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Generations Raising Themselves:

I’m more myself now than I ever was.
When I look in the mirror. I don’t see the sad eyed-girl with low self-esteem. Or the abandonment of my mother. To have a second husband and leave us. That was her choice.

To leave her kids with their grandmother during their teenage years. (Never -mind my dead father).

As I bent down to tie my shoe. I let my mind wander back, to that girl, I used to be. On the floor of grandma’s corner house, faced down into the carpet. Hands over my face. I’m barely breathing. Tears falling out the sides.

My brother and his friends are teasing me for wearing the same winter hat.  Day in, day out I wore that hat. It was starting to be really hot. I still hadn’t put a comb to my hair. Let alone, look at that hot mess sitting on my head. So I did, what I thought most 13-year-olds do when no ones looking. I stuck a wool hat on my head and kept it moving. Until those boys snatched it off.

Then all that shame, all that matted-down nappy-shame ran over me. My younger cousin walked in the middle of my disgrace. In the middle of their full on the enjoyment of sheer bullying. She covered me with her love. Being all grown, at six years old. She wiped my tears. Pulled my body off the floor.

I made it. Past their scrutiny, past their foul words. Past the regret of not knowing how to take care of myself.

We’d become best friends that day. She too needed a mother. I cooked her meals, walked her to school. She introduced me to an old school beautician in our neighborhood. The rest is history
God is good like that.~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

Reading is Art Too: Books & More Books Please

I can’t say I have one favorite book , that’s just not fair to the many others. So charge it to my head & not my heart. This week I spent some much needed time reading.

  1. “For Colored Girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is Enuf” by Ntozake Shange
  2. To honor the late~ great Cicely Tyson Just As I Am (still working my way thru this one)
  3. “The Color of Law” by Richard Rothstein

God Holds Our Bones Together: Audio added

Prayer Poem by the author of this blog

to the God that holds our bones together, holds sanctuary in the soul,
while we are at times are broken, troubled waters, wells have run dry

Hear our prayers O God…
 allow us to put aside our pride allow this very prayer to suffice God you are my only  devotion you are our ultimate supply

must tell Jesus,  when the pounding ache, of our lives becomes too much, when the loneliness, of our prayers spill out 

We dare not bear these burdens alone

God bottled up precious tears for angels to touch

you shut up the mouths of darkness, you bring hatred to its’ knees, you catch us even when we fall,

“you are wounded for our transgressions,  bruised for our iniquities: the {h} chastisement for our peace rest upon him; and with his stripes we are made whole”
I must tell Jesus, Jesus alone, gathering the weary, lonely, downcast, down hearted touch all those who are bereaved 


God you are our devotion, you are our ultimate peace

sis, Krissy Mosley

On the Mountain

WOW!!  This is so powerful. Maren, such a beautiful leader& Poetess, I had to re-blog. Maren’s work, https://giftsinopenhands.wordpress.com/ Check out her blog, there’s prayer in a poem and so much more…

Gifts in Open Hands

It’s often just a small detail in the shiny story
about Jesus and the mountain  –
getting to talk to folks
who have been gone a long time.

I would like Harriet Tubman, please,
that Moses
to walk and talk with me.
I want Langston Hughes,
dreams deferred in a still small voice.

Heck, I want Mark Twain,
Shakespeare and Emily Dickinson,
Susan B. Anthony, Cesar Chavez,
and Rosa Parks.

Not gone so long,
but our valleys want to eavesdrop
on John Lewis
and Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

I promise not to hold on
to these remarkable visitors –
(I gave up booth-building
a long time ago.)

My Mama wasn’t famous, of course,
though she laid down the law.
Her prophesies were the simple ones –
more snow or early spring,

and what would make a child happy.

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