She was 87 years old.
Has trouble with arthritis.
Daughter said
Can you smell that cream?

She told me her mother
Was full-blooded
Cherokee
And I told her
I could see it in her face.

She said I had cherokee blood
She said she could
See it in my face

She said someone
Brought her a seven-sided statue
She said she didn't know if she believed
His story.

He said an old chief
Came out of a tree
And gave it to him.
He said the old chief
Said it was meant for her.

He said he would
Take her to that tree
To see if the old chief
Would come out
To meet her

I told her
I believed

Like whispers, nighttime speaks.

Water falls to the creek
My blood flows of emotion
As a tear drop leaks.

Whispers

The sky thick with ice
foggy visions
Fill my sight.

Nighttime

Whisper in my ear
Winds of change
Are getting near.

Serene

Thunderous day
Come back again
Speak my reflection
Of my only friend.

Is there any justice in being straight and white
No movements to release , no marches for a civil right
They are branded as the protagonists
But have their own bands of activists

As many of one colour have been historically dispossessed , abused, enslaved and slaughtered
So too have those of another creed, another history of violence, segregation and a line that has been inherently altered

As the smokescreen shimmers to a shadowy haze the enemy, the old familiar ways, are slowly appearing and brandishing their  flags , the banners they wave are now tattered and torn with time
All colours all races all ruled in the same ways, from different angles and with different measures employed and beaten into their citizens, they all are seeking the elusive means to control and command

We have no panic button for the system has no sense of responsibility, to obscure the truths behind many  a fabrication of circumstances is to coalesce and manipulate the masses,

Our fears our insecurities, our worthless thoughts, the pinnacle of a creation belonging to an unimaginative yet dominant force, a twisted band of scientists working on the fringes of reality and feeding the rich- hungry, the vein of evil that runs through the human race

We are fed the anger to feel the fear
As far as I can see this world has got worse every year
I dont know about you but I don't need any politician to give life to me
I expect  like you I just want to feel free

Julie had never been one to partake in

Girly things, dollies and frills

Julie was one of those tomboy like girls

Who looked out for adventurous thrills

She loved riding bikes, down the hill at high speed

Screaming loud with her hands in the air

But Julie could not play in organized sports

Her mum said the cash wasn't there

She sat on the  sidelines and watched all the games

To not play the game was a sin

But Julie Macado would spend her whole life

On the outside of things looking in.

She knew all the players on all of the teams

She wanted so badly to play

But Julie Macado would learn pretty fast

She was one of the have-nots that day

In gym she was better than all of the guys

She sank every shot that she tried

But organized sports was just out of her league

She was still sitting on the outside

Her friends that she played with said

"Go see the coach", maybe he'll let you join up

When she told her poor mother that that's what's she'd do

Her mother told her to shut up

"I've done my best girl, to give you a life"

"And charity...I'll never take"

"If you're gonna play then you'll pay your own way

"For you learn more when somethings at stake"

So Julie went out, hustled, working part time

Doing all that she could to make bucks

But, when she had enough money to finally join in

The season was done...and that *****!

Even though she had shown she could be on the team

She was finished and did not begin

Poor Julie Macodo was still not on the team

She was still outside looking in

She worked all that summer making money galore

She'd be ready to sign up that fall

She had enough money to pay for herself

She was going to play basketball

Her mum lost her job in early July

The plant that she worked at had closed

Now she too was outside looking in at the others

They would move...that was what she supposed

Again Julie Macado would miss out again

All of her money she gave to her mom

She would be an outsider for all of her life

Never playing a game...'cept for fun

Even though she was better than all in her school

She would never be in looking out

Until that one day, when a man from Kentucky

Had come up to Freeling to scout

He'd heard of this girl, who could shoot from the floor

She had skills that he had seldom seen

He signed her on up to a four year free ride

It was all like a really good dream

He told her of how, he had gotten a letter

About a young girl ..that was her

It was written in crayon and a little bid blurry

And it stated out with a Dear Ser,

the spelling was bad, but he read it completely

It told of how Julie could play

But she had not school record, no history so

He set out to see the girl play

He contacted the school and he asked them for game films

They said she played only in gym

So he set out directly to see for himself

The decision would be up to him

Now, Julie Macado has realized her dream

Her life is all set to begin

She did it herself, with a note from her Mother

She was no longer out looking in.

When you were conceived the world made room for you
-a space opened out
and when you were born and began to grow the space enlarged to accommodate your growing needs
and all love asks of you is to be a space where others may find some form of shelter, a generous heart, the unity of Mankind,  a place of peace.

The Canvas
(c)08-25-2012

A canvas sets on the edge of greatness and beauty, blank, waiting for the touch of the master’s hand. She takes charge of what is to be. Gentle strokes, broad strokes, strokes that caress the canvas… leaving the marks of imagination, transforming nothing into beauty. The image emerges revealing the thoughts and desires and power of the canvas. It is breath-taking to the beholder. She understands the difference between OK and great. Nothing will do but great. It must emulate the original. It must be the original! So it is with our canvas of life.

We start life as a blank canvas. Brush strokes are made by those around us as we begin to grow. Made by mom, dad, friend and strangers alike. All try to add their image to our canvas. An image of who they think we are. As we grow into the artist we strive to be, we accept or reject the strokes of others and create a portrait we strive to become.

Some strokes by others can leave an off color, covering who we really strive to be. A brush stroke that is not us can be covered by our touch, our color, our imagination of who we are, adding integrity to the texture and hue. Revealing an inner beauty as the artist of our life takes control, guiding our hand, adding the touches that transform the canvas from OK to great.

The Artist chooses the colors, the brushes from which she wants to define her life. The decisions are hers to make as she selects the shades of color, or even black and white, that will define her life. She paints a portrait of peace and joy, of self-less love for family and friends.. All else is unimportant. The things of past are covered. Today and tomorrow are forming a painting that will be great.

Letting the Master’s Hand guide our hand, we find freedom flowing freely onto and into our canvas. In doing His will in our life, we are set free. A freedom indescribable at times as we are lost to the distractions of the past. Caught up in the hope and love of today.

The Master guides our hand, willingly or even unwillingly at times in our artistic endeavor. As we learn to relax and give Him control of our hands, He reveals the beauty that is within us. It is great.

I have heard being an artist and painting described as being easy but living life as being difficult and unsure. Life can be described as a series of brush strokes, choices. Some can destroy the beauty intended for our canvas. Some strokes can create breath-taking beauty which radiates outward, inspiring the ones observing our portrait.

This was inspired by a young friend of mine, she left a few brush strokes on my life. They will not be painted over. They will be treasured, remembered for a long time to come.

When I look into a mirror, I want to see Jesus, the Creator of my portrait.

The lilacs are blooming spreading their fragrance throughout the air it's scent is fresh and crisp and cheerful.
May we be like the lilacs may our life be pleasant to those around us.
Let us create positive relationships that will inspire others and be like a lasting fragrance  that will be remembered long after our season on earth is through. Let us leave those lives that we touch much better off than when we first found them. Let us strive to build each other up on a daily basis and be a cheerful and encouraging presence to those lives that we touch. Be a lasting fragrance starting today!

Keep me in your prayers soon hopefully I shall be feeling better love you all in Christ.

like many stoutly claim
    as members of some Christian faith
love our neighbors as we love ourselves

then why do we look down on those
    of different creeds and cultures
    skin color, clothes, or hats
suggest to keep them out by building walls,
suspect them of barbarian ways,
let them drown,
put them in camps,
build fences,
stop them at our borders,
prefer
   in short
to have them elsewhere

maybe we should love ourselves much more
so we can better love
the tired, hungry, and the poor
who come to our shores and borders
     in search of safety and shelter,
     freedom, and human dignity

let us remain easy, and truer
to the spirit of our Liberty,
remembering our heritage
     and that of our parents
     and their parents
most likely immigrants from somewhere
looking for a better place
    to have a life and rear their children

it helps to see our neighbors as our friends
rather than enemies
and love them like we love ourselves