Two little words.
So hard to prove.
Two little words.
So hard to prove.
I love old, rusty abandoned trucks overgrown with weeds and wildflowers.
I love weathered, broken fences, rusty, galvanized buckets, cast iron pots and pans, and vintage bowls.
I love dirt roads, streams in the woods, bullfrogs and tadpoles.
I love fireflies, and salamanders and a swing hanging from a tree limb.
I love classical music.
I love joking and cutting up.
I love plain and simple people.
I love honesty and truth.
I love talking and listening.
I love sitting outside in the dark.
I love hearing it rain.
I love mountains and hills and valleys.
I love God, the Great Creator of all the things that I love.
Sugar and spice and everything nice
That’s what Eve was made of
And placed in the Garden of beauty and charm
To bask in the warmth of God’s love
Then along came a serpent so charming and sweet
With a hellish mission in mind
To crush and destroy the apple of God’s eye
And to rob her trusting soul blind
How foolish was she that fateful day
When she ate from the forbidden tree
And lost the cloak of God’s righteousness
For all eternity
But even before He formed the clay
God had a plan for man-kind
To redeem and restore our broken souls
And give us life sublime
He sent to earth His only Son
To die on a rugged tree
To wash away sin’s ugly stain
And to set our spirits free
Don’t know why the twists and turns
Our paths so often take
Don’t know why blue skies turn gray
And cause our hearts to break
Don’t know why when a babe is born
It’s left alone in the dark
With no one to love and hold it close
And comfort its fearful heart
Don’t know why love comes and goes
Like the changing of the wind
Don’t know why our time on earth
Is over before it begins
Don’t know why the if’s and but’s
That oft come into play
Don’t know why a loving word
Is oft so hard to say
I guess it’s not for me to know
The why’s of every day
But to walk in faith and trust that God
Will lead me all the way
Old age comes bearing no gifts of gold
But tokens of wrinkles
Aches and pains
Most of our friends are either dead
Or in nursing homes
Or just don’t remember who we are
Teenagers think we’re from another planet
Middle-aged people wish we were
And the rest of society just doesn’t care
Bit by bit we lose our independence
We pine for the good old days
Pray for another day
And hope to get through the day
But I’m thankful that I’ve been around this long
And to see my grand-kids with kids of their own
I just wish I could have done it
Without getting old
Beneath the covers and snow white sheets
her body lay so frail and weak
Wasn’t it just yesterday she was young and strong
laughing and singing a happy song
I don’t like Autumn she told me one day
because everything dies and withers away
Then into the night the angels came
with Autumn leaves and falling rain
Now it’s Springtime forever in heaven so grand
where she strolls with Jesus hand in hand
She’s happy there where she’s free from pain
and there’s no more Autumn no more rain
Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting (Psalm 139: 23, 24).
Hearts are very fragile
so handle them with care
Caress them softly with loving words
and let them know you’re there
Hug them when they’re feeling low
with a smile and words of praise
Lend them a strong and helping hand
when they stumble along the way
Remember that hearts are not perfect
and have a tendency to stray
Especially when they’ve been broken
by reckless words we say
So if you want a happy life
that is joyful and complete
Be tender and compassionate
to every heart you meet
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
I woke up confused this morning thinking it was Thursday and scolding myself for not walking yesterday. What a relief to discover that it’s Wednesday and I’m not losing my mind.
At the end of the driveway, I turned left instead of right, this time. It’s a little longer and a lot tougher with the hills and all. We live in a pasture. Well, a once-upon-a-time pasture with houses now instead of critters. Some farmers kept their land, though; the ones with the cows, horses, and goats. Pigs, too. But they don’t smell as bad as somebody’s sewage around here. I hope it’s not ours.
See that house on the hill? Hubby and I toured it after it was built. I loved the sunroom, and basement, and garage, and kitchen, and fireplace in the great room. It even had running water and inside toilets. Not that our house doesn’t have those luxuries, they just appeared more twentieth century in a brand spanking new house.
Trudging up the steep hill, my back whimpering now, a man with a Santa Clause beard swaying in the wind was unloading a bicycle from the truck parked in the driveway. The kid pacing back and forth excitedly must be his grandson, I mused.
I hollered, “Good morning! I love your beard. My son would be jealous!”
Beaming from ear to ear he chuckled, “Thank you! My grand-kids like it, too. Won’t let me cut it off!”
I’m walking slower by the second, now. Somehow the hill seemed bigger than the last time I walked it; like a Mount Everest kind of bigger.
Taking my mind off my grumbling hips and legs, I spied a tree I wanted to take home with me. It had huge branches perfect for a swing I’ve been pestering hubby to death for years to put up. But none of our trees have branches big enough to hold even my great-grandkids so I guess that leaves me freezing stark naked in a blinding blizzard.
Passing another house, I heard voices drifting from a nearby driveway, a great relief knowing I’m not alone in case I pass out in the middle of the road. Wait. They weren’t just in my head were they?
I’m on the homestretch, now, feeling ecstatic considering the steep hills I just conquered. I wasn’t crawling anyhow. At least I didn’t think I was until a snail passed me, laughing his fool head off. Smart-aleck!
Suddenly, a bug smacked me on the arm. But I didn’t throw a conniption fit. Didn’t want the neighbors peeking out their windows and thinking they have a crazy person living near them.
Trudging up the long, narrow tree-lined driveway now, I didn’t realize it had so many cracks in it; more cracks than we have money to repair them. Then I got this great idea. I’m going to sit at the end of the driveway holding a cardboard sign that reads:
Pave my driveway and I will feed you. God bless 😊
Into the darkness, He came
He whispered my name
He took my hand
And the journey began
Down the steep winding stairwell
Into the dungeon of my soul
Where I dare not tread before
And I was afraid
Of the ghosts from the past
With glaring eyes and scornful frowns
Violent screams pierced my ears
Shattered my soul
Shook my world apart
And I felt worthless
And I wept
I wanted to run and never stop
Then I felt His gentle nudge
So we moved on
To the bottom of the stairs
Where I saw a little girl
Gazing into a hazy room
Where her dad sat
Like a corpse
Oblivious to her tears
Her longing to crawl on his lap
To fall into his arms
To feel his heartbeat
From the angry world in which she lived
But he never looked her way
Then she turned
And saw a face
Shining like the sun
Arms extended wide
She ran to Him
He hugged her tight
She felt His love
He dried her tears
And there at the bottom of the stairs
In the dungeon of my soul
I met my Heavenly Father
Face to face
Using Paint Shop Pro 2019, I turn ordinary photos into works of art. I also create picture tubes, bookmarks, Facebook Covers, cards, tags, and more. I don't sell my art, therefore, all my creations are free for your own personal use.
Random thoughts, life lessons, hopes and dreams
Corpus Christi, Texas
This site is dedicated to my amazing writing skills.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. ~ Psalm 147:3
A place of Love and Security