Monthly Archives: March 2018

Believe A little More:

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Like a bird diving for its very first drink of the morning.
An eagle brooding over her nest. The untapped ocean that delivers its arms for healing.

Most of all, the ache of a soul.
Reaching for repair.
Awaiting for the ringing bells of glory.

An ache that grows each day because she is not touched.
And for a little while, this breach may grow.
It seeps, long enough to utter-
help me…

Obtain the ancients paths, that I too may find this narrow road. Long enough, to break the bands of darkness, strong enough to ride over the earth.

Enter into the third heaven.
Bringing visions down into the ocean.

When the people drink of me.
It will be wisdom.

Ringing her bells over
the highest towers.

When the soul is touched.
She will rise with healing in her wings.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

image pixabay

Let Me:

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I can be a door.
I can be an open road.
I can be a crack in the ceiling.
And watch the rain fall through.

I can – with joy in full bloom.
I can be distant summers.
Falling upon crackling leaves.

 

Distilling the fermented grounds.
For seeds early planting.

I can be a door wide open
An undiscovered terrain.~your Kindness Sister

A Thousand As One day

 

 

As one that conquers
My deepest doubt.
Grace flows in.

Mercy leads
her dear children home.

But Love is..
Love is a nation
Love is a weapon.

She bares arms
For children
Like mine.

Proving arrows
Shield and sword

Watching at the gate
Buffeting over…

Love walks on waters
She brings her children
Home.

Through radiation
Through chemo
Through heart failure

Through suicide
Through bullying
Through “the march of dimes”

 

And though it seems
Love is never enough

Love brings her
Dear children
Home.~your kindness sister

Making it Through:

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This was no ordinary day. The sky had taken a turn for the worst. The rain pushed us to our limit. I tried to stay indoors but I couldn’t help but be struck with awe and madness.

I stared at the storm, the trees crashed to the ground. The clouds thickened. Powerlines swayed, pedestrians dashed home. The willow tree seemed to dance through it all. As if it wept for us.

And we needed interceeding. Boy did we need it.

My neighbor Ms. McKenney banged and banged on the door. Without an answer, she walked in screaming do something…

Frantically I grabbed the first thing I saw. It was my grandmother’s brand new bath towels. She’d just come home and bragged, what a sale she’d made off with her pink and white set of 100% all cotton towels.

At that moment she mumbled that those pink and white towels were at the top her list. Living in a household with six grandkids and four adults. And every day she’d get in the tub only to discover she had not a towel to dry off with.

She paraded those towels off like garments fit for a king.  Afterwhile she’d left those brand new towels resting on the arm of the couch as she made her way to her room.

While she was upstairs resting. Little did she know, I’d dashed through storm across the road to where the crowd gathered around a little boy who had been shot in the head. With all my might I held his head with those towels. I pressed and pressed until EMT’s arrived.

I’ve probably missed my calling as a first responder or something, seeing how people seemed to find little ole me.

Anyhow…I came home with bloody towels, covered in cold blood from the waist down. My grandmom came back down when she noticed.

Grandmom: what happened now- I turned my back for one minute…

Me: Grandmom I had to, he was bleeding out.

Grandmom: But not my pink and white towels no.
I just bought those pink and white towels. Not another word. You could have used anything. I got old sheets and old clothes but oh no…

Me: Well I think he’s gonna make it. I grabbed the first thing I saw.

The next day grandma picks up the newspaper Hey Krissy, he made it. He made it.
And you owe me some bath towels, little girl.

We both smiled .~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley (true stories from my childhood)

Pouring Out:

There was a freedom unlike any other
the fire trees spread,
the smoke as God
An iron-flame

The fire would touch
our weary minds.

And our flesh would return as
new as new-is newly born.

After the labor
After the travailing cry
After the push

peace for every nation would come…~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley