With large, cold, graceful

hands that reach for me,

my enemy pursues.

I can hear pants,

rapid footfalls

behind me.

Run to the rooftop,

Jesus calls from the next rooftop-

“Come over here!”

my stomach a fist,

My mind screams “hesitate!”

Is this my visual cliff,

or will I gain superpowers and spring

one building to another?

No time for questions.

I jump.

Vague remembrance of

Peter walking on the water-

‘Don’t look down, just look at Jesus”

magnetic pull screams for me to

look down,

conflict funnel dances in my midsection,

then I am across,

clutching His hand.



He’s not confined by space, by time,

by galaxies or hourly chime-

He doesn’t see just what I am,

but who I’ll be under His plan.

When I in surrender bow,

UNFINISHED what I see for now.


( Philippians 1:6, ESV  -And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.)



Part 1

The last year of Mom’s life, in spite of aggressive treatment, the cancer wove its way up from her lungs to her throat.

Earlier on in treatment, my ears cupped her words like my fingers cupped the fragrant baby blue coffee cup I sipped from.  Initially, I would gush  out things, information from Zoey’s latest tea party to the creative writing course i was enrolled in.  As time went on, I asked her what Daddy’s and her song had been in college, how she had felt when I had a positive pregnancy test only six weeks after my honeymoon, what her iced pumpkin cookie recipe entailed.  The floodgates of speech were easily opened when she was presented with even a simple question.  Her faded blue eyes would mist over any time she would recall something about my dad.

One new aspect to her personality was the hats she  wore.  Even before her hair started to fall out, she took some money from savings, and got herself several hats.  Now, before getting sick, she never picked up the habit of wearing hats like dad always did, or my sister with her Fedoras, or me with my feminine hats with styles form the 40’s and 50’s.  She got a beautiful straw sun hat that she wore all year long when it was bright outside.  It ended up turning her already pale skin into the milky, ivory of old china.  To look less pale, she would often tap her lips with a deep rose lip gloss, and slick on some blush in a similar color.  She had given up eye makeup by the time her lashes fell out.

In spite of the smile she continued to beam, our family could see the shake in her hand, and the sweat that would break out at even a leisurely stroll.  Sometimes, grief would rise up in me, and I would exit to the bathroom, trying to dam up the waterfall threatening to come out.

When she got tired, she would sit on our beige vinyl chairs and run her toes back and forth in the baby pool  I had left there when my daughter was four.

The Power of Prayer…


Some may not believe in the Power of Prayer, but I certainly do. Allow me to tell two short stories that will demonstrate what I mean….

A friend texted me early Sunday morning. She Never texts me that early. Then she Face Book messaged me. She knows I am not a Face Book person, so I knew it was Important.

Her niece, whom she is very close to, is one of those, “extreme sports people”, entering marathons and such…I really don’t know what you call them. She was participating in this marathon which included obstacle courses. While participating, she fell and hurt her shoulder. It was not a big deal. She finished the race and just thought that she hurt her shoulder. A few hours later she was back in her hotel room which she shared with a friend. She cried out to dial “911” and fell to the floor…

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Voice 1:


blankets all the fight

can’t see the barrel,

your smoking gun.

I see your motives,

stippled by my rage and fear-

don’t say you didn’t hear me


don’t minimize my raw-torn flesh,

your final judgement.

Sharp crack

stumble, fall

to my obilivion.


Voice 2:

Band Justices’  brotherhood,


faces blur and modify,


heart slams against

cold, callused bars

trapping fear.







(1 Thessalonians 5:14-Now we exhort you, brethren, warn them that are idle, encourage the faint-hearted, support the weak, be patient toward all men.)

(Proverbs 31:26-She opens her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.)

(Isaiah 42:3-A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment to truth.)

At 20, her heart changed,

eyes overflow with equal measure

in joy or compassion-


glowing, unfiltered flame,

hand quick to steady others.

No words barbs yet in

fragile, tender  skin.


Timidity nurtured,

soil nursed  its water,

roots groan, flex, descend-

strengthened in the words

of the One who loves her.