Lullaby From Heaven

My Mother-in -law, Frieda,  recently passed away and I wrote this in her memory. It was on the funeral bulletin.


Lullaby From Heaven by Brandy Watson


The sun has set,the night has come.

Lullaby, my precious ones.

For I have lived a long, full life

As a Mother,Grandma,Wife.

Sister,Daughter, and dear friend

But now my life on earth must end.

I’ve rocked the babies, dried the tears

Fed countless mouths,throughout the years.

I’ve laughed, I’ve loved, I’ve cried and prayed.

And stitch by stitch,my life was laid

Down in beauty, love’s sacrifice

I’d do it again, I wouldn’t think twice.

But it’s time for me to  finally rest

My Father knows what is the best

He’s called me home,free of pain

Soon, I’ll see you all again.

So dry your tears, try not to fret

Though I have left, I’m not done yet.

Dawn has come, I am at peace

Into eternal love,I’ve been released.


The People of Hope



I overhead Adam the other day making up a song as he is apt to do when he thinks no one is listening. “What is a bird without its song, what is a flower without its bloom, what is the sun when it does not shine, without its glow, what is the moon.” And it got me thinking, who am I without hope. The gentle light of hope has brightened my path through the years, during good times and bad. If anything, hope’s light shines brightest during the darkest trials. Humans can endure unimaginable hardship and loss as long as they have hope.  Without it, the will to live is lost. Without it, fear and hatred are allowed to fester and grow into desperation and despair.  


We live in a time, where there are a lot of desperate people. People who have lost sight of hope. Where you see terrorism, war, addictions, crime, you will find people who cannot find the light at the end of the tunnel. I don’t think that any of us come into this world thinking when I grow up, what I really want to be is a drug addict or a murderer, or a thief.  We are born with the kind of hope that allows for extraordinary belief in things unseen. Nothing seems impossible. There are fairies in the woods, Santa at the North pole, superheroes ready to save the day.


But for most of us, that kind of hope and belief is whittled away with time and trials. Leaving an unbelievable void in its place. That kind of void demands to be filled so that we may once again feel whole.  It aches deep into our being until we can find something, anything to numb it or distract us from the pain. The problem is, of course, that the only thing that fills hope’s void, is hope. I choose to believe that hope comes from God and the belief that God loves us unconditionally. Which is why I choose to go to church, whether by building or the middle of a meadow, to mindfully pause and seek to feel God’s presence in my life.  I choose to identify as a Christian because I believe we are meant to be a People of Hope.  But too often, I find that we, as the church, struggle to spread a message of hope and love effectively. How do we reach those that are stuck in despair and desperation?


I think we start with acts of unconditional love. Preemptive love. Loving people first, right where they are, without any expectations.  We feed the hungry. We don’t stop to decide who deserves to have their hunger staved. No.  That’s not our job. Our job is to show up and feed the hungry. We welcome the stranger, the refugee, the homeless, knowing that we are welcoming Jesus when we do so. We recognize our privilege and seek to stand with those whose voices are cast aside in our country and our world.  We refuse to look down upon the addicted and afflicted, the criminals, and the outcasts because we recognize how easy it can be to get lost in the darkness without a light to guide you home.
Lord, let us be Your People of Hope to a dark, desperate, hurting world…. Amen.    

Wake, O Sleeper

WAKE,O SLEEPER by Brandy Watson



Wake, O sleeper, wake.

Wake and Rise

For your minds have been dulled

And your hearts hardened

Against the injustices of your time.


Be still, O restless soul.

Be still and hear.

The very earth cries out

With the pain of her children

Begging to be heard


Now, My loves, now

Is the time to act

Pray, first with words

Then with actions

For My Kingdom on this Earth


Wake, O sleeper, wake

Hear the melody of My love song

For all of mankind

Take it into your soul

Teach it to your children


Courage, dear heart, courage

The world may seem too dark

But My love will light the way

Be a light bearer, a love bringer

To the lost, hurting, hardened world


Oh, my loves, my lambs

See My face in the eyes

Of your neighbor, a stranger

A child, a refugee, a beggar

Love Me ,by loving them


Rest,O weary soul,rest

Rest in the knowledge

That you are loved

That you are enough

That you are MINE.

The InBetween Times



The Inbetween Times  By Brandy Watson

It is the time of  poets and writers

And other such dreamers that are

Awake long after everyone else

The in-between hours

No longer quite night and yet

Dawn has not yet kissed the sky


I lift my face to the sky full of stars

They sing to me a love song

One sung by the ancient ones

Long before the clutter of noise

And busyness took over the minds

Of this world’s inhabitants


My feet respond to a primal rhythm

Long forgotten and yet still known

By my innermost soul

I dance and sway uninhibited

Arms raised above me

Barefoot in the moon kissed grass


The breeze caresses my arms

Like a lover’s kisses, light and sweet

I shiver, not with cold, but delight

The rhythm picks up pace

My feet follow suit

I am a wild thing dancing untamed


All at once a motor roars and

Headlights glare off my deck

A spell, broken so abruptly

I am left longing for times rewinding

As I walk away  toward the house feeling bereft

My ears pick up the quiet rhythm once more


It feels too late now, dawns coming

Glow in the distance

Still, I pause in my doorway, listening

To the fading notes of the love song

The tinkling laughter of the tree spirits

And I am filled with peace and joy


Panic’s Cruel Grip


I try to stop the rising panic

But my mind has its own will

Hijacking my body into its cruel service

I attempt to force oxygen into warring lungs

And relax the ever-tightening knot in my belly

To no avail

My heart is racing, drilling its

Intense rhythm into my head

The only real proof that I am still living

Though I feel like I’m dying and death?

Death would seem a mercy

From this torture

But no such relief comes. Not yet.

I lay curled in a ball feeling cold and

Hot at the same time, sweat droplets

Winding a path down my face

I feel utterly alone even as my husband

Lays beside me sleeping blissfully unaware

I fight the urge to bury my head into his body

Even in torture, I put my own needs last

Martyrdom always comes at a steep price

Especially when you’ve lived it for 40 years

Tears mixed with sweat are dampening my pillowcase

“You’re okay, You’re okay, just breathe” I tell myself

I try to picture beautiful things instead of the darkness

That works to take over

It feels like days, weeks even, not an hour or two

It is gone almost as quickly as it started

Not gone, gone. Not disappeared

I still feel the remnant of its hold on me

A small dread that something bad

Is just over the horizon

That the boogeyman really is right

Under my bed, ready to grab me any moment

But I can breathe again, for now.


A Few Good Men

I have talked often about my Daddy issues. Probably more than anyone could possibly want to know. So I  decided to share about  a few of the good men that have  loved me through the years. My earliest memory involves my Grandpa scooping me up with a laugh and tickling me with his whiskers amid the smell of frying eggs and bacon and brewing coffee.  Some of my best friends Dads for showing me what a loving Dad looks like. For joking and teasing and laughing with me and hugging me and calling me beautiful just like his own daughters. The teacher that told me that I was a talented writer and that middle school wouldn’t last forever. The youth pastor that stood up for me in front of the mission board when they scoffed at me for wanting to go to Africa. Even though he was outnumbered I will never forget his vote of confidence. The few guy friends that encouraged me through incredibly difficult circumstances when I divorced. My hubby for his kind heart and seeing beauty where I struggle to see it in myself. My best guy  friends now for the way that they are always encouraging me, caring for me, and loving me as I am.


Women like to dish out a lot of criticism about men. I’ve been guilty of that as well. It’s not easy for me to trust most men. That’s just a fact. BUT. As a Mama of an increasingly large amount of boy-men, I think it’s important to not only raise good men but honor those good men around us who are breaking the mold of the men that came before them. They are being more involved fathers, husbands, friends. They are feminists that believe  women are equal partners in life. They are trying to change the world for the better. These are no small tasks in a world that tend to stereotype men into either really strong but kind of dumb, violent, or Homer from the Simpsons. Ha.  That’s just as wrong as stereotyping women as overly emotional, ditzy,  super bitchy or tall, skinny, and well endowed. I want my sons to know that they can grow up to be both strong and gentle, leading their homes in kindness, Baby  and child nurturers and providers. They can speak up for the voiceless and stand up for the powerless and be real everyday heroes.


So there you have it. Even though some of my biggest wounds were caused by men, some of my very favorite people in the world are the men in my life. I keep saying it, but we belong to each other. Let’s hold each other gently. With encouragement and kindness. Building each other up to be the best  that humanity has to offer.  In this struggling world that we live in, we are desperately in need of a few more good men and women……

Rabbit holes (When life is too hard)



When life seems to throw you one curveball after another,  and you seriously wonder what rabbit hole you have fallen down into, it can feel absolutely impossible to hold on to hope. I wish I could tell you that I handle such things with amazing calmness and little stress and anxiety. But I would be lying. The fact is, that underneath my calm exterior, I am battling anxiety even on the best of days.  That I am so accustomed to stress, that like a sailor who still feels themselves moving on dry land, even when things are going seemingly well, I feel stressed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This year has not gone very well. It’s been full of struggles and painfully hard things. I am working overtime to try to hold myself together. Doing the difficult work of self -examination and self-care.  Learning to lean on others, when needed. Working to find my brave.  Taking my meds. Going on walks and enjoying the beauty of nature.  Nurturing others.  I find these things helpful in working together to keep me from completely falling apart.

When I was a little girl, the way I dealt with my difficult circumstances was to live inside my head. Inside my imagination. My dreams. And after I could read, books of all sorts.  I would imagine that I was brave and strong and worthy of love even though I felt scared, and weak, and worthless.  This helped me make it into adulthood, alive.  Living in a fantasy world is addicting in its own way ,though. Today, it transfers into wanting to pull away from everyone and just read books and watch Netflix and not cope with all the everyday things. I fight to stay present and not fall down a rabbit hole of my own making.

This week, I am staying present, by getting my hands dirty and taking care of all the plants in my flower garden.  There’s almost nothing more grounding than literally sitting on the ground smelling dirt and life.  I stay present with snuggles and giggles with my eight-year-old son, who reminds me I am still needed here. I stay present by focusing on my breathing and giving my body what it needs the most.  I stay present by seeing the needs of others and doing what I can to help meet those needs.  In staying present, I find a way to grasp small amounts of joy and hope.

The hard truth is that for some of us, life will never be sunshine and lollypops and rainbows all the time. Some of us, have to fight for every speck of joy that we can grasp.  Some of us have to struggle not to fall back into addiction to escape the pain.  For some of us, getting out of our bed in the morning is a victory. For some of us, choosing to live, is the hardest thing we will do today. I know that there are so many of us out there. Know that I see you today. You are not alone. You are so loved. And I am so proud of you for fighting for joy, choosing presence over addiction, getting out of bed, or choosing to live another day in a hard, cruel world. Please don’t give up dear one. The world will always be infinitely better with you in it.