I WAS SUPPOSED TO

I was supposed to crumble,

And to call it quits. But I wasn’t

Made that way. 

Crumbled, yes but

I bent down and picked up the pieces

Knowing that every piece had a purpose

Pieced back together glued together with scars.

I was supposed to tumble

And fall flat on my face. And I did,

But falling meant my viewpoint shifted.

Tumbled, to adjust, I got up with

New information that the shift provided.

I see better, with hands filled with the crumbs.

I was supposed to cry, your words held the daggers.

Designed to hurt, to tear and to rip open

You dreamt of blood, my blood.

The pain and the blood were merely

Confirmation that I was still alive

That my heart still beat and 

Not to quench your thirst.

Your design was for defeat.

But God had already armed me for victory.

Dodging arrows and patching wounds

Is my specialty. Fearless in my fear.

I was born that way. Fit to fight

Even from the ground.

A gatherer of crumbs

Covered in places you cannot reach.

Falling simply to rest and 

View the battleground from another angle.

Your design was for defeat, but

The only one who was defeated was you!

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I STOOD

 

I stood.

I stomped.

Hard then harder

The ground crumbled beneath my feet.

I saw the frowns on faces

as they watched with confusion.

Assuming my rant was

A temper tantrum. I chuckled.

How dare she pitch a fit

She ought to be grateful being

Allowed to exist.

But it wasn’t a tantrum or a fit.

I encouraged the onlookers to look again.

I stomped and stomped even harder. 

The walls shook too!

Making gold took work and pressure.

But oh, my it was worth it! 

I was worth it!

When God made me, He gathered and pressed

dirt and crumbs; things that others saw as worthless.

Pressing, pressure molding and shaping!

I look in the mirror and belly laugh!

I know that the moles, and bumps,

The lumps and folds mixed with a touch of melanin,

were on purpose! That purpose made me on purpose!

Like fine wine can only be handled in small sips

No one can afford to get drunk off my essence,

because I’m meant to change lives,

but I must change me first.

So, bring your glasses and your curiosity. 

Sit awhile and dine with me as I prepare

a feast and as we dance until dawn

God will be the honored guest and

Praise will be the admission!

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THERE IS BEAUTY IN MY SCARS (LONG STORY SHORT SERIES)

 

“There is beauty in my scars,” she said, a woman who’d done battle in wars waged against her. She didn’t deserve them, and didn’t ask for them, but she'd faced down warriors ten times her size and won.

Now, she’s facing a world who still thinks it can try her and wear her down, and it will pay dearly for its foolishness. Her wounds are healing, some covered with discolored skin. Yet her scars are medals of valor and honor and purple hearts; her silence does not mean weakness. It means she is taking notes and strategizing knowing that the best battles are won in silence.

“There is beauty in my scars,” she repeated, and there is beauty in yours too! I’m not the only one who’s done battle, you have too! I know pride can hold you in denial but you’re missing the beauty and the blessing. It’s okay to cry and wonder why me; no shame in those tears my sister, absolutely none.

Tears, and scars, lies, and questions why, while life goes on and so does the battle. I am a woman, old, new, and dealing with the consequences of both. I hurt and pretend that I don’t, I struggle with balance as I navigate and participate in my own renewal. But I am here.

No more apologies for the space and the air that I occupy, and I accept that life will bring sorrow and joy, and it will leave wounds and scars and it’s okay because, there is beauty in my scars. God made me and he sees me, and each scar is simply a brushstroke and an image of his handprint, that says, I’ve been kissed and loved by the very One who made me.

“Yes, there is beauty in my scars! Lord, I thank YOU for the scars!” Hallelujah and AMEN!

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I AM THE ONE

 

I am the one you dreamt of and when you became a man, I am the one you prayed for.

Your pleas to the Lord spoke me into existence and I am here.

Every king desires a queen but what will he do when she comes?

I am the one conceived and birthed from my mother’s womb to birth your future.

Why do you look at me and not know me? How can you see the promise and run?

Every king must be fearless willing to do battle for what is his!

I am the one who has loved you, waited for you and cried when you called me by another’s name. I want to come home to that place in your heart that has never been lived in.

My king would receive me with open arms and a smile.

You are the One that belongs to me ordained and created but will you accept the gift?

Don’t you remember the pleas and the prayers? God heard, and he answered.

Where is your courage and where is your sword?

The demons are waiting to be slaughtered for they too need a king.

I stand before you, arms open with a smile, and you know who I am.

I am the One, a manifestation of your dreams and your prayers.

I beseech you to take my hand, greet me with a smile and welcome me home!

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AND THEN MORNING CAME

 

It was late.

The entire week had passed, and you hadn’t said a word.

You came and went as if I wasn’t there even as you grazed your shoulder against mine.

Our son was the witness…seeing how the only man he knew treated a woman.

This was your expression of love toward his mother…and mentally he took notes.

Then it was midnight on the seventh day, and you were ready to speak. 

So of course, you expected that I was too.  After all, the baby was down

the dishes done, and the laundry neatly folded in its place.

You’d mastered the art of saying a lot without really saying a thing.

You talked, I nodded and when you were finished, I noticed your bags packed and sitting in the dark corner near the door.

Your house key glistened on the table. I hadn’t noticed it before.

Perhaps the finality of your announcement made everything brighter.

“I’ll be back for the rest of my things,” You said.

I thought about the fact that you had convinced me to quit my job only days before

and we had to eat.  Your son needed diapers…milk…

It was odd that you had not mentioned those things in your ramblings.

“This time it’s you not me.” You said proudly happy to finally have the last word.

I saw you stuff the checkbook in your back pocket and the extra cash that we kept in the cabinet above the sink.

You thought of everything, except…

You forgot that I was strong. That I had been a survivor long before we’d met.

You forgot that you weren’t the beginning or the end of my world…just a part.

I knew love was never anything you understood or recognized.  

You wanted to be uncomfortable, angry, and so I was happy

that you had at last succeeded at something. 

And then it was morning. There was a knock at the door. It was Joy!

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MOTHERS

 

Mothers 

We bear the burden,

take the blame and get none

of the credit.

We lose sleep,

worry and wear the wrinkles.

We fix our faces with smiles,

and cry silent tears in the dark 

when everyone else is asleep.

We are the armor bearers,

the prayer warriors, the advocates, 

the encouragers, and the secret keepers. 

We are the providers sacrificing ourselves

for the unknowing, the clueless and the ungrateful!

We’re mothers doing what we must at all costs 

not for the plaques, the mugs, or the flowers, 

but because it’s who we are, it’s our calling. 

It’s how we love-fearlessly, hard, nonsensically. 

Indescribable, unthinkable, and tirelessly! 

No, thank-you expected because we signed up for this. 

Not always knowing how or why. 

Not knowing that the bad days 

often outweigh the good.

What we did know was that our love was enough. 

It had to be enough to get us and them through 

the good, the bad, and the in between. 

Just love, it was both our superpower and our kryptonite, 

our greatest joy and our deepest pain.

But it’s who we’ve become. 

Birthing nations and futures and possibilities. 

God chose us and gave us everything needed 

to complete the assignment. 

Yes, we’re mothers a crown we wear with honor. 

We know who we are! 

We are Queens with earthly kingdoms 

located within the possibilities of our offspring. 

We are diplomats, negotiating peace 

as effortlessly as ordering pizza. 

We are doctors and lawyers without the degrees,

Fighting and slaying dragons on our knees!

We are Mothers, Slayers, and Prayers.

Leaping tall buildings and loving just because.

Knowing what others did not,

that God had chosen and equipped us.

Then breathed breath into or desires.  

Giving us the stamina to do the work 

that feels like joy and hope and 

all things good! 

Thank you, Lord for the Crown of Motherhood!

THAT GIRL

 

That girl!

Who rose from the ashes because she was the fire!

God blew on the embers of her possibilities.

and combustion happened birthing life to her dreams,

and smiles that fed those places in

her eyes that had grown dark.

That girl!

Who said no... no to surrender!

No to fear. Grasping instead life and love.

Loving the woman God created.

Seeing her flaws as fabulous and

seeing her tears as rain!

I’m that girl!! That girl is me!

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REMEMBER ME?

Hello,

I know you hear me. 

I’m the little girl who birthed your dreams.

Remember when you were invincible?

There was a time when fear was unwelcomed,

and, no, never existed. 

I need you to fight for me, the little girl,

who told you that dreams come true.

You are invincible and fearless!

Turn the no’s, into, now’s.

Wipe your tears with memories of yesterday.

Dance to the beat of my little girl’s heart.

Sing like angels dwell within you and

Dance like air is all you need to hold you up!

Photo credit: Michael Mims for Unsplash

I'M NOT PERFECT - WHISPERS FROM A BROWN GIRL

 

SO THANKFUL THAT I DON’T HAVE TO BE PERFECT 

FOR GOD TO LOVE ME.

WHISPERS FROM A BROWN GIRL

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BROKEN

 

I AM BROKEN BUT NOT DESTROYED

BECAUSE AMONG THE PIECES IS MY BREAKTHROUGH.

Photo credit: Troy Wade for Unsplash

WHISPERS FROM A BROWN GIRL

 

Lord today I will not focus on the hurt nor give space and power to those responsible for that hurt. 

Today, Lord I will be thankful for the deliverance and healing from that hurt. 

The only name that will be allowed residence in my spirit today will be Yours! 

Thank You, Lord!

Amen. 

Photo credit: Natali Hordilik for Unsplash

Sometimes

Sometimes in darkness we see light.

Sometimes the best place to hear God’s voice

is from the ground.

In weakness we find our strength.

In pain we find healing and

sometimes in our brokenness 

we are transformed.

Courage allows us to let go.

Wisdom teaches us why and

faith gives us the strength to accept

the outcome.

So, out of my darkness, I seek the light

lifting my head to hear His voice.

It’s quiet here on the ground

sometimes.

Photo credit: Photo by Michael Starkie on Unsplash

What Does Victory Look Like?

 

Photo credit: Bella Photography/Unsplash

What does victory look like?

Do the bruises and bumps

Mean more than the battle?

It’s amazing how the outcome

Tells us all we need to know.

What does victory look like?

Circumstances, trials and standing any how!

When God intercedes and covers us

When he blocks the blows, picks us up

Dusts us off...we stand because He

Fought the battle, a battle that no one or no thing

Stood a chance of winning.

What does victory look like?

It looks like blessings, and 

It looks like a smile on a baby’s face

Who has defied the odds.

It looks like rain and sunshine all in one!

What does victory look like?

It looks like God’s love painted

In the trees, and in the wind.

What does victory look like?

It looks like...ME!

The Consequences Of Spending Time With A Three-Year-Old

 I am one of the countless grandmothers who are caretakers of grandchildren. While I never expected to be called into service like this, I relish it. I’m sure that many grandparents found their worth affirmed when the COVID-19 pandemic forced the world to reassess everything in our lives. Parents became teachers and providers all at the same time and grandparents were seen as valuable contributors able to step in and take up the slack for parents who needed free, able-bodied back up.

My home became a haven and a school and even though I do not have formal training I became a teacher, counselor, and an educational stand-in to a three-year old that is wise beyond her years. She has refused to let me go into old age gracefully or without a fight. My emotions are stirred and scrambled as I watch her challenge boundaries and calculate the distance between my patience and my sanity. She has kindly and confidently declared that she is the boss and while observing the way she gracefully navigates life, I have to admit she is absolutely correct!

The consequences of spending time with a 3-year-old are that you are forced onto your knees or on the floor to see the world from their level. Funny how the world looks from here. 

From a child’s point of view, everything is possible! Barbie can talk, she and Ken have a perfect marriage and their children are named Bluey and Bingo and look like blue and orange puppies. 

When I get distracted by the pinging of my cell phone or thoughts of upcoming bills or impending doom, I’m gently pulled back into her world by one sweet phrase, “grandma let’s play!”

The consequences of hanging out with a three-year-old is that I realize that I like to draw and color even if I can’t do either one very well. I understand that it’s not about my skill level and everything about the time and attention and looking into my granddaughter’s eyes when I speak to her and the revelation that she knows when my nods and grunts mean that I’m not paying attention at all.

We must pay attention because if we don’t, we will miss the real meaning of life and purpose that only a child can teach us. The lesson is, is that life is short and sweet and moments with grandchildren are precious because they are precious! They teach us that the truth still matters, and they are perfectly willing to tell it. They also teach us that love is not just reserved for one day in February, that love has nothing to do with color and everything to do with surrendering our hearts to see love in absolutely everything because everything can talk like Barbie and anything and anyone can be your child, even puppies that are blue and orange, and everyone can be family or your best friend! And nothing else matters except hugs and kisses and snacks and eye contact! 

When we take the time to look into a child’s eyes, we don’t have to look deep because everything that’s important is front and center. When our grown-up tainted minds and hearts still don’t understand, then all we have to do is wait for that tug on our leg and the sweet request, “grandma let’s play!”  I smile and wonder where she has gotten the energy while at the same time praying for more of the same. Then glancing at the clock, I calculate the time between nap time and now, I grab Barbie’s husband from her hand and acquiesce to the truth that yes, she is the boss! 

These are the consequences of hanging out from time to time with a three-year-old; you’ll be tired, you’ll feel old, but you will also feel joy beyond anything that makes sense. Finally, I learned that not all consequences are bad, some teach us patience and love and possibilities, and some reintroduce us to the child that still lives inside us.

Now, those are consequences that I can live with!

I Wrote You

 Excerpt from 

K IS FOR KENNEDY

A Love Letter From a Grandmother To A Grandson

Scriptures, Poems & Words of Wisdom for life’s journey

I Wrote You

(A love letter from God)

I wrote you.

 Created the page and then I spit your story on the empty surface.

From my imagination I formed your story and breathed life like commas so that your journey would make the world sing and dream of me!

I wrote you.

Made A to Z so that I could explain that you have no explanation except that

You are wonderful and in my image for 

when I saw you in my mind

You looked like me.

I wrote you…with limitless indelible ink and then

I read what I had written and I smiled and cried all at the same time.

For I already knew that you would desire 

to rise above the paper and above me.

And when you discovered that you could not fly without me you would fall.

I wrote you as I made room for you in my book of purpose

and I loved my creation created to create and be.

You are amazing more than you know or believe and that too makes me cry.

Fearlessly made yet you are fearful.

Powerful yet, powerless and so 

your riches, which are your inheritance

lay wasted.

Why? It doesn’t have to be because, I wrote you,

created the paper, the words, the story and when it’s all

said and done, I hold the period to be placed at the end of your story.