My Friends, My Blessings

Through trials and tribulations, they stood by me, caring and praying for my outcome.

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It’s Saturday morning, the earth still sleeps. But I am awake tending to the memories of my past. I listen to the sounds as the wildlife comes to greet me. Waiting on my first sip of coffee, I thank God for the love my friends have shown me. Through trials and tribulations, they stood by me, caring and praying for my outcome. Though we are all in different situations, we still seem to find time for one another. Tending to my beloved thoughts, God has allowed me the time to carry on.

Sleeping away the sorrows, the pain recedes by night. God, I know, is with me in the morning as I begin to write. I watch the storm clouds that elude above me. Am I strong enough to ward them off? With God’s help, He gives me strength as I sit and enjoy my first cup of coffee.

The serenity abounds, everything is in His will. Patiently waiting, I watch to see His timing. Quietly the dawn shines her light on my shoulder. I watch the reflections of orange light as I write on my cell phone. What a beautiful sight to write in the glow of what once was the still of the night!

Friends Blessings

Yes, being blessed by those who faithfully keep me in their prayers, a chain is created and though I may sleep, I feel the Angels. Quietly reminiscing, memories are all we all have, and the blessing is never forgetting how we came to our present state. Thank you, Mary, my inspiration….the love of God is in you and I thank God as well for you.

Being blessed by my friends, we are all family from one memory or another. I just wanted to share this before I get my day started. Thank you my dearest friends, near and far!

 

 

White Trash

There’s just no room to deal with creatures of culture with the same creativity.


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Not too long ago, in the dead of winter, a very old lady in the far northeast said to her heirs, “Be careful cleaning out the attic”. The children thought she was just senile about her old stuff scattered around the attic floor. But one daughter paid close attention, opening every envelope; carefully looking for remnants of the old lady’s life.

There are times when we, also, find ourselves having to clean out our own “attics of life”. The things we once thought had value are now not worth the paper it is written on. Those times appear to be when the writer of those messages are little more than “white trash” themselves.

Looking back, I’ve begun to comprehend the value of some people that I once held to a higher standard. Then I discovered the memories stuffed in my attic weren’t worth keeping. Trying to keep records of importance end up, next to the Christmas ornaments, I see they are only there taking up space.

There are people in your life that fall into the same category. Collecting dust and taking up space, the world is inundated; too much “white trash” you never pay a bit of attention to anymore. There’s just no room to deal with creatures of culture with the same creativity.

Discarding memoirs of irrelevance becomes a necessity as our minds are cluttered with unnecessary objectivity. So I pray, God, is there purpose in white trash?  Like a mosquito that bites you behind your leg, it escapes when your attention is elsewhere. Useless as a gnat, “white trash” serves no purpose.

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So, I clean out my attic, hoping I can find something of value just like the young lady cleaning out her grandmother’s attic. She found a $4.00 framed, farm landscape painting. But….do you know what was on the flip side, hidden from view?? An original copy of the Declaration of Independence!

And as for me?? I just keep grabbing trash bags throwing out debris…much like the “I do’s” that didn’t. The senseless “white trash” that people become, rotting in the minds of loved ones – gone.

 


Author’s Note:

This is a true story of the farm painting. The Declaration of Independence was folded up into the size of an envelope and perfectly preserved behind a painting which was purchased at a Pennsylvania flea market in 1988.

You may read about this interesting story at this link:

http://www.nytimes.com/1991/04/03/arts/declaration-of-independence-found-in-a-4-picture-frame.html

 

These Metallic Memories

….only God with all His strength would seemingly find our two spirits.


 


If I could go back into the chapters of my mind and resurrect memories, I wish I hadn’t had my soured childhood. Teenage pressures conquered my soul as I was bullied in school as the “the fat kid”. Constantly in one turmoil or another, I watched my father wilt away. I was the young age of fourteen. My dad and mentor is now in heaven but I still look to the skies today to talk to him. I guess, though, there were some fonder times. Let think if I can remember one.

My parents sent me to Rising Sun summer camp every year. It reminded me of the song, in more ways than one. I always looked forward to it.

I moved out at twenty-one under defiant protest. I didn’t need to hear the sermons filtering down. I was so disgusted with everyone that I packed my bags and moved to Florida.

Reaganomics crippled the economy with 14% interest; life had stymied. The challenges we met were battled on the front lines whether it be Vietnam or our own city streets. God, I’m sure, watched from above. But nonetheless, drudgery became a way of life. Until…..

A knock at the door and a metallic memory you’ll never forget – the innocence of an Angel. Poised, her persona was nothing short of Heavenly. With no way to stay in touch, God was the only. Priors soured, single now, neither knew the other’s crossings. But those joyous moments became a distant dream as reality set back in, like an evening thunderstorm, scattering debris. The trials and tribulations remind me of metals on a lapel from wars fought on a personal front. We struggled to survive. Our pure little hearts never realized the heartaches we individually endured. But God saw what no one else could believe, “a spark”, thirty years ago that united two souls in infamy.

metallic memories

Youthful in spirit, with collected memories from obituary relationships, only God with all His strength would seemingly find our two spirits. He reconnected these metallic memories of life.

 

Working feverishly to build an empire, may God too, bless our days and nights. It’s another battle to share from God above. My eyes closed, I listen to your blessed spirits, your fingers going a hundred miles an hour.

We move to a new plateau, holding hands, while making more “Metallic Memories.”

 

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Empty Memories

Not even the scrapbook recalls the love ….. turmoil of emotional child abuse


emotional abuse 2In the quiet evening, your mind strays to younger days. Nestled in the love seat, you think about the lonely life that has lead you down the paths of disillusion. There in the confusion, disconnection is a way of life. Heart wrenching, love was in limited supply; not much to go around and rationed like a commodity. It was not associated with warmth but instead, related to the flowers or gardens.

You would sit in your room and play by yourself. Looking out the window, your mother is in her polka dotted blouse, dark slacks, and her garden gloves. She loves her tomatoes and corn on the cob. You just watched …. sitting inside. She never knew the love you desired or saw devotion because it was all about money – how much dad could bring home. You were too young to understand but you knew that love wasn’t suppose look like that. Looking back, you never heard, “I love you”, as you went off to school or while saying your prayers at my bedside.

Animosity seemed to rule the roost. You listened to your friends as they shared their stories on the way to school. They went out over the weekend and as you knocked on their door, you knew they would not be home.

You would have given anything for your parents to include you in their plans. But to throw a ball or enroll you in a curriculum outside of the classroom wasn’t going to happen. Sadly, you would come home and play while most of your friends played at the beach. Softball was the sport.

Yes, it’s sad as those from broken homes look back. You swore you would never do that to your own children. Now those days are long gone too and all that’s left are voids. Not even the scrapbook recalls the love ….. just tarnished empty pages. The snapshots are faded memories you just as soon forget.

For now, life is all but over; the mid-drift spreads and the hair turns gray. Thoughts are all that’s left, like trash to be thrown away. And here you sit as life goes on.

 


Related Articles:

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. (Psalm 127:3)

Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged. (Colossians 3:21)

Whoever troubles his own household will inherit the wind, and the fool will be servant to the wise of heart. (Proverbs 11:29)

Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)

 

child abuse ribbon


 

Editor’s Notes:

Signs of Emotional Child Abuse:

 

  • Not showing affection.
  • Ignoring the child’s presence and obvious needs.
  • Ignoring the child when he or she is in need of comfort.
  • Not calling the child by his or her name.
  • Making the child feel unwanted, perhaps by stating or implying that life would be easier without the child. For example, a parent may tell a child, “I wish you were never born.”
  • Ridiculing or belittling the child, such as saying, “You are stupid.”
  • Threatening the child with harsh punishment or even death.
  • Continuous verbal abuse.
  • Comparing the child to siblings or peers.
  • Blaming the child for family problems.

 

Ignoring children’s needs, putting them in unsupervised, dangerous situations, or making a child feel worthless or stupid is child abuse. The result is serious emotional harm. But there is help available!

Parental Alienation Awareness Organization: http://www.paawareness.com

Prevent Child Abuse America: 1-800-CHILDREN or preventchildabuse.org
http://www.preventchildabuse.org/images/docs/emotionalchildabuse.pdf

 

emotional abuse