Friends. A chosen consortment of family. They are the ones we draw strength from, whose arms encircle us and keep away the raging monsters of life. Friend. A simple word. A meaning beyond words. A power house for the heart. Today, I salut you my dear friends, you who have walked with me, chosen to stand by me, who love me unconditionally despite our distance or differences. I carry you in my heart. I carry you always. You are loved. You are prayed over. You are amazing! Above all, you are cherished!!!


To Conjoin our Hearts…

Posted in Inspiration

I was a person…all along


Despite, not being a sci-fi horror reader, I adore almost all of Orson Scott Card’s works (I haven’t quite gotten to all of them yet). If you don’t know who that is…well we can no longer be friends. Delete following my account. Do IT NOW!!!… Just kidding! Orson Scott Card is the author of Ender’s Game and the Enderverse Saga (yes, there are quite a few more books in the Ender’s Game series).

But I remember feeling like he hit the monkey on the head with a wrench when I read this quote. Looking back at my own childhood, it was a truth I never knew was there. I never did feel like I was different than my parents were in what I felt or wanted. Even now in my 20’s I’m considered young and highly inexperienced.

Just because we are younger, doesn’t mean we are less human. A child’s experiences, no matter how trivial to those  older wise ones, are real and a stepping-stone. So many times we look at people younger than us and think, “oh you’re making a big deal out of nothing.” I do that. I work in preschool. Oh the drama of “She stepped on my shoe!”. “Ms. Lilly he hit me!!!”But the reality is, it’s not nothing.

In their world, it’s everything. In the experiences they’ve had up to that point, it is worth all the tears, joy, and fear that they can cram into the moment. When we were children, our experiences of those trivial “pains” taught us something. Sometimes, maybe it was that the world doesn’t end as easily as we think, or maybe that the unexpected disaster can happen and it CAN happen to us. Maybe it’s that a hug can make all things better. We are all human. What being younger means is that we just have less experience, but it doesn’t mean we ARE less. We just have less depth to us because we lack know-how.


So next time don’t look down you’re nose at those younger than you. Don’t tell us younger folk how stupid you think we are. We are doing the best we can, the best we know how. We are seeing life through a different lens. You are seeing our position through many years worth of  lenses layered on top of each other that you picked up along your way. We will get there. Just be patient with us. One day we will be the ‘more’ you want and we will still think we are less because of the words playing around in our heads that tell us we are not enough.

So let us younger ones make our choices (yeah-even bad ones), just be there to pick us up off the ground when we need it. Offer us advice when you can (though not condescendingly) and allow us to learn who we are and become who we were meant to be. It doesn’t happen over night.


To love is to care, to care is to give. To give of yourself is a hard feat. Especially when you don’t have anything left to give. But it is the meaning of life. Of everything!

To be loved and cared for is everyone’s deepest weakness and want. We all crave to be accepted, to be protected, to be loved. No matter how tough our outer shell, we want our pain to ease. We want those close to us to hold us close.

…it is the meaning of everything

To The People…

new-zealand-lake-mountain-landscape-37650To the people on the mountain top, living up the life, looking down over shadowed valleys, basking in your sunlight-do not belittle those in the valleys. Do not make light of their sufferings, their wanderings. Your time will come. Nothing lasts forever, not the good, nor the bad. It will all fall away to newness. Just remember that your comfort is another’s horror.

To those in the valley trenches, holding on to despair, do not give into it. Do not turn your noses up at the hilltops either. Do not gather hate in your heart for those who are joy-filled. You may be one of them someday. Walk day to day, hour to hour if you have to, putting one foot in front of the other. You will not be in despair forever. The rising  tides will wash it away.

landscape-mountains-nature-rocksTo the river people, don’t leave the smell of rotting fish on your hands. Wash it off and let the current drive it to the unknown places of earth. Let your troubles float away, too, like the mid-afternoon storms in the summertime. Don’t let the storms or the stench drive  YOU into the stream. But look up. Bask in the shadows of the trees and find rest.

To the forest people, who work hard, who toil in the wood and vines, you have plenty. Do not despair of your simpler ways. Sometimes, it’s the simple things that fulfill more than any other. Sometimes it’s the dull wood tone that’s more beautiful than a plated silver finish. You’ve earned all you have by your own hands. Stand proud of the things you’ve built. But if the calm beat drives you mad, flee. Flee to the grandness and taste if you must. Just don’t forget your way home.


To the city people- stop the wailing and whining, the whizzing by at light speeds. Stop and smell some roses, violets, or whatever is around. Stop and listen to the cedars blowing in the wind. Soak in some sun while it’s still out. Cast not low worth on those you consider less. Perhaps, one day, you will be less- less driven, less healthy, less worthy of honor. One day you may be old and frail and will know how the feeble strive in their weakness and can do no more.



Sommer & Wynter

She was born in the longest summer known in history. The time of her birth and youth was of the greatest peace, the most plenty and she embodied all that a season of summer meant. Warmth, brightness, cheer. She was carefree and hopeful; hopeful of all the things to come. Strong and brave, she found adventure within every corner. Small worlds came to her under every rock, every cranny, calling her to themselves. Under mid-night moons she ran, she danced. Warm running-waters beneath her cold feet, cool moist earth in her hands. She was the dark princess, loved by all; dark skinned, dark eyed, dark from the hair on her head to the tips of her toes. She was hope, she was life. Thus they called her Sommer.

nature-sky-sunset-sunHe was Wynter, son of the cold. Pale skinned, white haired, red faced from frigid winds. He was a warrior, a young man, but old as one could be. He lived as a roamer, casting his lot to the north wind and following it’s whims. He took to the icy Tundra wilds, finding shelter as he could. He killed, he ransacked, he stole away the livelihoods of men. His mighty, meaty hand yielded sharp iron and commanded men. With it, he beat his white mare into submission. That same hand that caressed his dying mother’s cheek, held the orphan baby’s fingers in his own, also bathed in blood and relished it. He was death, the epitome of destruction.

Then one day summer moved into winter and their once parallel paths crossed. He spied her in the cool night prancing, the silver moonbeam glowing off her skin. He watched as she danced, found himself smiling as she laughed with the innocent air of a child, as if no terrible thing could touch her or come near. He gazed on as she twirled in the cool mists of autumn and he knew he could not live another day of this death, this empty life that was his own. Drawn by the power of her alien joy, he dismounted, and for the first time in his life, came out of the tree line.

She stopped. She did not cry out. She did not fall back, but froze eyes transfixed on the strange dark figure before her. He said nothing approaching slowly, but no words were necessary. She could feel his pain, his rage, all those things he carried inside him. She smiled, the moon glittering gently in her eyes filling with tears. She approached and took his hand. When their skin met, it was electric. She laughed a sweet full-hearted laugh, interweaving her fingers through his and led him into her world. A world of good, of radiant joy, where dark clouds meant a promise of fleeting terrors.

They said it was a tragedy, that theirs was a terrible love, two opposite lives merged, two kingdoms destroyed, but who’s to say what love is a good or the right kind? For them, Sommer and Wynter, they learned to live in opposite worlds and transformed. They  became milder forces to contend with and meshed into Autumn and Spring. Ultimately, they lived in awe of the world, in strongholds of beauty and ferocity until they passed into legends that live eternally in every season.pexels-photo-24036