The Outhouse on the Hill

My sister and brother, Barbara and Kenny.

Kenny followed Barbara everywhere, even to the outhouse where he waited patiently till she came back out. This moment frozen in time is one of my most cherished memories. Barbara, my only sister, died of breast cancer at the age of fifty-seven. Kenny is my only surviving brother of four.

Though just a child of long ago

I remember still

The narrow crooked rocky path

And the outhouse on the hill

It creaked and groaned against the wind

And possessed an awful smell

Yet stood tall and proud beneath the trees

And served its purpose well

I like the comforts of today

And know I always will

Yet sometimes think of yesteryear

And the outhouse on the hill

Author: Sandi Staton

So, I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to describe myself to you, and these are the words jumping up and down in my heart: I'm just a simple human being living in a complicated, messed-up world. I speak my mind. I love hard. My feelings run deep. When push comes to shove, I stand my ground. Sometimes I push back. Sometimes I walk away. I've surfed the crashing waves of life that threatened to destroy me only to make me stronger. I bear the scars of emotional rape, sadness, and depression. I've walked the golden streets of churches and religion only to be disappointed time and time again. And as a result, it's taken me seventy-five years to get where I'm sitting today; a sinner saved by grace through the blood of Jesus Christ. I fell at the cross. I repented of my sins, and Jesus saved and washed me clean. I still fall flat on my face. I still get dirty as a pig in a mudhole. And Jesus still picks me up, dries my tears, forgives me again and again, and continues walking close beside me. No one has ever loved me like that. And no one ever will. View all posts by Sandi Staton