Our voices must echo louder than the bang of their guns
Our words must resonate higher than the boom of their bombs
Our stand must remain unified in the face of their intimidation
The ripple effect of our actions must trigger faster than the chaos they inflict
We must fight against the madness that is fast becoming Nigeria…
Walk with us on 5-10-2014 #bringbackourgirls
In the harshest of weathers
Brimming fire and scorching tones
Ice chilling cold with rivers frozen over
Green leaved trees brown & dead in their fallen glory
Grounded and unafraid
Strong & unshaken in my stead
Heavy head lifted high
Purposefully kept high
My heart humbly acknowledges
An old & proven truth
Like days of old
This too soon shall pass…
Grounded and unafraid
Strong & unshaken in my spirit
A rainbow will appear
At the end of spring’s silver rain
I patiently await
There are days and weeks that are longer and tougher than others…and such has been the past week…so it was no surprise when I woke up with tears at the pit of my tired throat.
This will come as news to anyone who has been around me today because I am the queen of keeping it all in; I truly believe as adults there are some things we deal with, adjust, adapt… but today I was worn…
I didn’t want to bother the girls because they are babies and they have been worried about me all week…telling their teachers their mom’s back is hurting and she has to go to the doctor, and asking that they pray for me…the Mr. has his plate full as well…so the adult in me kept it all in…
Today however, it was a struggle and so when I left the house for a training class…I knew I needed a good cry…either of my sisters would be great listening ears…but I wanted to be a child and just cry…let it all out without necessarily talking…so I called my dad.
Truth is I am still his child…I always will be, and so I dialed his number without knowing what I was going to say…we talked for a bit and then I burst into tears….I tried to explain the tears but there was no use…
Bless my dad’s heart, one of his many strengths is his quiet spirit and so he listened as I talked and cried…he let me have at it without interrupting…and then like the blessing that he will always be, he encouraged, and prayed with me.
I didn’t feel perfectly better, but I was grateful for the moment to just be his daughter…his child…not wife…not mom…not employee… not busy…not uncertain and unsure….just a child who needed a good cry and listening ears…I pulled myself together after I hung up and went about my day.
My drive home tonight wasn’t as bad and I was just glad I had a home and loving family to go to…then Tenth Avenue North’s “Worn” came on the radio and I had another good cry…the song speaks to me and just how I feel many days…I guess some days just need a good cry and reality check that I am only human…today was one…and I can’t wait to go to bed and just let it all out for the last time…
Lord willing come tomorrow…the sun will shine and hope, grace, strength, and love will be restored….
Colors burst through them to me
Rainbow in the wake of their toothy smiles
Their love (of me) is perfectly peach and purple pink
Spring in the brown of their soft eyes
It’s that time of the week again, Friday Fictioneers par Ms. Rochelle, and this week’s photo is courtesy of Janet Webb. I have two stories this week, please feel free to comment, and offer criticisms. As always you are welcome to join in the fun. THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS STOPPING BY…hugs and love.
STORY 1: MORE THAN ENOUGH
It didn’t matter that the building looked more like a shack than a house, let alone a home, for Sadie it was more than enough…she was free from her old life of homelessness, addictions, and abuse…she had found love, a house with a picket fence, shelter… something she had wanted all her life…
Mother always said white signaled hope…Sadie held onto that…she was moving into a house surrounded by hope, and considering where she had been, that was more than enough….
STORY 2: MEMORIES
This shack with its perfect fence of white. Such memories it holds…Mama and Papa dancing late at night, Jess and I watching from our bedroom….those were some great good memories. Mama, and Papa arguing at the break of dawn…Sarah Lee the church secretary always the theme of said quarrels.Such memories we have of this shack…many of them built from our peeping games, including Papa hitting mama dead in the face….the sound of his 1987 Volkswagen driving off that warm night…Papa was never seen again…
On a cold December night
An angel sleeps on a bed of pink daisies
Love floating butterflies around her dainty walled room of peach
Bye baby bunting coos softly
Light snow blowing unseen against glass framed windows
Her childlike snores meditative music that fills my nighttime air
I stand by and watch my (loving) daughter sleep