is me laying chin deep in a porcelin tub, surrounded by lit candles and creamy drapes, the scent of lavender dripping from my wet finger tips as they hang over the glossy edge. This is me on a floral couch, legs crossed, toes tapping to the beats that quietly take over the room, outside the window is green acreage as far as the eye can see. This is me on the streets of the city, heels clicking rhythms behind me, the moon radiating heat above me, my hair skips beats on my shoulders, the night passes by like the car lights from the road. This is me in a maroon cushioned chair, fans blowing on my cheeks, thin white leather bound pages lightly russle in my lap and the ring on my finger slips to my knuckle, as I adjust it I think back on our memories lullaby. This is me with a whole lot more of me further down the road...
-Toby K.