Her purpose became disposed by the empty container of a pill bottle.
She didn’t plan to withdraw into this life of addiction.
Her mind was too muddled to even recognize who she had become.
A pale face molded with the signs of abuse that outsiders diagnose.
A face that society thrusts aside, mistrusts, and labels as a lost cause.
Her hunger overcomes anyone who cares or anything that matters.
This appetite gnaws at her heart and suffocates the things she once loved.
How did she allow this to overtake her?
She was so beautiful, but felt so ugly.
She robbed herself with misplaced priorities of living it up,
This left her tossed by the wayside.
Slammed iron bars and a cold cell is her home now.
Rapid breaths of air escape her lungs with tears seeping down her cheeks.
God awaits her call to Him with His ear on her chest.
Category Archives: Writing
Her purpose became disposed by the empty container of a pill bottle.
Her heart was hollow and she stood unyielding to anyone that tried to reach out to her.
She was used to the insults flung at her by those who were supposed to love her.
She didn’t trust what people called love.
She heard their artificial claims and witnessed their cold shoulders.
Yet, she crossed my path.
I want to show her the love that My Father showed me.
So, I take the time to
Smile at her with an honest grin
And with eyes that hope,
With eyes that felt like she does….once upon a time.
Until, God shook me and showered me with love that wasn’t deserved,
A pure love, a real love.
I’m waiting for that cloudburst to drizzle upon her face
And fill that heart to capacity.
A thought cradled for awhile may dissipate into a thrown away opportunity. I’m sure there have been many ideas that I’ve discarded due to fear of failure or rejection. Some reoccur out of the blue, reminding me there is a reason for them resurfacing in my brain matter. But still, I shove them away or forget them once again.
Other thoughts are harder to push away like those of what ifs, why’s or if only. Don’t you hate those types? They haunt you at the oddest times. They remind you or your mistakes. They pinpoint weaknesses within. They jab you with guilt that was erased forever ago.
Then, there are those thoughts that take you away from your circumstances, the daydreaming thoughts. Most of my daydreams as a child were thoughts that ran amuck slinging colors and ideas on the canvas of my impressionable mind. These thoughts carried me to places I wanted to visit and I imagined living at these places and doing things that I’ve never done. The imagination of a child is a room filled with bright colors, uncontrollable laughter, and surreal happiness.
There are those thoughts that you allow to escape your mouth that are laced with anger, hate, jealousy and bitterness. Those thoughts are arrows often shot at those closest to you and then some ricochet wounding innocent bystanders. Sometimes these thoughts are shared with others with a whisper in a corner. The whispers are poison filled darts.
Thoughts, whether kept to yourself or shared can be an igniting spark in both a positive or negative way, depending on the source of the thought. When we allow God’s thoughts to become our thoughts, only good can happen. God is truth, our own fleshy thoughts confuse us and impair what God wants us to see and know. Examining the source of these thoughts come from dissecting the fruit of the thoughts. “But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” Galatians 5:22-23. If the fruit is opposite of this, it is rotten, spit it out and throw it away. Discard the thoughts that destroy. “Do not act like the sinful people of the world. Let God change your life. First of all, let Him give you a new mind. Then you will know what God wants you to do. And the things you do will be good and pleasing and perfect.” Romans 12:2 (NLV).
The ability to post my thoughts online for whoever happens to stumble upon my blog is fascinating. But, I have a deep obsession with paper. Sometimes, I just have to see my thoughts mark a tangible medium. One of my favorite sections of a bookstore is the stationery section. I have a vacation coming up, which will be unique to our family. We normally go to one spot and stay for a week, but this year we are going on a road trip. We will be visiting several different states and seeing whatever we happen upon. I made up my mind about a week ago to buy a journal just for me to scribble down my voyage. Yesterday, I went to a Barnes & Noble store and explored the journals. I loved many of the different styles, the Italian leather ones with beautifully embossed designs, the journals with a magnetic clasp, spiral journals with an inspirational cover, and handmade journals made with recycled silk. The latter is the one I chose. It has a rough multicolored cover made with recycled silk. I guess my daily dealings with thread in my work, draws me to that type of material. The paper inside is deckle paper. It is a textured paper made from the Lokta plant in the Himalayas. I am now on a journey to find the perfect pen for this journal. I’m in dire need of this vacation and really hope to fill the pages with what I discover along the way.
The cursor blinks at me
I want to write
But my mind is as blank as this page.
Do you ever have those moments where you just want a masterpiece to unfold?
By the tap tapping of the keyboard?
Yeah, it’s not happening tonight.
Just random words splatting on a page,
Filling up the void in front of me.
My mind is frozen like the tundra outside my window.
Winter…..stillness, frozen in time.
I’m hoping as I tap upon this keyboard
Those thoughts will thaw out and a moment of inspiration will awaken me.
It’s just not one of those nights.
I lost a friend last week. I heard the news on Facebook, that an old friend passed away. He just had a birthday a few weeks ago. We never know if it’s going to be our last one, do we? I still consider myself pretty young, I just turned 41. He was 48. I’m not sure what happened, but that’s not the point. The point is an old friend is gone. Throughout the weekend, I remembered some good times we had. He was a very witty guy, he was a great storyteller, he loved animals and music. He was an overall nice guy. He was a friend of me and my husbands when we were dating and first married. He got me my first job out of college, he told us about an opening in his apartment complex when we were looking for a place, so our first place as a married couple was there, and he was in our wedding. Other than the occasional like or messaging on Facebook, we haven’t talked in awhile. Knowing he’s no longer on this earth, just makes it hard to wrap my mind around it. We went to his wake yesterday, it was so quiet. I remember years back that he said he wanted a full gospel African choir to sing at his funeral and weep over his casket. Instead, it was just quiet. His death was sudden and a surprise, I think everyone was still in shock. We didn’t stay for the funeral, we had to get back to work. I’ll always remember the times we had with him though.
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. ~From a headstone in Ireland