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
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Published by 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.
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