The seventh pew from the back

She lay fragile and weak beneath the bright lights on the cold sterile table, that for so many she had known, had meant certain death. The illness that consumed her limbs had take from her, the ability to be the girl that ran to catch the football her brothers had thrown her and the girl that would hold the record for fastest driver around the track. The illness that took the possibility to be the girl she wanted to be had left her alone on a cold sterile table beneath the bright lights that now drenched her in darkness as she counted slowly backwards from 100.
She slumberly awakened, not to a cold sterile table, not beneath bright lights, nor to a girl unable to walk and yet not to a girl running to catch a football or strapped in behind the wheel of a race car.
She wakened to a women, who had not broken records or ran to catch anything, but to a women who suffered and sacrificed to be; not someone amazing or great, but just to be. She looked upon all these children that uttered no praise and handed her no medals, they held up their hands only to be held.
She looked upon a kitchen table with children waiting impatiently with their plates, to be fed. She looked upon a pile of laundry expecting to be cleaned, folded and put away.
She looked upon a candle lit table in a cozy restaurant that the women would not be a guest at because next to the cozy restaurant was a dress shop with a gown in the window that would make her daughters eyes shine a breath taking blue.
She looked upon a pair of glasses that weren’t bent in the middle and made her sight more than just a little clearer, a pair the women would never wear as long as the grocery list grew.
She looked upon a closet, full of old worn out hand-me-downs and thrift store clearances, the women called her own. She looked upon the seventh pew from the back with the family dressed in their Sunday best and the little ones fidgeting and questioning, high above a whisper, "is it almost over?".
She looked upon the women she had awakened to, wondering why she had no complaints and never questioned the sacrifices she had to make, and then she looked up, to see the women’s maker looking upon her, constructing a mansion with tears of joy running down his face. Her maker was not constructing her mansion, for hers had been completed for quite some time. He was constructing, yet another mansion, for one of the children that held up no medals, only their hands to be held and that she lovingly picked up; for one who impatiently waited to be fed and she filled their plate; for one who’s eyes shined a breath taking blue because she was not a guest at the cozy restaurant; for one who sat fidgeting in their Sunday best on the seventh pew from the back.
As she looked again upon this women with a lifetime of illness, that gave all of herself and got very little back, she began to feel the coldness of the table below her and she heard the nurse say "try not to move little one, the operation is over, but you mustn’t move." She opened her eyes to the bright lights and the room she had fallen asleep in and she awoke to all she had looked upon and she knew who she was and she knew who she wanted to be.
She knew she wouldn’t run after the football she would catch and that she wouldn’t feel the speed of the race from the driver’s seat; she knew there would be no medals or praise. She knew the women she looked upon would be her and she knew that’s why the cold sterile table had not been to her as it had to so many before her. She knew there would be suffering and sacrifice, but she also knew that with all the mansions to be constructed there would be no room for questioning or complaints on the seventh pew from the back.
She woke to realize how important that pew would be and that no football game or race would measure up to it. She understood that you never catch the football every time it’s thrown or the game would never end, races are meant to be lost or there would be more than one winner and legs only carry you so far before you have to ask for a ride.
By the time my mother was 16 years old Polio had sent her to that cold sterile table more than 30 times and has now placed her in a wheelchair. Her legs, feeble and weak, haven’t carried her far and the pain she has endured has overcome the rest of her body. She has also lived through devastation that would have emotionally crippled anyone without her propitious spirit and yet she lives each day with her strength and spirit carrying her longer and farther than a pair of legs ever could. No medals, no praise, and without need for them, she has carried her family, in there Sunday best, to the seventh pew from the back.

her little hand prints

far be it from me to question Gods intentions and I know every thing happens for a reason however I find myself asking "why" so much lately...The little 9 year girl who was rapped and killed in missouri has changed my thought process and left me with the unmistakeable feeling that life is more than cruel its brutal...and the fact that her life ended before it could start was not the brutallity of her suffering it was the way she left her mortality...She had little time to breathe on life and less time to touch it, however she has left hand prints in my mind that will never go away...My 9 year old son is one of my definitions to live and if this were to be his destiny I dont know that I could take the present or future without the past and living would be a struggle to contend with. I ask why this is the world that is supplied with oxygen and carbon monoxide, this is the earth that has planted and buried and this is the living that has given birth and murdered it...I have to ask myself what it is that lets man go on knowing this is the possiblity of the future, that innocence is left to suffer and sinnful is dominating and the answer is, what I make it and only me...I have to teach my beautiful boys to love the Lord because of his devotion and live because of His dedication...Ihave to teach my daughter she is beauty because of his creation and she is loved because of His suffering...I have to hug them everytime I think of that little girl scared and alone crying for the protector she needed and hoping for the mercy from her suffering..I cant shake the feeling this little girl has givin me and maybe I shouldnt, I will remember her forever and I will hold on tight to what the Lord has given me young or old I have to remind myself of the possiblity of the future and love all I have now without expecting more or living for what will be, it is here right now and I will make of it what I should, a blessing,, an unmistakeable, undeniable blessing setting around me at the dinner table and hugging me when I need it and I will share their breath on life and touch living with them...I will enjoy it now because the only certainty of later is its' uncertainty...I cant say how much rowan (the little girl) was loved here but I am certain she isnt asking God why but Hugging him for being there when she needed her protector and giving her mecry when she asked him to...Tomorrow will be what it will be and today is what it is but here and now is what is living and I will Thank God for every second of it...

a gift of presents..

This is just a small tribute to the one person who has been exactly what I needed when I needed it and she not only contributed to my state of mind when I needed her to she gave me life physically and spiritually. She was the breath in my lungs before birth and she fed me with her womb and I needed to say how much I see her as she is the gold of greatness..She is very much alive and she is very much appreciated without her I would not be a portion of characteristic bueaty. I see her as the Lords gift of her presents

As the Memorial Day weekend approaches more rapidly then the last, I am faced with a growing list of memorable beings to honor. The list includes one more then last years and the agenda calls for a day of decorating the site of the beloved ones that deserve a bright display about their final mortal dwelling, to give a summary of their brief appearance and lasting legacy. The weekend schedule is a basic of the last 13 years and will most likely be for as long as I am able. This year however I have had an epiphany of the legacy I have failed to comprehend or paint as exquisite a summary as I should have. I have been consecrated with a measure of elegance and splendor, intrinsic of the beauty that gave structure to my form and furnished me with the essentials of wisdom and instruction. The heavens identify her as the piercing illustration of wonderment and precious energy. The sparkle of night was introduced with the creation of her soul. The bright persona of her devotion impelled the moon and stars to glorify the firmament as she would glorify the earth. The pain she has frequently endured has erupted the mountains with fire and shaken the earth with force and the tears she has damped her face with have hydrated the blossoms of vegetation and feed the spring flourish with growth. The dawn approaches with the anticipation of viewing her fidelity and stability and it retreats with the aspiration of tomorrows glimpse. Her belief in assurance has given ingredient to dull and taste to the bland with the certainty of her belief she has secured the sound of eternal and the feel of everlasting. She is the breath of time and the spirit of principle. The definitions of reason are not an answer she will seek but a question of what she will plant for tomorrows landscape is her reactions. She hurts with pain, she loves with affection, she cries with tears, and she feels with meaning; she has experienced and she has yearned and she knows that the only guarantee of upcoming is what regrets we undo now and how firm she hugs the existing moment. Her love is educating, her understanding is faithful and her aura is angelic. The heavens have allowed the soil to hold her and cuddle her until she is returned to color the aroma of melody with her piercing illustration of wonderment and precious energy so I will humidify the air with tears of joy and gratify God for his majesty and brilliance that he has engendered with the endowment of my protector, shelter, caregiver, and the bearer of my being…
She is she is more then what I could have asked for in a mother and everyday I will thank God for her even after she is gone because she has enstilled a lasting lesson of living and loving every moment, good and bad, that is given to me, to hold on tight to what we can see and touch and even what we cant

the last supper

The last supper
He quietly lurches from one feast to the next devouring every morsel for as long as time will have him. His scenery changes often yet the source of his nourishment stays the same. He creeps ever so lightly to avoid detection, lifts his head only to seek the next banquet. He overwhelms his thoughts with his future plans and what the destination of right or left will bring him to. His consuming thoughts grow as he feeds his growth. Light or dark he is a hunter no matter the color of the sky. As he rewards hisself with an exhulting praise for the bountyful feast he has acquired he stumbles over his moment of victory suddenly with a gyrating sound and an instant striking force. He attempts to renew his position among the hunted and becomes aware of his unsound stance and faulting plateform as the wind sings by him with a crash of pain. He inhales his last bite of air as he clutchs onto the taste of his last supper. Time would no longer share with him and his banquet came to a jolting end.
but thats what the bloodsucker gets for biting me guess I ll learn to spary mosqitio repelent before I go outside...

beginning to end

Beginning to end
A constant from beginning to end, It is flattering and faultering; it requires attention and offers hunger; it requires pain and offers nutrients; it hydrates the thirsty and drains the flurished; it projects a glow in the aged and equippes youthfulness with wrinkles; it is desired and despised; it gives the sun its shine and give the rayz of unbearable heat; it is longed for and it is loathed, it is anger and joy; It empowers pesiants and conquers kings; it gives the brute hand of anger a soft gentle stroke and causes the tenderest touch to turn harsh and callous; it is deserving and deserting; pain seeks it and hurt devourse it; it compensates worth to the labourer and liquidates the bitter of prosperity; conseption sparks it and death does not fuse it; It captures sight and holds vision captive; it pardons a prisoner with pain and it salutes a soldier with submission; it solicites every beat and circulates vigor to the heart; it is human and its hurt is inhumain; it is certain to pierce life with suffering and offer hope to living; it occupies the thoughts of today and embraces regrets with circumstances of yesterday; it is bundled in a swaddled infant and it is three nails pierceing 2 hands and feet; it is a creation of the heavens and it is corrupted by the falling; it is a sentiment that is unknowingly choosen and a feeling that is painfully chanced; it is decided and depicted for it is and always will be the constant from beginning to end, an endowment and a curse, the broken and repaired the full and the empty; it is the soul of being; It is LOVE !!

I will convey to you the heart of my soul and amalgamate a blissful correlation of passion to your nature. I crave the taste of your touch and the valiant intensity of your persona. Unite the beat of your survival with the drive of my mortality and grasp the astounding and extraordinary introduction of euphoria and ecstasy. I implore you to invade my space with your cosmos, corrupt my belief with your ambition, secrete my truth with your consequence and sanction the prominence of your being to reveal the inspiration of discover. Fluctuate your structure and institute my foundation and together we may endure the imminent event of the splendor and marvel of the perception of our mutual sentiment. The revelation of your magnificence is alluring and piquant. The exigency of my eagerness is to encircle the fundamentals of your vitality and to contribute to the longevity of your energy. Embody my form with your manifestation and allow the consumption to surpass the regulation of restraint. Employ the ambiance to connect our tenure and transform the solitary into entity and ratify the unanimity of our commencement and identify the reciprocated affection. Take me to the residence of your constantans and to the secure abode of your embrace. Cascade me with the force of your power and indulge my necessity of durability. Flood my view with your adaptation of circumstance. Be the constant and the purposeful, take the kingdom of here and now and conqueror the principal of tomorrows certainty and be the victor in the crusade of destitution. Be the heroic symbol of our under estimated section of the universe, be the hero in my element. I will in return cultivate the creative luster of our expectations and give clearance to the laughter that has the strength of a thousand times with ability to cure and repair bedlam and disorder…I will conjure the enticing credence of emotion, and fascinate you with my passionate rendition of the absolute. I will realize your hunger and nourish you, I will recognize your thirst and hydrate you I will comprehend you pain and alleviate it from you. We are the entity of our kingdom and the heart of the soul of the essence protruding our here and now… Take the element of this moment and create the fragrance to propel the realm of the immediate with the sent of it, of the fragrance of correlation of entity…

the inevitable nightmare

I had a nightmare!! I was in this room with all of these people clamoring about and in such disarray, as if they couldn't find themselves. We were all colliding into each other with metal weapons and not giving thought to the others safety. The room was full of things we all wanted and we all began running to claim the things we thought we were intitled to and no one spoke actual words to one another, they grunted and growned as if they were uncivilized cave men or something like it. There were many sundry indiviguals. some with no similarities and others with many similaritys and although there were so many running ,shouting and struggling for their place in this room I too had no regards to any others safety nor to their needs. i was in this nightmare amist all others who, (no matter how diffrent or similar to me) they were there for the same reason, for what they wanted. I began sweating and running and panting as I looked for the exit of the chaos and as I approached the exit sign, panic siezed over my body because I realized I had had this nightmare before and I would be having it againa in a couple of days because I realized i was not having a nightmare I was shopping in Wal mart