Hope was a thing with feathers Perched deep within my heart She sang a tune a bit off-key A mine canary’s art Her brave porcelain composure Wafted down amid the gloom Her voice shoving out the darkness Like a lantern in a tomb But the years advanced with violence And her fragile body broke When the darkness grew in size Cutting air off like thick smoke But she never perished, no Just reduced down to an ember That would not give up or go out Growing cold in deep December As she started to recover She grew keratinous scales And her bones became less brittle And her song was more like wails She eventually found her perch again Swinging gently in the soul But the treatment poor hope had received Made obvious its toll Instead of buoyant flutters Trilling chirps and happy song She was trembling and whimpering Too afraid to sing for long No more cheerful blue adornment Just dark eyes now filled with fear She could only now imagine The next ...
Today marks 5 years since our first 3 kids were adopted. A teeny baby girl and two older but small boys became officially ours. Since then we added two more little girls to our family. Adoption days are complicated anyway without our added family trauma. In the past, we have had a special meal or gotten ice cream. This time last year our oldest wasn't with us. He had been in residential treatment for a while by then but I was still so deep in my grief over what he had done, and the fallout from it, the adoption anniversary didn't feel worse than all of the other days. Now that we all have truly begun to heal in earnest, today feels like a punch in the stomach. I find myself reliving the moment I found out my oldest son had broken our family. Facebook shows memories of 5 years ago, our beautiful, happy, smiling family. Instead of being thankful I have childr...
I'm not sure if you've noticed it. In the past few years, there is a surge of women between the ages of 30 and 40 walking away from Christianity. Seemingly legions of religious leaders are suddenly struck down from their pedestals and outed as rapists, molesters, abusers, and liars. Now people are finding the very foundations on which they rested their faith crumbling to dust. After decades of being admonished to not build our faiths on the sand, but on solid rock, we are collectively looking around in disbelief. Horrified we are just now realizing the rock we chose was fragile soapstone. The second a crack developed the whole thing fell into a pile of debris. Now, traumatized, horrified, and in disbelief, we are having to, as an entire generation, sift through the mess and find the pieces that remain intact. Some of us are finding that nothing at all is left worth saving. They are using heavy equipment to move away the detritus of their past. Now the place their faith...
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