This is my house, where
I can freely dance
Where I can be —
Without a second glance.
Where I can freely pray,
And thank You for hearing,
Seeing and providing —
Your cooling rain
deepens Your promises,
in my soul
not in vain —

Don't lose yourself,
to anyone or anything;
value your health,
free your heart to sing.

You are not known, but
You are welcome,
Free breath provokes hope,
The future will come,
Your timing is perfect.

verse after verse I rehearse
my inner world,
growing courage to discourage,
the lies that try to strangle
my dreams
of becoming the girl
You believed in,
to breathe in --

Yesterday, I spent time with an elderly resident;
Jean, who is the ripe age of 103,
She has been dreaming of dead relatives,
And as she talked, her face shone with pure glee;
She'd spent the night communing in Heaven
Which brought her joy; the picture of eternity.

After walking in the lightly misty rain,
I fall back into bed
and think; "thank God for my home,
warm bed, clothes, and
delicious food to eat...."
but then my mind turns to all
who have not,
all who slept out in that rain,
all who don't know when they will
ever feel safe again.
What can I  do about that?!
The need for action stirs.

the smell of freshly cut grass;
so infamous that companies
have tried to bottle it a mass
but it doesn't include the many
mud, smashed sticks, twigs
insect bits, that accumulate
and get thrown in the trash.
the smell of success!