Colossians 3:23-24 NIV
[23] Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, [24] since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.
Hey Little One,
I will fight for you
Let us write a book my loves where each of you gets at least a single word because, as the Good Book says words are signifiers of eternal things and you are nothing if not eternal.
This time only you and God will be able to decide what words your little lives will signify
And how much each is worth
Words for children
A progeny of words
Like the teeth of a dragon
Sewn beauty in the field
Where once was only sorrow
I woke up this morning to a picture of some ladies holding a bright pink sign which read LONG LIVE ROE V WADE.
And I thought–long live?
Then the WSJ wrote, in its explication of the situation, “Roe and its progeny…”
Could this be an accident? Could the ladies in their vagina cloches and the explicators at the WSJ both be blissfully unaware that the language of living and progeny is exactly what the unstoppable machine of Roe v. Wade has made untenable?
We have lost so many children through this law and its wake of carnage. There is nothing about Roe v. Wade which brings life or encourages progeny.
After all these years, let us at least make our language precise and appropriate when we talk about our deliberate legacy of death.
Review of the Emerging Evidence Demonstrating the Efficacy o… : American Journal of Therapeutics
— Read on journals.lww.com/americantherapeutics/fulltext/2021/00000/review_of_the_emerging_evidence_demonstrating_the.4.aspx
He never had a proper name, although for some reason I think someone called him Pedro. He sang Jesus loves me with gusto and I can still see him briefly free and more than a little outmanned, a green feathery bundle on the avenida on Fort Amador when he had sprung his cage
I scooped him up and took him home
No matter what happened after, he was mine
The river hunter is
Undeniably majestic
Swooping down and
Hitting the water with ballistic force
Often to rise empty-taloned
This time though
It catches a silvery fish
Glinting in its grip, in a dying sun
The first lap the osprey skims just above the water
As though the weight of the fish is too much
Then back and forth
Back and forth in high parabolic circles
Almost as though this were something other than
The dying fish’s first and last
Flight
At times I go back and parse
The pain, the bone-deep ache
The fever, chills, fatigue
The way it felt like constant, relentless muggings committed by tiny, unseen assailants
No hunger
A brief sense of being untied from all ordinary things
As though powerlessness could be construed as
Super-heroic
At first I thought it was my age, that some magic threshold of peri-menopausal bliss had been breached and entered and that the clumps of hair went with the hot flashes and wrinkles. Then a survivor 20 years my junior told me she was struggling with hair loss and it occurred to me that perhaps it was one more Covid peculiarity?
I think I am handling it well. I have trimmed the remaining locks by inches and let its spun lightness rule the day.
I am alive
Fairly unassuming manufactured house on the dog-leg routine to the store I didn’t even want to go to when…
Stone lions, like the ones I knew in China
Ushering in a succession of small wonders–Hello Kitty car curled behind a fence, two separate seahorse bird baths
All of these unassuming houses
Pocked with wonder
Carrying Light 