this secret garden


i started writing in middle school when a girl at summer camp  gave me my first journal; it was green and the cover was a monet painting. i wrote when the things happening around and inside me were beyond comprehension.  i was first struck by poetry when i saw “dead poets society” and the shy character (played by ethan hawkes) came to the front of the classroom and unexpectedly, on the spot, spoke what was deep inside him.  it was remarkable.  it was revelatory.  and he somehow survived while tragically, the other friend died, killing himself because he was unable to handle the unbearable weight of not being known by his father.  writing for me became a way to survive and have a grasp on who i am.

over the years, the direction of my writing has changed.  i still write to figure things out, but i’ve also developed a love relationship with words.  the love for words began with how they sounded and how they tasted and felt in my mouth.  and then it extended to their different rhythms and songs.  and finally, it came to the revelation that words perform miracles.  they open doors to other worlds, stir up forgotten emotions, ignite dreams that had been asleep, and make you feel whole for that moment.

the name of this blog derived from a statement beni johnson made about how in the spirit realm, everyone has their own garden.  my garden is a place i go to when i need to be with jesus.  it’s always sunny there.  my favorite spot is by the stream where he and i sit next to each other on a small plateau where our legs dangle and we talk while soaking in sun or sometimes just sit in a comforting silence and not say anything.  the best is when he looks into my eyes because his eyes speak love in a way words could never do.


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