The Day The Lord Has Made

What I want to do today is to stay in my house, lay down in the comfort of my bed, allowing heavy and warm covers to sustain and surround about my heart, and my aching head.

But, my desire is short lived–actually it’s naturally cut off for the load that always seems to lay ahead. It must be called responsibility! Instead, I see, my chores still wait and then come by to court, and call again on me.

I guess, if left up to me in light of the way in which I now feel, my eyes would close to sleep so that no longer would I have to ponder the meaning of this seemingly trite life, or to be moved to think about my cares—worries so deep.

I’d be sure to not let even one dream enter in, to penetrate my space. But, rather, would keep a low profile in my newly built world where never, ever would we haste.

Though we’re told it’s good to have hope in our lives, this same idea seems to be current society’s engineered platitude–which, I have noticed, can simply be an exhausting ride.

With my eyes, I look in my mirror. On the outside, I believe I appear just fine. But, in this process I remain unsure–most importantly so, in the most inner parts of the mind.

Yet, today is the day that the Lord has made. Therefore, To my surprise, a bundle for me has been gathered together just for this morning’s rise. It’s the perfect size sent by the Lord and kept on call for my pick-up from yesterday’s hoard. I guess today really is the Day of the Lord!


A Sickened And Angry Mother

I am scared of a society in which little boys meet at church to play, then grow up and one day come to know (apparently without much dismay), that each has chosen a route at odds—decisions made in foolishness no less, but offering choices for certain enemies as destined…which remain to stay.

I am concerned about a world in which the ugliness of wrong is simply made ok, where “right” is done for every wrong cause and young men who though each bleed red-blood, listen to the same popular songs, they yet become consumed with evil passions against childhood friends causing much bitterness with no end where everywhere are shadows of our own doom.

I am sickened by my community and those who continue to chose, to excuse as we completely self-destruct (for no good reason that I can see), and ignore the truth. Why is it that we refuse to notice the several times that one-of-our young men is unlucky enough to lose his mind, life, and or limb when once again, shot down—killed by one of our own sons?

I abhor the fact that men handsome, virile and young (sometimes still not yet even employed), often who have in recent years’ enjoyed play dates with the other, are found simply bound, yet they feel free to demonstrate pure hate with ambiguous twitter-tweets which insult and discuss the ill-fates of the other: Their “dear” gangster brother.

In case the reader wonders who it is that speaks, you should know that I am a sickened and angry mother
writing to point out that yet again, and one more time, there now is one more young male in our society who has died.

Though once was filled with his own life, he now lies dormant–dead from strife–somewhere out there in all of his might on a cold, and horrid street.