Work and Life

Children, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I’m not working today, at least in not my paid position.

I’ll be welcoming travelers, refugees from the big storm, Irma.

I’ve planned it out, started last night.

The guest room comforter all fresh and clean, the bed the Labrador loves will need to be shared.

But, as soon as I’m done here in this morning spot, there will be more work done.

My sister and her family are evacuating here. My home is humble, but it will welcome them. My sweet, wise cousin said she wants to be with me because my house feels like Faith.

I really loved that thought.

So, in just a few, I’ll change from pajamas to work clothes and get going as planned, committed to finish by noon.

My prayer, the prayer of the quiet one, not so great at all things hospitable:

Lord, I pray you prepare my heart and from my heart flows nothing but love without reservation or expectation.

I meet needs everyday, or if I’m honest I just oversee the meeting of them. This is my job. Today, my work will be “home” work and opportunity to meet the need of family.

Giving, not receiving, the example of Jesus.

“And I have been a constant example of how you can help those in need by working hard. You should remember the words of the Lord Jesus: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ ”

‭‭Acts of the Apostles‬ ‭20:35‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Then, the mental list becomes to do:

Change linens

Vacuum sofas

Vacuum house (oh, the shedding of the Labrador!!!)

Clean bathrooms

Dust

Move dead plants from the pool

My house is humble with places of my heart all over it.

It is. I long for better sometimes, but then I work to be happy with my best.

Committed to my plan, I begin to prepare my place.

A refuge from storm, I pray, today.

And I do believe at the end of the day or in the midst of a storm, if my humble house is clean most anything is just a tiny bit better.

Linking up to write on the prompt of “work”.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2017/09/07/five-minute-friday-link-up-work/

Grace Awaits

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

Today, I’ve decided to look for the grace. 

3 verses down from the verse I call “life”, the one that I first claimed as my daddy’s verse and then decided it could be mine too, is a verse that reminds me of how God is always gracious. He waits to be gracious. He longs to be gracious. He’s about to be gracious, we should anticipate the grace we don’t see coming that he’s about to give! 
In between are words that talk about “fleeing” on horses, maybe rushing ahead or going off on paths other than what are best…Isaiah is talking about a “rebellious” people. 
I thought, maybe not waiting quietly and trusting with a repentant heart is rebellion too. 
This whole waiting and trusting thing is hard. We want what we want and have no middle place…either rush ahead haphazard or throw up our hands and drop our heads in pity. 
Trust and Wait. Trust and Obey. 
I wrote a monthly column about the gentle and kind Savior and I’m still blown away by the reality of his open arms, holding me, keeping me, calling me back and loving me with new invitations to follow Him every day.
Today, look for grace, little and big. 
Grace awaits, I have proof. 

I had a moment just now wishing for something to be as before, hoping to have turned back time. Deciding, these days now are just as good as those were.

Then, I turn a corner and just like that I’m unexpectedly met by the smile, the smile the same just older, wiser and more independent. 

One Day in the Sand

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Teaching, Trust, wonder

We travelled that day, old smoking car when I slowed to idle.

A cloud behind us all the way. 

We made it to the coast.


Had sandwiches and sat on towels, not chairs. 

Impromptu declaration of goodness and grace, my mama goal set to carry out as single priority. 

A day trip, beach, frolicking and them napping as I drove back towards old house on the hill at sunset. 

They called me mommy then. 

Years passed and I became “Mama”. Sometimes, Mama!!!! others, Mma…ma….?!

Getting my attention or pleadingly elongated hoping to see my giving in. 

But, never “Mom”. 

I used to think Mom must be reserved for the cool mothers or the ones who turn the heads of everyone, never looking overwhelmed or exhausted or about to fall apart from life and mothering and the significant in betweens. 
Now, occasionally I respond to “Lisa” and it bothers me not in the least that others question my acceptance of being called by my name. 

I love it actually, prettiest sound of all, to hear my name called by the ones I named. 

Happy Mother’s Day Moms, mamas, mommies and all the other names in between!

The names from the mouths of our babes. 

I’m writing prompted by Five Minute Friday. Read other “Mom” stories here: 

Five Minute Friday

Oh and if you’d like to read other stories about being a Mother, purchase the Motherhood Anthology called “I Heart Mom”. 

My chapter called “Leaving Loved”  tells the story of coming to terms with truths told by my children. 

What an opportunity from God to share my redemption story! 

I Heart Mom

Motherly (s)

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Wisdom lingers like blood through my veins, pools of restful reasoning.

My waiting, my trusting, my pulling back rather than pushing for quick resolve.

Less control, more confidence.

My reactions, my bravery, my lack of filtering dislike over phony or for show.

Honest expression of observation, less impressing, more insight.

The wisdom of my mama occupies my frame.

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She opens her mouth with wisdom and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue. Proverbs 31:26

There are others too, I’ll call them my “motherlys”. The ones who turn me back to me or towards the good or better they see in me.

My daughter, straight shooter and spot on is quick to lift me up or bring me back down to the place of just enough me rather than “too much Lisa”.

I consider her gauge, I consider her critique as she considers my being of me and we are quite good with the compromise.  A beautiful bride, overjoyed to be wed.

An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain.  

Proverbs 31:10-11

One believing the other wise.

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Wisdom of mothers and daughters, an exchange I’d not expected so pleasantly friendlike.

Then there’s my aunt, my mama’s only sibling.

“Prayer and patience, Lisa…prayer and patience.” Aunt Boo, we call her.

She makes linen garments and sells them; she delivers sashes to the merchant. Strength and dignity are her clothing.

Proverbs 31:24

wedding 073

A newfound motherly, my “Peacock”cousin, told me yesterday as we talked of answered prayers, that she understands me.

Understands the seeking of attention that had long been sought, yet rarely given. Told me it’s hard to know the play between seeking praise and embracing, celebrating a gift.

She corrected me when I told her I’m working hard not to seek the spotlight, I’m working hard on not seeking the glory, working hard to not expect to be noticed.

She opens her mouth with wisdom.

Proverbs 31:26

She said,  “Lisa, it’s acceptance of being affirmed by God. He is affirming your gift, don’t deny his affirmation.”

And I said an audible,”Ahh.” because I’d never considered that hiding away, of not stepping into the light God arranged to illuminate my gift from Him was something bad or invaluable.

I confuse humility with hiding, praise with pride.

When something God made come true, not something I forced, finagled, pushed my way to and through, begging to be noticed.

Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works be praised at the gates.

Proverbs 31:31

So, on this day moving closer towards my motherless day, I’m sharing an excerpt from the chapter in this book called “I Heart Mom”.

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My chapter, titled “Leaving Loved” was God-planted, cultivated and harvested into print almost smack dab in the middle of this Anthology of stories. There are stories for moms across the ages and stages. I encourage you to purchase a copy and I am thanking God, yet again for his glorious affirmation of my love of putting words together to form stories of good.

   I wore red that day, attempting to inspire myself. My mama wore red. She wore it well. She got stronger one day, and from then on, she was confident and known in her management circles. So, I wore red on that day, anxious to appear in control, assertive and take charge. I met with people, several that day. One, rather outspoken and sure of herself in a way making me, twenty years her senior, feel uncertain. She avoided my eyes, kept glancing towards my neckline. At first, I thought, this necklace is cool, trendy, I guess she wonders maybe where I got it. But, her fixation continued, becoming a question. I figured it out, I decided, “It’s my turkey neck, lines like tissue paper crumbled up then folded back to be used again, the lines in my neck, that’s what she’s obsessing. Later, with many encounters between, I stood in my bathroom and there it was, all day long I’d worn my sweater backward, the stitching of the tag, a rectangle at the base of my neck, the little hollow place. Surely, someone thought to tell me; but, decided against, not wanting to ruin my day. Still, I wondered why friends let me carry on all day, afraid to reveal the truth. Something not nearly as earth shatteringly true as truth kept quiet for years, revelations hard to hear, the ones my children finally revealed; the things nobody along the way had been brave enough to say…

I thought of being a mother last night, as I do in some way or another every day, praying they sense God near, hoping they remember my “don’t forget I love you notes.” My son had gone back to college from Christmas break, and I’d forgotten somehow, so I thought for a second, I wonder what he’s doing at the house. My daughter, a newlywed at home with husband, I thought of texting her; but, didn’t’, I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow.  I’m almost certain that if you asked someone who knows me they’d say it was good, the way I raised them up, the way they knew my love. I’d like to know if there’d been one attentive observer who thought about telling me the truth I know now. Being the parent of grown up children is laborious and good, its redemption in my self-examination, in their courage to confront my mistakes and manipulative behaviors from a distance. It’s a circling back around, learning lessons from them, their decisions and words, finally speaking hard things they’d never been bold enough to say before.  So, if you asked that circle of friends, family or from a distant, maybe social media observer if I’d been a pushy mama, a controlling mama or a mama who sought glory through her son, her daughter; they’d maybe say, “No way” or “Not, Lisa.” The answer comes gradually, a harsh reality when your children get just far enough away to tell you so, far enough from the fear of their mama’s reaction. Brave enough to know the value of honest expression despite causing their mama’s shoulders to drop and her eyes turning away as they become warm with tears. Neither of them would hurt their mama; our journey had been rocky, single mama for a bit, just us three. My daughter, my son, their mama’s vulnerable heart and driven desires. They became children who pleased me…

I see it know, thank you for showing me easy, my daughter, my son. In my arranging your futures, in what I thought was right, was love, I could have worn you out. I now see it made you strong, strong enough to let me know, courageous enough to move past it all to become who you are.

To read the rest of the story about my children and Jacob and Esau, of letting God lead and allowing them to leave me loved, purchase the book on Amazon here:

https://www.amazon.com/Heart-Mom-together-strongest-motherhood/dp/099822118X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494441621&sr=1-1&keywords=I+Heart+Mom

It’s filled with stories of other moms navigating life, love, and leaving.

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Of babies and boys and girls, softly lined cradles and newly emptied nests.

I am thanking God daily for opportunity.

For reminding me not to give up…to take steps towards doors he decides to open or not.

I’m learning to be affirmed by God, that it’s okay to be happy in good things my way.

I’m linking up  with Jennifer Dukes Lee and the story of the “15 Things”.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/mothers-day-15-things-want-daughters-know/

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Greatest of Graces

Children, courage, family, grace, Motherhood

So, when Jennie Montgomery, beautifully gracious reporter with WJBF calls you a writer, you take a moment and realize, 

Well, I suppose it’s true. 
To find yourself sitting in front of cameras when most of your life you’ve been afraid to be seen is almost inconceivable. 
Watch below as I am given the chance to talk about this special book! 
I pray God uses this book to assure other moms, to comfort and encourage. 
If there was anything I could do over it would be to not get all mumble mouthed when I talked about my children. 

I’d have said something more than blessed or wonderful. I’d have said “Thank you, God for choosing me to be Heather and Austin’s mama. For, I feel the gift of them is without doubt the greatest of graces I’ve known. ”
This book is so very good and I am so happy God taught me to be attentive to opportunities and made me, grew me, equipped me to be courageous enough to say “So long little chubby girl hiding behind your grandma, it is time to be the you I made you to be!”

Click here:

Motherhood Anthology

Me Now

Children, courage, family, grace, mercy, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I wear bedroom slippers now, soft and gray, the kind you slip into and make the scruffy sound across the fluff of rug or hardwood. 


My husband says “pick your feet up” and I can’t decide if I’m old or tiny.

I grab the white robe, lightly patterned waffle texture and it’s mine morning and night. “Are you cold?” he asks.

“No.” I answer and don’t attempt to explain that it doesn’t matter anymore how frumpy I may be. I love my robe, it’s one of my things, sensory pleasing, comfortable against my skin, all wrapped up and at peace. 

My aunt used to wear her makeup to bed, fixed her hair before gardening, now my uncle sweetly fusses for her to shower when she’s been sewing all day and it’s about time for supper. 

She sews on and on, her fabrics feeling the touch of her aging hand.

 I love that woman, love that lostness in the thing she’s making, doing, it’s a not so fierce, 

More a pleasing independence, who she is.

I love that woman. 

Her now. 

Me now. 

I have a cousin, the same, fiercely honest and a master at getting lost in all things digging and planting. 

She is she, profoundly she.

She prays for me, I pray for her. 

A friend told my daughter last week, “Oh, your mama is stepping out, I wouldn’t be surprised what she might do.”

We all smiled. 

Today, the little girl who hid behind her grandma from the moodiness of boisterous grandpa and life will get to do something. 

Today, I tell myself just now, I will smile, unconcerned over the memory of a broken tooth that went unfixed because of time and money and life. 

Today, I will pray before filming a segment on a show hosted by a gracious and easy listening woman. 

I will follow God’s lead in my replies, because I will have prayed that God have his way with us both. 

Today, I’ll not worry about the appearance of knees, round and pale, showing for the world to see, because I love the dress, it’s me. 

I’ll stay where I’ve found is best and true, acknowledging God in these opportunities, the things I call treasures he has given me, a chapter in a book. 

The chance to talk about Him. How he undeniably is all amongst this thing! 

My chapter called, “Leaving Loved” submitted at the suggestion of someone I met while writing a story about her, then selected and I’m asked if I know of a non-profit that serves women and children. 

“Yes, I do, I work for one, it’s called Nurture Home.” Nurture Home 

And then, it’s selected. This is why I believe in taking steps towards possible opportunities. 

So, today I sit with coffee and a copy of “I Heart Mom” and I’ve prayed already and will be praying again. 

Thank you, Lord that I get to do this today and for whatever “this’s” come from here, from you, through you, 

for me now. 

The me I’m becoming, through you. 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. 

“They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭29:11 NLT

This book, and these publishers, all a part of God’s plans for me, has stories of struggling, gracious and brave moms. 

There are stories of single parenting, of the loss of a child, of in vitro blessings and newborn blessings. 

The stories are authentic and are “every mama” stories. I encourage to consider purchasing one on Amazon for yourself, a mom or a friend. 

A portion of the proceeds will be divided between Nurture Home and another non-profit that works to keep young people safe. 

Thank you, Jesus for your grace towards me thus far. What a love, what a grace.
Learn more here about how God brought me to this place of now:

http://www.relevantpagespressllc.com/anthology

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Her story, also on Fox News website had me anticipating the answer and when I found the answer to “loving others”, the only comment that made sense was “awesome”. 

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/surprising-virtue-strongest-people-know/

Through the Woods: the Place where They are at Rest

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, grief, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

The only way I’d ever know would be to take off through the woods, haphazard but determined. 

There’s an open field between two county lines and I slow down and submit to its calling. 

Every single time. 

There are not many cars, I press the button, lower the window and randomly, but with intention, I hope to capture this place. 

There are photos on my phone.

Today, I decided the sky more magnificent here, the red tipped wild spreading weeds that convince me of flower, they are more special here too. 

This place that sits in the middle of two county lines, Bulloch and Jenkins and Screven, a border, I realized on the other side of the field that turns my head. 

Because I drove on towards the turn towards Rocky Ford, thinking I should go, travel about seven or so minutes then turn right then another right and then a left to the place at the bottom of the clay slick road. 

The Hendrix Cemetary, where my mama and my daddy lay and rest. 

I don’t turn. I don’t know why or I do know; but, I feel horrible to say I don’t. 

They are not there. To visit the stones marked by name and date, I suppose feels obligatory, an act expected.

So, I consider the turn, plenty of time; yet, I decide it is better to go home. 

So, I go on, for only a bit feeling disloyal or unfit and hours later, I’ve decided, the field that causes me to look, I believe it leads to that place. 

If I might set out one day, I believe it would be true. The open field that slows my travel is the one that sits in the shadow of the high hill and the tall cedars that shade the graves of the ones who made me, me. 

Yes, this is why the sky seems more ready to meet me, the field more inviting and the road less long and never ending. 

Because of the nearness, the nearness of them. 

I prefer to notice the clouds, full to the point of bursting and the wide open field beneath that beckons me every single time I travel on my path from Georgia back to Carolina 

And underneath what  I’ve decided now is just a walk through the woods that makes and has made sense all along. 

I felt them; yes, I felt them near and I paused to be sure. 

To be sure. 

Strawberries, New Towels and Sweet Potatoes 

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On Saturday morning,  I had granola at 11:30.

Strawberries and banana scooped from the bottom in their pool of creamy milk, the crunchy crisp clinging to little bites.

My Saturday freely open and my husband piddling around while I moved as slow as my body had inclination or not.

I woke looking, searching not frantic over the loss; but,  in a longing way, hoping there’d be a shift like a soft breeze when you’re found pausing enough. I took my time.

Penciling thoughts, thinking I love pencil really over pen and reading verses, catching up on things thoughtful.

I love the pale gray on the buff of my journal, I especially love the smoothness of the pencil tip meeting paper as I am joyous over my thoughts making sense becoming more real and worthy of recording.

I straightened the house a little, not much to do and remembered a thick gray towel found when I was in search of new whites.

I washed and dried them all and remembered, a little excited over their newness.

Added the soft thick gray, sandwiched between the big nice whites. I loved it, I decided and gazed upon it like a masterpiece, this new arrangement.

The popcorn on our ceiling mattered not, not anymore. For whatever reason, the feeling was “content.”

I saw the beauty of now. Of all I have, how amazingly quite enough it all is. The gray taupe of towel, candle holders, shelf, tiny vase and slim forsythia branch a little dried.

I cherished the sight of it all, the measure of content, the serving of satisfaction.

So, I scrubbed my face and the day becoming more beautiful, dressed for walking.

A long way we walked. I let him off the leash, and he swam with geese. I captioned his pic “YOLO”

Yeah, we only live once.

I thought the other day if there might be a lesson I could pass on to those called “millennial ” it would to learn somehow, some way the skill, the mindset, the aspiration of sustaining contentment.

Because, by Sunday night I was sullen again over what might be true, what might be the reaction to those truths I have decided to share for the sake of my story of Jesus.

So, yeah…I believe the key to life might, in fact, be sustaining contentment.

I see now, to be content in all is a secret few find.  We must learn from remembering the peace of it all, small satisfactory seconds becoming moments, hours, lives.

“…for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.” Philippians‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

But, for most of Saturday and even Sunday,  it was sweet, the contentment over not so big things at all.

I found the sweet potatoes about to dry up, someone had given them to my husband.

I saved a few and peeled them, thinking I’ll coat them in butter, Parmesan sprinkles and bake them. We’ll have burgers, thick with cheese and we’ll dip the fries in a creamy sauce.

We did.

Then Sunday night ended late, my anxious worries unraveled in some twilight and cinematic dreams.

I woke and my spot welcomed me to the first little tidbit, a quote,

Be faithful in small things, for it is in small things that your strength lies. Mother Teresa

Just now, this evening a reply from a comment I left on a blog that began my day.

She says, “Lisa, I’m so proud of you for sharing a glimpse of your BIG dreams with me. It is difficult to find satisfaction in small beginnings, but I believe that God invites us to linger there a while longer, so we learn to live for Him alone. This way, when we do achieve some measure of success in the world’s eyes, we won’t be carried away on the wind of pride and self-satisfaction.”

I’ll not tell you how many times I’ve read this reply, simply for the sake of its value and truth, she could never have known.

This afternoon I told someone,

“God weaves us all together, we all matter, one to another. It’s his pattern.”

And this is before I read Sarah Koonst’s post at http://www.sarahkoontz.com/ and commented because I had been remembering the contentment of strawberries, new towels, and sweet potatoes.

Small things, great big grace, and love.

Thank you, God, for your grace thus far.
Oh, another Saturday little, sweet thing.

I was Nominated for the “Lovely Blog Award” by http://faithhopelovefood.com/ and will be posting really soon about this special thing and all the other little small and special things.

So many wise words. We are all engaged in an exchange of grace.

Today, I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Read her beautiful words evoking a beautiful sight here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/jesus-sits-cross-legged-end-bed/

Mountains, moved 

bravery, Children, Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

We had dinner downtown, she’d made reservations and we allowed ourselves indulgence for the sake of memory. 

We traveled with intent of finding treasures for the beginning of their first home. 

Nothing was found. Frustration mounted over sluglike people convening upon a metal building that was called a barn but was a warehouse of metal full of signs lettered, “Hey, ya’ll”. 

People moving slow, pushing us forward, their breath and bodies so close behind and in front, far be it we pause to consider purchase. 

We got out soon and never got to shop for antiques, our choice, we reconsidered the day, made it new. 

Had a yummy little lunch, napped sort of and had simple supper followed by coffee, cheesecake and chocolate in double decker bus. Fun. People, cats on a leash and couples, we decided on first dates.

Then, we slept in the pretty room with the pretty things. She, before me. I read a little and thought of what I’d decided before we left…”these will be days of small things.”

On Sunday morning, she woke early and I pretended to sleep. I’d thought of the man and wife from England, disappointed over the Blue Ridge up towards mountain blocked. 

I couldn’t help but wonder whether they were not to go further or maybe they were to ignore the warning and proceed. After all, there had been no ice, no snow, no storm. 

But, they heeded the warning and turned back…went no further, returned to be met by others for evening’s gathering.

I’d fallen asleep thinking of the mountain they longed to see, but had been turned back.  Had decided not for us to see, to know. 
And when I woke, lying in the quiet after my daughter had returned to her side, I remembered my thinking of mountains and of them being moved.

 I decided on Sunday morning on the trip with my daughter that I should keep going towards what I wonder may come true. 

I should continue taking steps, not giving up and that mountains are not only for circling ’round and mountains are not only for going through. 

Sometimes, yes, still mountains can be moved. 

Peeking behind the blind, the sun is rising. 

The mountain has been moved.  

I wear a gold bracelet with the silhouettes of daughter and son, an artist palette and a tiny mustard seed in a little bubble of a charm. 
What is this faith, Lisa, this little drop in the bucket that’s already there that will ripple the waters, maybe turn the tide? 

This faith, this tiny seed called your treasure is moving the mountain, the mountain of doubt, fear, or slinking back and of believing it’s all too much. 

No need to consider traveling through or circling around. 
The mountain, the thing I worry looms and dooms. 

It can be moved. 

I fold my hands and I pray in the tiny little room with the claw foot tub, for this understanding of mountain that can be moved. 

It is well with me. There is no need to worry over the climb,  the ascent, the scariness of hard and jagged places. 

For, if I am to travel to places that seem too high, just the thought of them, I may discover the ground has been leveled and I’m standing in fields of grassy green, my arms open wide and my face towards heaven, moist with joyful tears. 

It is well with me. 

 For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.””

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭17:20‬ ‭
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. She too, wears a little piece of jewelry that contains a tiny but mighty reminder, the mustard seed. 

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/amount-faith-need-handle-problems/

Sparks and Moon

Children, courage, family, grace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I must make it memorable by recording, lest I forget or lose the 

moment that came back so very sweet like a smile and surprised my end of the day bland and fatigued mind.

I took the road less trafficked because it was a late meeting and Spring, deciding not to be Spring, it wasn’t quite ready after all.

Had me bitter, cold, annoyed and hurrying towards home for the sake of day being done at last. 

A late, long day,  change to save daylight and winter’s harsh unwelcome return on a Tuesday night. 

I drive, exhausted and cold.  Blank. 

The drifting, mind unfocused, eyes on the road ahead. 

The sky, navy blue and the street granite gray, I catch a swirling spark, 

In the periphery of my blue eye. 

Bright and  red, orange, gold and silvery white…the colors spread in a puddle on the street as the car ahead eases on. 

Then I remember and remember sweetly well. 

The place I sat in the back, looking at the road behind the long black station wagon late at night we always travelled. 

My daddy “cracked the window” the cold air came in and touched my cheek.

I waited to see the flicker of the ashes, the bright sparks from the flame as daddy dropped the butt, gingerly his finger flicked as we  floated  down the road.

Back to grandma’s, from Carolina, north to Georgia, Bulloch. 

Going home for Christmas. 

I leaned to press my face against cold of winter window and my eyes saw the moon as it followed us back home.

Sparks flying up and the 

Moon following me. I said it followed us all the way and daddy let me believe it so.