Take the week that was. I met deadlines, commitments. I found myself at midnight, ready to write and read, yet short on midnight oil. One can’t burn what one doesn’t have. The writing mind kept sentinel, though, when my waking mind could not.
Strife swirled all around.
My city caught fire. Fellow citizens rose up and spoke out. Those of us who didn’t, wanted to. We felt, perhaps, shame in our voice. Undeserved shame. All voices warrant value. I held words in and wore my Broncos cap and saw connections between strife and tension.
American philosopher Elbert Hubbard once said “God will not look you over for medals, degrees or diplomas, but for scars.”
Today’s guest post is written by someone who has plenty.
Meet Debbie of Heartbeats ~ Soul Stains. Debbie is a regular contributor to the 6 Words series. She’s a “wife, mom, and survivor of obstacles.” One look at her About page will let you know of the adversity life has thrown at her.
She lives on the beautiful island of Oahu in Hawaii, part of a family of seven that has seen its share of dark days – but who always carries a faith stronger than anything set before them.
I don’t remember a thing from my high school commencement speech.
No sprig of advice, hint of knowledge, gem of insight as I embarked on the world with the rest of the class of 1990. (Holy hell that was a long time ago.) I’m pretty sure it wasn’t George H.W. Bush or Shock G from Digital Underground or Melissa Joan Hart.
Kerry Rivera at Breadwinning Mama wrote last week about commencement speeches from middle America. Her post is awesome. It got me thinking. What if they did want middle America? And what if they asked me?
Kerry is middle America. So am I. This is where we end up, between the ivory tower and soup kitchen. We declare our intent to rule the world and we barbecue with family and accept college offers or report to the shop for work the next Monday. Life begins.
Hey there – son. I’ve always wanted to write this, a letter to you. But you know, there’s not really any proof that you ever existed.
You would have been my first born. A son. Me, the father of three girls, with a son.
So many bloggers write about children they physically met, or physically carried, children who spent so little time on this earth and were called home. They’re angels, with names, with faces. You were a dream.