ROSIE

R - Reading is fun.
O - O is it happy to read?
S - Sam dates Xi.
I - I love Mommy.
E - Emliy is one of my favorit sisters.

by Rosie
(turns 6 tomorrow)

(The Good and the Beautiful, Level One, Lesson 20)

A Child's Prayer

I want a home

by Harmonie Roy

She has she

and he has he

But I have none,

none, but me.

I want a home

for my own.

And a family,

just for me.

But, alas,

I've been pushed and torn.

I've gone from home to home,

But, I guess I don't belong.

I call to my Maker,

I call to His name.

But, He doesn't answer,

So, I don't belong.

I grope one last time,

reaching for a hand.

If no one comes, then

I'll fall to no end.

Maybe a hand will shoot out

from the dark gray fog,

A hand might link onto my hand

And guide me to a distant land.

He is There

by Xiomara Roy

She has she

and he has he

if nothing else

you have me

Stuck in a house

with so many faces

so much commotion

and few quiet places

Pushed, poked

torn apart

quiet longing

for something more

Prayers sent, pleading to heaven

but there seems an iron curtain

Heavy, imposing, a mental block

leaving you lonely and lost

Patience, Patience

Peace, my child

wait on His timing

and Father will answer

You grope almost blindly

searching for help

reach just a little more

grasp the iron rod

I know life is hard

and it sucks to feel lonely

but trust me when I say

He always is watching

He loves you, you're precious

worth more than you know

You've got a fire, His light,

Burning deep in your soul

Trust Him, don't waver

Remember your purpose

I love you, He loves you

You're precious and worth it

You Have a Home

by Mom

She has she

and he has he

You have a home.

Just look and see.

Remember the love

and the light and the joy.

Stop looking beyond

all God has given you.

The books you read

have distorted your view.

They weave lives

not lived in reality.

What God offers

is worth more than gold.

But the world is enticing

and we may lose our way.

Jesus is mindful.

He wants to help.

But when you turn away,

there's not much He can do.

Trust in the plan.

The plan of salvation.

He wants to bring you home

but it requires your effort.

Be faithful, diligent, 

honest, and kind.

Jesus is your partner

so stay focused on Him.

The blessings of God

are eternal and glorious.

They are worth the struggle,

but they may be hard to see.

They aren't shiny, or earthly.

They require time and patience.

He will be with you

As you choose to follow Him.

Please don't let Satan

pull you into dark places.

You have a light to shine

if you'll only believe in yourself.

I love you 

so very much.

I'm sorry I struggle

to show it so you can feel it.

Be determined

as you continue to try

to follow your heart,

not the devils deceptions.

We are here for you.

Stop looking for others.

We want to be with you.

Join us on our journey.

Series

Just a note to make sure you read the next few in the correct order. Emily wrote a series of poems about RoseMarie's accident, which took place May 30, 2020. The first poem in the series is titled "Before - Fatigue" so go there first and then read them in order. I guess I could have put them all in the same post...

After - PTSD

Three old doors make a pyramid
in the firepit.

Odds and ends, loose papers,

dead branches that fell

after a big rainstorm,

it piles up - taller than me.

Mesmerizingly beautiful

flames lick the sky,

twisting and dancing,

reaching higher as if hoping

the air will taste fresher

up there. It might; after all,

the fire is so big that

we can't get much closer 

than fifteen feet before the heat

becomes too much.

So from a distance, we gaze

silently, in awe.

But a cold fist closes

over my heart when suddenly

I wonder: where is she?

I glance around, frantic,

remembering that this 

is the first time since...

I see again what I never saw:

slow-motion falling, like those videos

of trees that fall in the forest.

I hear again what I never heard:

that raw-throat screaming
with too much pain for tears.

My mind is filled with images

like an elevator

crammed full of people

jostling, shoving, uncomfortable,

until I see her

at least thirty feet away,

her back to the blaze,

unwilling to look --

too afraid.

I go to her and lift her up.

Featherweight, she clings

to me with her arms and legs

as if I am a floating log,

and she is drowning.

She trembles like a leaf, this child

who used to be so fearless,

so curious. She never used to 

hold on when she was held.

Hands are for pointing,

for reaching and grabbing,

but now she clings, and 

buries her face in my neck.

After - The Little Things

I almost cried
when I saw her lying there.
Sleeping peacefully,
long lashes resting
on her baby soft cheeks.
She was sucking her thumb,
just like she used to before.

I almost cried

when I passed her in the living room,

sitting on the couch,

looking at a book.

Her little bandaged fingers

turned the pages so easily,

so carelessly. As if

she'd forgotten that 

she wouldn't before.

I almost cried

when she took her spoon

away from me at dinnertime,

insisting, "I do it."

She scooped her food

and fed herself,

her fingers curling

- bandages and all - 

around the spoon,

like it was the most natural thing

in the world.

After - Changing Bandages #2

We're home, and they still
won't let me see her hands.
Our neighbor doesn't
have to help with bandages
now, and somehow it's not
the process it used to be.

                                                        Ow!
                                                        Holy Crap!

She's learning new words
and she talks matter-of-factly
as my brother tells stories,
distracting her from the gauze,
the sterile, ointment-soaked
strips of cotton that my mom
wraps around each tender finger.

                                                        I falled in the fire-pit and
                                                        burnt my hands.

Eventually they let me
help, using gummy scissors
to cut the cloth into
manageable strips. They smell
pungently of hospitals and
rubbing alcohol, chemicals
that don't belong in our house,
or anywhere near someone
as young as two years old.

                                                        She giv'd me em n'ems
                                                        cuz I brave!

After - Elbows

She doesn't want to use
her marshmallow hands, but
turning doorknobs is tricky
with only two points of contact.
Her elbows are a giant pair of chopsticks
reaching up over her head
to grab the doorknob.

Reading is tricky, too
because her elbows
don't have fingers
for turning pages.
She has to use
one big, fat chopstick
to lift - somehow - 
one page at a time.

They might as well
not be there, her hands.
She tucks them up
by her shoulders,
using her dimpled elbows
instead for everything.
She points with her elbows,
flushes the toilet with her elbows,
climbs into her chair with her elbows.
her hands are burned
and bandaged, so maybe
she's just pretending
they aren't there?