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.

Imagine

Imagine that ears never again will hear the shining smile

in a loved one’s voice—that minds never more will memorize, or

seize the opportunity to see,

moisture

as it builds to arise, in that one’s friendly, laughing eyes.

Imagine that there never will ever be another time for an

enlightened

parent-to-child discourse; Nor, ever will there be a chance

to enjoy or to endorse

a shared piece of the holiday season’s most

delicious sweet-potato pie.

Imagine that all stimulating conversation is so cruelly

shut down—no longer allowed—as if despised—without

ever being able to suddenly pick-up—a new.

Notice now, how time flies as we realize the end has come

for all those warm and loving morning hugs

in which one can indulge, and savor, and

renew.

Unfortunately, I must admit, the definite finality

I find in the thing that so recently and unfairly was

done—

It is a sad and senseless reality in which I

unfortunately, cannot at all see, a victory, really,

for anyone.

Now please, just imagine that the only thing left

by this most imposing theft

is my prayer for God’s strength, for guidance,

and for His grace—by which I will get through,

(I pray),

the grand routine of just one more dark and

cloudy day.

Imagine all of this and so much more, then one clearly

will be able to see

a grieving mother as she now resides way down deep

in the recesses of each

and every part of a broken-heart and a profoundly

confused mind.

But, also imagine, now if you will, just how grateful I must yet

be

for the dear two beautiful children who now are left

and still remain so near…

Right here, with me.

For A Broken Wing…

With this broken wing, I no longer can fly. Knowing this,  I am left only with the intensity of pain—a perfect match  for the deep wound now found down in my heart—it survives with the flooding rain.

Ah…this broken little wing—a very sad thing—I no longer will fly so high in my travels of the deep blue skies. Nor can this truth now rightlybe denied:

This one now shattered, and the other strong one had soared—darting and swift; Now so weak, this little wing lacks in ability and in strength—why it even seems to be missing in its structural confidence.

When I try to fly with this very frail wing, it feels as though, I should (perhaps) just give up on everything.   Yet, there is something deep inside which continues to yearn—giving me cause to keep looking up as I wait for another turn.

Dear Lord, I appeal for this broken wing which, I still believe that you can heal. My pain is so great—my concerns sincere. This strange place in which I now sit—I must say, “It feels un-natural and so unreal!”

My little wing was perfected to fly. So where is the healing cure to fortify? I sigh, and realize that if this deal is to be sealed, that it is: “There” where I must put my trust for real.   So, patiently, I must adjust as I wait for my time’s healing slate.

For right now though, I just need a quick little mend for  this one-wing-thing that has so severely been torn a-part and is now bent.

This is my Prayer and most sincere desire. It starts and then rings out from the deepest depths and the complexities of my heart.

The Ugliness of Life Without You

There is no sunshine, nor is there rain. The brilliant ray that used to show in your ever “killer” smile, has now completely gone away.  Tears as fresh raindrops fall from overwhelmingly heavy eyelids—drops which used to serve to drain the silent soul’s bright islet.

Ears no longer delight to hear the gentle laughter of innocents commonly so seen at play. The exotic birds that used to populate and bring their morning’s song, strangely are all silent these days.

The delightful aroma of freshly made brew no longer pleases in its steaming cup. Though all attempts to sail clearly still are made, nothing at all is the same; And, unfortunately, it would appear that life seems to have lost its aim.

An affectionate touch—though a technique of sweet release for only just a time, now never seems to be enough to completely satisfy.  Our world’s most common occurrences so often for granted we take, currently seem to be un-necessary leaving us accordingly estranged.  My, my how much even the least of things has changed!

Were on earth did you go?  I sure would love to know.  But as you said the last time I heard, “You know, Mom, I’ll be Ok.” Though, I believe this to be true, I guess, Son, I’m just missing you.

I have my sight, I have my hearing and am yet blessed with my sense of taste and touch.  Though still able to smell—all so well, the sense for which I am now most aware—the one which stands out so much is:  The ugliness of life now seen in His Hand compared to our lives here on earth—life which we must continue on…even in the midst of the absence of…

You,

Our Christopher,

Our brother, and our son.

Quote

Take a big, deep breath it’s almost over. Purposefully breathe till all thoughts become less sober.
Come now, and be aware of each breath and concentrate.  The pain within will soon drain away
and then it will all have to dissipate.

Of course, this hurt would desire to take
a fresh choice seat where it would wait until the brain could hardly function, much less be available to compete.

Remember to move outwards to receive love from others as a form of sweet relief. Choosing to go completely away from yourself,

Breathe!

            Breathe in faith; But, be cautioned to know, that your most treasured desire, may come along sort of slow. But, breathe anyway and then believe that the Breath of the Lord through his grace, will somehow sustain you and substantiate.

And when one part of you questions,“How long before I’m through?” The voice within will know just what to do. Clearly it will answer from deep in the heart and quietly remind:

“You must breathe your deep breaths….Breath in for peace and exhale out for rest…

Know that our healing comes along only as we conform and take deep breaths….

You Are the Cowardly One

You want me to believe that I’m not seeing clearly while the evil one is there in my back yard. You want me to agree to see things as you say. But actually, I see right where you are.

You are the cowardly one who won’t tell the truth. You tell others what to do. It is your lot to continue to stir up the pot. But, is your concern genuine—actually, I think not!

You have allowed this evil in my house yet strive to hide the important facts. Your acts are those of a coward and your dirty deeds are to be swept away like the trashed droppings of a nasty little mouse.