just maybe, there was something i missed
as a child, caught between happy moments
and sometimes being scared
just maybe, i longed for someone
to take notice, and to interact with me
and not be so busy
maybe, the early years
would have been different
that cold sharp tone
makes my bones shiver
i know now
that a heart is changed
when one recognizes
does not have
all of the answers
God help us
We are all infected and impure with sin. When we display our righteous deeds, they are nothing but filthy rags. Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall, and our sins sweep us away like the wind..
in the simple life I live, some days that is
i explore and look around
last week they caught my eye
and this is what i found..
to nestle in a flower
and sit contently for hours
maybe it was peering eyes of the intruder
that gave reason for hesitation
to leave it’s place of safety
on the high place
of a hollyhock plant…
i am looking for words
where did they go
they seem to have left me
i just don’t know..
i think they got sticky
and are stuck
maybe, they got run-over
by a big truck..
i hope i find them
or they find me..
i want to be wordier
with words flowing and free..
a torrential rain came down from my eyes
i had fought the tears for so many years
not wanting to go back to that moment in time
leaving home, angry, frustrated and hurt
i felt freedom at last
forgiving what i had considered unforgivable
loving the old man i was leaving
and looking forward to
when we would meet again..
It is time to link with the first Photo Challenge for the year at Daily Post..
Inga Larsson sipped the last of her tea. She savored each drop and she knew that she had a big day ahead of her. She had just returned from her beloved country of Sweden to say her final goodbyes to her dear mother. Though her heart grieved she had made a commitment to plan and prepare for the annual Christmas lunch at the Food Pantry. She would do her best to set aside sadness to fulfill her obligation. She still had to find a few more volunteers to decorate and someone to provide music for the festivities. While Hank Johnson was devoid of color in his life, Inga was all about color.
She would soon turn sixty-four and she vowed that she would never let age deter her from being active. As a retired nurse, it afforded her a comfortable lifestyle. Having never married, she traveled to far off places and wanted to experience as much as possible, but always with God’s final ok on her decision-making. She was not one to sit on the fence of life and watch it go by. It was December first and time to get cracking. Of all her years of eating oatmeal for breakfast seemed to give her enough energy to run miles around those half her age. She reminisced a moment about her lovely mother. She had been a woman of strength and character. She had a beautiful heart and had always given over and beyond when it came to helping those in need.
In her mind her mother was an angel. She glanced at the clock and realized that it would soon be time to meet with the director of the House of Hope and work out some of the details. She laughed as she looked at Mitt. Mitten had been a stray kitten that Inga had coaxed into her home by feeding her.
Mitten had brought her hours of entertainment, laughter and joy. Laughter to Inga was good medicine. She believed it would cure whatever ailed you.
A joyful heart is good medicine but a crushed spirit dries up bones.
In a wave of emotion, Hank had laid the letter on Mollie’s worn bible. Having it visible brought him some comfort. Her quiet time in the morning had always been her first priority. She did her best to be up before the birds and before the pitter- patter of little feet could be heard, and she continued this practice into the teenage years of their children. Thanksgiving Day went by like any other day. The pain in his right shoulder, instigated by too many falls off horses in his younger years had caught up with him. No amount of whiskey or Ben Gay brought relief. He settled himself in his easy chair and prepared for what might come from reading the letter.
He had been afraid to read the contents, and as he slowly read each word of the sweet simple letter, years of pent-up emotion spilled out like a dam that had burst. The tears came from the depth of his soul where nothing, nor no one could reach in the past few years. After a matter of minutes he was able to gain his composure and took in a few deep breaths. He felt as though a weight had been lifted and a sense of peace overcame him. So, Kayleigh and Libby were following in their grandpa’s footsteps. He recalled the times he played the fiddle for the girls when they were just toddling about, sometimes following him into his workshop where he spent numerous hours building and repairing violins.
He had not been in the shop for years. When Mollie departed, he lost interest in music, his reason for living was gone. Gone was the laughter, the singing and the smell of bread baking in the old stove. Why, he had asked God over and over again. Hearing of his granddaughter’s interest in music sparked a light within him that hadn’t been there for a long time.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.