The Power of the Pontchartrain

Shes a city with dark secrets.
  The old tired Queen of the South smelling like a drunk drenched in cheap perfume.
The charm of her french colonials and gas lit streets make you forget her tainted past.
She was built with the blood of prisoners and slaves
   and their cries are heard in dark places after midnight.

 The murky Pontchartrain reflects her vibrant beauty and her Creole charm makes you ignore what lies beneath. 
The Old Queen of the South is a swamp and she swallows all her secrets.


I loved my trip to New Orleans.
I was inspired by the delightful sounds + sights + history.
Yet the dark side kept creeping in.
I'll go back.

The image above was inspired by a well known NOLA artist J Renee.
Check her out jreneeart.com

Happy 26th Jonn

Sitting together on a quiet Hawaiian afternoon Jonn began talking under his breath.Of course that's not unusual for a child of five but I turned and asked " Are you talking to me?'
" No Im practicing talking to God so that when I ask Him into my heart He can hear me"
Smiling I explained that He always hears and always knows where you are.

So on that quiet afternoon Jonn bowed his head making the decision to always be heard by Him.
"Mom it felt like a tickle when Jesus came into my heart."

Today -his 26th birthday- I am so thankful that I taught this child the Life giving message of Gods good news.

And today as a family we miss celebrating his earthly years, but my Mother's heart finds deep pleasure that his life celebration continues as he stands in the company of the One who always hears.

SUMMER SNOW

The Wind has swept away the last of Winter's frosty touch.
No more icy flakes swirling across the landscape.
Warmth has returned and the Cottonwoods are celebrating.
They twist and they turn and they shake themselves
Showering us in gentle Summer snow.

THE UNLOVED BRIDE

She hardly knew me but I dont think she knew many people.
She thought of me as a friend even though I cant remember her name.
She confided in me as I held back my judgement.

He didnt want to marry her but there was a baby coming.
It was 1974 and you did the" right" thing .

So there we stood at an alter in a strange church.
The thrift store wedding gown hung loosely on her thin frame. The white of her dress matched the white of her face .
She held a single red rose- the only flower in the empty church.

She looked to the groom standing beside her for a sign of love or reassurance but he stared straight ahead obviously bored and annoyed.
The Pastor said words.
The groom didnt kiss his bride but hurriedly walked off with her trailing behind.

The aloneness of that hour still haunts me as I think of the girl I only remember as the UNLOVED BRIDE.

The Line is Silent

The phone no longer rings from the woman I called sister.
There are no more laughs or sighs or unsolicited advice.
The stories of our childhood are now only mine and the laughter of our youth never shared again.
Our Life moments go unspoken because the line is silent on the other end.