At Seventeen

She's Seventeen today.  Wow.  Wait...How can that be true?  That went by so amazingly fast.  I know every parent says that.  But it seems it all only lasted a heartbeat's length.  I am trying to wrack my MS'd brain...trying to fumble for the 'Rewind' button so I can go back and watch it all over again...being careful--this time--to pay attention to all of The Sights (her sleeping heavy in my arms--all stuffed and drunk on milk--all of  "The First's"--the First Time I saw her face, her First Steps, her First Day of school), The Smells (baby powder kisses and fresh out of the dryer hugs), The Sounds (her musical, infectious laughter that bubbled up out of her little body and had the power to instantly cause a smile on every set of lips within earshot).  Can I just see it all again, just one more time?

She's a young Woman now....and what a fine one she is.  She is Wise so far beyond her years--and ancient soul in this young, healthy body.  Yet, her Kindness and Consideration for others harkens back to a simpler time, many decades ago.  Her Nana would be proud.

She is Brave.  More brave than anyone I've ever met.  She has seen hand to hand combat, looked evil in the eye and stared it down.  She has known both Loss and Death.  She has felt Pain that would have caused someone three times her age to cry for mercy, yet she set her jaw and kept going.

She is Beautiful.  Not restricted by the conventional...she radiates a Light from within.  She is His, and it shows.  She is Grace...even when she stumbles in her high heels.

She is Love.  She's filled with it to the point that it almost oozes out of every pore.  The world has tried to stamp this out of her.  She had every excuse to become angry and bitter and to replace her love with hate, but the world was unsuccessful in it's efforts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Dearest Talia Beth, 

I don't have a lot to give you, on this, your seventeenth birthday.  I won't be able to throw you a huge party or give you the keys to a new car or a diamond (your birthstone)---all of which you deserve, and so much more.  All I have to give you is my words and all the things that have been yours since the moment your little heart started keeping rhythm with mine--my Gratitude, my Trust, my Admiration and undying Devotion and Love.

This seems so unfair to me...it's your birthday, but it was I who received The Gift 17 years ago...and every single day since then.  I got to be your Momma. 

You are this lovely multifaceted little creature dipped in honey and sprinkled with star shine.  If I live another month or 50 more years I will never do anything greater with my life than bringing you and your brother into it.

This song is for you.  I know you don't always see your extreme Beauty and your priceless Value and Worth, but making you aware of those gifts--and all the gifts you have been given by God--is the greatest thing a mother could do for her child At Seventeen...and beyond.

Happy Birthday Talia.  Your happiness remains my Joy, forever.

I love you,

~Momma

"AT SEVENTEEN"

By Janis Ian
I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth...
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say "come dance with me"
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems at seventeen...
A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said: "Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve"
The rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly...
So remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In debitures of quality and dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received at seventeen...
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
the world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me...
We all play the game, and when we dare
We cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say: "Come on, dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me, at seventeen...



Watch the video of "At Seventeen" here

The Littlest Hero

By Guest Blogger: Scott DeWitt

I need to get this out so bear with me. Today we went to court with a friend. I saw both the rational, fair side of justice and also the side that the victim should not be made to suffer. Please dont ask for names but I feel I must speak about this so that it makes a little more sense, at least to me. Our friend and her daughter sat in the courtroom and listened to the "person" who raped the child, try and express his remorse and explain away his actions ( he spoke first). He never took his eyes off of the judge's bench, he never changed the inflection of his voice, not wavering, not angry, no detectable emotion. When my friend spoke, she gave a detailed accounting of what she understood, the why's and how's of coming to her opinion of the rapists' sentence and was heartfelt and upset as a good Mother should and would have been. 

This part was hard for me to watch. I saw a small slip of a girl, both trembling and digging her nails into her fists the ENTIRE time everyone was speaking. When her time came, she was hesitant to talk and the judge urged her "because it had been her experience that the victim's healing process" would be speedier and forthcoming if she DID speak. Her small hands clutched a ream of papers with her account. She shook like a dry leaf in the wind, her voice wavered and was so small. The absolute worst part was that child trying to get out the things that had been done to her. I cannot and will not relate them because it gives me chills and angers me to the point of wanting to harm someone. She reminded me that hers was not a lone burden, there are far too many like her, bearing the pain and humiliation and guilt that come with being raped. My heart was breaking and yet I was so enraged at what he had done and that she was being subjected to it yet again, this time by the court. A necessary evil, I suppose.

He will serve a mixed sentence that is by no means easy. I will not disclose the particulars but suffice it to say that justice was served, although some may not agree with the method. He will forever be reminded of what he did, he will suffer for several years a mental strain and anguish by the judge imposing severe restrictions and impositions on him. The Mother forgave him, the child was to sick and frightened. I cannot forgive him or any of the others that do these heinous acts. Most are not remorseful and never will be. Perhaps someday he will TRULY pay for what he did. I am going to bed now and I will leave this space for you all to write your thoughts and comments but again, please don't ask me for particulars. Tonight my friends, I truly pray to my God after what I witnessed, for peace. Peace for that little girl, her Mother, family and friends and I pray that justice be served to the monster that caused this and all of his kind.

Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

Today marks one year since my best friend, Loray Robinson suddenly and unexpectedly passed from this life. In some ways it feels like it just happened. In other ways, it feels like it's been decades since I heard her laughter. My heart is still just as broken as it was on that bright sunny morning last year. I would like to take the opportunity on this day to share with you the words I spoke at her funeral. If you knew Loray please take a moment today to honor her memory by showing someone an extra measure of kindness--be it a warm smile, encouragement, a cheerful salutation, or taking the time to thank someone for a job well done. Also, call your best friend...don't put it off. I was suppose to call Loray at 3pm the day she died. I never got the opportunity to make that call.

When I spoke with Loray’s sister Shirley Saturday night and she asked me if I would like to speak at this service today I immediately said yes, but when I hung up the phone I was absolutely panic stricken that, for the first time in almost 25 years, I wouldn’t be able to find the right words to say ...because I now know there truly is a grief that can not be spoken.

I met Loray in 1987 when I had just turned 21 years old. I was a single mom in the middle of a divorce and I pretty much had the words “trauma and drama” written all over me, but Ray chose to look past all of that. She saw my worth as a person and took me under her wing. That’s what she did with everyone she came in contact with. My relationship with Loray, while so dear and precious to me, was not unique. If you were blessed enough to be her friend, her family, her coworker, her listener...then you were adored by her. We were all in her “family” and there was simply nothing she would not do for us. Her love was sacrificial.

I owe so much to her. She encouraged my radio career which she started in 1988 and I went on to be an announcer from coast to coast for nearly 20 years. She gave me my wings so I could fly and I took her with me wherever I went. I guess it’s only fair that she took part of me with her to her new Heavenly home Tuesday morning.

So I called her cell phone the day after she passed...just so I could hear her voice on her voicemail message. The really strange thing is I left her a message. "Ray it's me. If you're picking up your messages in Heaven, I want you to know that I love you, and I miss you...really bad Ray Ray....really bad..." What I also should've said (with my cracking voice and through the non stop tears) is that I hope she is seeing what is going on here in the town she loved, by all of the people she loved. I want her to see her impact...and I am sure she is somewhere all wide eyed saying "I had no idea!" because she never completely knew her value...that is actually part of what made her so special. Loray Christine has left us a legacy....a legacy of love and laughter. May we rise to her example and cause more laughter than we do tears, and treat everyone we meet like they are the most important person in the world, like she did. Loray had pain and heartbreak in her life at times...but just because she had pain she knew she didn't have to be a pain.

Loray lived a life that will transcend all restrictions of space and time...life and death. My life is infinitely better because I knew Loray Robinson. She was a game changer. I am forever changed and forever thankful.

I hope you, her friends and family, will join me in rising to the challenge of spreading her legacy...a legacy of pure love, light, and laughter.

I love you Loray. “Do take care my friend”

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One thing I know Ray Ray is I will never be Over You. I miss you. I love you. Watch Miranda Lambert's beautiful yet haunting video for "Over You" (my song for Loray) here.

 

Beauty in the Brokenness

"When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful." ~Darla Jackson, Sculpturist

I was an inexpensive vase.  I was common and easily found, one might say, and no one had to look very long or very far or go out of their way at all to find me or one of the thousands that looked just like me.  You couldn't even tell us apart really. I didn't have any real characteristics that made me special.  Some might say I was useful--practical--I performed my job adequately.  I certainly wasn't unique or lovely, and you certainly could never describe me as "art". I was, for all intensive purposes, disposable...easily replaced..."cheap".  Then one day the most fortunate series of events happened,  It started the day I was completely destroyed.  Broken beyond recognition.  Instead of being taken to the curb to be thrown out with the rest of the trash someone gathered the pieces of my former self and decided I was worth repairing...saving.  Not only would I be mended using a common bonding substance, but the cracks of my body, mind, and soul would be filled with one of the most valuable substances known to man-GOLD!!.  The liquified gold was carefully, almost lovingly, poured into what pieces were left of me.  The gold traced each blemish, each break, each imperfection...each crack caused by the trauma of being destroyed.  It was those very points of impact that now shimmered brightly in the light and demanded every eye's attention.  Beauty took the place of the unsightly scars.  I actually treasure each of those scars now because I became so much more valuable because of the very damage that destroyed my former self. There is always so much more beauty that can be found after brokenness if you are wise enough to look for it and have a soul pure enough to treasure it.  Strive to see with your soul.  You're eyes will deceive you every time.

Be Blessed. 

I wish this would've been written for me (aka Fairy Tale, Lost)

A Conversation with Myself:

Broken hearts, when destroyed for no reason, have a way of twisting you on the inside. You lose a part of yourself. A piece of you dies and sometimes that piece festers and infects the whole of who you are. It can devastate your life, cause you to question reality...and especially yourself, (can I trust anyone?). You begin to question your own sanity. It haunts your existence and consumes your time and paralyzes you and renders you unable of giving the amazing amount of love that you thought you had to give to others who are so much more deserving.  But you find no love left--not even for yourself.  Not even for God.

"But it doesn't have to be this way...only if you let it" they say. "You're the better person, and there's a big world to make up for that small piece you lost" they say.

I guess that's true.  I guess it sounds like those are the right things to say..  But...God help me...I know I still wish this had been written for me. 

However, I know the truth...now.  I know it wasn't.  None of them were ever written for me.  I hate the consuming pain and grief with it's pounding heart and light headedness and gut twisting sensations that make it difficult to breath, or move.  Wondering that if you dare to stand will your knees really support the weight of your thinning frame?  I hate that I was such a fool and allowed someone to treat my body, my spirit, and my heart so carelessly.  But this is my penance.  After all, I invited him in to the depths of me.  I opened every door.  I trusted.

I hate that I trusted someone who used me and was capable of throwing me away and treating me as if I never, ever was Anything.
At.
All.
Ever.

It's the feeling of insignificance that causes ones spirit to wither and die a little more each day.


When I catch you when you’re falling
Will you tell me how you fell?
When I hold you when you’re crying
Will you let me share your tears?
When I help you find the answers
Will you tell me of your questions?
When I love the beauty in your years
Will you let me see you smile?
When I make myself a poem
Can I sing for you my song?
When I help you unfold your wings
Can I teach you how to fly? -------------
When you tell me how you fell
You help me find my balance
When you let me share your tears
I no longer need to cry
When you let me see you smile
I know the beauty in our years
When you tell me of your questions
You help me find the answers
When I sing for you my song
You make my life a poem
When you learn to use your wings
You teach me how to fly -------------

Little Girl Lost

The following poem was written by my young friend Katie.  Katie has been, and continues to be, sexually, physically, and emotionally abused by people in her life who are suppose to protect her.  Will you please join me in praying for Katie and the thousands just like her who are wondering how they are going to make it though this day.

I love you Katie Girl and God loves you more.
xoxox


Cant be more broken whats left to destroy
because eveytime i end up someones toy

As much as i try to help others be set free
my regrets, abuse, and family all still torture me

I'm lost in this world and nowhere to be found
but at least i have jesus when im feeling down

I have learned to fight off the pain i have lived
and because of god and people that love me i can forgive

I realize now what i am worth
and all the things i can do to help fix this earth

I'm only 15 but im as strong as i can be
im no longer the victim i am set free

Thank you to those who help me get though
please know i love and care for you 

Soul Vomit Anthology

     I am very proud to be one of the contributing authors for the "Soul Vomit: Beating Domestic Violence" annual anthology.  Several of my works that the readers of this blog are familiar with are included in this initial anthology as well as my multi media art work, "Forever and Half a Day".  Proceeds from the sale of this anthology will be used to stop all forms of domestic violence and abuse.  You can order your copy of this anthology by clicking here.  Thank you to everyone who helped make this dream a reality and let's continue to stop violence against women.  Together.

The Soul Vomit annual anthology aims to help society open its eyes to this painful epidemic hiding behind closed family doors all over the world. Domestic violence is often unreported, unseen, and unknown, which is why it is our duty to raise awareness and encourage strength in bystanders to call the police, report suspicious behaviors, and be a friend to someone who is in a violent home environment.

Sometimes, the abuse is only emotional... when a victim doesn't have a black eye or any bruises but is verbally assaulted every day by someone who should love them, they need someone to see their pain and fear, even if that someone is a stranger.

      Soul Vomit is about raising awareness about and helping to end domestic violence and abuse. Stories, poetry, art, and essays are 

      collected from all over the world to help victims and survivors be heard!

Help end domestic violence by making noise about it.


Watch the Soul Vomit Video Trailer